When John Calvin published in 1540 his first commentary on the Bible, an interpretation of St. Paul's letter to the Romans, he joined a lively conversation that had been taking place in the Christian church ever since its inception. Paul's letter was itself a kind of commentary, a reinterpretation of stories and songs from the Old Testament, especially from Genesis and the book of Psalms. Paul was convinced that these ancient Hebrew writings had taken on a new meaning as a result of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

His reinterpretation of older biblical traditions was itself reinterpreted by such stalwarts of the early church as Origen, Augustine, and John Chrysostom. Medieval interpreters repeated and revised these early insights and added their own, many of which were preserved in such standard exegetical works as the Glossa ordinaria and the Postilla of Nicholas of Lyra. By 1540 there was a substantial body of literature on Romans, including several recent works by Calvin's contemporaries. Aspiring commentators, confronted by this body of exegetical literature, might well have been forgiven if they had wondered whether there was anything fresh to say about Romans. Calvin concluded there was, but not before he had read a generous sample of the exegetical tradition, including the impressive commentaries by Philip Melanchthon, Heinrich Bullinger, and Martin Bucer.

Even in an age suspicious of grand narratives, the European Reformation has somehow maintained its status as 'a decisive event' in the history of the West. It remains a lively and fascinating subject of study: something of the vitality and variety of fairly current scholarship on the subject - to say nothing of its sheer bulk - can be gauged by English readers from the four volumes of the recent Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation. All students of the early modern period, from social and economic historians to historians of art to students of literature, have sooner rather than later to engage with the impact on their field of the Reformation, and especially of its religious ideas. But how does one get to grips with what might strike the beginner as the least concrete aspect of the Reformation? This Companion, with contributions from the leading authorities in the area, is designed to be not only a stimulating collection of essays for theologians but also an accessible and reliable introduction to Reformation theology for non-specialists.

Until recently, it would have seemed eccentric to publish a companion to the theology of the Reformation. Towards the end of the twentieth century, theology came to be seen by many as marginal to Reformation studies. This was in part a reaction to the ‘great man’ approach to the past. In the same way that history in general was no longer primarily about what kings and queens did or what parliaments enacted, so the motivating force of religious history was not to be found in the writings of the ecclesiastical elite. Attention turned instead to the ‘simple folk’.

What next?

Or, to frame the question somewhat more precisely, what problems in historical theology are likely to engage students of the Reformation in the twenty-first century? The short answer, of course, is that historians will continue to be fascinated by many of the same problems that fascinated their predecessors in the twentieth. There will always be fresh generations of scholars who will be captivated by the theology of the great figures of the sixteenth century - whether Luther or Calvin or Teresa of Avila - and who will devote their careers to resolving unresolved issues in the interpretation of their thought.

Popes were often reluctant to take the risks inherent in the convocation of a general council. They were painfully aware that the Council of Constance had deposed three competing popes and installed a fourth. By the time of Luther, however, it was generally conceded, even by theologians who were jealous defenders of papal power, that under certain circumstances the convocation of a general council might be the church’s only recourse to resolve a crisis that had proved impossible to resolve in any other way.

The general councils of the medieval Catholic Church were instruments for crisis management. This was particularly true in the early fifteenth century, when the church was divided by two, and then three, rival claimants to the papal throne. Unlike chapter meetings and episcopal visitations, councils were not a routine part of the church’s self-governance. When the Council of Trent finally convened in 1545, it was only the nineteenth general council in the long history of the Catholic Church.

The crises that provoked councils might be internal to the Catholic Church, such as the rise of the Joachite heresy, or stimulated by external pressures such as the Turkish invasion of Europe. They might touch on matters of the church’s doctrine or of its practice. Early councils articulated the dogmas of the Trinity and the two natures of Christ. Later councils decided on the place of icons in Christian worship, defined the doctrine of transubstantiation, and ended the scandal of a divided church.

Popes were often reluctant to take the risks inherent in the convocation of a general council. They were painfully aware that the Council of Constance had deposed three competing popes and installed a fourth. By the time of Luther, however, it was generally conceded, even by theologians who were jealous defenders of papal power, that under certain circumstances the convocation of a general council might be the church’s only recourse to resolve a crisis that had proved impossible to resolve in any other way.

John Calvin (1509-64) spent most of his adult life as a refugee from his native France. By far his longest exile was in Geneva, a city in which - in spite of his undoubted prominence - he seemed never to feel completely at home. Many of the figures who assisted Calvin in the reform of Geneva - energetic men such as Guillaume Farel and Pierre Viret - were forgotten by time, their books left largely unread after their deaths except by a handful of scholars. But Calvin’s theological influence did not cease with his death in 1564. If anything, it grew stronger, especially in the English-speaking world. Thomas Norton’s translation of Calvin’s Institutes went through eleven editions by 1632. Calvin’s catechism went through eighteen editions in English by 1628. Arthur Golding translated Calvin’s sermons on Job, which went through five editions between 1574 and 1584. In America, the Calvinism of the low-church Anglicans of Virginia, the Congregationalists of Massachusetts, the Scotch-Irish Presbyterians of North Carolina, and the Baptists of Rhode Island was reinforced by the Dutch Calvinism of New Jersey and New York and by the German Calvinism of Pennsylvania. Even John Wesley, the founder of the Methodists, a notably anti-Calvinist movement on the American frontier, once confessed that his theology came within a 'hair's-breadth of Calvinism'.