The period of the Reformation touches the interests of most people in one way or another and consequently receives attention from historians with a great variety of interests, running the gamut from dialectic materialism to theology. Much of this concern stems from our preoccupation with the strong revival of religion subsequent to the first World War and evinced in neo-scholasticism, Barthian evangelicalism, neo-orthodoxy, the Luther renaissance, the ecumenical movement, and similar manifestations, on the one hand, and our great concern with the widespread social tensions and revolutions which are springing up in all parts of the world and are keeping us poised on the brink of another world war.

In recent years, more and more American readers have been entering the delightful world of Anthony Trollope's novels—the world of Barchester Towers, of the intrepid Archdeacon Grantly, of the absentee prebendary Doctor Vesey Stanhope and the over-burdened vicar of Puddingdale, Mr. Quiverful. Such a reader often finds himself confused, as he is intrigued, by the commnual background of that world, the cathedral chapter. Historians indeed, who have read considerably in mediaeval secular history, have remained puzzled as to the precise nature of the cathedral chapter. Travelling abroad, one is struck by its continuance as an institution, by its colorful robes and insignia, and by the liturgical splendor of its worship at the great continental cathedrals. Even here at home, at the chancery of Archbishop Mitty or in the cathedral of Bishop Pike, one can find at least vestiges of this institution.

The colorful and powerful figure of Martin Luther dominates all study of the early years of the Reformation. Inevitably the first pages of the history of the Reformation in any region will begin with an effort by the author to trace the manner in which Luther's influence reached that area. In the study of the English Reformation one of the common ways of showing Luther's influence is to point to the work of the Bible translator William Tyndale. Numerous books on the English Reformation, on the history of the English Bible, and on Tyndale himself, have made of him a follower and an interpreter of Luther who played a major role in introducing the thought of the great reformer into England. A careful study of Tyndale's works, however, will show that his debt to Luther, and the “Lutheranism” of his views, has been over-stated. Tyndale, like many early sixteenth century religious reformers, made much use of Luther's name, fame, and works but without becoming a follower of those distinctive ideas of the German reformer which set him off from the other advocates of reform at the time. Tyndale's greatest debt was first to Christian humanism and then to the German-Swiss reformers of Zurich and Basel.

John Calvin succeeds in stating his position on baptism in such a way that it becomes not only an integral part of his entire system of theological thought, but also an occasion for a very lucid exposition of the central themes characteristic of his theology. Calvin achieves this by carefully delineating the proper manner of approach to the discussion of the doctrine of baptism. Specifically, Calvin insists that the meaning of baptism cannot be genuinely understood if we take the external ceremonies as the point of departure for our discussion. Instead, it is of basic importance first and foremost to be concerned with the promises of God offered in baptism, never forgetting that these are the inward mysteries for whose sake the outward signs are present. Such an approach is possible and even necessary because of the relationship which exists between the word and the sacramental sign. The sacrament never exists autonomously; it is, as we shall soon discuss in more detail, rather like an appendix that is attached for the purpose of confirmation and ratification to an already clearly given divine word of promise.

Among the numerous tracts which were published during the early and hectic days of the Long Parliament (1641) one anonymous sermon has fascinated historians and assumed some importance in the interpretation of Puritanism during those years. It represents in brief compass a significant facet of Civil War Puritanism. It has served to indicate how radical if latent ideas later developed within the broader movement. Professor Woodhouse reprinted sections of A Glimpse of Syons Glory to illustrate “The Priviledges of the Saints” in their anticipation of the impending inauguration of the Millennium. In Professor Haller's words it reveals “the vital excitement which gave … meaning” to the apocalyptic poetry of Daniel and Revelation, “dreams [which] were warmly cherished among the London populace on the eve of the revolution.”

Among the reasons for the emergence of American denominationalism, the impact of the separation of church and state has never been under-rated by scholars. The same is true of the religious pluralism of the nation. Other environmental conditions of comparable importance have been listed but those who recognize the toughness and adaptability of the modern American denominational structure have reason to ask whether historians have done full justice to its internal dynamic. The reaction against denominational history in the grand style is, of course, well warranted. Over against “denominational historians who can recount the achievements of the several denominations as separate bodies, the reasons for their separateness, and the grounds of their greatness and glory,” W. E. Garrison wrote, “we must concern ourselves chiefly with the movements of the common Christian mind, the issues which drive planes of cleavage through all denominations transverse to those which divide them from each other.…” Some of these unitive issues are American-made; others are rooted in Europe. But the denomination, as Garrison recognized, is the mode in which American church history manifests itself, a vehicle whose continuities must be grasped if modern American church-manship is to be understood.