It is remarkable that study of William Perkins (1558–1602) has had so little impact on conventional interpretations of English history. Of the work of this great pastoral theologian, William Haller observed that “no books… were more often to be found upon the shelves of succeeding generations of preachers, and the name of no preacher recurs more often in later Puritan literature.” In an article which commented upon Perkins's undeserved obscurity, Louis Wright suggested that in Perkins's thought Max Weber would have found “pertinent illustrations” for the famous argument about Protestantism and capitalism. Historical scholarship generally appears to have followed Wright's suggestion, mining Perkins's works for “pertinent illustrations” of established outlooks. Perkins has been pressed into service in economic and political versions of Haller's neo-Foxian epic which describes religious forces gathering relentlessly toward a mid-seventeenth-century climax. Other historians, encountering Perkins's insistent defense of the established church, have portrayed him as an Elizabethan moderate of varying degrees of sincerity and importance. Ultimately, these unproductive readings rest on an assumed typology of Anglicanism and Puritanism which casts Puritan theology as sectarian and disruptive while reserving the culturally integrative role of a churchly religion for Anglicanism. However faithfully this typology represents the outcome of seventeenth-century English history, it may have impeded fruitful analysis of Perkins's thought.

Strict observance of the Lord's Day became a distinctive feature of English and Scottish society in the seventeenth century. The Sabbatarian principle touched not only British religion but many social and economic practices as well. At some times, English Puritan settlers in the Netherlands attempted to introduce their brand of Sabbatarianism into Dutch society but with disappointing results. The success or failure of Sabbatarianism often has been identified with a certain stage of capitalistic economic development. This article examines the centrality of teachings about the Sabbath in Puritan social theology and, secondarily, the Sabbatarian-capitalism connection by comparing events in England and Holland from approximately 1600 to 1660. A comparison of Puritan Sabbatarians at home in England and abroad in Holland reveals anew the extreme difficulty of transporting values from one society, where they fit, into another location.

Any discussion of the relationship between Pietism and nationalism must start from a consideration of the two major works in this field: Koppel S. Pinson's Pietism as a Factor in the Rise of German Nationalism, published in 1934, and Gerhard Kaiser's Pietismus und Patriotismus im literarischen Deutschland, published in 1961. Both studies are valuable and lasting contributions to the topic. After presenting the main thesis of both works I will comment on the premises and conclusions of both works and then focus on aspects not mentioned by Pinson and Kaiser, especially the impact of Protestant revivalism on German nationalism in the middle of the nineteenth century.

In the middle 1870s British society experienced the greatest debate over foreign policy since the early days of the French Revolution: the dispute known as the Eastern question. For two years the British political world was divided by this issue as the country took sides between the Ottoman Empire, the oppressor of the Christian Slavic peoples of the Balkans, and Czarist Russia, the Slavs' protectors. What began as a diplomatic dispute became through its religious dimension a moral, even ideological, issue. Responsibility for this transformation belonged to a strange coalition made up of English radicals, a major portion of the Nonconformist community, and a considerable number of High Church Anglicans. They were joined later by the greatest Victorian exponent of moral force in politics, William Ewart Gladstone. Inexorably the Catholic community in Britain was drawn into this dispute.

Americans pondering cultural relationships to Europe have always rather enjoyed quoting that splendidly splenetic outburst of rhetorical questions that the Reverend Sydney Smith posed in 1820 in the Edinburgh Review: “In the four quarters of the globe, who reads an American book? or goes to an American play? or looks at an American picture or statue? What does the world yet owe to American physicians or surgeons?” As Smith's catalogue continues, it becomes Job-like; or rather, by no accident, like God's questions to poor Job. Where were the Americans, Smith thunders, when we British laid the foundations of modern culture? “Where are their Foxes, their Burkes, their Sheridans?… What new substances have their chemists discovered? What new constellations have been discovered by [their] telescopes?”