Among the disruptive events of 1919 and 1920 during which the American people burst from their single-minded military drive into a confusion of renewed interests finally to settle into the peculiar character and mood of the twenties, was the Interchurch World Movement of North America. Expressing the American optimism and enthusiasm at the conclusion of World War I and then the disillusionment and retreat which soon followed, the Interchurch World Movement marked a significant transition in American Protestant history. The Interchurch World Movement's financial collapse and its abortive attempt to maintain the churches’ wartime crusading zeal contributed to the general decline of Protestant creativity, influence, and prestige in America during the 1920s.

The American revolution caused the Anglican churches in America to separate from their parent body: the Church of England. This threw the Episcopalians upon their own resources to rebuild their church. In the process of reorganization, the former Anglicans accomplished an ecclesiastical revolution in respect to episcopacy. For the first time since the Norman Conquest in 1066, the Episcopalians in America made a bishop of a major religious body the elected official of a convention of clergy and laymen. In the second place, the office of bishop in a major denomination was completely separated from the state for the first time since Emperor Constantine officially recognized Christianity in 313 A.D.

The flowering of foreign missions in nineteenth-century America owed so much to evangelical Protestantism in Europe, that historians looking for uniquely American features in missionary enterprises have had very little to go on. Historians who have attempted to identify the uniqueness of American missions have generally seized upon the links between the missionary spirit and ideas of manifest destiny. Ralph Gabriel taught a generation of historians to see American missions as one aspect of a “mission of America” with ramifications that went far beyond preaching to the heathen. Perry Miller traced the roots of the mission of America to the Plymouth Colony itself and rewrote the history of American development in terms of an “perrand into the wilderness.” Nineteenth-century foreign missions were for Miller the most typical expression of national self-consciousness.

During the late nineteenth century, Irish immigrants were not always sympathetic toward the Catholic Church. Observers indicated that large numbers of Irish-Americans were dissatisfied with Catholic attitudes toward American conditions and might consequently sever their ties with the church. At times, priests, members of the hierarchy, and the American Catholic press showed particular concern that Patrick Ford, the influential and controversial editor of the New York Irish World, encouraged immigrants to question their traditional place in the church. In the late 1870s, Ford's opinions of American socio-economic and political affairs directly challenged those of Catholic spokesmen.

Half a year before this paper was read before a plenary session of the American Academy of Religion (26 October 1969), the program committee had requested an essay dealing in some comprehensive way with the field of American religious history. Because I would in any case have to be thinking about the introduction to my own “religious history of the American people,” I agreed.The title was sufficiently broad; and goodness knows the problems of this subject area are sufficiently large.1 Aside from innumerable large and small questions of fact there are the countless questions of emphasis and interpretation, not to mention the problem of discerning an overarching theme. I also confess great sympathy with Max Lerner's comment on the ten years he spent on America as a Civilization (1957). “I found when I came to the end of the decade,” he said, “that a number of things I had written about America were no longer valid. The American civilization had been changing drastically right under my fingertips as I was writing about it.”2 The present-day historian's predicament is, if anything, more difficult than Lerner's in that the sixties, by contrast with the fifties, have experienced a veritable earthquake of revisionism which has profoundly altered our interpretation of the entire course of American history. By reason of its screaming moral dilemmas, moreover, the decade had an especially rude impact on long accepted views of religious history. But enough of this: let us consider the substantive questions.

There is now general agreement among historians that American abolitionism developed out of religious origins. Considerable attention has been paid to the sources of antislavery feelings in previous religious movements, particularly the Finneyite revivals in New York and the benevolence societies led by Lyman Beecher in Massachusetts. What has not been sufficiently explored is the possibility that antislavery, at least in the minds of some of its chief advocates, was a religious movement in its own right, with its own distinctive approach to theological problems.1 And yet to pursue this possibility is merely to take seriously a complaint made by the denominations themselves against uncomprising abolitionists: that is, that abolitionists had abandoned organized religion because of their own dogmatic suspicion of all attempts to subject divine impulses to earthly forms of organization.

Several essayists in a recent issue of Daedalus noted with regret the absence of utopian thought among twentieth-century intellectuals, a lack they held to be detrimental to progress. The tragic events of the century, compounded by disenchantment with the poor taste and judgment of the supposedly liberated masses, have turned writers to gloomy prophecies of totalitarian and science-ridden worlds of the f uture. Dystopia rather than utopia is ascendant, they claim.1

In the era between the Civil War and the Depression the mythical character called the “American Mind” was troubled. All was well during the day when prosperity and success faced him at every turn, but at night he would sometimes dream of his childhood and awake feeling strangely uneasy. His analyst explained that this tension was the product of latent guilt feelings and suggested for therapy that he read himself to sleep with recent studies of the oppressive effects of Puritanism on young national minds. Turning to these works, the “American Mind” found that the analyst had been quite right. The source of the guilt feelings, he discovered, was an irrational phase of his development called the Reformation. This phase had been dominant when he lived in New England (he since had moved to the Midwest), but he was assured that the latest scholarship had discovered its influence to be harsh, grotesque, superstitious, narrowminded, illiberal, and worst of all intolerant.1 The problem was, one expert informed him, that this era “was unleavened by the spirit of the Renaissance.” Another observed that the Reformation attitudes were a “subtle poison” flowing thorugh the veins of the entire social organism. Still another implied that the “splendor of the Renaissance” had been delayed three hundred years by Reformation intolerance. Convinced that the open-mindedness of the Renaissance was healthier than the irrational bigotry of the Reformation, the “American Mind” of this era began to feel easier about his past. He resolved to tolerate everyone, except of course his more conservative enemies whom he damned as “Puritan.”

Time and again theologians of various schools have tried to place Pietism into a framework of theological and intellectual history. It is here impossible to pay tribute to every interpretation; this study will consider only the most important interpretations of the last century.1