Oliver Cromwell (1599-1658) must by any standard rank high among the most remarkable figures in British history. His thirteen-year rise from relative obscurity, as MP for Cambridge in 1640, to supreme magis­tracy, as Lord Protector of an England, Ireland and Scotland formally united for the first time by his victories, caused astonishment in his day, and has commanded the attention of historians ever since. A vast literature discusses his career as soldier and statesman; a lesser but still thriving body of informa­tion dissects his personal life and spirituality. ¹This article will investigate an important intersection between the two: was Oliver Cromwell a godly ruler?

In the modern or 'post-modern' mind, godliness and government simply do not mix. The combination is, at best, dismissed as an outmoded fantasy, at worst denounced as the brainchild of tyrannical fundamentalists. ² Such antipathy from the world is not surprising. But many Christians also accept the Roman Catholic Lord Acton's too-often-illustrated dictum that power corrupts, and so question whether godly rule is possible, or even desirable. Four centuries ago the reverse was true. Contemporaries who hailed Cromwell as a second Moses or David were not just extolling his integrity. They were drawing on an ideal of God-fearing magistracy that was firmly rooted in Scripture and shared by many of those who condemned him as an ambitious hypocrite or a misguided usurper. Cromwell's claim to be a 'godly ruler' may be assessed by examining his political principles and his practice as Protector from 1653 to1658.

Converted to Christ long before he attained any eminence, Cromwell had no notion of the separation of faith and politics. His letters and speeches reveal him first and foremost as a man who feared God and lived by his Word, which shaped his thinking. Like David, Cromwell believed that 'he that ruleth over men ... must be just, ruling in the fear of God', and execut­ing the 'judgment of mercy and truth' to believer and unbeliever alike. Such a ruler should not rely on his own virtue, but pray for the 'wisdom ... from above' described by James. Selfish gain must be shunned, and power exer­cised solely to advance 'the glory of God, the good of his people, and the rights of the nation'.³ 

That the establishment of a righteous government in England was not only feasible but a divine imperative, was for Cromwell, the principal lesson of the civil wars. God had revealed his will through 'those strange windings ... of providence, those very great appearances' for his people, whereby he had judged their enemies, eradicated the tyrannical Stuart dynasty, and, most significantly, exalted 'a principle of godliness — of religion'. It was inconceivable that God had restored believers to 'the freedom of their consciences and freedom in estates and persons' merely in order that they should resign the government to 'wicked men' elected by an unrighteous populace or claiming inherited authority.⁴

Cromwell was convinced that political legitimacy came primarily from the call of God, secondarily from the consent, or at least the acquiescence, of the people, and not at all from ancient prescription. The abrogation of the hereditary principle he perceived as the gateway to government by 'men chosen for their love to God and to Truth and Justice'. Conscious of his own unworthiness, he nevertheless hoped that his Protectorate might begin to fulfill that promise in Isaiah that God would give 'rulers as at the first, and judges as at the beginning'. ⁵ In the eyes of his enemies, however, the Protectorate was inherently unrighteous. A conservative majority, who identified God's will with the former constitution, complained that he had usurped the rights of that notoriously ungodly prince, the future Charles II. ⁶ Cries of usurpation came also from the republican minority, who maintained that Parliament alone could legally create a new government. The challenge to his title surprised the Protector, who vigorously defended himself to his first Parliament:

If my calling be from God, and my testimony from the people, God and the people shall take it from me, else I will not part with it ... I thought it was understood ... that I was in possession of the Government by a good right from God and men! ... I do not know why I may not balance this Providence ... with any Hereditary Interest, as a thing less subject to those cracks and flaws which that other is commonly incident unto.⁷

Cromwell's case is hard to refute. According to Scripture, God is not bound to sustain manmade constitutions indefinitely, but may elevate who­ever he pleases. Righteousness in those who govern is commendable. Nor does the evidence support allegations that Cromwell wickedly manipulated circumstances in order to advance himself. Rather, he took office reluctantly, to prevent further bloodshed and anarchy, after the failure of successive assemblies to introduce a settlement.

While prepared to magnify the dignity of his office when necessary, Cromwell did not aspire to absolute power. Other European heads of state were anxious to shake off restraints and exalt themselves as God's represent­atives, requiring of their subjects a respect that virtually amounted to worship. Cromwell voluntarily embraced limitations: the Instrument of Gov­ernment, the written constitution by which he became Protector, attracted him precisely because it bound him to 'act nothing without the consent of a Council' until Parliament met. Whereas Louis XIV of France would adopt the sun as his emblem, the Protector publicly likened himself to the lowest official, a 'good constable to keep the peace of the parish', the 'fellow-servant' of the people, whom he exhorted to join him in confessing sin and seeking God.⁸

The majesty of monarchy was diametrically opposed to Cromwell's sense of the simplicity befitting the Christian leader. His first installation as Lord Protector took place with the minimum of pomp: in deliberate renunciation of the splendour of royal coronation robes, he wore only a plain black suit. Elaborate ceremonial remained foreign to his court. That this humility was more than a public pose is clear from his reaction to Parlia­ment's pressing offer of the crown in 1657. Reluctant though he was to reject the people's advice and the prospect of a lasting settlement, he could not reconcile it with his conscience to grieve many good and godly men by reviving 'the title ... that providence has destroyed and laid in the dust'. In­voking the principle of Romans 14:23, he reasoned that the nation could not expect a blessing if he became king with sinful doubts or unseen selfish aims.

Self-denial was, for Cromwell, more than a matter of outward forms, or even the motive for a single momentous decision: it distinguished his entire approach to government. When he told Parliament that 'no particular inter­est, either of myself, estate, honour or family are or have been prevalent with me', he was essentially speaking the truth. Although he had accepted rewards for his military services, and, as Protector, enjoyed a fixed revenue and the use of various palaces, he did not exploit his position for personal or family gain. Intending his children to lead 'private lives', he long denied his able younger son a place commensurate with his talents and expressly warned him against attempting 'to lay the foundation of a great estate'. By inviting Parliament to inspect the accounts, he underscored his assurances that he had managed the 'Treasury not unthriftily, nor to private uses, but for the Nation'.⁹ Such openness contrasted with the secrecy of the Stuart kings, who had resisted parliamentary interference with what they saw as their private business, and protected favourites guilty of rampant corruption. As he resisted the very real temptation to profit at the public expense, so Cromwell overcame the natural inclination to revenge himself on his enemies. Only a handful of Royalists, whose well-documented activities manifestly threatened the state, were executed for political crimes. Towards others who vehemently attacked his rule, including republicans, Fifth Monarchists and Levellers, Cromwell displayed a remarkable forbearance. None was prosecuted for high treason; most suffered nothing worse than brief imprisonments incurred after their refusal to promise to live peaceably. The legend of Cromwell the Machiavellian hypocrite, who ruthlessly suppressed opponents and feathered his own nest under cover of pious protestations, therefore has no basis in fact.

Cromwell's patient endurance of abuse from former friends whom he still esteemed as Christian brothers was typical of his longsuffering love towards all the people of God. By the 1650s the Puritan coalition that had supported Parliament in the civil wars had long since fragmented. Amidst the ruins of episcopacy, Presbyterians, Independents and Baptists of various persuasions competed with each other and more radical groups, such as the Fifth Mon­archists and Quakers. Fears that religious confusion was undermining the social order prompted the more conservative to demand the re-imposition of conformity to a national church. Separatists loudly protested that freedom of conscience was in danger. Cromwell deplored the bitter dissensions among 'godly men of different judgments', and longed that 'every one, instead of contending, would justify his form by love and meekness'. Pending such a happy outcome, he sought to steer a middle course, restraining the shocking excesses of the extremist sects, but securing a 'just liberty of conscience' to 'true Christians ... looking for salvation only by faith in the blood of Christ' and living in 'godliness and honesty'. Impartiality towards all who met these criteria was, inevitably, misunderstood, as each group suspected him of favouring the others. Despite his grief at their unjust reproaches, he perse­vered in the task of 'hindering any one religion to impose upon another'. ¹⁰ Moreover, his concern to prevent the oppression of fellow believ­ers transcended national boundaries: he intervened to halt the persecution of Protestants in Savoy, and made better treatment of the Huguenots a con­dition of his alliance with Roman Catholic France.

At home, Cromwell saw no contradiction between liberty of conscience and a reformed Church of England without coercive powers. As chief mag­istrate it was his duty to countenance a 'Godly Ministry', possessing not just a university education but spiritual gifts and 'such a character as the Scrip­ture warrants'. He therefore appointed both Presbyterians and Independents to a central commission of Triers to test ministerial candidates, and to local commissions of Ejectors, to remove scandalous clergymen already ensconced in the parishes. Requesting legislative confirmation three years later, he unhesitatingly asserted that there had 'not been such a service to England since the Christian religion was professed ... God having had exceeding glory by it'. Parliament eventually endorsed the scheme. A national ministry needed an established maintenance. Against vociferous sectarian objections, the Protector determined that tithes must continue until Parliament devised a superior alternative. While this decree unfairly penalized the separatists, who scrupled to support the church that they had quitted, Cromwell had at heart the greater good of the greater number. In his view, the ministry had a vital and glorious function: the proclamation of the gospel to the nation. To deprive preachers of sustenance was thus to strike at 'the root of visible profession' and open the door to complete religious chaos.¹¹

Alongside his conviction that preaching was, under God, the primary means to convert souls and hasten the prophesied outpouring of the 'fullness of the Spirit ... to subdue iniquity and bring in everlasting righteousness', Cromwell hoped that good government might also help to 'win the people to the interest of Jesus Christ and the love of godliness'. If it could do no more, it should attempt to avert God's judgment on the nation by actively discouraging sin and promoting a 'reformation of manners'. However, many of his efforts in this direction met with the stubborn resistance of the ungodly to the curtailment of their sinful pleasures. Cromwell mourned 'the dissoluteness ... in the nation' not simply because it contravened his personal morality, but because it offended the holy God, whose standards Scripture plainly set forth. At times, he grew weary of the burden of govern­ment and almost despaired of 'doing any good'. Yet the certainty that God alone could, and in his time would, impart genuine goodness enabled the Protector to overcome discouragements and persevere in the sanctified use of means. Never did he lose the hope that 'men of honest hearts, engaged to God ... enlightened ... to know his Word' might by precept and example do much to convince the disaffected of their errors and stem the 'current of wickedness'. Neither a democrat nor a dictator, he yearned, as both 'Supreme Magistrate' and people's representative, 'in faith and love to Jesus Christ ... to promote the glory of God ... to suppress everything that is evil'.¹²

That Oliver Cromwell's policies as Protector were generally consistent with his rhetoric of godly rule should now be clear. Nor should his inability to effect all that he desired obscure his achievement. Open sin was subdued. Godliness and gospel preaching received official encouragement. Christians of differing persuasions had freedom to witness and worship in the manner they deemed most faithful to Scripture. Even some of Cromwell's opponents acknowledged the considerable benefits that his government had brought the church and nation. The influential divine Richard Baxter, for example, affirmed that the Protector did 'good in the main' and accomplished more for 'the interest of godliness ... than any ... before him'. Persecuted for their dissent from a vindictive Anglican Church, and appalled by the restored King Charles II's indulgence in flagrant immorality, the godly in subsequent decades would remember the 1650s as halcyon years.¹³

The Cromwellian era should not be idealized, but its continuing relevance should be recognized. It shows that much may be achieved by dedicated Christians dependent upon God, zealous for his glory and guided by his Word. Godly rule may be a thankless task, a constant uphill struggle, in which perfection is unattainable and temptations are multiplied. But earthly governments cannot be neutral in the conflict between sin and righteousness. Their policies will tend to serve either the one or the other, as the contrast between Cromwell and Charles II shows. The example of Oliver Cromwell shows that Christian withdrawal from politics on the ground that no good can be achieved is an abdication of God-given responsibility which ensures the short-term triumph of ungodliness.