Oliver Cromwell: I always thought it was interesting that one of my favorite writers, the Baptist Samuel Richardson, dedicated his work entitled “Saints Desire,” to Oliver Cromwell in the following preface: “To the Right Honourable, Sir Thomas Fairfax, Captain General of all the Parliament’s Forces in England; and Oliver Cromwell, Esquire, Lieutenant General to the said Forces, such honour as is promised to all that honour the Lord Christ.”
This appeared in 1647, when I would imagine that Fairfax and Cromwell were widely viewed, especially by dissenters, as instruments of deliverance from episcopal and presbyterian coercion. For historical context, this was well before Cromwell assumed the office of Lord Protector, (which was not until December 1653,) before the execution of Charles I, and before the Protectorate hardened into a settled form of government. At that moment, Cromwell was still seen less as a ruler in waiting and more as a military figure through whom temporary civil relief might be secured. Notice also that Richardson does not exalt Cromwell as a spiritual authority but offers “such honour as is promised to all that honour the Lord Christ.” In other words, the honour Richardson offers is not tied to Cromwell’s office or power, but only to his relationship to Christ.
In light of the historical timing of this dedication, it appears to have been strictly political, not devotional or doctrinal in any sense. Richardson addressed both Fairfax and Cromwell because they were the leading Parliamentary military figures at the time. Many writers, across a wide spectrum of beliefs, dedicated works to them, often as an appeal for protection, toleration, or simply safe circulation in a volatile period. It seems unlikely that many saw Fairfax and Cromwell as spiritual guides, and more as providential restraints, men who, for a season, held back harsher alternatives and allowed a narrow space for civil liberty.
While Richardson was clearly concerned with toleration, Cromwell faded entirely from his writings after 1647. As Cromwell’s rule developed into the Protectorate and took on an increasingly king-like form, Richardson offers no further acknowledgment. He neither praises nor condemns him. His allegiance remains with Christ’s testimony, not the shifting fortunes of government. Cromwell’s absence from Richardson’s later writings is itself instructive, but it does not lessen the weight of his historical presence. If anything, it quietly reminds us that Christ’s kingdom is not of this world, even as Cromwell’s name continues to stir strong emotion and refuses neutrality.
Oliver Cromwell – mention his name, even today, to anyone with a passing knowledge of history, and you will often meet reactions ranging from deep hostility to near admiration. My wife and I have had the privilege of visiting England on four occasions, visiting places such as Oxford, Cambridge, and other historical sites associated, in various ways, with this period and its religious movements. During our last visit, we gave particular attention to sites connected with Oliver Cromwell. The experience did not disappoint. Our interest in history, particularly the reformation era and the parliamentary struggles that followed, is not merely academic. For me, those roots are not tied to ancestry or place, but to the grace of Christ made known in the gospel, appearing in mercy and sustaining His people in their appointed hour. Ruth 1:6.
Yet as much as this history continues to matter to us, it became clear that it is not regarded in the same way by many who live among its landmarks today, who prefer to distance themselves from Cromwell entirely, a man now viewed unfavorably in a society that has largely turned away from the convictions of its past. One striking instance comes to mind. While visiting Hampton Court, we paid a small additional fee for an in-depth tour led by a certified historian. As she explained the silks, dyes, and tapestries that lined the rooms, I asked whether Oliver Cromwell had ever visited the palace. After a brief pause, she said, “Cromwell? Let’s see, he would have come right after Charles I,” and then added that it was likely he had been there. That was it as she quickly went back to her tapestries. Well, not only did he visit there but at one time governed England from this place. After the king was executed, the palace became a seat of the Protectorate, and one of Cromwell’s principal residences.
Another example of this was when we were visiting Ely Cathedral and decided to take a guided tour of the magnificent structure. As we walked through, the guide began describing how Cromwell’s troops had caused significant damage to the cathedral. At one point, someone in our group asked why Cromwell had done all this. The guide responded, rather confidently, that it was because Cromwell harbored a deep hatred for the King of England. I’m usually content to listen quietly, but in that moment I felt the need to say something. I gathered my courage and attempted to correct the narrative. I explained that Cromwell’s actions had very little, if anything, to do with personal hatred for the monarch. Instead, they stemmed from his deeply held belief that Roman Catholicism was a false religion, and that the trappings of its influence, including ornate cathedrals and religious relics, were contrary to the scriptures. I’m sure it wasn’t that polished, but it was along those lines, which quickly shut everyone up.
Apart from Samuel Richardson, I can only think of one other particular Baptist of note from the Confession-signing generation – 1646 – who had direct contact with Cromwell, and that would have been William Kiffin, 1616-1701, a wealthy London merchant, and leading Particular Baptist. Kiffin dealt with Cromwell and is known to have met with him on several occasions, often in connection with petitions on behalf of the Baptists, particularly regarding religious toleration and relief from persecution.
I would suggest that religious leaders approached Cromwell primarily as a figure of civil authority rather than as a spiritual guide. Their concern was not to enlist him in the work of the gospel, but to navigate a turbulent political moment while preserving ecclesiastical liberty. Baptists in particular maintained a cautious distance from Cromwell and the Commonwealth, not because they denied the upheaval of the times or questioned his sincerity, but because they feared the confusion that follows when civil power and spiritual authority are joined. That posture of caution also helps clarify how Cromwell himself should be understood. These interactions seem to have been governed by necessity rather than enthusiasm, and by caution rather than confidence.
Cromwell should be regarded as a political and military figure, not as a reformer of the gospel. No one could seriously deny that he opposed Roman Catholicism, yet even that opposition belonged to the realm of political and military necessity rather than spiritual renewal. His resistance to Rome was exercised by the sword and by state power, and whatever spiritual language accompanied it, Cromwell’s work remained firmly rooted in civil authority. Put simply, the Commonwealth became another kind of religious establishment, unlike Rome or Anglicanism in form, but not so different in how it joined religion to state power. The issue, then, is not structure but authority. Whenever the state assumes authority to regulate doctrine, suppress dissent, or privilege certain religious expressions, it steps into territory that belongs to Christ alone.
Cromwell, then, was never an agent of Christ’s kingdom in the strict and spiritual sense. In a broader dominion sense, of course, he was, no less than any ruler, under the sovereign rule of God, for the Lord reigns over all His works. But Christ’s redemptive kingdom is not advanced by coercion, force, or political success. That kingdom is spiritual, heavenly, and unarmed, standing on an entirely different footing than earthly rule. John 18:36. It must also be acknowledged that Cromwell lived and fought in a brutal, “kill or be killed” world. Defensive necessity may explain his actions historically, but it cannot justify them theologically. The sword may preserve civil order, but it cannot establish truth or advance the gospel. What may be explained or excused by historical circumstances should not be confused with gospel faithfulness.
I think that this distinction was especially important to the Baptists of the period, who were jealous to preserve the line between Christ’s reign, spiritual and heavenly, and worldly government, which is necessary, coercive, and temporal. And lest we forget, toleration granted by the sword may just as easily be revoked by the sword. Cromwell, then, may be defended historically, but he cannot be defended theologically as advancing the kingdom of Christ. Whatever may be said in his historical defense, his use of force belongs to the necessities of civil order, not to the progress of Christ’s gospel.
This restraint stands in marked contrast to many modern reformed treatments of Cromwell. A few years ago I listened to an entire series on the life of Cromwell by a prominent Presbyterian, who “rehabilitated” him, not merely as a complex historical figure, but as a kind of proto-reformed hero, a godly ruler whose use of power is framed as the outworking of Christian principle in the public square. Cromwell’s military actions, suppression of dissent, and enforcement of religious order were all defended as necessary steps toward a Christian society. There’s something very uneasy about this shift, not because we deny God’s sovereignty over rulers, but the tendency to confuse Christ’s kingdom with political success or social reform. In short, where modern reformed writers often seek to rescue Cromwell for the sake of a Christian vision of history, it may be well just to leave him where Scripture leaves all rulers. Daniel 4:17. The issue, then, is not history, but gospel clarity. No one is trying to write Cromwell out of history, only to keep him out of the gospel. Cromwell belongs to history. Christ belongs to the gospel. And the two must not be merged, even when history feels sympathetic. MPJ
Postscript: A letter by Cromwell: “Since we came into Scotland, it hath been our desire and longing to have avoided blood in this business; by reason that God hath a people here, fearing His Name, though deceived. And to that end have we offered much love unto such, in the bowels of Christ; and concerning the truth of our hearts therein, we have appealed unto the Lord. The ministers of Scotland have hindered the passage of these things to the hearts of those to whom we intended them. And now we hear that not only the deceived people, but some of the ministers also are fallen in this battle. This is the great hand of the Lord, and worthy the consideration of all those who take into their hands the instruments of a foolish shepherd; to wit, meddling with worldly policies, and mixtures of earthly power, to set up that which they call the Kingdom of Christ, which is neither it; nor, if it were it, would such means be found effectual to that end; and neglect, or trust not to, the Word of God, the Sword of the Spirit, which is alone powerful and able for the setting up of that Kingdom; and when trusted to, will be found effectually able to that end, and will also do it. This is humbly offered for their sakes who have lately too much turned aside, that they may return again to preach Jesus Christ, according to the simplicity of the Gospel; and then, no doubt, they will discern and find your protection and encouragement. Beseeching you to pardon this length, I humbly take leave, and rest, Sir, Your most humble Servant, OLIVER CROMWELL.”
The letter was written by Oliver Cromwell in September 1650 and addressed to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, specifically its Presbyterian ministers and leaders. Cromwell had just defeated the Scottish Covenanter army at Dunbar. The Scots had allied themselves with Charles II, whom they crowned king in exchange for his acceptance of the Covenant. Cromwell viewed this alliance as a fatal mixture of religion and worldly power and expressed deep concern over the corruption of the gospel by political ambition, even as he would, within a few short years, find himself entangled in the very danger he warned against.
This is an interesting letter, as many rulers have spoken about God; but I seriously doubt that any ever spoke like this? In terms of biblical literacy and experiential protestant piety, Cromwell is exceptional. This letter doesn’t read like propaganda. It reads like a man caught between two worlds. The irony is not that Cromwell later contradicted words he did not believe, the fact that he actually believed them, and yet history pressed him into a role where he acted contrary to their full implication. MPJ
Postscript #2. Some additional thoughts generated in reply to a friend: Thanks so much for taking the time to read this and for the thoughtful response. I really enjoyed writing it, which gave me a bit of a break from more strictly theological posts, though, as you know, it’s hard to separate history, theology, and life itself. Your observation about Cromwell’s toleration of Independent churches is spot on. There’s no question that, for a season, his rule opened space for congregations that had long been crushed by episcopal and presbyterian uniformity. Many benefited from this period of toleration, something clearly reflected in the remarkable outpouring of religious pamphlets, sermons, and treatises that flowed from the presses during the years of the Protectorate. The sudden freedom to publish revealed just how long these voices had been restrained, and how eager many were to speak once the censorship was lifted.
In that light of toleration, I’m reminded of the Quaker George Fox, whose encounter with Cromwell – most likely around 1654 or 1655 – is well attested in Fox’s own Journal. Fox was detained and brought before Cromwell, who, according to Fox’s account, listened attentively and was even moved to tears at certain points. Cromwell allowed Fox to depart peacefully and did not suppress the Quakers as a movement in the way earlier regimes had suppressed religious dissent, although they were still persecuted on a local level. It seems fair to say that Cromwell’s toleration flowed more from civil discretion than from a gospel commitment to liberty of conscience. Quakers were tolerated so long as they did not threaten civil order, and the same may be said for others under his rule.
You said that Cromwell “appointed several Baptist commissioned officers in his army.” Paul Hobson comes to mind, who served as a senior officer in the Parliamentary army during the Civil Wars and into the Commonwealth period. Hobson was one of the signatories of the First London Baptist Confession – 1644 – which firmly places him among the early Particular Baptists. He later became Governor of King’s Lynn in Norfolk, a significant military and administrative post during the Commonwealth. It does make you wonder how men like this managed to serve in public and military roles while still holding on to the independence of the church?
That’s also an important point that you brought up about the early Baptist Confession, and I’m thinking in particular of the 1644 or 1646. They were not written as biblical blueprints to bind consciences or impose uniformity, but to defend Baptist churches against accusations of heresy and sedition, and to demonstrate their agreement with the core truths of the protestant faith. “I find it somewhat ironic a Presbyterian should be defending OC! He obviously has conveniently forgotten Dunbar!” I never even thought of that, but you’re absolutely right. How ironic, which sort of highlights how easily certain events are muted when a larger narrative is being defended.
Some Additional Cromwell Related Thoughts: Yeah, how ironic that these Covenanters who hoped to preserve the church through political arrangement soon found themselves ruthlessly persecuted by the very power they had supported. It sounds a bit like Old Testament Israel, who wanted a king to reign over them. Israel desired a king “like the nations” to secure them, protect them, and preserve order. What they believed would safeguard them ultimately became an instrument of oppression. — “He saw in Scottish Presbyterianism a tyranny.” I don’t think he objected to Presbyterian theology as such, but to its claim to exercise binding authority over the whole nation through the state. In that regard, he was absolutely right, no matter who happens to be running the show. The gospel needs protection from the sword as much as it needs protection from error. — “That he had to resort to military dictatorship was never the intention nor desire but cruel necessity.” I hear the appeal to “cruel necessity” often when Cromwell is defended, and in some respects, they’re right. That period was chaotic and unstable. Yet history is full of rulers who never intended to rule as they did, until necessity required it. — “Cromwell allowed local congregations to be autonomous to a large degree. The State didn’t interfere or insist on a particular denomination or uniformity.” — Cromwell certainly loosened the grip of religious uniformity, and many benefited from that. But even in that, the state still remained the final arbiter of what was tolerated. When I compare that to today, I have to ask whether we as non-conformist believers would really want our liberty resting in the hands of any ruler, however well-intentioned? Perhaps that is why Scripture keeps our eyes from rulers altogether and fixes them on a kingdom that does not rise or fall with any man. John 18:36. Along those lines, those of us who value liberty of conscience while also affirming biblical truth inevitably feel pulled in two directions. On the one hand, Scripture never authorizes the state to coerce faith, regulate belief, or advance Christ’s kingdom by force. On the other hand, it also refuses to treat blasphemy, moral chaos, or public evil as morally neutral. Scripture gives no simple formula, only clear boundaries. The state cannot make men righteous, and yet “righteousness” still matters. Where those boundaries finally begin and end is no easy matter, and history shows just how often they are either blurred or crossed altogether. So the question is not whether restraint belongs, but who restrains, by what authority, and for what ends. — “Yes it was a militarized state ruled by Major generals of his choosing but what had they before? Chaos as factions tried to replace “divine rule.” — That’s well said. Chaos often produces a desire for strong leadership, and Cromwell answered that desire in his own day. Without making direct comparisons, it does seem that history has a way of repeating these patterns. Times of disorder often invite figures who promise stability, functioning almost like a pause button in a turbulent season, even when that pause is never meant to be permanent. It does make one seriously reflect on our own moment as a nation. — “As long as your religion was not trying to dismantle and destroy the state – causing more war, rebellion and strife it was left alone.” — Yeah, Cromwell tolerated a wide range of religious expression, but only within the boundaries of civil stability. Once faith movements began to imagine themselves as instruments of political transformation, like the Fifth Monarchy Men, they were treated as threats rather than merely dissenters. Cromwell was willing to tolerate belief, but not upheaval. — “Jewry was encouraged as part of this toleration and saw the return of Jews for the first time in hundreds of years.” — That has always fascinated me as well. One can’t help but wonder what actually motivated that decision, whether it stemmed from theological conviction, eschatological hope, or simply economic considerations? Cromwell, like many Puritans of his time, believed Scripture spoke of a future restoration of the Jews. Once again, I hate to do it, but another modern day parallel. How much of our foreign policy in relation to modern day Israel rests on theological assumptions? — “As far as uniformity of theology between Independents and Presbyterians … a common aspect of Calvinism. That’s a whole interesting subject in itself. What were the theological differences?” — The differences between Presbyterians and Independents in that day were not mainly doctrinal. On core matters, Christ, grace, Scripture, and Calvinism, they largely agreed. The real disagreement was over authority. Presbyterians supported a national church governed by assemblies, while Independents believed Christ governed each local congregation directly. One thing that continues to stand out to me as well is the kind of men Cromwell chose to surround himself with. He kept close counsel with figures like John Owen and Thomas Goodwin, men who actually believed the Bible; men known for gravity, learning and seriousness about Christ. Scripture reminds us that a man is known by his companions, and Cromwell consistently chose men of substance rather than mere flatterers. “He that walketh with wise men shall be wise, but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.” Proverbs 13:20. There were other Puritan figures closely associated with the Protectorate, including Philip Nye, Joseph Caryl, William Bridge, and Stephen Marshall. I mention them simply because their writings remain widely read today, evidence of their theological substance. Cromwell’s willingness to surround himself with such men shows that he intentionally sought counsel from those who emphasized Christ’s rule over the church, apart from state compulsion. The significance of this is difficult to overstate. These were not ceremonial chaplains or political flatterers, but theologians of lasting substance. Whatever conclusions one draws about Cromwell’s use of power, the men he chose to keep close reveal a ruler who took spiritual counsel seriously. — “Today they seem clearer but in the day the declared statements of faith became more similar especially as Baptist numbers grew? 1640’s confessions vs 1689.” — As Baptist numbers increased, their confessional statements naturally became more developed and aligned with existing Reformed standards. The close resemblance between the 1689 Confession and the Westminster is a clear example of this. When you compare the 1689 with the 1646, the difference is obvious. Much of what later came to be known as confessional Protestantism, with its more detailed formulations, systematization, and broader theological categories, is simply not present in the earlier confession. The 1646 reads more as a defensive statement of faith than as a comprehensive theological system, reflecting a desire to state essentials and defend themselves rather than to mirror established reformed frameworks.