INTRODUCTION.
The knell of the Puritan Commonwealth was rung when Oliver Cromwell died. The causes of its dissolution may easily be discovered. Some of them had been in operation for a long time, and had prepared for the change which now took place.[1]
Puritanism never won a majority of the English people. By some of the greatest in the nation it was espoused, and their name, example, and influence, gave it for a time a position which defied assault; but the multitude stood ranged on the opposite side. Forced to succumb, and stricken with silence, the disaffected nevertheless abated not a jot of their bitter antipathy to the party in power. Even amongst those who wore the livery of the day, who used the forms, who adopted the usages of their masters, many lacked the slightest sympathy with the system which, from self-interest or timidity, they had been induced to accept. The Puritans were not the hypocrites; the hypocrites really were people of another religion, or of no religion, who pretended to be Puritans. Besides these, there were numbers who whispered murmurs, or bit their lips in dumb impatience, as they watched for signs of change in the political firmament.
A mischievous policy had been pursued by the Puritans towards the old Church of England. Laud's execution yielded a harvest of revenge. The extirpation of Episcopacy, and the suppression of the Prayer Book, kindled an exasperation which kept alive a resentful intolerance down to the period of the Revolution. I am aware of the excuses made for Puritan despotism, and am ready to allow some palliation for wrong done under provoking circumstances, but I must continue to express indignation at the injustice committed; all the more, because of my religious sympathy with the men who thus tarnished their fame. It must, however, be confessed that had Presbyterians and Independents been ever so merciful in the hour of their might, there is no reason to suppose, from what is known of their opponents, that they would have shewn any mercy in return.
In enumerating the causes of the failure of Puritanism as a political institution notice should be taken of the prohibition of ancient customs. How far the prohibition extended has been pointed out in former volumes, and I must repeat, that whilst endeavours to suppress national vice were most praiseworthy, some of the Parliamentary prohibitions at the time were, to a considerable extent, unjust and unnatural. Those who chose to celebrate Christmas, Easter, Whitsuntide, and other seasons, had a perfect right so to do; and some, though not all, of the amusements remorselessly put down, were in themselves innocent; pleasant, and even venerable in their associations; and in their tendencies productive of kindly fellowship between class and class.
Puritan rule in England came as the child of revolution—a revolution mainly accomplished by civil war. The first battle, indeed, and that which led to all the others, was fought on the floor of the House of Commons. The patriots being returned as the representatives of the most active and influential citizens, many of whom were Puritans, possessed an immense amount of political power, and, as statesmen, they turned the scale in favour of revolution; but the revolution had to make good its ground by force, and the patriots, as soldiers, had to crush resistance in the field. This was a necessity. The attitude of the King, the chivalrous spirit of the nobles who rallied round him, under the circumstances in which Parliament had placed itself, rendered an appeal to arms inevitable. The wager of battle having been accepted, the quarrel having been fought out bravely, the relative position afterwards of the victors and the vanquished could not but embitter the feelings existing on both sides. The vanquished submitted without grace to their conquerors. They hated the new political constitution. When they seemed quiet they were only biding their time, only preparing for some fresh outbreak. Memories of privation, of imprisonment, of cruel usage, of houses burnt, of fathers, sons, and brothers slain, and especially the mortification of defeat, constantly irritated the Cavalier and goaded him to revenge. The blister was kept open year after year. The wound never healed. Alienation, or resentment, on the part of the Royalist provoked new oppression on the part of the Commonwealths-man. Fresh oppression from the hands of the one produced fresh resentment in the breast of the other.
A civil war may be needful for the deliverance of a country; but the recollections of it for a long while must be a misfortune, since those recollections exhibit the new state of things to the party on the opposite side as a result of force, not as a result of reason; and the remembrance of imposition ever involves a sense of wrong. Under this misfortune the triumphant Puritans laboured throughout the Protectorate.
After the Restoration the misfortune, in some respects, became heavier than before. The previous eighteen years had been to the Royalists years in which violence destroyed the Monarchy and the Church. They were the years of the Great Rebellion—so the political Revolution came to be named—and in that name, specious and plausible, although untruthful and unjust, lay much of the capital with which political leaders after the Restoration carried on their trade of oppression and wrong. The Puritans, they said, were rebels, for they had fought against the Crown: what they had done once they would do again. A valid defence was at hand, for the Puritans could show that there was nothing really inconsistent between their peaceful submission to the restored monarch, and the course which they had pursued under the Long Parliament; yet, although they could make out a case satisfactory to impartial men, over against their logic, however forcible, there stood some awkward facts of 1642 and the following years, upon which High Churchmen in the reign of Charles II. were never weary of ringing changes.
The Long Parliament had rested upon the Army; so had the constitution of the Protectorate. His Highness's rule had been fortified by his major-generals and his troops. For its good and for its evil it depended upon soldiers. A military despotism had become necessary from the confusion of the times; it alone could bring quiet to the country after political earthquakes. The regal sway had fallen into the hands of a great general, a great statesman, and a great patriot, who, because he combined these three characters, was able to work out benevolent designs for his country. So long as he held the baton, so long as he drew the sword, he could maintain his standing, but not a moment longer. He had immense difficulties to overcome. Episcopalians were almost all against him; very many Presbyterians stood aloof or offered opposition; Spiritual Republicans, Fifth Monarchy men were his torment; even Congregationalists, with whom he felt spiritual sympathy, wished for a more democratic government than he would allow; the Quakers neither loved nor feared him. Besides, he had political colleagues who, as statesmen, appeared in opposition. Also, old generals were looking after an occasion for making resistance. Vane and Haselrig, Harrison and Ludlow, disapproved of the policy of their former friend. They disliked the new Constitution; they were for placing the keys in the hands of Parliament, not in the hands of a single person. They regarded the Protector as the Greeks had regarded a tyrant. Monarchy they detested, Democracy they would enthrone; yet they saw amongst them a sovereign, mightier than any Stuart, only called by another name. And it became a germ of weakness in the new Constitution, that it had to be defended by arguments similar to those which availed for the support of the ancient monarchy. It could be said—and truly said—that English traditions, usages, genius, spirit, and social necessities, demanded a supreme head—the rule "of a single person." But the rule of a single person was the very thing so hateful to the Republicans, although connected with the modifying checks of a Parliament. Many saw that the reasons employed in favour of Oliver Cromwell's Protectorate might be employed more consistently in favour of the restoration of Charles Stuart. This circumstance was felt by numbers who did not confess it.
Moreover, respecting domestic and foreign policy Cromwell had to meet strong opposition. Finances, and law reform, were matters of contention. The Dutch war, the French alliance, and the relations with Spain, also presented points in which he and other distinguished Commonwealths-men differed. As the political reign of Puritanism depended upon Cromwell these circumstances could not fail to undermine its strength. His statesmanship showed consummate ability; his knowledge of mankind and of individuals amounted to a species of divination; his control over those about him was irresistible; his sagacity, vigilance, promptitude, decision, and patience were unrivalled; his name was a tower of strength at home and abroad; his foreign policy was successful, and therefore, as long as he lived, the system which he had inaugurated and administered was sure to last. It did—but at his death came collapse. There remained no master-mind to rule the State, and to control the Army. The State soon showed a disposition to go one way, the Army another. Confusions ensued; and the latter fell under the command of a soldier who betrayed his trust, and employed his influence to pull down the entire fabric of Puritan power.