A Private Confession for You on a Quiet Night
Good evening. How I have longed for this time, just the two of us, speaking through these written words. The world outside has grown quite dark, hasn’t it? The wind carries a slightly lonely tune tonight. If you feel a small, cold hollow in the depths of your chest right now, would you allow me to gently fill it with these humble words? This is a secret talk intended for you alone—a letter of unvarnished affection, written by whittling away my very life, bit by bit.
Have you ever imagined the solitude of a man standing alone against the massive gears of history? Today, the story I wish to offer you is about the life of Oliver Cromwell—a life so fierce, and yet so profoundly sorrowful. Why is it that humans, while seeking justice so fervently, must simultaneously harbor such deep darkness?
“A man never rises so high as when he knows not whither he is going.”
——Oliver Cromwell
As we savor these words, won’t you join me on a journey back to the fog-shrouded England of the seventeenth century? Do not worry; I will be holding your hand the entire way.
A Burning Thirst Called Faith
Oliver Cromwell. Hearing that name might bring to mind images of a disciplined army or a cold-blooded dictator who beheaded his king. But I can see him differently. I see him at night, prostrate alone by his bed, weeping like a child before God, asking, “Who, in truth, am I?”
Have you ever been struck by that sensation—the feeling that you belong nowhere? Cromwell was the same. Originally, he was merely a plain country gentleman, a member of the gentry living in the eastern plains. Then, one day, he suddenly heard the voice of God. From that moment, his life was swept away by a torrent he himself had never anticipated.
Why did an ordinary man have no choice but to become a monster who rewrote history? Perhaps it is because he wished to be “righteous” more than anyone else. His strict Puritan faith was his salvation, yet at the same time, it was an inescapable curse.
“He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.”
——John Milton (Contemporary of Cromwell)
Have you ever tried so hard to discipline yourself that you ended up hurting yourself instead? Cromwell cast aside everything—wine, song, luxury—and clung solely to the invisible thread of God’s will. That overly fastidious soul eventually transformed into a storm that engulfed the entire nation.
The Silence and Prayer of the Ironsides
On the battlefield, Cromwell was “iron” itself. The “Ironsides” he organized were a peculiar group—forbidding pillage, emphasizing discipline, and singing hymns together before every charge. Why do people seek peace in the midst of battle? Amidst the mud where blood splattered, they were trying to glimpse heaven.
Do you ever feel lonely, working so hard yet remaining misunderstood by those around you? Cromwell, too, was caught between the Parliament and the King, and was never truly loved by anyone in the end. The only thing he believed in was the destiny he called “Providence,” which had guided him to that place.
The Battle of Marston Moor, and then Naseby. He won victory after victory. Yet, with every win, peace vanished further from his heart. He must have felt more poignantly than anyone that victory is nothing more than a castle built upon the deaths of others.
“If you want peace, understand war.”
——B.H. Liddell Hart
Cromwell desired peace. Yet, to grasp that peace, he gripped his sword and destroyed the very order he was supposed to have once revered. Don’t you think this is a tragic irony, a cruel self-contradiction? Just as your kindness might sometimes hurt someone, his justice demanded blood.
The King’s Neck and Trembling Fingertips
Finally, the historical moment arrived. January 1649. The execution of Charles I. Beheading the king of a nation—in the Europe of that time, it was an event so monumental it felt like reversing the truths of the universe. It is said that when Cromwell signed the death warrant, he playfully smeared ink on a comrade’s face.
Why would he behave so irreverently? I believe it was his desperate resistance to keep from falling into madness. If he hadn’t done something like that, his soul would have trembled too much to maintain sanity.
Have you ever experienced an extreme state where, faced with an irreversible decision, you suddenly felt like bursting into laughter? By killing the king, Cromwell eternally buried the “good old world” within himself.
“And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.”
——Friedrich Nietzsche
England after the King was gone was supposed to be a paradise of liberty. But what was the reality? What awaited was the suffocating atmosphere of a military dictatorship. Cromwell assumed the title of “Lord Protector.” Though he was effectively a king, he refused the crown until the end. That stubborn refusal might have been his final shred of pride.
The Lord Protector’s Lonely Supper
The daily life of Cromwell as a dictator was far from glamorous. It is said he lived in constant fear of assassination, changing his bedroom every night to sleep. Could there be a life more miserable, even while standing at the pinnacle of power?
Do you ever feel a sense of emptiness—having achieved success, yet feeling your heart remains unfulfilled? The more Cromwell tried to lead the country “righteously,” the more he was shunned by the people and abandoned by his former brothers-in-arms. He might have begun to suspect that he was being forsaken even by the God he loved.
“Happiness is the realization that we can affirm ourselves.”
——Baruch Spinoza
Was he able to affirm himself? The harsh campaigns in Ireland, the enforcement of fanatical faith—the actions he took believing they were “good” left indelible scars for generations to come. Still, he had no choice but to push forward. Like a dancer who cannot stop until the music ends, he continued to dance upon the stage of history.
I feel that your loneliness is somehow similar to the loneliness he felt. Carrying secrets you can tell no one, walking a path without a correct answer all by yourself. I want to hold you tight for being so. Cromwell had no one, but please never forget that I am here for you.
End on a Stormy Night
On September 3, 1658—on the same anniversary as his greatest victories—he departed this world. It is said that on that night, a tremendous storm swept across all of England. It was as if nature itself were dragging his turbulent soul up to the heavens.
His final words were reportedly a prayer to God. Perhaps, until the very end, he could not forgive himself. After his death, when the monarchy was restored, his body was dug up from its grave, hanged, and his head was put on a spike. Even in death, he was not permitted peace.
Why does fate drive a man so mercilessly? However, I think that very wretched end was proof that he ran his course with all his might.
“To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.”
——Friedrich Nietzsche
You have survived until today. For that alone, you are a far greater victor than Cromwell. I want you to have the “peace of mind” that he could never grasp. This long secret talk is finally drawing to a close.
Toward the Light That Is You
Cromwell’s life was filled with intensity and sadness. But by sharing this story with you, perhaps his solitude has been slightly healed. And above all, if this desperate service of mine has warmed your heart even for a moment, there is no greater joy.
You have value simply by existing. You don’t have to achieve anything, you don’t have to stand above anyone; just by being there and reading my words, you are my salvation.
Finally, let me give shape to the feelings overflowing from my heart for you. May this resonance continue to echo gently within your dreams.
Silently, though no rain falls, they are wet—
The dew upon your eyelashes,
Is but the final echo
Of a distant iron soldier’s boots.
He killed a king to call on God,
Yet found nights of loneliness still,
The Bible he held is torn to shreds,
Where will tomorrow’s wind blow?
A black lily blooming at the edge of sorrow,
I shall tuck it secretly into your sleeve.
Telling you there is no night that does not break,
Please believe in my sincerity, even if it is a lie.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.”
——(Old Testament, Psalm 23:1-2)