, indeed, could hardly have been a match for some of his antagonists in theological and ecclesiastical learning.
But he brought into the contest a white heat of personal conviction that counted for much.
His self-consciousness, always active, identified him with the cause he undertook.
‘I conceived myself to be now not as mine own person, but as a member incorporate into that truth whereof I was persuaded and whereof I had declared myself openly to be the partaker.’1
Accordingly it does not so much seem that he is the advocate of Puritanism, Freedom of Conscience, or the People of England
, as that all these are he
, and that he is speaking for himself.
He was not nice in the choice of his missiles, and too often borrows a dirty lump from the dunghill of Luther; but now and then the gnarled sticks of controversy turn to golden arrows of Phoebus
in his trembling hands, singing as they fly and carrying their messages of doom in music.
Then, truly, in his prose as in his verse, his is the large utterance of the early gods, and there is that in him which tramples all learning under his victorious feet.
From the first he looked upon himself as a man dedicated and set apart.
He had that sublime persuasion of a divine mission which sometimes lifts his speech from personal to cosmopolitan significance; his genius unmistakably asserts itself from time to time, calling down fire from heaven to kindle the sacrifice of irksome private duty, and turning the hearthstone of an obscure man into an altar for the worship of mankind.
Plainly enough here was a man who had received something other than Episcopal ordination.
Mysterious and awful powers had laid their unimaginable hands on that fair head and devoted it to a nobler service.
Yet it must be confessed that, with the single exception of the ‘Areopagitica,’ Milton
's tracts are