It may be thought that to give consideration now to the possibility of democratic government in a totalitarian world is an idle task. Whether there is to be a future for democracy rests in far more capable and determined hands than ours, and it may seem that there is little we can do beyond cheering on our defenders, assuring them of our confidence in their victory, and consolidating for them a whole-hearted support on the home front. In these perilous days there is a temptation for us to regard it as an impertinence to take stock of our position while the issue is still in the balance. The importance of action is so great that we tend to turn from the contemplation of ends and objectives to concentration upon the effective means of execution, to those practical arts appropriate for the mechanized warfare of an industrialized age. In a similar period of war and strife, even Milton, the great defender of the spoken word and printed page, could also renounce the “inglorious arts of peace,” proclaiming:

'Tis time to leave the books in dust And oil the unused armour's rust.

Yet, as we look back to the civil war of the eighteenth century, there are two things which should give us pause. One is that for Milton a long period of thought had settled in his mind certain firm convictions of the issue at stake and the direction which action should take. And secondly, even more important, is the serious doubt that Milton must have had later regarding the wisdom of the policy being taken by the man of action, Cromwell, whose praises he had sung. Was the establishment of the Protectorate the object which the Puritans and Parliamentarians had in mind? Evidently not. Was it not Milton himself who declared in dismay that “presbyter” is but “priest” writ large? Must he not secretly have considered that “Protector” was but “Prince” writ large, too?