Most poets endeavour to sink the individual in the universal; it is Browning’s special distinction that when he is most universal he is most individual.  As a thinker he conceives of humanity not as an aggregate, but as a collection of units.  Most thinkers write and speak of man; Browning of men.  With man as a species, with man as a society, he does not concern himself, but with individual man and man.  Every man is for him an epitome of the universe, a centre of creation.  Life exists for each as completely and separately as if he were the only inhabitant of our planet.  In the religious sense this is the familiar Christian view; but Browning, while accepting, does not confine himself to, the religious sense.  He conceives of each man as placed on the earth with a purpose of probation.  Life is given him as a test of his quality; he is exposed to the chances and changes of existence, to the opposition and entanglement of circumstances, to evil, to doubt, to the influence of his fellow-men, and to the conflicting powers of his own soul; and he succeeds or fails, toward God, or as regards his real end and aim, according as he is true or false to his better nature, his conception of right.  He is not to be judged by the vulgar standards of worldly success or unsuccess; not even by his actions, good or bad as they may seem to us, for action can never fully translate the thought or motive which lay at its root; success or unsuccess, the prime and final fact in life, lies between his soul and God.  The poet, in Browning’s view of him, is God’s witness, and must see and speak for God.  He must therefore conceive of each individual separately and distinctively, and he must see how each soul conceives of itself.

It is here that Browning parts company most decisively with all other poets who concern themselves exclusively with life, dramatic poets, as we call them; so that it seems almost necessary to invent some new term to define precisely his special attitude.  And hence it is that in his drama thought plays comparatively so large, and action comparatively so small, a part; hence, that action is valued only in so far as it reveals thought or motive, not for its own sake, as the crown and flower of these.

      “To the motive, the endeavour, the heart’s self
      His quick sense looks:  he crowns and calls aright
      The soul o’ the purpose, ere ’tis shaped as act,
      Takes flesh i’ the world, and clothes itself a king."[1]

For his endeavour is not to set men in action for the pleasure of seeing them move; but to see and show, in their action and inaction alike, the real impulses of their being:  to see how each soul conceives of itself.

This individuality of presentment is carried out equally in the domain of life and of thought; as each man lives, so he thinks and perceives, so he apprehends God and truth, for himself only.  It is evident that this special standpoint will give not only a unity but an originality to the work of which it may be called the root; equally evident that it will demand a special method and a special instrument.