Thomas Paine
Page Smith
[Chapter 10, "Common Sense" from Volume
One, A New Age Now Begins, A People's History of the American
Revolution, published by McGraw-Hill, 1976, pp. 675-684]
Through all the vicissitudes of colonial resistance to the enactments
of Parliament, Americans had clung, in a stubborn and touching spirit,
to the conviction that the king himself was a wise and benevolent
figure who would eventually prevail upon his wicked ministers to cease
their persecution of the colonists. Bit by bit this image of the king
was eroded by events. The illusion became increasingly difficult to
preserve. In November, Jefferson wrote to his friend John Randolph, "It
is an immense misfortune to the whole Empire, to have a King of such a
disposition at such a time. We are told, and everything proves it
true, that he is the bitterest enemy we have.... To undo his Empire,
he has but one more truth to learn: that, after Colonies have drawn
the sword, there is but one more step they can take. That step is now
pressed upon us, by the measures adopted, as if they were afraid we
would not take it."
Jefferson assured Randolph there was not "in the British Empire
a man who more cordially loves a union with Great Britain than I do."
But he would rather die than accept "a connection on such terms
as the British propose, and in this I think I speak the sentiments of
America. We want neither inducement nor power, to declare and assert a
separation. It is will alone which is wanting, and that is growing
apace under the fostering hand of our king..."
The time was ripe for a squint-eyed English stay-maker with a large,
pockmarked nose to occupy the center of the stage -- Thomas Paine.
Paine's radical views had recently brought him to America and to
Philadelphia with a letter of introduction from Benjamin Franklin.
Paine found a congenial hangout at Aitken's bookstore, where patriot
literature was sold and where the works of authors like the Scots
political thinkers James Burgh and Adam Ferguson could be found, along
with other writers favorable to the cause of liberty. It was here that
Paine met Dr. Benjamin Rush, who, like many other young professional
men-doctors, lawyers, and college professors-was a staunch radical.
They found themselves instantly congenial. Rush, who was
Philadelphia's most progressive physician, was struck by the boldness
and eloquence of the Englishman. "His conversation," he
wrote later, "became at once interesting. I asked him to visit
me, which he did a few days afterwards. Our subjects of conversation
were political." In Paine, Rush found a strong advocate of
American independence, who considered "the measure as necessary
as bringing the war to a speedy and successful issue.
Rush had been preparing an essay on the necessity of independence,
but he was not sure the time was yet ripe for such a revolutionary
statement It might cause a reaction in favor of Crown and Parliament,
and beyond that seriously impair the practice of a young doctor who
numbered among his patients many of the more conservative burghers of
the city. Rush mentioned the project; perhaps Paine would be the man
to undertake it. He had no roots in America, as Rush did. If things
got too hot for Paine in conservative Philadelphia, he could easily
depart for the more congenial soil of New England. As Rush put it, "My
profession and connections ... tied me to Philadelphia where a great
majority of the citizens and some of my friends were hostile to a
separation of our country from Great Britain." He had his wife
and children to think of' as well as himself.
Paine was delighted with the proposal and set to work at once. As
each chapter was finished he brought it by to read to Rush, who was
charmed by the force and vigor of the language and the boldness of the
sentiments. One sentence in particular, which did not survive in the
final version, stuck in his mind: "Nothing can be conceived of
more absurd than three millions of people flocking to the American
shore every time a vessel arrives from England, to know what portion
of liberty they shall enjoy."
That Rush should have encouraged Paine to write the pamphlet that
Paine entitled Common Sense was one of the happiest accidents
in American history. Paine was a largely self-educated, working-class
Englishman, a Quaker by birth and a freethinker by instinct, who had
had an impoverished and unhappy childhood and been apprenticed as a
corset-maker at the age of thirteen. He had served on a British
warship at the end of the Seven Years' War and had been, successively,
a stay-maker, tax collector, schoolteacher, tobacconist, and grocer.
He had failed in each vocation or had abandoned it, as he abandoned
his wife, but all the time he had read history and political theory
with the avidity of a starving man. Things had seemed desperately
wrong to him in England, and he had searched the books to try to find
out why, and what might be' done to change things for the better. He
could not believe that God had intended that the rich should grind
down the poor; or, as Sir Algernon Sidney had put it, that some were
born with saddles on their backs and others were born booted and
spurred to ride them.
Paine's angry eloquence had impressed his fellows in the
tax-collector's office, and they had chosen him as their agent in an
effort to get higher salaries from Parliament. All Paine had gotten
for his trouble was dismissal from his position as tax collector and
bankruptcy. But he had attracted the attention of Benjamin Franklin,
who had abetted his plan to start his life anew in America by
providing letters of introduction that commended him as an "ingenious
worthy young man." So, at the age of thirty-seven, Paine had set
out for the province of Pennsylvania to try his fortune in the New
World.
Common Sense was written for the common man. It came out of
Thomas Paine's own guts -- out of the bitter years of poverty, the
soured dreams, and the dreams that persisted in spite of
disappointment and failure. It flowed from Paine's' anger and
frustration with a complacent and self-congratulatory society that
turned its back on misery and injustice, while complaining of the
insolence and radicalism of the lower classes. It is passion that
gives power to language, and Paine's passion flowed into the sentences
he wrote. Government and society were often confused, he told his
readers. Actually they were quite different things. "Society is
promoted by our wants and government by our wickedness; the former
promotes our happiness positively by uniting our affections,
the latter negatively by restraining our vices. ... The first
is a patron, the last a punisher." That was the way, in any
event, in which Thomas Paine had experienced government, as the
punisher, as that aspect of society that preserved for the few their
privileges against the needs of the many.
"Society in every state is a blessing, but government, even in
its best state, is but a necessary evil; in its worst state an
intolerable one. Government, like dress, is the badge of lost
innocence; the palaces of kings are built upon the ruins of the powers
of paradise." If men were willing simply to obey the promptings
of their consciences there would be no need for government. But that
was not the case. Paine accepted the Lockean argument that man, in
order to have greater security for his property, surrenders part of it
along with part of his freedom. "Wherefore, Security
being the true design and end of government, it unanswerably follows
that whatever form thereof appears most likely to ensure it to us,
with the least expense and greatest benefit, is preferable to all
others..."
But there was another distinction, Paine wrote, "for which no
truly natural or religious reason can be assigned, and that is the
distinction of men into kings and subjects. Male and
female are the distinctions of nature, good and bad the distinctions
of heaven; but how a race of men came into the world so exalted above
the rest, and distinguished like some new species, is worth inquiring
into, and whether they are the means of happiness or of misery to
mankind." In early times "there were no kings; in
consequences of which there were no wars; it is the pride of kings
which throws mankind into confusion."
Moreover, the "evil of monarchy" brought with it hereditary
succession, "and as the first is a degradation and lessening of
ourselves, so the second ... is an insult and imposition on posterity.
For all men being originally equals, no one by birth
could have a right to set up his own family in perpetual preference to
all others forever. . . . One of the strongest natural proofs of the
folly of hereditary right in kings, is that nature disapproves it,
otherwise she would not so frequently turn it into ridicule by giving
mankind an ass for a lion."
The fact was that England was closer to a republic than to a
monarchy, for what it most prided itself on-its constitution and its
elected Parliament-were the very things least compatible with kingship
in its classic form. Indeed, it could be said that "in England a
king hath little more to do than to make more and give away places,
which in plain terms is to impoverish the nation and set it altogether
by the ears. A pretty business indeed for a man to be allowed eight
hundred thousand sterling a year for, and worshipped into the bargain!
Of more worth is one honest man to society, and in the sight of God,
than all the crowned ruffians that ever lived. . .
The opening of Common Sense, with its attack on the
institution of kingship, was certainly one of the most radical
statements Americans had ever heard. In Freudian terms, it was the
supreme act of patricide, the ultimate destruction of the notion of
the father-king. These Opening passages were full of Utopian
enthusiasm, of brilliant rhetoric-as well of as bad politics and
social theory. It is untrue, for example, that only kings cause wars.
But these passages in Common Sense touched the deepest chords
in many of those who read it, whatever their nationality, because it
reawakened one of the most beguiling dreams of the race, the dream of
primal innocence. Was not government, like dress, simply the mark of
lost innocence?
There was much of Paine's Quaker hostility to authority, and of his
belief in the voice of conscience, in the opening pages of his tract.
There was also much of the new spirit of romanticism, whose most
eloquent expositor had been the French philosopher Jean Jacques
Rousseau. And there was much old English radicalism that went back to
the Civil War of the seventeenth century. There were elements of Locke
and of the Glorious Revolution of 1688. Above all, there was Paine's
own anguish and suffering. What Paine said so compellingly-what
overrode the demagogic tone, the flawed logic, the shaky politics-was
that nothing in nature or in Scripture indicated that some people were
destined to be kings and others subjects, or that some
people were, by birth, superior to their fellows, intended by God
himself to enjoy greater privileges, indeed all the
privileges, while others, "subjects," were to endure lives
of perpetual deprivation.
To have begun with this dramatic attack on the institution of
kingship was a stroke of genius. On the surface, it might have seemed
to have little to do with the conflict over the authority of
Parliament. And yet it had everything to do with it, because the king
was the agency in which the colonists had placed all their hopes. It
was the king who symbolized the power, the majesty, the inviolability
of Great Britain and its empire. The Crown was the umbilical cord that
still bound the colonies to the mother country. The king must,
therefore, be destroyed, with all his majesty stripped from him in a
few deadly phrases, the vanity of his pretensions laid bare with a
surgeon's scalpel. And once the king had been ritually killed, the
colonies might at last become independent and fatherless. The first
part of Common Sense proclaimed an end to subordination and
dependence based on birth or rank and, of course, an end to dependence
of Americans on Great Britain, Parliament, ministers, or king, without
distinction.
Having cleared the ground, Paine went on to speak in more
conventional terms (but in no less striking language) of the nature of
the conflict. "The sun," he wrote, "never shined on a
cause of greater worth. 'Tis not the affair of a city, a country, a
province, or a kingdom, but of a continent -- of at least one-eighth
part of the habitable globe. 'Tis not the concern of a day, a year, or
an age; posterity are virtually involved in the contest, and will be
more or less affected even to the end of time by the proceedings now.
Now is the seed time of continental union, faith, and honor. . . . By
referring the matter from argument to arms, a new era for politics is
struck-a new method of thinking has arisen. All plans, proposals, etc.
prior to the nineteenth of April, i.e., to the commencement of
hostilities, are like the almanacks of the last year; which though
proper then, are superseded and useless now.
Paine then reviewed and rebutted those arguments designed to prove
that America reaped substantial commercial and economic benefits as
part of the British Empire. This was hard going, and perhaps the least
convincing portion of the pamphlet, but Paine was bound at least to
attempt it. As part of Great Britain, America had been -- and could
expect in the future to be -- drawn into all the military ventures of
the mother country. Europe, ruled by kings and sunk deep in iniquity,
was in a constant turmoil that was fed by pride and ambition. An
America dependent on Great Britain must be embroiled in bloody and
expensive conflicts that would curtail its trade and leach its
resources. "Everything that is right or reasonable pleads for
separation. The blood of the slain, the weeping voice of nature cries,
'Tis time to part.' Even the distance at which the Almighty hath
placed England and America is a strong and natural proof that the
authority of the one over the other was never the design of heaven.
...It is repugnant to reason, to the universal order of things, to all
examples from former ages, to suppose that this continent can long
remain subject to any external power. ...The utmost stretch of human
wisdom cannot, at this time, compass a plan, short of separation,
which can promise the continent even a year's security. Reconciliation
is now a fallacious dress. Nature has deserted the connection,
and art cannot supply her place."
The fact was that the colonies had grown too large and their affairs
too complicated to make it practical any longer to preserve the
connection with Great Britain. "To be always running three or
four thousand miles with a tale or a petition," Paine wrote, "waiting
four or five months for an answer, which, when obtained, requires five
or six more to explain it in, will in a few years be looked upon as
folly and childishness. There was a time when it was proper, and there
is a proper time for it to cease."
The tract closed with a final blast at the idea that things might
still be patched up. "Ye that tell us of harmony and
reconciliation, can ye restore to us the time that is past? Can ye
give to prostitution its former innocence? Neither can ye reconcile
Britain and America. The last cord is broken. ... There are injuries
which nature cannot forgive. ... As well the lover forgive the
ravisher of his mistress, as the continent forgive the murderers of
Britain."
"0 ye that love mankind!" Paine continued. "Ye that
dare oppose not only the tyranny but the tyrant, stand forth! Every
spot of the old world is overrun with oppression. Freedom hath been
hunted round the globe. Asia and Africa have long expelled her. Europe
regards her like a stranger, and England hath given her warning to
depart. 0 receive the fugitive, and prepare in time an asylum for
mankind!"
Thomas Paine was not a wise or learned man. His enemies said that he
was often dirty, that he drank too much, and that he was not
scrupulous about financial matters. He was no match as a political
theorist for an Edmund Burke or, in America, for John Adams and a
dozen others. But all the passion of a flawed and damaged life cried
from the lower depths with a power beyond learning, beyond discreet
and logical analysis and argument, and that passion touched hundreds
of thousands of hearts. A newly articulated vision gains much of its
power from the fact that it is in time. It is a response, not
to abstract formulations, but to the particular agonies and confusions
of the historical moment. It is like the voice of a medium through
whom pour all the resentments and all the aspirations of the
voiceless. No scholar, no graduate of Harvard, or Yale, or the College
of New Jersey at Princeton, however radical his politics, could have
written Common Sense. Their class, their backgrounds, their
education had made them too conventional in their language, too
academic, too logical, to speak with such power or touch such common
chords.
To say that it was the most successful political pamphlet in history
is to do it insufficient credit. Common Sense belongs in a
category all its own. Published in Philadelphia on January 9, 1776, it
was republished everywhere; all through the colonies from Charles
Town, South Carolina, to Salem, Massachusetts. It crossed the ocean
and was translated into German, French, and Dutch. It was even
published in London, with most of the treasonable strictures against
the Crown omitted. Paine himself estimated that within three months it
had sold more that 120,000 copies; and copies were passed from hand to
hand until they became stained and ragged. A conservative estimate
would be that a million Americans read it, or almost half the
population of the colonies. Moses Coit Tyler, the great literary
historian, wrote, "It brushes away the tangles and cobwebs of
technical debate, and flashes common sense upon the situation."
One could agree with the first part of Tyler's assessment, while
rejecting the second. Paine's essay had little to do with the
practical, the factual, the common sensical, as that term is generally
used; it spoke first to common feeling, common emotions,
common dreams, and only secondarily to "common sense."
"I beg leave to let you know that I have read Common Sense,
" Joseph Hawley, one of the senior radicals from Massachusetts,
wrote to Elbridge Gerry, "and that every Sentiment has sunk into
my well-prepared heart." Washington himself noted that "Common
Sense is working a powerful change in the minds of men." He
stopped toasting the king at official meals. While John Adams deplored
Paine's superficial and naive political theorizing, he recognized the
power of the tract and welcomed its effect in solidifying sentiment
for independence. When it appeared in Philadelphia, he immediately
sent a copy to his wife, Abigail, and to a number of friends and
relatives. Deacon Palmer, thanking him, wrote, "I believe no
pages was ever more rapturously read, nor more generally approved.
People speak of it in rapturous praise." To Joseph Ward it was "a
glorious performance," and Abigail Adams, charmed at the writer's
sentiments, wondered how "an honest heart, one who wishes the
welfare of his country and the happiness of posterity, can hesitate
one moment at adopting them." William Tudor, Abigail's cousin,
observed that the "doctrine it holds up is calculated for the
climate of N. England, and though some timid piddling souls
shrink at the idea," a hundred times more "wish for a
declaration of independence from the Crown."
Paine was not known in the colonies, and, in fact, his name was not
put on the pamphlet's title page. For months rumors circulated about
the authorship. The unsigned pamphlet was attributed by some to John
Adams, but Adams was well aware that he could not have equaled the
strength and brevity of the author's style, "nor his elegant
simplicity, nor his piercing pathos." "Poor and despicable"
as was some of the thinking on political matters beyond the author's
competence, it was, on the whole, "a very meritorious production."
The author, if but "very ignorant of the science of government,"
was "a keen writer." Common Sense was credited not
only to John Adams, but also to half a dozen other likely candidates,
including John's cousin, Sam. Franklin was mentioned as the author,
and so was Richard Henry Lee.
Not all readers, of course, were as enthusiastic as Joseph Ward and
William Tudor. The Tories were indignant or furious, according to
their natures, and many moderate patriots, especially those who
interested themselves in political theory, thought it a mischievous
work that would encourage false notions of government, as indeed it
did. Colonel Landon Carter, a member of the Virginia aristocracy and a
strong patriot, was one. In his view Common Sense "is
quite scandalous and disgraces the American cause much. . . ."
When a friend praised it, Carter replied testily that "it was as
rascally and nonsensical as possible," Carter recognized the true
radicalism of Paine's pamphlet. It was "a sophisticated attempt
to throw all men out of principles," a leveling, egalitarian
document, fitter for the radicals of New England than the sober
republican principles of Virginia. The author, in Carter's view, "advances
new and dangerous doctrines to the peace and happiness of every
society."
Common Sense was especially welcome in New England, where,
indeed, it provoked a flood of letters, petitions, and addresses to
Congress urging the delegates to declare independence. "This is
the time for declaring independence," one such
correspondent wrote, "we never have had such a favorable moment
before, and 'tis not likely We shall have such another if we neglect
this." The ordinary people of Massachusetts, James Warren wrote
John Adams, "can't account for the hesitancy they observe in
Congress. They wonder why "the dictates of common sense have not
had the same influence upon the enlarged minds of their superiors that
they feel on their own." The answer in part, of course, was that
the radicalism of Common Sense, which seemed to hint at the
abolition of all government, made the more conservative delegates
unwilling to cast off the last mooring that bound them all to
certainty and security. Warren, on the other hand, believed that "people
are as they should be, the harvest is mature. I can't describe the
sighing after independence," he added. "It is universal.
Nothing remains of that prudence, moderation or timidity with which we
have so long been plagued and embarrassed."
The authorship of Common Sense was uniformly attributed by
the British to Samuel Adams. Ambrose Sane, a British officer stationed
in New York, found it "a most flagitious Performance, replete
with Sophistry, Impudence & Falsehood; but unhappily calculated to
work upon the Fury of the Times, and induce the full avowal of the
Spirit of Independence in the warm and inconsiderate. His attempt to
justify Rebellion by the Bible is infamous beyond Expression. That
Religion, which Renders Men bad Subjects and bad Citizens, can never
be of GOD, who instituted Civil Government that all things might be
done decently, and in order. He is not the author of Confusion, but of
Peace."
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