By Thomas Paine. Published on December 23, 1776 (later published as
The American Crisis). Posted here as excerpts, not in entirety.
THESE are the times that try men's souls. The
summer soldier and the
sunshine patriot will, in this
crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.
Tyranny, like hell, is not easily
conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the
harder the
conflict, the more
glorious the
triumph. What we obtain too
cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value.
Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so
celestial an article as
FREEDOM should not be highly rated....
I once felt all that kind of
anger, which a man ought to feel, against the mean principles that are held by the Tories: a noted one, who kept a tavern at Amboy, was standing at his door, with as pretty a child in his hand, about eight or nine years old, as I ever saw, and after speaking his mind as freely as he thought was
prudent, finished with this
unfatherly expression, "Well! give me
peace in my day." Not a man lives on the continent but fully believes that a separation must some time or other finally take place, and a generous parent should have said, "If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace;" and this single
reflection, well applied, is sufficient to awaken every man to
duty. Not a place upon earth might be so happy as America. Her situation is remote from all the
wrangling world, and she has nothing to do but to trade with them. A man can distinguish himself between temper and principle, and I am as confident, as I am that God governs the world, that America will never be happy till she gets clear of foreign
dominion. Wars, without ceasing, will break out till that period arrives, and the continent must in the end be
conqueror; for though the
flame of liberty may sometimes cease to
shine, the
coal can never
expire.
America did not, nor does not want force; but she wanted a proper application of that force....
I turn with the warm
ardor of a friend to those who have
nobly stood, and are yet determined to stand the matter out: I call not upon a few, but upon all: not on this state or that state, but on every state: up and help us; lay your shoulders to the
wheel; better have too much force than too little, when so great an object is at stake. Let it be told to the future world, that in the
depth of winter, when nothing but hope and
virtue could survive, that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet and to
repulse it. Say not that thousands are gone, turn out your tens of thousands; throw not the burden of the day upon Providence, but "show your faith by your works," that God may bless you. It matters not where you live, or what rank of life you hold, the
evil or the
blessing will reach you all. The far and the near, the home counties and the back, the rich and the poor, will suffer or rejoice alike. The heart that feels not now is dead; the blood of his children will curse his
cowardice, who
shrinks back at a time when a little might have saved the whole, and made them happy. I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress, and grow
brave by reflection. 'Tis the business of little minds to shrink; but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death. My own line of reasoning is to myself as straight and clear as a ray of light. Not all the treasures of the world, so far as I believe, could have induced me to support an offensive war, for I think it murder; but if a thief breaks into my house, burns and destroys my property, and kills or threatens to kill me, or those that are in it, and to "bind me in all cases whatsoever" to his absolute will, am I to suffer it? What signifies it to me, whether he who does it is a king or a common man; my countryman or not my countryman; whether it be done by an individual
villain, or an army of them? If we reason to the root of things we shall find no difference; neither can any just cause be assigned why we should punish in the one case and pardon in the other. Let them call me
rebel and welcome, I feel no concern from it; but I should suffer the misery of devils, were I to make a
whore of my soul by swearing
allegiance to one whose character is that of a
sottish, stupid, stubborn, worthless,
brutish man. I conceive likewise a
horrid idea in receiving mercy from a being, who at the last day shall be
shrieking to the rocks and mountains to cover him, and
fleeing with
terror from the
orphan, the
widow, and the
slain of America....
I thank God, that I fear not. I see no real cause for fear. I know our situation well, and can see the way out of it.... This is our situation, and who will may know it. By perseverance and fortitude we have the prospect of a glorious issue; by cowardice and submission, the sad choice of a variety of evils — a
ravaged country — a depopulated city — habitations without safety, and slavery without hope — our homes turned into barracks and
bawdy-houses for Hessians, and a future race to provide for, whose fathers we shall doubt of. Look on this picture and weep over it! and if there yet remains one thoughtless
wretch who believes it not, let him suffer it
unlamented.
Yes, I asked John about it on the bugs page. Glad it isn't just me!
Not to break the mood here, but is anyone else seeing this page as oddly formatted?
I tried to edit my comment to add this one, but I got an error, so I'll post another:
To me, Paine is the embodiment of the saying "the pen is mightier than the sword."
And if it has that power 200-some years later... The thing is, at the time he wrote/published this piece, it was really looking like the rebellion would end very soon. The Continental Army was on its last legs--this was just before Washington's great gamble in attacking the Hessians at Trenton, itself a very bold, unexpected move from a commander who'd spent eight or nine months being repeatedly defeated and chased across the country with an ever-shrinking group of men that hardly qualified as an army. The mighty Declaration of Independence that we revere and quote and that has resonated around the world would have been a footnote in a British history book.
And here's this guy--this middle-aged, English-born guy, who's (to use a modern phrase) "embedded" with this loser army traipsing across New Jersey... and at the darkest possible moment, he comes out with this text. And this text, in the opinion of several very good historians, combined with Washington's daring victories at Trenton and then Princeton, quite literally turned the tide of the American war effort. Enlistments went up. Locals in New Jersey (then called the Jersies, East and West) and Pennsylvania formed guerrilla bands that harassed the British and Hessians everywhere they went and kept them from finding any fodder for their horses--any at all--and started pushing them back toward New York.
This unbelievable writing, so stridently, purposefully forceful in revealing a shining future... It blows my mind.
Of course, this wasn't the only hat trick Paine had--he'd already convinced everyone about independence with Common Sense earlier in the year--an arguably much more difficult task.
Yes. Yes, and yes. Thank you for posting this. I chilled.
The first paragraph never fails to give me chills, no matter how many times I read it.
I had the thankless task last year of trying to get a roomful of rowdy/bored/apathetic/confused/brilliant/asleep eleventh graders interested in this piece.
Don't know if I succeeded at all, but it sure did get me interested again.
It's so freakin creepy/awesome how themes from all times in history remain so essential to the present.
This is great. Thanks for posting it here. One forgets how powerful it is.
I love this sentence in particular: "The heart that feels not now is dead; the blood of his children will curse his cowardice, who shrinks back at a time when a little might have saved the whole, and made them happy."
I also love that the term at this time for the "states unborn" and "accents yet unknown" in Shakespeare's parlance was "posterity." As in, "What will our posterity think of us?" or "Our posterity will rue the day."