William Thurston Brown: "Thomas Paine belongs to the ages--not because
he was Thomas Paine, but because the light which illumined his mind
and the principles which motived his life are the noblest and richest
blossoms the tree of human life can bear. Toward the heights he climbed
leads every upward road that the fearless feet of seekers after truth in
this or any age have trod."
"The purpose of his life, unequaled in purity, beneficence and grandeur
of hope, 'lives and ever will live in the republics he invented,
inspired and organized, and in the Religion of Humanity upon which they
rest."--_T. B. Wakeman_.
"These words [Religion of Humanity] have blessed every religion.
These three magic words, first uttered by Paine, will work on and on
forever."--Ibid.
Harry Weir Boland:
"His heart the world embracing
He served our sorest need,
His mind his church displacing,
Humanity his creed.
Humanity his creed,
Truth follows in his train,
And of all those names the fairest
Is that of Thomas Paine."
Mrs. Mattie Parry Krekel: "Let us all, then, lay the trifle of a word, a
thought, a tear on the altar of the memory of him who will be one of the
pillars of that coming church where all men's hands shall be clasped in
the beautiful light of the sun of truth; the church which shall give us
one Father--Nature, and one brotherhood--the whole wide world."
"I for one here cheerfully, reverently, throw my pebble on the cairn of
his memory."--_Walt Whitman._
Napoleon Bonaparte: "A statue of gold ought to be erected to you in
every city in the universe."
Andrew Jackson: "Thomas Paine needs no monument made by hands; he has
erected himself a monument in the hearts of all lovers of liberty."
J. P. Bland, B.D.: "Thomas Paine needs no marble to perpetuate his name,
needs no granite to preserve his fame; for scattered through the whole
wide world he has to-day a million living monuments, the harbingers of
millions yet to come, and who, till time shall be no more, will bow the
head in reverence and lift the heart in praise of him who so gloriously
stood for reason and for right."
Dr. John E. Roberts: "So long as human rights are sacred and their
defenders held in grateful remembrance; so long as liberty has a flag
flung to the skies, a sanctuary in the hearts of men; so long, upon the
eternal granite of history, luminous as light and imperishable as the
stars, will be engraven the name of Thomas Paine."
Colonel Robert G. Ingersoll: "If to love your fellow-men more than self
is goodness, Thomas Paine was good.
"If to be in advance of your time, to be a pioneer in the direction of
right is greatness, Thomas Paine was great.
"If to avow your principles and discharge your duty in the presence of
death is heroic, Thomas Paine was a hero."
"He died in the land his genius defended, under the flag he gave to the
skies. Slander cannot touch him now; hatred cannot reach him more."
George E. Macdonald:
"O Champion, bravest in all the past!
O Freedom, fairest of all the dames.
Long may the pledge of your fealty last,
Forever united be your names.
And long as the flowers from the sod shall spring,
Touched by a May day's warmth and light,
A blossom and tear shall the lady bring
To drop on the grave of her faithful knight."
Paine was the prophet of his age. From the dim twilight of the
eighteenth century his prophetic eye pierced through the intervening
years to and beyond the gray dawn of the twentieth. And when he viewed
man's progress and beheld his glorious destiny, this matchless seer
"rang out the old, rang in the new," rang out the rule and tyranny of
king, rang out the dogmas and the ghosts of priest; rang in the reign of
liberty and justice, rang in the faith of Reason and Humanity.
Yes, in the cause of man the battle of his life was fought, a fierce
and stormy conflict. And as the night of death closed over the eventful
struggle, from her accursed abode the gaunt figure of Bigotry stalked
forth, and with demoniac peals of laughter danced around his prostrate
form, rejoicing that her deadliest foe was gone. Her imps still live.
How often do we see one of them in the pulpit take up this good man's
name, and after covering it with all the slime that the venomous spirit
of calumny has distilled, hold it up before his congregation, and with
a counterfeited look of holy horror, affecting all the meekness of an
expiring calf, rolling up the whites of his snaky eyes to cover the
blackness of his brutal soul, exclaim, "This is Tom Paine!"
Vile creatures! let them do their worst. Let them summon to their aid
all their hideous allies. Let Ignorance array her countless hosts; let
the dark shades of Prejudice becloud the sky; let Hatred rave and curse;
let the darts of Calumny pierce the white breast of Truth, and Slander
clothe the tongues of all their minions. They strive in vain. The Crisis
is past, the Age of Reason has dawned. Common Sense is fast supplanting
Superstition, the Rights of Man are bound to triumph, and the
author-hero's name will gather lustre as the years roll by.
"That man is thought a knave or fool,
Or bigot plotting crime,
Who for the advancement of his kind,
Is wiser than his time.
For him the hemlock shall distil,
For him the axe be bared;
For him the gibbet shall be built,
For him the stake prepared.
Him shall the scorn and wrath of men
Pursue with deadly aim;
And malice, envy, spite, and lies
Shall desecrate his name.
But never a truth has been destroyed,
They may curse it, and call it crime;
Pervert and betray, and slander and slay
Its teachers for a time:
But the sunshine, aye, shall light the sky,
As round and round we run;
And the truth shall ever come uppermost,
And justice shall be done."
Ungrateful Athens bade her savior drain the poisoned cup. It did its
work, the spark of life was quenched; but the name of Socrates shines
on, undimmed by the flight of more than twenty centuries. Columbus
languished in chains, forged by the nation he had made renowned; but
no chains can bind the towering fame his genius won. Religious zealots
sealed the lips of a philosopher; but could they stop the revolving
earth? Could they control the rising tide that rolled upon the boundless
sea of thought? No! the earth went round, the wave rolled on. To-day,
the very church that persecuted Galileo reveres his name, accepts
his teachings, and through his telescope, the instrument she once,
condemned, her votaries, with eager eye and throbbing pulse, explore the
starry fields of heaven. It is ever so: "Truth crushed to earth shall
rise again." Each fierce Thermopylae she meets inspires some crowning
Salamis. The wrongs of Thomas Paine shall be avenged. In vain his
country passed to him the bitter cup; the fetters forged to chain his
noble spirit to the dust were forged for naught; loving lips whisper,
"It still moves!"
I pity the man whose soul is so small that he cannot rise above the
level of his creed to do justice to those whose religious opinions have
not been gauged by his particular standard. I am no Christian, but may I
never become so ungrateful as to ignore my obligations to those who are.
When war was desolating our fair land, and my young heart yearned to
enlist in its defense, a Christian mother printed a kiss upon the cheek
of her only boy and bade him go; Christian hands made the grand old flag
we followed; Christian women visited our hospitals, ministering to the
sick and wiping the death-damp from the brows of the dying; Christian
generals led their troops on many a hard-fought field; and tonight the
stately oak, the drooping willow, and the moaning pine stand sentinel
by many a Christian soldier's grave. But they are not alone. Beside his
Christian comrade--beneath the shadows of the same trees--a martyr to
the same cause--sleeps the unbeliever. And would you strew with flowers
and moisten with tears the grave that enfolds the one, and trample with
scorn the turf that grows upon the other? Side by side they grandly
marched to war; side by side they bravely fought; side by side
heroically they fell; and in the murmuring stream that, wanders by their
resting-place is heard the funeral chant of no religious creed, but
nature's eternal sweet, sad requiem to all.
Go to the grave of Thomas Paine, my Christian friend. Stand beside the
tomb where rest the ashes of this unappreciated genius. Take up his
little volume "Common Sense." Open its pages and peruse its burning
words. When done, unfold the map upon which are delineated "The Free
and Independent States of America." Contemplate the inspiring picture
wrought thereon--wrought by the author-hero's magic pen--then refuse the
simple tribute of a tear or flower!
Who is responsible for the obloquy that has been cast upon the memory
of this noble man? The church, the orthodox church alone, is responsible
for it. And let me say to the church, it ill becomes you to point to
the alleged moral delinquencies of this man while your own garments are
soiled and crimsoned with the vice and crime of centuries. You claim
that amid the thunders of Sinai God gave the Decalogue as a moral guide
to man. Judged even by this standard the moral character of Thomas Paine
will not suffer from a comparison with that of yours.
"Thou shalt have no other gods before me." "I believe in one God and no
more," said Thomas Paine.
"Thou shalt worship no graven image." No worshiper of images was he.
"Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain." He abstained
from profanity himself and rebuked it in others.
"Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." He observed this law as
faithfully as did his Christian neighbors.
"Honor thy father and thy mother." His parents were the objects of his
reverence and love.
"Thou shalt not kill." He did not kill. He labored to abolish war and
murder.
"Thout shalt not commit adultery." He was charged with adultery, and the
foul beast who made the charge was forced to pay a heavy fine for his
libelous assault.
"Thou shalt not steal." Were all mankind as honest as he was the
locksmith's avocation would be gone.
"Thou shalt not bear false witness." From his truthful lips no one ever
heard a falsehood fall.
"Thou shalt not covet." A man who consecrates his life to the cause of
humanity, and who steadily refuses to be recompensed for his services,
cannot be accused of covetousness.
Now, let me ask the church, what is your record? How have you kept even
the commandments of your own law?
"Thou shalt have no other gods before me." And yet, you have persecuted,
imprisoned, tortured, butchered, and burned thousands for not believing
in a trinity of gods.
"Before no idol shalt thou bow thy knee." Your places of public
worship are filled with idols--virgins, and saints, and crucifixes, and
Bibles--objects of as blind adoration as the idols of heathen lands.
"Thou shalt not take the name of God in vain." On every hand our
ears are greeted by the oaths of those who, whether belonging to any
particular sect or not, believe in the existence of the God and the
divinity of the Christ they curse.
"Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." For eighteen hundred years
you have not kept a Sabbath of your God. You observe a day he never
authorized you to observe.
"Honor thy father and thy mother." The Christ you worship spurned the
loving mother who bore him and declared that he who hated not father and
mother could not be his disciple.
"Thou shalt not kill." You have made of earth a slaughter house. For
centuries it resounded with the shrieks of murdered millions, victims
of your relentless fury. And today your votaries are drenching Europe's
soil with blood.
"Thou shalt not commit adultery." Your most immaculate saints violate
this commandment and become a stench in the nostrils of decent people.
"Thou shalt not steal." Today the prisons of Europe and America shelter
three hundred thousand Christian thieves.
"Thou shalt not bear false witness." Perjury is rife in Christendom; and
even in heathen lands the very name of Christianity has become a synonym
for falsehood and deceit.
"Thou shalt not covet." Your history is the history of covetousness
itself. Christian Rome has tried to devour the world. A little while ago
we saw the Greek cross planted upon the Balkan--saw the Russian eagle
perched upon those snowy crags, gloating over the misfortunes of
Turkey, eager to clutch in his greedy talons the territory of Islam, and
prevented only by the jealous wolves of Protestantism.
No wonder that the warmest hearts and brightest intellects are leaving
you. Upon your walls they read the fateful words that met the terrified
gaze of Babylon's sinful king. Your devotees are looking forward to a
millennium when your power on earth shall be supreme. Delusive phantom!
your millennium has come and gone. That dark blot on the page of
history--that withering pall stretching across the centuries from
Constantine to Luther--that constitutes the thousand years of Christian
rule foretold in the Apocalypse. But that has past, and your power is
vanishing, never to be restored again. From the ashes of that dauntless
hero, Giordano Bruno, young Science, phoenixlike, arose, and in the soil
prepared by Luther, sowed the seed whose harvest is your death. Even now
I hear your death-knell ringing; even now I gaze into a sepulchre where
soon must lie your Bible and your creeds--your stakes, your gibbets and
your racks--your priests, your devil and your God! And when the last
have been entombed, then gather up the crumbling bones of the one
hundred million human beings who have perished at your hands, and let
this ghastly pile remain, a most befitting monument to your unbounded
cruelties and crimes!
It is a pleasing thought to know that bigotry is fading from the
earth. It can flourish only in the malarial swamps of ignorance and
superstition, and the poisonous vapors arising from these loathsome
regions are being fast dispelled by the sun of science.
An incident in the life of Nicholas I. of Russia furnishes a fitting
parallel to what the bigots of our time are now experiencing. Among
the many admirers of that other great Deist, Voltaire, was the Empress
Catharine, who ordered a statue of him from the leading sculptor of
Europe. When it arrived Catharine was dying, and for years it lay
untouched in the box in which it had been shipped.
At length Alexander caused it to be set up in a room of the imperial
palace, where it remained until Nicholas ascended the throne. Nicholas
was a most admirable type of the religious bigot; he was ignorant and
intolerant, and the character of Voltaire was the object of his especial
hatred. Hardly had he donned the imperial robes before he began to
realize
"How uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."
An insurrection had broken out in one of his provinces. Troubled and
perplexed, he was wandering through the halls of the palace when,
suddenly, he stood face to face with the statue of Voltaire. That
haughty smile, so natural to the face of the living Voltaire, had been
transferred to his marble image; and now it seemed to mock the troubled
emperor. He summoned one of his ministers and ordered him to remove the
offensive work. The minister did so, placing it in an old lumber room of
the palace. All went well with the emperor until one night the cry of
"fire!" resounded in his ears. The palace was on fire. Rushing to the
scene of the conflagration he chanced to pass through the very room to
which the statue had been removed, and again he stood before the object
of his hatred. The red glare of the flames added to the terrors of the
scene, and, for a moment, Nicholas fancied himself translated to the
dominions of Satan and standing before his throne. The flames were
finally extinguished, the greater portion of the palace was saved, and
with it the statue. But the remembrance of this terrible scene haunted
him like an apparition all night long. He could not sleep. In the
morning he summoned his minister and ordered him to destroy the work of
art. Out of respect for the dead Catharine the order was unheeded. Years
rolled by; the armies of England and France had invaded the Crimea and
defeated with frightful slaughter the armies of the czar. Then flashed
to St. Petersburg news of the bombardment of Sebastopol which ultimately
fell. It was night, and, wild with anguish, Nicholas was again wandering
through those desolate halls--lighted only by the weird moonbeams that
came straggling through the palace windows--when, for the third time,
he was confronted by the ghostly statue. Again he summoned his minister.
But his iconoclastic spirit was broken. He no longer demanded the
destruction of the statue, but simply begged his official to remove it
to where he should never more behold it. The wily minister bethought
him of a place never visited by his sovereign, and accordingly had it
removed to the imperial library. Nicholas is no more; but the statue
remains--a silent monarch in that realm of thought--an object, not of
abhorrence and dread, but of admiration.
As the Russian bigot was haunted by the statue of Voltaire, so the
bigots of our day and country are haunted by the memory of Paine.
Theological insurrections are breaking out on every hand; the
intellectual fires of the twentieth century are encircling and consuming
the rude palace of Superstition; they hear the cannon of Science
thundering before the walls of their Sebastopol. Terror-stricken,
aimlessly and hopelessly they wander on, only to be confronted at every
turn by the ghost of Thomas Paine. Unhappy beings, this will not forever
last. Not always will the good name of Thomas Paine stand as a phantom
to frighten bigots. Gently and lovingly his friends are removing it,
passing it on from generation to generation, to a better and a grander
age--to an age across whose threshold no bigot's foot shall ever pass.
Then, when the Republic of the World has been established, and the
Religion of Humanity has become the universal religion, all mankind will
recognize the worth and revere the memory of him who wrote the political
and religious creed of this glorious day:
--THE WORLD IS MY COUNTRY, TO DO GOOD MY RELIGION.