January

Every writer knows the problem of the opening line. The pressure of it. The false starts. The crossed-out sentences piling up on the page. So when I sat down to plan the first issue of the Join or Die Newsletter—my monthly walk through 1776 as we approach the 250th anniversary of independence—I kept picturing another writer, in another winter. A cold room in Philadelphia. Breath visible. Ink stiff in the well. A man hunched over a desk, scratching out sentence after sentence, trying to find the right way to begin. And then, at last, a line so clear and so controversial it would change the world:

Perhaps the sentiments contained in the following pages are not yet sufficiently fashionable to procure them general Favor; a long Habit of thinking a Thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defense of Custom.

Thomas Paine would outdo himself later that year. More on that next winter. But the opening to Common Sense didn’t merely open a pamphlet. It opened a path that changed the fate of a continent. Released 250 years ago today (January 10, 1776), Paine’s Common Sense changed “the cause of all mankind.”

But why weren’t the sentiments in Common Sense of “general Favor” in January 1776? After all, the British had marched on Lexington and Concord almost a year earlier (April 1775) and fought the Battle of Bunker Hill and burned Charlestown that June. Washington was leading the Continental Army, laying siege to British troops entrenched in Boston. For all intents and purposes, war had already begun.

Indeed, King George III had essentially declared war himself that August in his Proclamation of Rebellion, in which he called the colonists traitors, declared he was determined to enforce obedience to his laws and authority, and instructed his officers to “use their utmost endeavors to suppress such rebellion.” Despite this, at the end of 1775 most colonists still favored reconciliation. John Adams estimated that only one-third of the Second Continental Congress supported independence. Washington reported that just over 9,000 men had signed up for the Continental Army; less than half of what was expected. It seemed the colonies might still pull back.

Then the King did what tyrants often do. He overplayed his hand.

In late December 1775, news began to reach America of a speech George III had delivered to Parliament weeks earlier. Once again, he declared the colonies in rebellion; this time accusing their leaders of having long planned “an independent empire.” Worse still, he announced he would seek “foreign assistance” to put the rebellion down. No one missed what that meant. To colonial readers, this crossed a line. Hiring foreign soldiers to fight his own subjects didn’t feel like restoring order. It felt like occupation. Then, on New Year’s Day 1776, Virginia’s displaced royal governor bombarded Norfolk, Virginia. A Royal fleet under his command pounded the town with cannonballs for seven hours, destroying the most populous city in the largest and wealthiest colony in America.

You can almost picture Paine in that cold Philadelphia room, writing furiously as all this unfolded. Racing to get his words in front of the public while the moment was still hot. And when Common Sense finally appeared—just over a week after Norfolk burned—it caused a sensation. Paine’s pamphlet didn’t speak to Congress. It didn’t hedge or wait for permission. It spoke directly to the people, and it did so in a plain and impatient voice they could all understand. Paine didn’t argue like a lawyer. He argued like a man who thought time was running out. Monarchy, he said, wasn’t just inefficient, it was absurd. An insult to common sense itself. Why should one man, a boy really, born by accident of blood, wield power over millions? And why should an island unable to protect itself rule a continent?

The pamphlet spread faster than anyone expected. It sold 150,000 copies the first year. And after two years, at least 500,000 copies were circulating in America, Britain, France, and elsewhere in Europe. Copies were read aloud in taverns, workshops, and army camps outside Boston. Men who had been willing to fight—but not yet to separate—found language for what they were already feeling. Independence stopped sounding reckless and began to sound inevitable. John Adams wrote to his wife, Abigail, that he expected Common Sense to become the “common faith.” Washington wrote to an aide that “the sound doctrine and unanswerable reasoning” contained in the pamphlet “will not leave numbers at a loss to decide upon the propriety of a separation.”

None of this meant the question was settled. Far from it. Congress would still argue. Colonies would hesitate. The army would continue to struggle to fill its ranks. Independence, in other words, was far from guaranteed in January. But Paine had done something irreversible. He took an idea he admitted was not “sufficiently fashionable” and dragged it into the open. He stripped it of apology. He gave ordinary Americans a vocabulary that allowed them to say out loud what events had already forced them to confront. The break had happened. The only question left was whether they would own it.

That is the road this newsletter will follow. Month-by-month, decision-by-decision, as hesitation gives way to resolve. January did not finish the Revolution. But it changed its direction. And once Common Sense made independence thinkable for most colonists, it was only a matter of time before it became unavoidable.

Oh, one more thing. The New York Historical has a great exhibit on the American Revolution right now. My daughter and I went recently, where I snapped this picture of this first edition of Common Sense. It’s worth a stop if you find yourself in Manhattan between now and April!