The War
Inevitable
Patrick Henry (1736-1799)
March 23, 1775
No man, Mr. President, thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as
well as the abilities, of the very honorable gentlemen who have just addressed the House.
But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope
it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen if, entertaining, as I do,
opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I should speak forth my sentiments
freely, and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question before the house
is of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it nothing less than a
question of freedom or slavery. And in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to
be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth,
and fulfil the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep
back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offence, I should consider myself
as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty towards the majesty
of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.
Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of Hope.
We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren
till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and
arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having
eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their
temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to
know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it. I have but one lamp by
which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging
of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been
in the British ministry, for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which
gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile
with which our petition has lately been received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare
to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this
gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover
our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and
reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves to be so unwilling to be reconciled that force
must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the
implements of war and subjugation, --the last arguments to which kings resort.
I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not
to force us into submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has
Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of
navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no
other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British
ministry have been so long forging.
And what have we to oppose them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been
trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon that subject?
Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has
been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty, and humble supplication? What terms shall
we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive
ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which
is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have
prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the
tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our
remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been
disregarded; and we have been spurned with contempt at the foot of the throne.
In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and
reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free; if we mean to
preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending;
if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged,
and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our
contest shall be obtained, --we must fight! I repeat it, sir, --we must fight! An appeal
to arms, and to the God of hosts, is all that is left us.
They tell us, sir, that we are weak, --unable to cope with so formidable
an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year?
Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in
every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the
means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive
phantom of Hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot?
Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God
of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people armed in the holy cause of
liberty, and in such a country as that which we posess, are invincible by any force which
our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There
is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to
fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone: it is to the
vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough
to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in
submission and slavery. Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains
of Boston. The war is inevitable. And let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come!
It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace,
peace, but there is no peace. The war is actually begun. The next gale that sweeps from
the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already in
the field. Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? what would they have?
Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?
Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me
liberty, or give me death!"
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