Now, every religion has a birth, growth, culmination, and subsequent decay. It culminates in the production of some great man, who represents, and at the same time transcends, the causes which produced him, and who afterward abandons the religion which gave him birth. It has then fulfilled its work, and will eventually die. Jesus of Nazareth was the fulfillment of the Jewish religion; Luther, of the Catholic. The minor religions obey the same law. Unitarianism culminated in Theodore Parker; Quakerism, in Thomas Paine. At the culminating point, the typical child which is born, grows up, and comes out from or tramples upon the religion which produced him, and is called a "come-outer," a "protester," an "image-breaker," or an "infidel." But he has been produced by causes over which he had no control, and is the result for which they existed. With him the religion declines, and eventually will expire.
The Quaker religion culminated on the 29th of January, 1737, in the little town of Thetford, and county of Norfolk, England, in the birth of Thomas Paine. Here Nature deserted her connection with the meeting, and took up her abode in the soul of the child. She has concentrated herein the democracy of centuries, and the special forces of a hundred years. The great principles of democracy have all been gathered here, and organized into a power which will move the world.
Nature has also given a hardy physical constitution, without corruption of blood or bodily disease, and this health of body shall carry him safe through the three-score and ten, with a fraction of years to spare. Let us now follow the lines of his life.
A religious antagonism between father and mother, both before and after his birth, strengthened the child's mind, for we grow strong only through antagonism. But he inclined to the Quaker principles of the father, who had him privately named, and did not suffer him to be baptized, though he was afterward confirmed by a bishop, through the influence of an aunt. But the outward acts of omission or commission, by priest or parent, counted nothing in the life of the child; for he had thoughts of his own as soon as old enough to reflect, and he had great gifts of inspiration, for there came to him thoughts "which would bolt into the mind of their own accord." Of this intuition or inspiration he says: "I have always made it a rule to treat those voluntary visitors with civility, taking care to examine, as well as I was able, if they were worth entertaining, and it is from them I have acquired almost all the knowledge that I have." Here those inherited principles, the result of previous ages of thought, concentrated within the child's mind, began to teach him, and he listened to their instruction at an early age. "I well remember, when about seven or eight years of age," says he, "hearing a sermon read by a relation of mine, who was a great devotee of the church [not of the Quaker meeting], upon the subject of what is called redemption by the death of the son of God. After the sermon was ended, I went into the garden, and as I was going down the garden steps, for I perfectly recollect the spot, I revolted at the recollection of what I had heard, and thought to myself that it was making God Almighty act like a passionate man, that killed his son when he could not revenge himself in any other way; and, as I was sure a man would be hanged that did such a thing, I could not see for what purpose they preached such sermons." Here the young child's mind was shocked, and the "voice of God" within taught him much wisdom—more than he could get in all the sermons of the bishops.
His father, from Quaker principles, gave him moral instruction which never left him in after life. He sent him also, to a grammar school, where he learned some Latin and became acquainted with the subject matter of all the Latin books used in school; but this was clandestinely done, as the Quakers were opposed to the books in which the language was taught. He says he did not study Latin for the above reason, and because he had no taste for it. But at school and at home he gained a useful stock of learning, "the bent of his mind being to science."
But when the lad was thirteen he was taken from school, as it had long been too heavy a tax upon his father, and he was put to work in the shop as stay-maker. He enters into full sympathy with his father, and works by his side three years. The "good father," as he afterward calls him, pays out no more for the son's education; he has already been "sorely pressed" for this purpose.
But during these three years at the stay-making business, many thoughts have "bolted into his mind," strange "voluntary visitors," talking of war, the army and navy. These thoughts have been "heated by the false heroism" of his former master, and have set the lad's mind on fire, burning up all peace and contentment. So in the year 1753, a little the rise of sixteen, he began to carve out his own fortune by going to sea in the privateer, "King of Prussia." The "good father" must have "thought him lost," but this was a phantom of the imagination in both father and son. There is a principle in him which shall hold him steady on land and sea. Restless and venturesome, driven by a force he wots not of, the little island of Britain could not confine him, much less his father's shop. Here he satisfies the war spirit, and tinges his skeptical mind with a slight shade of sailors' superstition. Yet with this adventure of "false heroism against him" in setting out in life, he passes through a schooling with the world which shall make for him mightily in the end. He never considered this beginning in his favor, and has said but little about it. I can not find out how long he lived on the sea, but he turns up at Sandwich five or six years afterward as master stay-maker. Here he married to Mary Lambert, a young woman of much personal worth, who, dying a year afterward, leaves a shade on his mind for life.
But his employment did not suit the turn of his mind, and near the close of 1763 he entered the employ of government as exciseman. For a faithful performance of his duty he was dismissed from this office, because the impartial performance of that duty would expose him to the censure of the power which invested him with office. I say for a faithful performance of his duty he was dismissed, and for these reasons I say it:
1. When he is restored to the same office afterward upon his petition are these words, "No complaint of the least dishonesty or intemperance appeared against me." And so it was not for a dereliction of duty.
2. Mr. Paine was a man of uncommon abilities, and it could not be for want of capacity.