The Rhetorical Analysis of Thomas Paine’s Rights of Man

Aleksandra SlijepcevicDr. Hahn, PRWR 611December 14, 2011

Written in 1791, Thomas Paine’s Rights of Man was a literary attack on Edmund

Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France. Furthermore, it was a defense of the

French Revolution. Thomas Paine believed that a political revolution was justified when

and if a government failed to protect its people, their natural rights, and their national

interests. In Paine’s opinion, this definition of a revolution—in other words, failure of a

government to do its job—was the cause of the French Revolution, which Edmund Burke

was strongly against. This opposition from Burke ignited the fuel for Rights of Man,

which was craftily written and rhetorically bulletproofed. The witty and powerful rhetoric

that Paine used in writing Rights of Man mark it an extraordinary piece of political prose

style. John Adams wrote in 1805 that “I know not whether any man in the world has had

more influence on its inhabitants or affairs for the last thirty years than Tom Paine.1”

Even against a number of critics, Paine became a remarkable pamphleteer with not just

Rights of Man, but with Common Sense, The Age of Reason, and Agrarian Justice.

Indeed, Paine’s name and reputation had become synonymous with “the age of reason,”

as he helped to create the language of politics.

The French Revolution created a division, and ultimately a war, between tradition

and innovation. Through the creation of a political language, Paine was able to create a

vocabulary for people to use and understand that would help them express discontent for

their government. This freedom of voice would, in turn, pave the road to a better life for

all. On the contrary, Burke was in favor of tradition, which Paine believed was creating

animosity and inequality between the French people—“the times that try men’s souls,” as

Paine wrote in The Crisis.2 At the beginning of The Rights of Man, Paine dedicates his

1 Eric Foner, Thomas Paine Rights of Man (1791; New York, NY: Penguin Classics, 1985), 7.2 Thomas Paine, The Crisis (1776).

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treatise to George Washington, stating that it is a defense of the “Principles of Freedom”

which Washington “so eminently” established. Paine goes on to use the actual title as a

phrase, saying “that the rights of man may become as universal as your Benevolence can

wish.1” This is just one example of how Paine uses “rights of man” interchangeably,

which adds to his ethos as a credible and innovative writer, as well as to his pathos,

which reaches out to the people and their rights.

The treatise begins with a blunt attack on Burke’s letter. Paine defines the letter as

an “incivility” that nations and individuals use to irritate or provoke each other. His

diction in the first sentence is concrete and specific because it leaves no room for second-

guessing, nor does it invite the reader to gather multiple interpretations. Rather, Paine’s

rhetoric is simple yet brutal, not only calling Burke’s letter an incivility, but “an

extraordinary instance” of one, at that. The first paragraph of the treatise is only three

sentences long, but Paine fills that space with just the right amount of attack so that it sets

the pace and the tone for the rest of the treatise. That same paragraph is where the reader

sees the first mention of the French people and the National Assembly, which served as

the “middle man” between the Estates-General (the assembly representing the Church,

the nobility, and the common people) and the National Constituent Assembly. 3 Paine

drives the tone to indifference, saying “neither the People of France, nor the National

Assembly, were troubling themselves about the affairs of England, or the English

Parliament.” This sentence furthermore gives direction to a second sentence that is

separated with a semicolon. This separation also creates a different tone, for Paine

continues his attack, saying “why Mr. Burke should commence an unprovoked attack…is

a conduct that cannot be pardoned…nor justified.” He reiterates the word “unprovoked,”

3 Francois Mignet, History of the French Revolution from 1789 to 1814 (1824).

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as if to add emphasis and remind the reader that all could have been avoided had Burke

kept his thoughts to himself. As he attacks Burk on policy, he slides in an attack on his

manners, as well. This double attack serves as a personal blow to Burke’s ethos, whose

credibility as a gentleman has now been compromised.

The second paragraph continues the attack in similar diction of concrete, specific,

and predominantly Latinate words. Paine lists common yet derogative words that Burke

has lined his letter with—rancor, prejudice, and ignorance. He also describes the letter as

a “copious fury of near four hundred pages,” an almost disgusted implication that such

writing would go on for that long. However, Paine saves his genius for rhetoric for the

last sentence, where he uses a metaphor to describe Burke’s determination (or failure, in

Paine’s opinion) to spread his opinion to “thousands.” He says, “when the tongue or the

pen is let loose in a frenzy of passion, it is the man, and not the subject, that becomes

exhausted.” Burke, in this instance, has depleted not just himself and his logos, but his

ethos as a credible writer, rhetorician, and politician. This sentence is a brilliant showcase

of Paine’s use of common words that strike hard and fast. He hasn’t only poked holes in

Burke’s image and writing; he has crushed a vital center point that has consequently

caused Burke’s entire structure to fall apart. It is worth noting, however, that Paine’s

diction is a careful blend of both referential and emotive words; while he gives his

opinion and logic in opposition of Burke’s, he coats everything with emotion that opens

the readers’ eyes to reason while simultaneously uncovering the ridiculousness of

Burke’s argument.

There is a reason behind sentence length in The Rights of Man. The next

paragraph of the treatise follows similarly from the previous, as the sentence lengths

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border on medium to short, a majority of them separated by semicolons. By doing this,

Paine creates a flow, one that mirrors his easy writing style and his calm, collected

thoughts. What a difference this is to Burke’s writing style and sentence length—long,

winding sentences, packed with thought, and often losing the reader as one point loses

sight of the other. In the third paragraph, Paine starts off the third sentence with a

reference to the past, in an almost story-like tone: “there was a time when it was

impossible to make Mr. Burke believe there would be any revolution in France.” He puts

up a prior image of Burke for the reader to see, getting ready to create a contrast, which

will undoubtedly end with yet another crafty attack. What follows is Burke’s initial

opinion of France, as he believed that it had “neither spirit to undertake it, nor fortitude to

support it,” the “it” here meaning the revolution. Paine accomplishes two things here: he

lowers Burke’s ethos once again by showing that Burke doesn’t believe in France’s spirit

nor strength (a wonderful use of parallelism there), and he strengthens his contrast for the

sentence to come, which states “and now that there is one [the revolution], he seeks an

escape, by condemning it.” Actually, that would be a third accomplishment for Paine, as

he catches Burke with his foot in his mouth.

Paine’s writing style, and particularly tone, has an undercurrent of anger, which

he uses carefully and cleverly. He plays with binary grammar, often using “this or that”

to illustrate only two sides or points. This technique works well in opposition to Burke’s

letter because the letter is so free and expressive in form that it tends to go in many

directions at the same time. Paine uses this to his advantage so that he can successively

attack Burke in miscellaneous ways. His binary grammar, however, enables him to point

out many logical fallacies that Burke writes, such as the ones in the following paragraph.

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While Paine doesn’t use names excessively throughout his treatise, which could be his

own technique of “saving face,” he does mention Dr. Price, who he further uses to show

Burke’s fallacies. Dr. Price spoke at a sermon in 17891 for the English Revolution; Burke

gave his opinion of the sermon by saying that the English people acquired three

fundamental rights because of the Revolution: “to choose our own governors, to cashier

them for misconduct, and to frame a government for ourselves.” All three rights seem to

be synonymous with what Paine preached, especially for the rights of man. However,

Paine uses Dr. Price’s statement to uncover the fallacy Burke wrote, saying that “Dr.

Price does not say that the right to do these things exists in this or that person…but…in

the whole.” Notice the use of his binary grammar. Paine goes on to quote Burke as saying

that the English people completely “disclaim such a right,” even though he was quoted

previously as giving the three fundamental rights. This is another technique that not only

spotlights Burke’s logical fallacy, but paints him out to be a complete lunatic, as the

following passage will reveal, as written by Paine:

That men should take up arms, and spend their lives and fortunes, not to

maintain their rights, but to maintain they have not rights, is an entirely

new species of discovery, and suited to the paradoxical genius of Mr.

Burke. (page 40)

This is an extraordinary example of Paine’s rhetoric, as he finds gaps and utter lack of

common sense in Burke’s logic, placing it specifically in a well-constructed sentence

with common language and specific detail. This is evident in Paine’s use of examples in

order to better uncover the illogic—men going to war and risking their lives so as not to

have rights—which is a complete contradiction to one of the fundamental rights every

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man has, and should. Paine uses that example specifically because it has the power to

ruin Burke, whose statement is almost a slap in the face of the people and the English

Revolution.

Throughout the next few paragraphs, Paine continues to show the logical fallacies

put forth by Burke. With this, he is able to send more blows to Burke’s ethos, which by

now, has been consistently attacked. The argument of fundamental rights is further

carried, but this time, Paine uncovers a fallacy where Burke has argued that “the persons,

or the generation of persons, in whom they [the rights] did exist, are dead, and with them

the right is dead also.” Paine then produces evidence that Burke had compiled, in which

the term “for ever” is repeatedly used. Paine takes notice of this term to attack Burke; he

also uses the term as a double-barrel term (two meanings) to ridicule its use in such an

illogical statement, and to imply that Burke’s ridiculous argument is “repeated over and

over again,” thus for ever. This technique of double-barrel terms is never smothered in

confusing sentences, one of the reasons being that Paine’s sentences are very periodic.

Additionally, Paine plays with language in that he hides a metaphor-laden attack in plain

sight, so to speak. This is one of his best techniques as a writer. In order to further

dislocate Burke’s argument, Paine sets up the beginning of his argument with “I shall…

place another system of principles in opposition to his.” This follows a typical

Aristotelian format, where arguments are proceeded by short cues4 (e.g., a stated intention

that the writer will now begin his argument). This Aristotelian format is followed shortly

after when Paine supplies two parts to a case he is refuting: “the case, therefore, divides

itself into two parts; the right which they [the English Parliament] possessed by

delegation, and the right which they set up by assumption.” He goes on to finish the

4 Aristotle, The Rhetoric and the Poetics of Aristotle (cerca 322-347; New York, NY: 1984).

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paragraph with “with respect to the second, I reply.” This clear outline of what he is

going to tell the reader next is the Aristotelian format.

Paine plans to continue the search and destruction of logical fallacies that Burke

has written so confidently. His next one is the right the English Parliament set up by

assumption, which is the want to control and bind posterity to “the end of time.” This

paragraph is yet another wonderful, rhetorical example of Paine’s writing:

There never did, there never will, and there never can exist a parliament,

or any description of men, or any generation of men, in any country,

possessed of the right or the power of binding and controlling posterity to

the “end of time,” or of commanding for ever how the world shall be

governed, or who shall govern it; and therefore, all such clauses, acts or

declarations, by which the makers of them attempt to do what they have

neither the right nor the power to do, nor the power to execute, are in

themselves null and void. (page 41)

Notice the use of anaphora at the beginning of the paragraph. By making every first word

“there,” Paine creates emphasis and pulls the reader in. It becomes a memorable and a

passionate introduction that sets the pace for the rest of the paragraph. It also closes any

type of chance or probability that a parliament can command to the “end of time.” He

continues to use anaphora with “or” in the next line, which additionally locks in the

impossibility of such a thing happening, completely sealing shut his opinion about the

matter. Ending the paragraph with “null and void” adds to the impenetrable fortress of

opinion that he has created in writing this. It serves as a full roundabout, coming back full

circle, and is an effective rhetorical strategy. The sentence following the paragraph is full

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of emotion, which builds Paine’s own ethos. Oddly enough, however, Paine’s writing

style has consistently avoided excessive emotion, which is something he attacks Burke

for later in the treatise. It is important to note, however, that Paine could perhaps be using

emotion where it is absolutely needed. In this case, by saying “every age and generation

must be as free to act for itself, in all cases, as the ages and generations which proceeded

it,” Paine is going after the pathos of the people and the reader. Thus, the emotion put

forth in that sentence is needed in order to evoke the patriotism out of the people whose

rights have been violated. Therefore, Paine’s use of emotion in his writing is scarce, but

when it is present, it is effective and correctly placed and used. The following sentence

goes back to his variation of sentence length: “…governing beyond the grave, is the most

ridiculous and insolent of all tyrannies.” Paine continues with “man has no property in

man,” which is a much shorter sentence, therefore adding to the variation and flow. This

also creates more emphasis. Now, the meaning of that last sentence is profound,

especially because Paine places it in the right spot so that it can further show the illogical

rights the English Parliament had put forth. He uses it as a metaphor to show that every

person and generation is, and should be, free of the proceeding person and generation.

Paine continually builds his metaphors into a mighty rock, which he immediately uses to

crush Burke’s and the English Parliament’s fallacies. His next rhetorical statement is

emotional but extremely logical, acting almost as a joke against Burke who is showing a

complete lack of common sense: “it is the living, and not the dead, that are to be

accommodated.” This ties in well with the overall dispute of opinions between Paine and

Burke. By writing this, he is putting down the idea of traditionalism, which he is

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describing as outdated and absurd, and settling more on the idea of innovation, which

takes the best interest of the people to heart.

Paine’s writing falls into the category of forensic discourse, as it inculpates Burke

for his errors in thinking. Paine frequently uses Aristotle’s canon of circumstances,

specifically possible and impossible, in order to show that certain rights (believed to be

true by Burke and the English Parliament) cannot be possible under any circumstances.

This is best evident in the argument against “governing beyond the grave.” While Paine’s

sentences are periodic, they are functionally interrogative, as well. Paine acts as a

prosecutor, interrogating Burke’s writing, and slowly taking away pieces of Burke’s

logic, ultimately leaving behind nothing to call a credible argument. While there aren’t

many instances where Paine uses inversions in his writing, he does utilize schemes and

tropes, specifically anaphora, to add emphasis in his writing. Another example of this is

when Paine states that “I am not contending for nor against any form of government, nor

for nor against any party here or elsewhere.” In contrast to that sentence, he uses

epistrophe when he says “that which a whole nation chooses to do, it has a right to do,”

ending each clause with “to do.” This also adds emphasis, as well as it gives the nation

more rights and freedom, perhaps more than Burke had ever given in writing his letter.

Sentence openers and closers give way to expansion, and how Paine develops his

sentences. As described earlier, Paine varies his sentence length because he wants to add

variation. Therefore, he pairs long and short sentences together, often achieving a choppy

but effective composition. It seems that the location of expansion is in the middle, where

Paine puts his longest sentences. These sentences are then enclosed with shorter ones,

which could have two meanings: it cocoons the idea in the middle, like a hidden gem, or

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it is an attempt to have a wide range of different grammatical sentences, thus never

resorting to an extreme of only short or only long sentences. Whatever the reason, Paine’s

styles and mechanics work when everything is different—it adds a dynamic interaction to

his writing. Because Paine writes with such anger and power, his ideas, and in turn

sentences, are quick and straightforward. He is able to provide his opinions, metaphors,

and references in a well-constructed manner, meaning that the reader is presented with an

overwhelming amount of information, but the coherence is never jeopardized.

One of Paine’s most interesting techniques in The Rights of Man is his ability to

flip Burke’s argument upside down. This is evident when Paine states the following:

I am contending for the rights of the living, and against their being willed

away, and controlled and contracted for, by the manuscript assumed

authority of the dead; and Mr. Burke is contending for the authority of the

dead over the rights and freedom of the living. (page 42)

While Burke and surely his supporters would never think of refuting an argument such as

that one, for why would Burke chose the dead over the living, Paine has an inherent skill

of taking off the layers of an argument until the truth is penetrated. In this case, he

manages to penetrate the truth of what Burke was really saying, and that is that he would

rather protect and enforce the rights of the dead than alter the rights for the benefit of the

living. Paine continues the paragraph with yet another return to the tone of story-telling

as he begins the sentence with “there was a time…” Along with the technique of

repetition, Paine does this so that he can give the reader past references; in turn, this

builds his ethos and his argument. Within the context of this particular paragraph, Paine

brings up the old traditions of kings giving up their crown on their deathbed and

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appointing another ruler, thus giving the people over “like beasts of the field.” This

reference to traditionalism is possibly another way of mocking Burke and his belief. It

also serves as yet another way of ridiculing the idea of ruling from the grave. He ends

that section of the treatise with a similarly straightforward attack on Burke, as he did in

the first paragraph at the beginning, saying “a greater absurdity cannot present itself…

than what Mr. Burke offers to his readers. He tells them…a certain body of men…

hundred years ago, made a law; and that there does not now exist…a power to alter it.”

He later makes a Biblical reference that attacks Burke even more, saying that by

upholding the belief that ruling from the grave should be permissible, Burke has created a

“political Adam.” Paine uses this wonderful metaphor to invite Burke to prove that his

Adam creation possesses, has possessed, or ever will posses the power or the right to

control and bound posterity for ever. Once again, this is Paine’s way of proposing a

challenge to Burke, knowing that it is impossible for anyone to prove it.

As the treatise continues, Paine continues, as well, to use anaphoras. One example

is “they destroy the right which they might have, by grounding it on a right which they

cannot have.” It is a clever and effective way of structuring a sentence. However, this

sentence also adds a feeling of pity for Burke, as Paine states that they (Burke’s clauses)

might have had a chance to survive and flourish if they weren’t founded on an idea that

can never happen. A few paragraphs later, Paine sets another Aristotelian cue by telling

the reader what he is going to write about next. In this instance, he plans to tackle

Burke’s possible motive for writing the letter, which Paine believes was a type of

instruction letter. For this, instead of simply refuting the idea, he does so in a metaphor:

“it is darkness attempting to illuminate light.” This exquisite use of language not only

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beautifies the already powerful rhetoric, but it also ties into the beginning of the idea that

if Burke hadn’t meddled in the goings-on of the French government (the light), he

wouldn’t have published his letter. He is, therefore, the darkness. Paine continues his

metaphors when he describes Burke’s declamation and arguments as “music in the ear,

and nothing in the heart.” This is one of the first instances where Paine has deliberately

attacked Burke’s writing style, rather than his logic. By stating that there is “nothing in

the heart,” Paine shows the true shallowness of Burke’s writing. Later in the treatise,

Paine turns his attention to the real reasons, in his opinion, of why the revolution took

place. Instead of blaming the king, he points the finger at the “despotic principles of the

government” that fueled the people to revolt. In this same paragraph, he attacks Burke

once again, as well as the French nobility, by saying “…and the augean stable of

parasites and plunderers too abominably filthy to be cleansed, by anything short of a

complete and universal revolution.” This is a remarkable rhetorical sentence that carries a

great deal of weight in attacking the nobility. In Paine’s opinion, they are just as bad as

Burke in that they too favor traditionalism and legal equality to innovation and political

equality. His genius metaphorical skills enable him to root his attack in terms such as

“stable,” “parasites,” and “filthy.” Once again, he implies that this is yet another reason

why the people revolted, and similarly, he gives them justification in doing so. His binary

grammar eventually leads him into the use of a protacalepsis, as he first provides an

account of Charles I and James II of England who lost power in a revolution because

people revolted against them. Secondly, anticipating the reader’s response and need for a

connection to the French Revolution, he reiterates the point that the French Revolution

happened because of a bad government. This is also a great way to show difference.

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Paine’s opinion of Burke is one where Burke is portrayed as a man who is

completely ignorant of other people’s needs and rights, not just as citizens, but as human

beings. Paine argues that Burke’s character leads him to compliment all governments,

and at the same time, forget the victims who suffer under those governments. Paine even

states that “whether sold into slavery, or tortured out of existence,” the people are

forgotten by Burke. To use “tortured out of existence” is a strong and visual way of

capturing the real suffering, not only to attack Burke, but to turn people’s attention to

what is really happening. Paine proceeds to attack Burke’s pathos this time by describing

a place in America, specifically Point-no-Point. He illustrates this place as “gay and

flowery,” which he then compares to Burke’s writing; he also states that this place lures

you in, but the point on the horizon moves further and further back, and before you know

it, there is nothing there. He almost gives the allusion to a mirage, and that Burke’s

writing is like a mirage—beautiful on the surface, but with deeper digging, it turns up

nothing. Using the metaphor Point-no-Point to emphasize that there is no point is a

brilliant way of critiquing Burke’s writing. He further completes this paragraph with yet

another metaphor, which also attacks Burke’s pathos. He calls Burke’s writing “tragic

paintings” that only influence, and perhaps entertain, Burke’s own imagination. He also

calls the writing “theatrical representation” that is only written for the sake of show,

causing a “weeping effect” in the reader, and especially in Burke. This is evident in

Burke’s own sentences: “the age of chivalry is gone! The glory of Europe is extinguished

for ever! The unbought grace of life, the cheap defense of nations, the nurse of manly

sentiment and heroic enterprise, is gone!” This is further evidence, which goes along with

Paine’s own opinion of Burke, that Burke’s mentality still resides in the Middle Ages, in

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the time of chivalry. Contrary to Burke, Paine believes that principles and ideas can be

destroyed to give way to new ideas and principles. The focus remains to benefit the

people, even if that means, and especially if that means, throwing tradition to the wind.

Ping-ponging back and forth, Paine returns to attack Burke’s ethos, once again.

Not one glance of compassion, not one commiserating reflection, that I

can find throughout his book, has he bestowed on those who lingered out

the most wretched of lives, a life without hope, in the most miserable of

prisons. (page 51)

Paine’s belief that Burke is corrupting himself, as well as his readers, also lies in his

belief that Burke is employing his talents in a negative way. Burke is only affected by

show and what goes on in his imagination, rather than the suffering of the people. One of

Paine’s best double metaphors is “he pities the plumage, but forgets the dying bird.” This

metaphor signifies that while the feathers are a part of the bird, a person’s clothes are not.

This is yet another way for Paine to imply that Burke shows absolute lack of emotion

toward the dying prisoners in the Bastille. Along the same lines as this, Paine states that

Burke is probably more concerned about a fictional, tragedy-victim “expiring in show,”

rather than the Bastille prisoners. His use of “sliding into death” and “silence of a

dungeon” make up for the emotion Burke so inherently lacks. It also throws an emotional

curve ball to the reader, and especially to the people of France. Paine later provides

factual information to the reader, explaining what happened to the prisoners in the

Bastille, and who was responsible for their imprisonment. This sets up Paine’s next

Aristotelian cue, as he says “let us therefore examine how men came by the idea of

punishing in this manner.” This will attack Burke’s view of tradition, as follows:

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They learn it from the government they live under, and retaliate the

punishments they have been accustomed to behold…it may be perhaps

said, that it signifies nothing to a man what is done to him after he is

dead; but it signifies much to the living: it either tortures their feelings, or

hardens their hearts; and in either case, it instructs them how to punish

when power falls into their hands. (page 57)

By attacking tradition, Paine holds the government responsible for killing the prisoners at

the Bastille.

Finally, Paine reaches a point in his treatise where he explains and argues the

origins of rights of man, specifically civil versus natural rights. This falls into Aristotle’s

cannon of relationship, specifically contraries. Paine writes a wonderful paragraph about

antiquity, in which he states that “if we travel still farther into antiquity, we shall find a

direct contrary opinion and practice prevailing; and if antiquity is to be authority, a

thousand such authorities may be produced.” He writes this as another backlash to

Burke’s “ruling from the grave” idea, but this time, he writes it in a language that is no

longer angry but forgiving. Who does he forgive? The “error of those who reason by

precedents.” Once again, Paine ties this in with his desire to destroy certain principles and

ideas so that people can get away from antiquity and start to build and move forward. He

continues to pair longer sentences with shorter ones, ending with “man was his high and

only title, and a higher cannot be given him.” This is another Biblical reference,

especially his sentence of “we shall come to the time when man came from the hand of

his Maker.” It is safe to say that Paine’s tone of voice changes, from anger and attacks on

Burke, to optimism for not just the people of France, but human beings in general. This

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brings him into the natural rights of man, which, according to Paine, are rights given by

God to every human being for being human; they cannot be taken away, especially not by

a government. His gentle tone takes him father into a longer but still passionate and well

written paragraph:

The duty of man is not a wilderness of turnpike gates, through which he is

to pass by tickets from one to the other. It is plain and simple, and consists

but of two points. His duty to God, which every man must feel; and with

respect to his neighbor, to do as he would be done by. If those to whom

power is delegated do well, they will be respected; if not, they will be

despised: and with regard to those to whom no power is delegated, but

who assume it, the rational world can know nothing of them. (page 68)

These natural rights, according to Paine, are the necessary foundation for civil rights,

which don’t carry as much importance as natural rights, and can be taken away by a

government. Furthermore, Paine explains his view of history as he sees it for the

government. He recognizes three “heads,” which he writes in a single sentence paragraph

with three commas and three periods. This is a new technique Paine uses to create

emphasis in a different way than in his previous examples. He says “first, superstition.

Secondly, power. Thirdly, the common interest of society, and the common rights of

man.” Notice the use of the title as a phrase again. He goes on to explain that superstition

was first “the government of priestcraft,” which no one can prove or disprove. It is

irrational and emotional. Paine provides a brief summary that relates to this, of oracles

and Deities. After priestcraft, superstition rested with the conquerors who upheld a

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certain religion, and, in turn, enforced it onto the people. Pained provides an example of

William the Conqueror. After conquerors, superstition was with reason.

Every politician has a social compact theory, and Paine’s rested on the idea of the

constitution. He believed that a constitution was more a fact than a thing, and if it

couldn’t be transferred into a physical form, it didn’t exist. A quite wonderful sentence of

his relating to the idea of the constitution reads, “a government is only the creature of a

constitution.” He furthers this idea by saying that the constitution of any country is the act

of the people. This stands in stark contrast to Burke, who believed that it is not just any

people, but noblemen who rise up, establish tradition, and in turn, create government.

This rising up brings the definition of primogenitureship—the oldest son takes over the

land. Burke was strongly in favor of this inheritance because he believed that if one

person was in charge of a large piece of land, it will keep tyrants from trying to take it

over. Paine, on the other hand, stated that “they [children] are thrown to the cannibal for

prey, and the natural parent prepares the unnatural repast.” Rhetorically, his construction

of this sentence flows as he pairs “natural” with “unnatural,” creating an antithesis. Paine

sees primogenitureship as a “law against every law of Nature,” using “law” as a

recognition that the country has established it as a rule, and “law of Nature” as natural

human rights. This sentence also serves as an antithesis. A few paragraphs later, Paine

provides a battery of examples that reduce Burke’s argument for primogenitureship to

absurdity. He also utilizes the Aristotelian method of numbering his arguments, which

also adds to his ethos. Paine makes six points against primogenitureship, basically saying

that there is no equality in it, only tyranny.

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While both Burke and Paine believed in liberty, they strongly disagreed on how to

achieve that liberty. It is these disagreements that create each of their reputations. Burke

believed in common sense, and emotions that one feels. Paine believed in reason, but

ironically, one of Paine’s best works was titled Common Sense. It could be noted that

Paine’s idea of common sense had the right balance of logic and emotion, whereas Burke

attributed total emotion to common sense. Burke believed in tradition, while Paine

believed in innovation and change, which was what the people of France undoubtedly

believed in too when they revolted. Burke believed in legal equality, while Paine believed

in political equality. Burke believed in reform and order, while Paine believed in

revolution and energy of individuals. It is with each of these beliefs as a foundation that

both Burke and Paine write in their styles. Paine was a revolutionary in the sense that he

encouraged change and saw human rights and opportunities in the future. Likewise, his

writing reflects that in the sentences he creates—choppy, simple, concrete—metaphors he

uses, and tone with which he drives those sentences forward—angry, motivated, inspired.

His determination for rights of man became his vessel and his rhetoric his oar, with which

he sailed off the coast of tradition. To conclude, Eric Foner described Paine as a

revolutionary internationalist, “his ideas and personal example have continued to inspire

those who believed that the modern world has betrayed, not fulfilled, the high hopes for a

joint social order raised during [his] Age of Revolution1.”

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