Patrick Henry: “Liberty or Death” Speech

Explanation and Analysis of the Document

When Patrick Henry began speaking on March 23, 1775, he understood that while his calls for militant action against the British Crown enjoyed considerable support, many of his fellow burgesses still questioned the wisdom of a direct confrontation with the king and Parliament. Quite aside from a sense of loyalty to the mother country, which many of the burgesses continued to espouse with diminishing enthusiasm, Virginia and the other colonies faced the world's greatest empire. Great Britain had vanquished France in the Seven Years' War (1756–1763), and the idea of a band of colonists emerging victorious from a war with a world power seemed doubtful to a considerable number of Virginians. How other colonies would react to a call to arms also remained a problem. Certainly Massachusetts could be counted on, but Pennsylvania, for example, continued to be dominated by a political elite that resisted demands for direct and immediate action against the royal government.

Thus Henry's first sentence directs a compliment at his opposition. Not only are those who disagree with him able men, but he also admires their patriotism. Henry accords due respect to the opinions that diverge from his own. This rhetorical ploy disarms precisely those in the audience who are eager to disagree with the speaker. Giving time to his opposition strengthens Henry's case—or at least provides a moment for him to suggest that just as he has listened carefully to their views, it is now time to listen to his. Henry, with a well-known reputation for radicalism, thus begins his speech in the mildest, most engaging way to address the concerns of those dissenting from his views.

Henry's second sentence begins with a truism: Different men think differently. Again, this manner of expression delays the moment when members of the audience might begin to challenge his views. Then, shifting to a personal mode, Henry refers to himself, noting that his views are the opposite of what others have just expressed, and precisely because of that fact he must “speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve.” The topic of Henry's speech is his craving for liberty, which he emphasizes by using the word freely and discussing the notion that a man should be able to speak “without reserve.” Henry's speech thus becomes the personification of his ideas: a free man speaking freely who means no disrespect to those who think otherwise. The first two sentences exhibit a man keenly desirous of maintaining the decorum of the assembly, taking issue with certain opinions by expressing his own, as is inevitable among groups of different men.

The fourth sentence again puts off the matter of Henry's views for another instant so that he can recognize the questing (an inquiry as to what should be done about the British Crown's suppression of American rights) as one of “awful moment to this country.” The words that follow are only justifiable because so much is at stake. This is a defining moment, which now (in the fifth sentence) Henry heralds in dramatic terms: The choice is “freedom or slavery.” By adding “for my own part,” Henry not only acknowledges that this is his personal opinion but also indicates that he is compelled to take responsibility for what he is about to say. To do anything less would not do justice to the “magnitude of the subject,” which can be grasped only through the “freedom of the debate.”

The final sentences of the first paragraph come full circle, with Henry pointing out that by expressing his views, he is as patriotic as his opponents. All sides of an argument must be heard in order to remain faithful to one's country and God. For Henry to suppress his own beliefs would, in effect, be an act of treason and of disloyalty to the “Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.” The final sentence in the first paragraph concludes by putting the British monarch in his place by reminding Henry's fellow burgesses that their ultimate loyalty must be to the Creator, the first cause of all life. Without challenging the moderates and those who regard him as a firebrand, Henry nevertheless suggests that his radicalism is founded on universal principles that cannot be overturned by any lesser authority than God.

Henry's second, shorter paragraph begins with another truism: how natural it is to avoid painful truths and rely on “illusions of hope.” He buttresses this notion of illusions with an allusion to classical mythology, to the siren that led men astray by creating beautiful fantasies masking an ugly reality. This use of mythology contains an implied criticism of the moderates, who have not drawn such a picture of “awful moment.” However, Henry seeks not to alienate but to overcome his opposition, so he then shifts to a series of questions. Rather than declaring that wise men are not deceived by fantasies, he asks what such men should do in the “great and arduous struggle for liberty.” Great here means both “important” and “good,” suggesting that the quest for freedom requires courage and determination. Rather than telling the burgesses what to think, he asks them to consider the matter as he does. Shifting to a biblical allusion, he poses another question about the “numbers of those, who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation.” Are men blinding themselves to the truth of Henry's difficult quest? The question is pointed but not nearly as inflammatory as using a sentence to directly accuse his opponents of willful blindness. In referencing his “anguish of spirit,” Henry acknowledges that his position causes him suffering, but he affirms it is better to “know the whole truth, to know the worst, and to provide for it.” This broad argument contains an indirect allusion to preparing for war, including the raising and arming of a militia. Repeating “for my part” indicates that Henry is standing alone, relying on his own conscience and intelligence. He again undermines his opposition by moving attention toward his own heroic posture, which he defines as the prudent position by using the word provide. That word purposely downplays the strong action that Henry advocates.

The short second paragraph is followed by two paragraphs in which Henry gathers up the experience of the colony's last decade (beginning in 1765, when he delivered his defiant attack on the Stamp Act). The only way to gauge the future is by assessing the past, which leads Henry to reject the counsel of those who believe they can negotiate better terms with the British ministry. Henry suggests that the British ministry's purposes are insidious, that the royal government is gradually eroding the colonists' rights while depending on their love of the mother country. He believes that all romantic notions of the ties between Great Britain and America should be dismissed: “Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss.” Britain's warlike actions belie its professions of love; instead of the reconciliation of two peoples, the ministry's aim is to subdue its colonial subjects. The huge size of the military expedition sent out to the colonies ought to convince the colonists that they are regarded as the enemy. At this point, presenting old arguments to Britain to halt the movement of its armies and navies would only be a form of self-deception. Then, in two hammer-blow sentences, Henry dispatches the efforts of a decade: No amount of pleading, begging, and bowing has moved the king to intervene on the colonists' behalf; indeed, the monarch has spurned their love. Henry works up a scene of shame in which the colonists have allowed themselves to be the victims of a tyrannical government. They can recover their dignity only by abandoning spurious reasons to hope. Henry reaches the crescendo of this paragraph when he boldly declares his solution to all these years of shame: In order to be free, the colonists must fight.

Having declared his support for war, Henry now confronts in the fifth paragraph the concern that the colonies do not have the strength to fight an empire. He argues that the colonists can only become weaker if they delay their declaration of war. Hope has become a phantom, which Henry pictures as the colonists lying supinely on their backs, unable to take decisive action. Liberty, Henry assures his fellow burgesses, is a “holy cause” and will draw millions to its defense. The idea of freedom is invincible, Henry asserts. God is just, and right is on the colonists' side. They will be fighting for the destiny of their nation, and there will be friends to help, perhaps an allusion to American hopes that the French would side against the British. The coming battle will reward the brave and the watchful—those who have given up hope in British fairness and integrity. It is too late for any other choice: Any retreat at this point would mean submitting to the Crown's power and thus to slavery. Shifting again to vivid imagery, Henry announces, “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.” From initially expressing due deference to his opponents, Henry has moved to an uncompromising, radical, and vehement call for war, rousing his fellow burgesses to embrace the inevitable conflict and to do so with enthusiasm.

The brief concluding paragraph subsides for a sentence, as Henry recovers from the outburst at the end of the fourth paragraph. In a quieter voice he states that there is no point in pursuing the matter, as the time for excusing or rationalizing the British ministry's actions and the negative role of the monarch is over. Some still cry for peace, but the war has actually begun, Henry insists, returning to his vehemence. Colonists are already on the field of battle, he notes, alluding to the clashes between the royal government and colonists in Boston. Henry asks his fellow burgesses: Is life precious at any cost, at the cost of freedom? Is a life of slavery preferable to death? Then, shifting the responsibility from them to himself, Henry concludes in one of the most powerful and famous declarations in American history: “I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!”

Additional Commentary by John Ragosta, University of Virginia

Henry was unsuccessful in 1774 in Philadelphia in urging the other colonies to support military preparedness as moderates continued to petition Britain and felt that such aggressive action would only provoke British wrath. Back in Virginia, at the Virginia Convention (formed after the royal governor had dissolved the House of Burgesses) held several weeks before the battles of Lexington and Concord, Henry rejoined the theme by introducing resolutions for arming and training the militia and admonished his colleagues that Britain had sent troops and fleets to deny colonists their liberties and enforce tyranny. Still, moderates in Virginia also hoped for a peaceful resolution to the conflict.

When his resolutions were debated on March 23, 1775, Henry’s frustration, anger, and passion poured forth in his most famous speech. Warning that men were grasping at the “illusions of hope” while Britain prepared for war, an exasperated Henry declared that “war is actually begun!” and prophetically said, “The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms!” His voice rising with a demand that Virginia support its New England brethren who were facing British guns, Henry grasped an ivory letter opener and stormed “give me liberty,” thrusting the apparent knife toward his breast, “or give me death.” Henry stood silent amid a stunned convention and audience. His speech had its intended effect, and the Virginia Convention adopted Henry’s resolutions calling for the arming of voluntary companies.

Shortly after Henry’s speech, British Governor Dunmore seized gunpowder from the public magazine in Williamsburg (April 20), and word of the battle of Lexington and Concord (fought on April 19) arrived in Virginia. As a result, Henry’s words became a battle cry. Some newly formed Minutemen emblazoned their hunting shirts with the motto “Liberty or Death,” as did a number of assemblymen. The same slogan appeared on flags and broadsides. Henry’s speech had given the Patriot cause a new motto, which was quickly embraced by the populace.