We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men and women

Elizabeth Cady Stanton, prophetess of equality, took up the sacred words of America’s founding and set them aflame with a new power: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men and women are created equal.” With this declaration, spoken at Seneca Falls in 1848, she struck a blow against the chains of centuries. For where the fathers of the republic had declared freedom for “men,” Stanton, with wisdom and courage, declared freedom for all. Her words were not mere repetition, but revelation: a reminder that truths lose nothing by being extended, but injustice loses everything when light is cast upon it.

The meaning of her words is clear and profound. To say that equality is “self-evident” is to say it is written in the fabric of existence, not granted by king or parliament, not bestowed by husband or father. It is a law higher than law, a truth older than nations. And yet, for millennia, women were denied their place at the table of human dignity. Stanton’s genius was not to invent equality, but to reveal it—to strip away the veil of prejudice and show that what was always true had been hidden by custom and tyranny.

The origin of this proclamation lies in the very heart of America. The Declaration of Independence declared that “all men are created equal.” Stanton, with deliberate boldness, echoed those words but bound women into them, refusing to let the promise of liberty remain half-fulfilled. In the hall of Seneca Falls, before a gathering both small and uncertain, she lit a torch that would burn for generations. Though she was mocked, dismissed, and opposed, the seed she planted would grow into the mighty oak of women’s suffrage and beyond.

History offers us many examples of the power of such words. Consider the Emancipation Proclamation, which declared freedom for enslaved peoples, not as a new gift, but as the recognition of a dignity already theirs. Or Gandhi’s cry in India, that all castes and creeds were equal in the sight of truth. Or Nelson Mandela’s insistence that no race was greater than another. Each of these echoed Stanton’s principle: that justice is not granted by rulers but uncovered, like a buried flame, waiting to be set free.

The deeper meaning of Stanton’s words lies also in their courage. To declare equality when the world does not live it is to speak prophecy. It is to call the people not to what they are, but to what they must become. Stanton knew her generation would not see full victory; yet she spoke as one who saw the Promised Land from afar. Her task was not to finish, but to begin—to declare the truth so that others might rise to embody it.

The lesson for us is this: do not let injustice pass in silence. Where you see dignity denied, raise your voice as Stanton did. Do not wait for permission, for truth does not need permission—it needs proclamation. And do not think your words too small. Seneca Falls was a modest gathering, yet from it came a movement that reshaped nations. One voice, if aligned with truth, can shake the pillars of history.

Practical action flows thus: honor equality in your home, in your work, in your community. Do not think of it only as a political demand but as a daily practice. Listen to the voices often silenced, share power where it is hoarded, and remember that to affirm another’s dignity is to strengthen your own. Let your speech and action declare, again and again, that all men and women are created equal, until this truth, self-evident in word, becomes self-evident in practice.

So let Stanton’s words echo through the ages as both flame and compass: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men and women are created equal.” May they remind us that justice delayed is not justice denied forever, and that every generation is called to widen the circle of freedom. For equality is not a gift to be granted, but a birthright to be recognized, and those who dare to proclaim it, as Stanton did, stand forever in the company of prophets and liberators.