Phillis Wheatley: Dialogues on Equality and Freedom

     

There are few shining examples of liberty more deserving of praise than the Declaration of Independence.  “We hold these truths to be self-evident…”. But while they may have been self-evident, they did not translate easily into practice, as Phillis Wheatley—that poetic genius of the revolutionary war period—could well attest. This is clearly not the fault of the Declaration itself—merely an indication of the fragility of liberty as it attempts to make its way from paper to practice.

Wheatley was a great defender of freedom and the Revolution, though her contributions—and those of the Africans she represented—have received rather less credit than they deserve for their role in reinforcing the foundations of the American project and its defense of freedom.  Wheatley deserves a place in the country’s memory alongside Thomas Jefferson and George Washington—both of whom engaged her work in their writing. But while both men addressed Wheatley, they did so in ways that pointed toward quite different paths for America.   We explore these differences below in two dialogues: one between Jefferson and Wheatley and the other between the poet and Washington.

Although the first to speak in this dialogue is Jefferson, the views he expresses represent those of many white Americans in the founding years of the country.  Jefferson lays out his argument in support of the innateness of African inferiority in Query XIV from Notes on the State of Virginia where he cites Wheatley specifically, disparaging her poetry:

Whether [blacks] will be equal to the composition of a more extensive run of melody, or of complicated harmony, is yet to be proved. Misery is often the parent of the most affecting touches in poetry.—Among the blacks is misery enough, God knows, but no poetry. Love is the peculiar œstrum of the poet. Their love is ardent, but it kindles the senses only, not the imagination. Religion indeed has produced a Phyllis Whately (sic); but it could not produce a poet. The compositions published under her name are below the dignity of criticism.

In a moment, we will allow Wheatley to defend herself via her poetry.  For now, we move on to visit the rest of Jefferson’s argument.  The most devastating part of his critique of African intellect lies in his interpretation of slavery in antiquity and the great intellects who emerged from that oppressed state.  He argues that in Greek and Roman antiquity, despite a regime of inhumane conditions and punishments, their slaves “were often their rarest artists. They excelled too in science, insomuch as to be usually employed as tutors to their master's children. Epictetus, Terence, and Phædrus, were slaves”.

What makes for the difference between these slaves of antiquity and those of Jefferson’s time in America?  It is that the former: “were of the race of whites. It is not their condition [in American] then, but nature, which has produced the distinction”.  Wheatley’s life and work speak forcefully against this view.

Wheatley was brought to Boston from the west coast of Africa in 1761.  Her estimated age upon arriving in America is seven years, given her missing two front teeth.  By all accounts, she was swift in learning English and even Latin.  Drawing from deep wells of knowledge, she shows herself through poetry and letters to be well-learned in the Bible and classical literature.  The Wheatley family, to their credit, recognized her fine intellect and supported her learning.  The young poet gained acclaim within Boston and across the sea in Britain, which led to the 1773 publication of her poetry volume, Poems of Various Subjects, Religious and Moral. She begins the collection with the poem “To Maecenas”—quite a powerful choice, as it provides a forceful response to the denigration and doubt expressed by Jefferson and others like him about the equality of Africans with whites.

She, like Jefferson, traces her argument back to antiquity, but takes rather a different path.  Where Jefferson uses this past to justify African inferiority, Wheatley uses it to solidify her right to step into and work within the literary heritage that flows from the ancients right down to her own day.  Maecenas was a wealthy patron of the arts in Rome and was a supporter of both Virgil and Horace.  She begins, therefore, with a smart nod to her own patrons in eighteenth century America and Britain, while at the same time inserting herself into the larger literary tradition of the ancients.

She begins by stating her fervent desire to work within the classical tradition:

The underlined words designate places where Wheatley claims the classical mantle.  The “Great Maro” and the “Mantuan Sage” both refer to Virgil, famed poet of the Aeneid and beneficiary of Maecenas’s patronage.  The “Nine” refer to the nine muses of Greek literature who inspire and speak to those who practice the arts, including poetry, theater, and dance, among others.  The italicized phrases show Wheatley seeking to claim these Greek and Roman literary traditions for herself.  The italicized phrases show Wheatley seeking to claim these Greek and Roman literary traditions for herself.  In this claimed heritage, her mind could be tutored by the beauty of the tradition.  Like her predecessors, her soul could be enlightened and enlivened.

But the next lines note with sorrow that her access has been blocked. Rather than mounting with the muses to “ride upon the wind”, she is forced to “sit, and mourn a grov’ling mind”.  While others’ bosoms become the “Muses home” she sighs with longing, lamenting that “But I less happy, cannot raise the song, The fault’ring, music dies upon my tongue”. Here she makes reference to Terence—the formerly enslaved African playwright whom Jefferson references above.  Wheatley argues that he, though enslaved, was allowed to have his “soul replenish’d, and his bosom fir’d”.  In protest, she seeks a remedy to this injustice as she demands: “But say, ye Muses, why this partial grace, To one alone of Afric’s sable race”.  That is, will it be just this one African from antiquity who will have the pleasure of the Muses?  Why not open the way to all Africans to drink at the river of inspiration for their souls’ refreshment?

Despite the challenges barring her way, Wheatley refuses to allow the obstacles to freedom to limit her song.  Thus, she determines to “snatch a laurel, from thine honour’d head, While you indulgent smile upon the deed”.  The “you” here refers to the patron Maecenas.  She concludes the poem by calling on this patron to “Hear me propitious, and defend my lays”.  Her usage of “lay” here seems to refer to the noun version of the word, which means situation or condition, as in determining the “lay of the land” so that one can form a strategy or plan for navigating a difficult circumstance.

Where Jefferson focused on what he considered to be the “unfortunate difference of colour” in Africans and supported plans for their colonization following emancipation, not all of the founders were as convinced of the innate inferiority of Wheatley and her fellow Africans.  Indeed, the poet found an admiring friend in George Washington for whom she composed a laudatory poem praising his leadership of the Revolution.  The two shared a letter exchange which pointed toward an alternative vision for the country and its future.

On October 26, 1775, Wheatly addressed a letter to General George Washington and enclosed an original poem of encouragement and praise.  Her letter reads:

SIR,

I Have taken the freedom to address your Excellency in the enclosed poem, and entreat your acceptance, though I am not insensible of its inaccuracies. Your being appointed by the Grand Continental Congress to be Generalissimo of the armies of North America, together with the fame of your virtues, excite sensations not easy to suppress. Your generosity, therefore, I presume, will pardon the attempt. Wishing your Excellency all possible success in the great cause you are so generously engaged in. I am,

Your Excellency’s most obedient humble servant,

Phillis Wheatley

The poem, written in heroic couplets, esteems Washington and paints a laudatory portrait that does not fail to impress the general and future president. She begins in praise of freedom:

This focus on the struggle for freedom under daunting circumstances is a common theme in Wheatley’s poetry.  A 1773 poem to the Earl of Dartmouth, British Secretary of State for the Colonies, celebrates “Fair Freedom” as early as the second line.  Then toward the end, she explains: “Should you, my lord, while you peruse my song, Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung….I young in life, by seeming cruel fate, Was snatch’d from Afric’s fancy’d happy seat”.

Wheatley remembered being rudely snatched from her native home. The memory of a time of freedom before her enslavement moved her to be clear in both her poetry and prose that the fight for the colonies’ freedom converged with the emancipatory struggle of the Africans her verse gave voice to.

She writes with a certainty that goodness and virtue stand on the side of those fighting in the cause of liberty.  Thus, she concludes the paean to Washington:

Washington is greatly moved by the poet’s praise and sends a letter roundly praising her in turn—quite in contrast to Jefferson’s ungenerous assessment of her poetic talent.  Washington writes:

He goes further, inviting her to visit him in Cambridge or “near Head Quarters”, should she have occasion to be in town.  His closing lines reinforce his admiration: “I shall be happy to see a person so favourd by the Muses, and to whom nature has been so liberal and beneficent in her dispensations”.

Wheatley, Jefferson, and Washington each played seminal roles in the foundation of the country.  Jefferson’s silver pen spun a vision of America devoted to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  But his vision was limited.  While he was clear about the evils of slavery, he justified the degraded status of Africans and proposed a vision of America without its African population.  Washington, on the other hand, while he also owned slaves, expressed an openness of heart to Wheatley and others like her, and became the only founder to free all of his enslaved property upon his death.  Of these dueling portraits—one where all are free and equal opposed to another where unequal status continues to cast a shadow across the centuries—we must continue to choose the one that points us toward that ever more expansive vision.