The American Future (24 page)

 

The fervor of the abolitionist evangelicals complicates the way we might feel about the “wall of separation” erected by the Virginia statute and the First Amendment between morality and politics. Of course it was entirely possible to arrive at an abhorrence for slavery from rationally derived ethics; the degradation of man to commodity, the violation of natural right to sovereignty over person, and so on. Historically, though, both in the early nineteenth century, and again in the 1960s, the force of shame directed at slaveholders and segregationists was religious. Realistically, it is unlikely that the propagation of Enlightenment views of humanity would have swayed millions of nineteenth-century white Americans against slavery. After all, such moral principles convinced Jefferson and Patrick Henry of the infamy of the institution, but still failed to move them to liberate their own slaves, so what hope was there of persuading less high-minded southerners to make sacrifice of their property, or what Henry described as “inconveniencing” himself? Both in the 1830s and 1840s, and then again in the 1960s, it was the determination of the Rankins and Finneys, and Fannie Lou Hamers, to cross the line between religion and politics and appeal to the country's Christian conscience that brought white Americans into brotherhood with persecuted blacks. For secular humanists (like this writer), this is an awkward historical truth to acknowledge, accustomed as they are to equating evangelical fervor with illiberal reaction. The abolitionist argument that some enormities were so vicious that they had to be
made accountable to the principles of the gospel, even if that meant breaching the establishment clause of the First Amendment in the interests of a higher good, is not altogether different from the way Right to Life evangelicals argue today. History sets such snares to make us think harder.

 

If appeals to his Christianity had any effect on Thomas Rankin, the slave-owning brother of John, no record survives of a repentance. So the likelihood is that Thomas took the moral drubbing no more warmly than Henry Meigs did from his brother Montgomery. If Thomas Rankin's dander was up, he would have been more in tune with much of the plantation South in the 1830s, which felt itself under heavy siege from abolitionist righteousness. In July 1835 a shipload of thousands of abolitionist tracts and treatises was unloaded from the steamer
Columbia
onto the docks at Charleston Harbor, a cargo of fervor dispatched by the New York evangelical Lewis Tappan. The following night, a bonfire was made of them. And the sense of resentment that the gospel was being manipulated by the “fanatics” (as slave society supposed) was particularly fierce because at least two slave rebellions (one, Denmark Vesey in 1822, nipped in the bud; the other, Nat Turner in 1831, brutally successful) involved leaders who claimed the inspiration of holiness. Vesey had been one of the founders of the African Episcopal Methodist Church in Charleston, and his chief coconspirator was “Gullah” Jack Pritchard, who also preached in the church and was said to have married up African conjuring to Christian liturgy. At least as important for the jumpy guardians of order in South Carolina as hanging the ringleaders and thirty-three others was the closure and destruction of the Methodist church, now demonized as a cover for insurrection. Nat Turner, who killed fifty-seven whites in Virginia before being captured, and was known as ‘“the Prophet” to his slave followers, took authority for his revolt in personal dreams of an impending struggle between Christ and Antichrist and was famous for the intensity of his piety and prayers.

At least as frightening to the white South as evidence of actual rebellions were incendiary calls for liberation coming from the North. The most eloquent of those was the 1829 revolutionary tract of the free black tailor David Walker,
One Universal Cry
. A ferocious
attack on the institutionalized hypocrisy of the United States and its canonical founding texts—the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution—the gravamen of Walker's charge was that by tolerating and profiting from slavery, America had revealed itself a godless, unchristian nation. This had been the message of Rankin, Finney, and Weld, too, but coming from the pen of a black, it had much greater power to enrage and terrify. Thus was born in the mind of the paranoid South an ultimately unholy alliance of violent black rage and naive white “fanaticism.” Much the same would be said of the civil-rights alliance of “interfering Jews and priests” and “uppity niggers” in the 1960s. It became suddenly urgent to foreclose opportunities for slaves and free blacks to read seditious literature coming from the North. An Alabama Baptist, William Jenkin, who went on to become a minister, was one of those who devoured illicit abolitionist writings but was terrified of being discovered. “I had rather been caught with a hog than a newspaper,” he later said, “because for the hog I was likely to get a whipping but for the newspaper I might get a hanging.” Even the places where slaves might get the rudiments of an education were now suspect. Sunday schools became a special hate target of organized mobs; in Kentucky teachers and students were beaten, the buildings wrecked or burned.

But some on the pained receiving end of the barrage of antislavery agitation—southern Baptists, Methodists, and Congregationalists—thought they couldn't burn, hang, or flog their way out of trouble (though it helped). A two-pronged counterattack was needed. In the first instance they pulled out their Bible, as they had been regularly doing since the rise of abolitionism in the 1770s, to demonstrate that if the Hebrews had bondsmen and women, then the Almighty in his wisdom must have condoned if not actually designed the practice. Then came the argument that the slaves were from such a savage culture that they were far better off in the rice fields of Savannah than the African savanna.

But beside dueling with the white evangelical fanatics, a number of churchmen came to believe that it was futile to prevent blacks from going to Christianity, for that seemed to encourage the rise of Denmark Veseys and Nat Turners, uncontrollable priests and prophets who would turn the gospel into a license to murder their masters. Better perhaps to take charge of the Christianization and education of the
slaves and use the gospel to instill precepts of obedience, respect, and humility, in return for which, benevolent treatment—not to mention the blessings of salvation—would be ministered to them. A plantation “mission” movement was thus born.

Owner of rice and cotton plantations in Midway, Georgia, not far from Savannah, Charles Colcock Jones felt especially called to this mission to create a mutually benign, God-obliging slave world. Jones felt this way because he had been educated in the North, at Phillips Academy and then at Princeton seminary (where in fact both defenders and attackers of slavery could be found). The young Jones passionately believed in the evil of the system on which his own wealth was based, and that, eventually, it would be wiped out. But correspondence with his cousin Mary, whom he ended up marrying, and his own sense of a local tragedy for black and white alike, should a head-on collision be accelerated, persuaded him of the need for a middle road. Returning to Midway, and the pretty church on the green where he had made his first confession in 1821 and whose pulpit he now occupied, only confirmed him in this course. The slaves, degraded by their oppression as they were, were not yet ready for liberty but needed an apprenticeship in moral and religious “amelioration” before this could be safely granted them. Charles Colcock Jones and his fellow plantation missionaries would devote their lives to bringing this about: seeking out and berating masters who were inhumane and brutal; and providing the slaves with education, medicine when needed, for the body and soul. Thus they would be elevated for—eventual—freedom. It comes as no surprise to learn, then, that the sister of one of Jones's best friends in the North was Harriet Beecher Stowe. And if you go to Midway, Georgia, opposite the great magnolia shading Colcock Jones's lichen-covered tomb, you will find two doors offering entrance to the white church: a grand one for white worshippers and a mean one, off to the side, for all those slaves to whom Jones was ministering. For many, South and North, slave and free, this indignity was at odds with the precept of universal admissibility to the merciful grace of God. They didn't want to be let into heaven through a stooping door. They wanted a church of their own.

I was born 11 February 1783 at Cape May, state of New Jersey. At the age of seven years I was parted from my parents and went to live as a servant maid with a Mr. Sharp at the distance of about sixty miles from the place of my birth.

My parents being wholly ignorant of the knowledge of God had not therefore instructed me in any degree in this great matter. Not long after the commencement of my attendance on this lady she had bid me do something respecting my work which in a little while after she asked me if I had done, when I replied—Yes—but this was not true.

At this awful point in my early history the Spirit of God moved in power through my conscience and told me I was a wretched sinner…

 

In the year 1804 it so happened I went with others to hear a missionary of the Presbyterian order preach. It was an afternoon meeting but few were there, the place was a schoolroom; but the preacher was solemn…at the reading of the Psalms a ray of conviction darted into my soul. These were the words composing the first verse of the Psalms for the service: “Lord I am vile conceived in sin / Born unholy and unclean…”

This description of my condition struck me in the heart and made me feel in some measure the weight of my sins…but not knowing how to run immediately to the Lord for help I was driven to Satan…and tempted to destroy myself. There was a brook about a quarter of a mile from the house in which there was a deep hole where water whirled about around the rocks; to this place it was suggested I must go and drown myself. At the time I had a book in my hand; it was on a Sabbath morning about ten o'clock; to this place I resorted where on coming to the water I sat down on the bank and on my looking into it, it was suggested it would be an easy death. It seemed that someone was speaking to me saying put your head under, it will not distress you. But by some means of which I can give no account my thoughts were taken entirely from this purpose when I went from this place to the house again. It was the unseen arm of God that saved me from self-murder.

1809

I went to the city of Philadelphia and commenced going to the English church the pastor of which was an Englishman named Pilmore…But while sitting under the ministration of this man which was about three months…it
appeared there was a wall between me and the people which was higher than I could ever see over and seemed to make this impression on my mind, this is not the people for you…But on returning home I inquired of the head cook of the house of the rules respecting the Methodists as I knew she belonged to that society…on which account I told her I should not be able to abide such strict rules not even for one year—however I told her I would go with her and hear what they had to say.

The man who was to speak in the afternoon was the Reverend Richard Allen of the African Episcopal Methodists in America. During the labors of that afternoon I had come to the conclusion that this is the people to which my heart unites and it so happened that as soon as the service closed he invited such as felt the desire to flee the wrath to come, to unite with them and I embraced the opportunity. Three weeks from that day my soul was gloriously converted to God under preaching. The text was barely pronounced which was “I perceive thy heart is not right in the sight of God” when there appeared to view in the center of my heart one sin and this was malice against one particular individual who had strove deeply to injure me which I resented. At this discovery I said LORD I forgive every creature. That instant it appeared to me that a garment which had entirely enveloped my whole person even to my fingers' ends split at the crown of my head and was stripped away from me passing like a shadow from my sight—when the glory of God seemed to cover me in its stead.

That moment, though hundreds were present, I did leap to my feet and declare that God, for Christ's sake, had pardoned the sins of my soul. Great was the ecstasy of my mind for I felt not only that the sin of malice was pardoned but that all other sins were swept away together. That day was the first my heart believed and my tongue made confession unto salvation—the first words uttered, a part of that song which shall fill eternity with its sound was glory to God. For a few moments I had the power to exhort sinners and to tell of the wonders and of the goodness of Him who had clothed me in salvation. During this the minister was silent until I felt the duty of my soul had been performed.

1814

Between four and five years after my sanctification, on a certain time an impressive silence fell upon me and I stood as if someone was about to speak to me yet I had no such thought in my heart. But to my utter surprise there seemed to sound a voice…which said to me, “Go preach the gospel!” I immediately replied, “No one will believe me.” Again I listened and again the
voice seemed to say, “Preach the gospel; I will put words in your mouth and will turn your enemies to become your friends.” At first I supposed that Satan had spoken to me for I had read that he could transform himself into an angel of light for the purpose of deception. Immediately I went into a secret place and called upon the Lord to know if he had called me to preach and whether I was deceived or not; when there appeared to my view the form and figure of a pulpit with a Bible lying thereon which was presented to me plainly as if it had been literal fact.

In consequence of this my mind became so exercised that during the night following I took a text and preached in my sleep. I thought that there stood before me a great multitude while I expounded to them the things of religion. So violent were my exertions and so loud my exclamations that I awoke from the sound of my own voice which also awoke the family of the house where I resided. Two days after I went to see the preacher in charge of the African Society who was the Reverend Richard Allen…to tell him that I felt it was my duty to preach the gospel…But as I drew near to the street where his house was which was in the city of Philadelphia my courage began to fail me so terrible did the cross appear it seemed that I should not be able to bear it…several times on my way I turned back again but often I felt my strength renewed…

I told him that the Lord had revealed to me that I must preach the gospel…But as to women preaching he said that our Discipline knew nothing at all about it—that it did not call for women preachers. This I was glad to hear because it removed the fear of the cross from me—but no sooner did this feeling cross my mind than I found that the love of souls had in a measure departed from me, that holy energy which burned within me as in a fire began to be smothered…

If a man may preach because the Savior died for him why not the woman seeing he died for her also? Is he not a whole Savior instead of a half one as those who hold it wrong for a woman to preach would seem to make it appear? If to preach the Gospel is the gift of heaven, comes by inspiration solely, is God straitened? Must he take the man exclusively? May he not, did he not and can he not, inspire a female to preach the simple story of the birth, life, death and resurrection of our Lord and accompany it too with power to the sinner's heart?…

In my wanderings up and down among men, preaching according to my ability, I have frequently found families who told me that they had for several years been to a meeting and yet, while listening to hear what God would say
by his poor female instrument, have believed with trembling—tears rolling down their cheeks, the sign of contrition and repentance towards God.

1821

It was now eight years since I had made application to be permitted to preach the gospel during which time I had only been allowed to exhort…the subject now was renewed afresh in my mind; it was as a fire shut up in my bones. During this time I had solicited of the Reverend Richard Allen who…had become Bishop of the African Episcopal Methodists in America, to be permitted the liberty of holding prayer meetings in my own hired house and of exhorting as I found liberty, which was granted me…

Soon after this the Reverend Richard Williams was to preach at Bethel Church—where I with others was assembled. He entered the pulpit, gave out the hymn which was sung and then addressed the throne of grace…the text he took is Jonah, 2nd chapter, 9th verse “Salvation is of the lord.” But as he proceeded to explain, he seemed to have lost the spirit; when in the same instant I sprang, as by altogether supernatural impulse, to my feet to give an exhortation on the very text which my brother Williams had taken…

I told them I was like Jonah; for then it had been nearly eight years since the Lord had called me to preach but that I had lingered like him and delayed to go to the bidding of the Lord…

During the exhortation God made manifest his power in a manner sufficient to show the world that I was called to labor according to my ability and the grace given unto me…

At the first meeting…at my uncle's house there was with others who had come from curiosity to hear the woman preacher, an old man who was a deist and who said he did not believe the colored people had any souls—he was sure they had none. He took a seat very near where I was standing and boldly tried to look me out of countenance. But as I labored on in the best manner I was able, looking to God all the while it seemed to me I had but little liberty, yet there was an arrow from the bent bow of the gospel and fastened in his till then obdurate heart. After I had done speaking he went out and called the people round him, said that my preaching might seem a small thing yet he believed I had the worth of souls at heart…he now seemed to admit that colored people had souls whose good I had in view…He now came into the house and in the most friendly manner shook hands with me saying he hoped God had spared him to some good purpose. This man was a great slave-holder and had been very cruel, thinking nothing of
knocking down a slave with a fence stake or whatever might come to hand. From this time it was said of him he became greatly altered in his ways for the better…

The Lord was with me, glory be to his holy name. I next went six miles and held a meeting in a colored friend's house…and preached to a well-behaved congregation of both colored and white. After service I again walked back which was all twelve miles in the same day.

1822

I returned to Philadelphia and attended meetings in and out of the city…I felt a greater love for the people than ever.

In July I spoke in a schoolhouse to a large congregation…here we had a sweet foretaste of heaven—full measure and running over—shouting and rejoicing—while the poor errand bearer of a free gospel was assisted from on high. I wish my reader had been there to share with us the joyous heavenly feast…

I was sent for by the servant of a white gentleman to hold a meeting in his house in the evening. He invited the neighbors, colored and white, when I spoke according to the ability God gave me. It was pleasant to my poor soul to be there—Jesus was in our midst…

I next attended and preached several times at a camp meeting which continued five days. We had Pentecostal showers—sinners were pricked to the heart and cried mightily to God for succor from impending judgment and I verily believe the Lord was well pleased at our weak endeavors to serve him in the tented grove.

1823

In the month of June 1823 I went on from Philadelphia to New York with Bishop Allen and several elders to attend the New York Annual Conference of our denomination where I spent three months of my time…On 4 June I spoke in the Asbury Church from Psalms chapter 33. I think I never witnessed such a shouting and rejoicing time…The spirit of God came upon me I spoke without fear of man…the preachers shouted and prayed and it was a time long to be remembered.

1824

In company with a good sister who took a gig and horse I travelled about 300 miles and labored in different places. Went to Denton African Church
and on the first Sabbath gave two sermons. The church was in a thriving, prosperous condition and the Lord blessed our word to our comfort…by request I also spoke in the Old Methodist Church in Denton which was full to overflowing. It was a happy meeting. My tongue was loosened and my heart warm with the love of God.

I have travelled in four years 1,600 miles and of that I walked 211 and preached the kingdom of God to the falling sons and daughters of Adam counting it all for the sake of Jesus…

In Milford…at night the people came in their carriages from the country but were disappointed for I spoke in a colored church. The doors and windows were open on account of the heat, but were crowded with people; pride and prejudice were buried. We had a powerful time. I was quite taken out of myself; the meeting held till daybreak, but I returned to my home. They told me sinners were converted, backsliders reclaimed, mourners comforted…Then they wished us to stay until next night to preach again but I thought it best to leave them hungry.

I made an appointment at a place called Hole in the Wall, it was a little settlement of colored people but we had no church but used a dwelling house and had a large congregation. I had no help but an old man, one hundred and odd years of age, he prayed and his prayers made us feel awful, he died in the year 1825 and has gone to reap the reward of his labor…

Although in a slave state we had every thing in order, good preaching, a solemn time long to be remembered. Some of the poor slaves came happy in the Lord, walked twenty to thirty and from that to seventy miles to worship God. Although through hardships they counted it all for joy.

1827

I went to Baltimore with the bishop and enjoyed great preaching. We had a good time rejoicing in the Lord. I left them for Albany…Glory to God…the people in Niagara seemed to me to be a kind and Christian-like people. The white inhabitants united with us and ladies of great renown. The slaves that came felt their freedom, began to see the necessity of education…I…crossed the lake from Buffalo to Fort George and spoke about eight miles from there; it was cold and snowed very fast—it was four o'clock in the afternoon—the congregation had been there and gone. We were on a sleigh and the driver got lost; we were all brought up in a swamp among fallen tree tops but we turned round and found a house and lodged all night…after I spoke to the people I left them and made an appointment for the Indians; two of the chiefs called at where I stopped to see me. I asked them to pray for us,
they complied but in their own tongue. I felt the power of God in my heart.