The same spirit of justice and humanity animating him in defence of liberty inspired his exertions for the abolition of the barbarous custom or institution of War. When I call war an institution, I mean international war, sanctioned, explained, and defined by the Law of Nations, as a mode of determining questions of right. I mean war, the arbiter and umpire, the Ordeal by Battle, deliberately continued in an age of civilization, as the means of justice between nations. Slavery is an institution sustained by municipal law. War is an institution sustained by the Law of Nations. Both are relics of the early ages, and are rooted in violence and wrong.
The principle, already considered, that nations and individuals are bound by one and the same rule, applies here with unmistakable force. The Trial by Battle, to which individuals once appealed for justice, is branded by our civilization as monstrous and impious; nor can we recognize honor in the successful combatant. Christianity turns from these scenes, as abhorrent to her best injunctions. And is it right in nations to prolong a usage, monstrous and impious in individuals? There can be but one answer.
This definition leaves undisturbed that question of Christian ethics, whether the right of self-defence is consistent with the example and teaching of Christ. Channing thought it was. It is sufficient that war, when regarded as a judicial combat, sanctioned by the Law of Nations as an institution to determine justice, raises no such question, involves no such right. When, in our age, two nations, parties to existing international law, after mutual preparations, continued perhaps through years, appeal to war and invoke the God of Battles, they voluntarily adopt this unchristian umpirage; nor can either side plead that overruling necessity on which alone the right of self-defence is founded. They are governed at every step by the Laws of War. But self-defence is independent of law; it knows no law, but springs from sudden tempestuous urgency, which brooks neither circumscription nor delay. Define it, give it laws, circumscribe it by a code, invest it with form, refine it by punctilio, and it becomes the Duel. And modern war, with its definitions, laws, limitations, forms, and refinements, is the Duel of Nations.
These nations are communities of Christian brothers. War is, therefore, a duel between brothers; and here its impiety finds apt illustration in the past. Far away in the early period of time, where uncertain hues of Poetry blend with the clearer light of History, our eyes discern the fatal contest between those two brothers, Eteocles and Polynices. No scene stirs deeper aversion; we do not inquire which was right. The soul cries out, in bitterness and sorrow, Both were wrong, and refuses to discriminate between them. A just and enlightened opinion, contemplating the feuds and wars of mankind, will condemn both sides as wrong, pronouncing all war fratricidal, and every battle-field a scene from which to avert the countenance, as from that dismal duel beneath the walls of Grecian Thebes.
To hasten this judgment our Philanthropist labored. "Follow my white plume," said the chivalrous monarch of France. "Follow the Right," more resplendent than plume or oriflamme, was the watchword of Channing. With a soul kindling intensely at every story of magnanimous virtue, at every deed of self-sacrifice in a righteous cause, his clear Christian judgment saw the mockery of what is called military glory, whether in ancient thunderbolts of war or in the career of modern conquest. He saw that the fairest flowers cannot bloom in soil moistened by human blood,—that to overcome evil by bullets and bayonets is less great and glorious than to overcome it by good,—that the courage of the camp is inferior to this Christian fortitude found in patience, resignation, and forgiveness of evil, as the spirit which scourged and crucified the Saviour was less divine than that which murmured, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
With fearless pen he arraigned that giant criminal, Napoleon Bonaparte. Witnesses flocked from all his scenes of blood; and the pyramids of Egypt, the coast of Palestine, the plains of Italy, the snows of Russia, the fields of Austria, Prussia, Spain, all Europe, sent forth uncoffined hosts to bear testimony against the glory of their chief. Never before, in the name of humanity and freedom, was grand offender arraigned by such a voice. The sentence of degradation which Channing has passed, confirmed by coming generations, will darken the name of the warrior more than any defeat of his arms or compelled abdication of his power.
These causes Channing upheld and commended with admirable eloquence, both of tongue and pen. Though abounding in beauty of thought and expression, he will be judged less by single passages, sentences, or phrases, than by the continuous and harmonious treatment of his subject. And yet everywhere the same spirit is discerned. What he said was an effluence rather than a composition. His style was not formal or architectural in shape or proportion, but natural and flowing. Others seem to construct, to build; he bears us forward on an unbroken stream. If we seek a parallel for him as writer, we must turn our backs upon England, and repair to France. Meditating on the glowing thought of Pascal, the persuasive sweetness of Fénelon, the constant and comprehensive benevolence of the Abbé Saint Pierre, we may be reminded of Channing.
With few of the physical attributes belonging to the orator, he was an orator of surpassing grace. His soul tabernacled in a body that was little more than a filament of clay. He was small in stature; but when he spoke, his person seemed to dilate with the majesty of his thoughts,—as the Hercules of Lysippus, a marvel of ancient art, though not more than a foot in height, revived in the mind the superhuman strength which overcame the Nemean lion:—
His voice was soft and musical, not loud or full in tone; and yet, like conscience, it made itself heard in the inmost chambers of the soul. His eloquence was gentleness and persuasion, reasoning for religion, humanity, and justice. He did not thunder or lighten. The rude elemental forces furnish no proper image of his power. Like sunshine, his words descended upon the souls of his hearers, and under their genial influence the hard in heart were softened, while the closely hugged mantle of prejudice and error dropped to the earth.
His eloquence had not the character and fashion of forensic effort or parliamentary debate. It mounted above these, into an atmosphere unattempted by the applauded orators of the world. Whenever he spoke or wrote, it was with loftiest purpose, as his works attest,—not for public display, not to advance himself, not on any question of pecuniary interest, not under any worldly temptation, but to promote the love of God and man. Here are untried founts of truest inspiration. Eloquence has been called action; but it is something more. It is that divine and ceaseless energy which saves and helps mankind. It cannot assume its highest form in personal pursuit of dishonest guardians, or selfish contention for a crown,—not in defence of a murderer, or invective hurled at a conspirator. I would not over-step the proper modesty of this discussion, nor would I disparage the genius of the great masters; but all must join in admitting that no rhetorical skill or oratorical power can elevate these lower, earthly things to the natural heights on which Channing stood, when he pleaded for Freedom and Peace.
Such was our Philanthropist. Advancing in life, his enthusiasm seemed to brighten, his soul put forth fresh blossoms of hope, his mind opened to new truths. Age brings experience; but, except in a few constitutions of rare felicity, it renders the mind indifferent to what is new, particularly in moral truth. His last months were passed amid the heights of Berkshire, with a people to whom may be applied what Bentivoglio said of Switzerland,—"Their mountains become them, and they become their mountains." To them, on the 1st of August, 1842, he volunteered an Anniversary Address, in commemoration of that great English victory,—the peaceful emancipation of eight hundred thousand slaves. These were the last public words from his lips. His final benediction descended on the slave. His spirit, taking flight, seemed to say,—nay, still says, Remember the Slave.
Thus have I attempted, humbly and affectionately, to bring before you the images of our departed brothers, while I dwelt on the great causes in which their lives were revealed. Servants of Knowledge, Justice, Beauty, Love, they have ascended to the great Source of Knowledge, Justice, Beauty, Love. Though dead, they yet speak, informing the understanding, strengthening the sense of justice, refining the tastes, enlarging the sympathies. The body dies; but the page of the Scholar, the interpretation of the Jurist, the creation of the Artist, the beneficence of the Philanthropist cannot die.
I have dwelt upon their lives and characters, less in grief for what we have lost than in gratitude for what we possessed so long, and still retain, in their precious example. Proudly recollecting her departed children, Alma Mater may well exclaim, in those touching words of parental grief, that she would not give her dead sons for any living sons in Christendom. Pickering, Story, Allston, Channing! A grand Quaternion! Each, in his peculiar sphere, was foremost in his country. Each might have said, what the modesty of Demosthenes did not forbid him to boast, that, through him, his country had been crowned abroad. Their labors were wide as Scholarship, Jurisprudence, Art, Humanity, and have found acceptance wherever these are recognized.
Their lives, which overflow with instruction, teach one persuasive lesson to all alike of every calling and pursuit,—not to live for ourselves alone. They lived for Knowledge, Justice, Beauty, Love. Turning from the strifes of the world, the allurements of office, and the rage for gain, they consecrated themselves to the pursuit of excellence, and each, in his own sphere, to beneficent labor. They were all philanthropists; for the labors of all were directed to the welfare and happiness of man.
In their presence, how truly do we feel the insignificance of office and wealth, which men so hotly pursue! What is office? and what is wealth? Expressions and representatives of what is present and fleeting only, investing the possessor with a brief and local regard. Let this not be exaggerated; it must not be confounded with the serene fame which is the reflection of generous labors in great causes. The street lights, within the circle of their nightly glimmer, seem to outshine the distant stars, observed of men in all lands and times; but gas-lamps are not to be mistaken for celestial luminaries. They who live for wealth, and the things of this world, follow shadows, neglecting realities eternal on earth and in heaven. After the perturbations of life, all its accumulated possessions must be resigned, except those only which have been devoted to God and mankind. What we do for ourselves perishes with this mortal dust; what we do for others lives coeval with the benefaction. Worms may destroy the body, but they will not consume such a fame.
Struggles of the selfish crowd, clamors of a false patriotism, suggestions of a sordid ambition, cannot obscure that commanding duty which enjoins perpetual labor for the welfare of the whole human family, without distinction of country, color, or race. In this work, Knowledge, Jurisprudence, Art, Humanity, all are blessed ministers. More puissant than the sword, they will lead mankind from the bondage of error into that service which alone is freedom:—
"Hæ tibi erunt artes, pacisque imponere morem."[186]
The brothers we commemorate join in summons to this gladsome obedience. Their examples have voice. Go forth into the many mansions of the house of life. Scholar! store them with learning. Jurist! strengthen them with justice. Artist! adorn them with beauty. Philanthropist! fill them with love. Be servants of truth, each in his vocation,—sincere, pure, earnest, enthusiastic. A virtuous enthusiasm is self-forgetful and noble. It is the grand inspiration yet vouchsafed to man. Like Pickering, blend humility with learning. Like Story, ascend above the present, in place and time. Like Allston, regard fame only as the eternal shadow of excellence. Like Channing, plead for the good of man. Cultivate alike the wisdom of experience and the wisdom of hope. Mindful of the future, do not neglect the past; awed by the majesty of antiquity, turn not with indifference from the new. True wisdom looks to the ages before, as well as behind. Like the Janus of the Capitol, one front regards the past, rich with experience, with memories, with priceless traditions of virtue; the other is directed to the All Hail Hereafter, richer still with transcendent hopes and unfulfilled prophecies.
We stand on the threshold of a new age, which is preparing to recognize new influences. The ancient divinities of Violence and Wrong are retreating before the light of a better day. The sun is entering a new ecliptic, no longer deformed by those images of animal rage, Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Sagittarius, but beaming with the mild radiance of those heavenly signs, Faith, Hope, and Charity.
The age of Chivalry is gone. An age of Humanity has come. The Horse, whose importance, more than human, gave its name to that early period of gallantry and war, now yields the foremost place to Man. In serving him, in studying his elevation, in helping his welfare, in doing him good, are fields of bloodless triumph, nobler far than any in which Bayard or Du Guesclin conquered. Here are spaces of labor, wide as the world, lofty as heaven. Let me say, then, in the benison once bestowed upon the youthful knight,—Scholar! Jurist! Artist! Philanthropist! hero of a Christian age, companion of a celestial knighthood, "Go forth, be brave, loyal, and successful!"
And may it be our office to light a fresh beacon-fire on the venerable walls of Harvard, sacred to Truth, to Christ, and to the Church,[187]—to Truth Immortal, to Christ the Comforter, to the Holy Church Universal. Let the flame pass from steeple to steeple, from hill to hill, from island to island, from continent to continent, till the long lineage of fires illumine all the nations of the earth, animating them to the holy contests of Knowledge, Justice, Beauty, Love!
Speech at the Whig State Convention of Massachusetts, in Faneuil Hall, Boston, September 23, 1846.
The Convention was organized by the appointment of Hon. Charles Hudson, of Westminster, President,—Nathan Appleton, of Boston, Stephen C. Phillips, of Salem, Amos Abbott, of Andover, Samuel Hoar, of Concord, Thomas Kinnicutt, of Worcester, Isaac King, of Palmer, E.R. Coit, of Pittsfield, A. Richards, of Dedham, Artemas Hale, of Bridgewater, and Aaron Mitchell, of Nantucket, Vice-Presidents,—and F.W. Lincoln, Jr., of Boston, William S. Robinson, of Lowell, George Marston, of Barnstable, and E.G. Bowdoin, of South Hadley, Secretaries.
After the appointment of a committee to report resolutions, and its withdrawal for this purpose, there was a call for Mr. Sumner, who came forward and spoke. This incident was described by the Daily Advertiser, in its account of the proceedings, as follows.
"After this committee had gone out, Charles Sumner, Esq., of this city, in response to a general call, took the stand and made a very eloquent speech, which was received with sympathy and repeated bursts of applause.... An allusion which he made to Daniel Webster in terms of the highest admiration, and an appeal to him to add to his title of Defender of the Constitution that of Defender of Freedom [Humanity], was received with great applause."
Mr. Winthrop, at the call of the Convention, spoke immediately after Mr. Sumner.
As Mr. Sumner stepped from the platform, Mr. Appleton, one of the Vice-Presidents, said to him, "A good speech for Virginia, but out of place here"; to which Mr. Sumner replied, "If good for Virginia, it is good for Boston, as we have our responsibilities for Slavery." This incident is mentioned as opening briefly the practical issue made by many with regard to the discussion of Slavery at the North.
Mr. President and Fellow-Citizens, Whigs of Massachusetts:—
Grateful for the honor done me in this early call to address the Convention, I shall endeavor to speak with sincerity and frankness on the duties of the Whig party. It is of Duties that I shall speak.
On the first notice that our meeting was to be in Boston, many were disposed to regret that the country was not selected instead, believing that the opinions of the country, free as its bracing air, more than those of Boston, were in harmony with the tone becoming us at the present crisis. In the country is the spirit of freedom, in the city the spirit of commerce; and though these two spirits may at times act in admirable conjunction and with irresistible strength, yet it sometimes occurs that the generous and unselfish impulses of the one are checked and controlled by the careful calculations of the other. Even Right and Liberty are, in some minds, of less significance than dividends and dollars.
But I am happy that the Convention is convoked in Faneuil Hall,—a place vocal with inspiring accents; and though on other occasions words have been uttered here which the lover of morals, of freedom, and humanity must regret, these walls, faithful only to Freedom, refuse to echo them. Whigs of Massachusetts, in Faneuil Hall assembled, must be true to this early scene of patriot struggles; they must be true to their own name, which has descended from the brave men who took part in those struggles.
We are a Convention of Whigs. And who are the Whigs? Some may say they are supporters of the Tariff; others, that they are advocates of Internal Improvements, of measures to restrict the Veto Power, or it may be of a Bank. All these are now, or have been, prominent articles of the party. But this enumeration does not do justice to the Whig character.
The Whigs, as their name imports, are, or ought to be, the party of Freedom. They seek, or should seek, on all occasions, to carry out fully and practically the principles of our institutions. Those principles which our fathers declared, and sealed with their blood, their Whig children should seek to manifest in acts. The Whigs, therefore, reverence the Declaration of Independence, as embodying the vital truths of Freedom, especially that great truth, "that all men are created equal." They reverence the Constitution of the United States, and seek to guard it against infractions, believing that under the Constitution Freedom can be best preserved. They reverence the Union, believing that the peace, happiness, and welfare of all depend upon this blessed bond. They reverence the public faith, and require that it shall be punctiliously kept in all laws, charters, and obligations. They reverence the principles of morality, truth, justice, right. They seek to advance their country rather than individuals, and to promote the welfare of the people rather than of leaders. A member of such an association, founded on the highest moral sentiments, recognizing conscience and benevolence as animating ideas, is not open to the accusation that he "to party gave up what was meant for mankind,"—since all the interests of the party must be coincident and commensurate with the manifold interests of humanity.
Such is, as I trust, the Whig party of Massachusetts. It refuses to identify itself exclusively with those measures of transient policy which, like the Bank, may become "obsolete ideas," but connects itself with everlasting principles which can never fade or decay. Doing this, it does not neglect other things, as the Tariff, or Internal Improvements; but it treats them as subordinate. Far less does it show indifference to the Constitution or the Union; for it seeks to render these guardians and representatives of the principles to which we are attached.
The Whigs have been called by you, Mr. President, conservatives. In a just sense, they should be conservatives,—not of forms only, but of substance,—not of the letter only, but of the living spirit. The Whigs should be conservators of the ancestral spirit, conservators of the animating ideas in which our institutions were born. They should profess that truest and highest conservatism which watches, guards, and preserves the great principles of Truth, Right, Freedom, and Humanity. Such a conservatism is not narrow and exclusive, but broad and expansive. It is not trivial and bigoted, but manly and generous. It is the conservatism of '76.
Let me say, then, that the Whigs of Massachusetts are—I hope it is not my wish only that is father to the thought—the party which seeks the establishment of Truth, Freedom, Right, and Humanity, under the Constitution of the United States, and by the Union of the States. They are Unionists, Constitutionalists, Friends of the Right.
The question here arises, How shall this party, inspired by these principles, now act? The answer is easy. In strict accordance with their principles. It must utter them with distinctness, and act upon them with energy.
The party will naturally express opposition to the present Administration for its treacherous course on the tariff, and for its interference by veto with internal improvements; but it will be more alive to evils of greater magnitude,—the unjust and unchristian war with Mexico, which is not less absurd than wicked, and, beyond this, the institution of Slavery.
The time, I believe, has gone by, when the question is asked, What has the North to do with Slavery? It might almost be answered, that, politically, it has little to do with anything else,—so are all the acts of our Government connected, directly or indirectly, with this institution. Slavery is everywhere. Appealing to the Constitution, it enters the Halls of Congress, in the disproportionate representation of the Slave States. It holds its disgusting mart at Washington, in the shadow of the Capitol, under the legislative jurisdiction of the Nation,—of the North as well as the South. It sends its miserable victims over the high seas, from the ports of Virginia to the ports of Louisiana, beneath the protecting flag of the Republic. It presumes to follow into the Free States those fugitives who, filled with the inspiration of Freedom, seek our altars for safety; nay, more, with profane hands it seizes those who have never known the name of slave, freemen of the North, and dooms them to irremediable bondage. It insults and expels from its jurisdiction honored representatives of Massachusetts, seeking to secure for her colored citizens the peaceful safeguard of the Union. It assumes at pleasure to build up new slaveholding States, striving perpetually to widen its area, while professing to extend the area of Freedom. It has brought upon the country war with Mexico, with its enormous expenditures and more enormous guilt. By the spirit of union among its supporters, it controls the affairs of Government,—interferes with the cherished interests of the North, enforcing and then refusing protection to her manufactures,—makes and unmakes Presidents,—usurps to itself the larger portion of all offices of honor and profit, both in the army and navy, and also in the civil department,—and stamps upon our whole country the character, before the world, of that monstrous anomaly and mockery, a slaveholding republic, with the living truths of Freedom on its lips and the dark mark of Slavery on its brow.
In opposition to Slavery, Massachusetts has already, to a certain extent, done what becomes her character as a free Commonwealth. By successive resolutions of her Legislature, she has called for the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, and for the abolition of the slave-trade between the States; and she has also proposed an amendment of the Constitution, putting the South upon an equality with the North in Congressional representation. More than this, her judiciary, always pure, fearless, and upright, has inflicted upon Slavery the brand of reprobation. I but recall a familiar fact, when I refer to the opinion of the Supreme Court of Massachusetts, where it is expressly declared that "slavery is contrary to natural right, to the principles of justice, humanity, and sound policy."[188] This is the law of Massachusetts.
And shall this Commonwealth continue in any way to sustain an institution which its laws declare to be contrary to natural right, justice, humanity, and sound policy? Shall Whigs support what is contrary to the fundamental principles of the party? Here the consciences of good men respond to the judgment of the Court. If it be wrong to hold a single slave, it must be wrong to hold many. If it be wrong for an individual to hold a slave, it must be wrong for a State. If it be wrong for a State in its individual capacity, it must be wrong also in association with other States. Massachusetts does not allow any of her citizens within her borders to hold slaves. Let her be consistent, and call for the abolition of slavery wherever she is any way responsible for it, not only where she is a party to it, but wherever it may be reached by her influence,—that is, everywhere beneath the Constitution and laws of the National Government. "If any practices exist," said Mr. Webster, in one of those earlier efforts which commended him to our admiration, his Discourse at Plymouth in 1820,—"if any practices exist contrary to the principles of justice and humanity, within the reach of our laws or our influence, we are inexcusable, if we do not exert ourselves to restrain and abolish them."[189] This is correct, worthy of its author, and of Massachusetts. It points directly to Massachusetts as inexcusable for not doing her best to restrain and abolish slavery everywhere within the reach of her laws or her influence.
Certainly, to labor in this cause is far higher and nobler than to strive for repeal of the Tariff, once the tocsin to rally the Whigs. Repeal of Slavery under the Constitution and Laws of the National Government is a watchword more Christian and more potent, because it embodies a higher sentiment and a more commanding duty.
The time has passed when this can be opposed on constitutional grounds. It will not be questioned by any competent authority, that Congress may, by express legislation, abolish slavery: first, in the District of Columbia; secondly, in the Territories, if there should be any; thirdly, that it may abolish the slave-trade on the high seas between the States; fourthly, that it may refuse to admit new States with a constitution sanctioning slavery. Nor can it be questioned that the people of the United States may, in the manner pointed out by the Constitution, proceed to its amendment. It is, then, by constitutional legislation, and even by amendment of the Constitution, that slavery may be reached.
Here the question arises, Is there any compromise in the Constitution of such a character as to prevent action? This word is invoked by many honest minds as the excuse for not joining in this cause. Let me meet this question frankly and fairly. The Constitution, it is said, was the result of compromise between the Free States and the Slave States, which good faith will not allow us to break. To this it may be replied, that the Slave States, by their many violations of the Constitution, have already overturned all the original compromises, if any there were of perpetual character. But I do not content myself with this answer. I wish to say, distinctly, that there is no compromise on slavery not to be reached legally and constitutionally, which is the only way in which I propose to reach it. Wherever powers and jurisdiction are secured to Congress, they may unquestionably be exercised in conformity with the Constitution; even in matters beyond existing powers and jurisdiction there is a constitutional method of action. The Constitution contains an article pointing out how, at any time, amendments may be made. This is an important element, giving to the Constitution a progressive character, and allowing it to be moulded according to new exigencies and conditions of feeling. The wise framers of this instrument did not treat the country as a Chinese foot,—never to grow after its infancy,—but anticipated the changes incident to its advance. "Provided, that no amendment which may be made prior to the year one thousand eight hundred and eight shall in any manner affect the first and fourth clauses in the ninth section of the first article, and that no State, without its consent, shall be deprived of its equal suffrage in the Senate." These are the words of the Constitution. They expressly designate what shall be sacred from amendment,—what compromise shall be perpetual,—and so doing, according to a familiar rule of law and of logic, virtually declare that the remainder of the Constitution may be amended. Already, since its adoption, twelve amendments have been made, and every year produces new projects. There has been a pressure on the floor of Congress to abrogate the veto, and also to limit the tenure of the Presidential office. Let it be distinctly understood, then,—and this is my answer to the pretension of binding compromise,—that, in conferring upon Congress certain specified powers and jurisdiction, and also in providing for the amendment of the Constitution, its framers expressly established the means for setting aside what are vaguely called compromises of the Constitution. They openly declare, "Legislate as you please, in conformity with the Constitution; and even make amendments rendered proper by change of opinion or circumstances, following always the manner prescribed."
Nor can we dishonor the revered authors of the Constitution by supposing that they set their hands to it, believing that under it slavery was to be perpetual,—that the Republic, which they had reared to its giant stature, snatched from heaven the sacred fire of Freedom, only to be bound, like another Prometheus, in adamantine chains of Fate, while Slavery, like another vulture, preyed upon its vitals. Let Franklin speak for them. He was President of the earliest Abolition Society in the United States, and in 1790, only two years after the adoption of the Constitution, addressed a petition to Congress, calling upon them to "step to the very verge of the power vested in them for discouraging every species of traffic in the persons of our fellow-men."[190] Let Jefferson speak for them. His desire for the abolition of slavery was often expressed with philanthropic warmth and emphasis, and is too familiar to be quoted. Let Washington speak for them. "It is among my first wishes," he said, in a letter to John F. Mercer, "to see some plan adopted by which slavery in this country may be abolished by law."[191] And in his will, penned with his own hand, during the last year of his life, he bore his testimony again, by providing for the emancipation of all his slaves. It is thus that Washington speaks, not only by words, but by actions more significant "Give freedom to your slaves." The Father of his Country requires, as a token of the filial piety which all profess, that his example shall be followed. I am not insensible to the many glories of his character; but I cannot contemplate this act without a fresh feeling of admiration and gratitude. The martial scene depicted on that votive canvas may fade from the memory of men; but this act of justice and benevolence can never perish.
"Ergo postque magisque viri nunc gloria claret."
I assume, then, that it is the duty of Whigs professing the principles of the fathers to express themselves openly, distinctly, and solemnly against slavery,—not only against its further extension, but against its longer continuance under the Constitution and Laws of the Union. But while it is their duty to enter upon this holy warfare, it should be their aim to temper it with moderation, with gentleness, with tenderness, towards slave-owners. These should be won, if possible, rather than driven, to the duties of emancipation. But emancipation should always be presented as the cardinal object of our national policy.
It is for the Whigs of Massachusetts now to say whether the republican edifice shall indeed be one where all the Christian virtues will be fellow-workers with them. The resolutions which they adopt, the platform of principles which they establish, must be the imperishable foundation of a true glory.
But it will not be sufficient to pass resolutions opposing slavery; we must choose men who will devote themselves earnestly, heartily, to the work,—who will enter upon it with awakened conscience, and with that valiant faith before which all obstacles disappear,—who will be ever loyal to Truth, Freedom, Right, Humanity,—who will not look for rules of conduct down to earth, in the mire of expediency, but with heaven-directed countenance seek those great "primal duties" which "shine aloft like stars," to illumine alike the path of individuals and of nations. They must be true to the principles of Massachusetts. They must not be Northern men with Southern principles, nor Northern men under Southern influences. They must be courageous and willing on all occasions to stand alone, provided Right be with them. "Were there as many devils in Worms as there are tiles upon the roofs," said Martin Luther, "yet would I enter." Such a spirit is needed now by the advocates of Right. They must not be ashamed of the name which belongs to Franklin, Jefferson, and Washington,—expressing the idea which should be theirs,—Abolitionist. They must be thorough, uncompromising advocates of the repeal of slavery,—of its abolition under the laws and Constitution of the United States. They must be Repealers, Abolitionists.
There are a few such now in Congress. Massachusetts has a venerable Representative,[192] whose aged bosom still glows with inextinguishable fires, like the central heats of the monarch mountain of the Andes beneath its canopy of snow. To this cause he dedicates the closing energies of a long and illustrious life. Would that all might join him!
There is a Senator of Massachusetts we had hoped to welcome here to-day, whose position is of commanding influence. Let me address him with the respectful frankness of a constituent and friend. Already, Sir, by various labors, you have acquired an honorable place in the history of our country. By the vigor, argumentation, and eloquence with which you upheld the Union, and that interpretation of the Constitution which makes us a Nation, you have justly earned the title of Defender of the Constitution. By masterly and successful negotiation, and by efforts to compose the strife concerning Oregon, you have earned another title,—Defender of Peace. Pardon me, if I add, that there are yet other duties claiming your care, whose performance will be the crown of a long life in the public service. Do not forget them. Dedicate, Sir, the years happily in store for you, with all that precious experience which is yours, to grand endeavor, in the name of Human Freedom, for the overthrow of that terrible evil which now afflicts our country. In this cause are inspirations to eloquence higher than any you have yet confessed.
"To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong."
Do not shrink from the task. With the marvellous powers that are yours, under the auspicious influences of an awakened public sentiment, and under God, who smiles always upon conscientious labor for the welfare of man, we may hope for beneficent results. Assume, then, these unperformed duties. The aged shall bear witness to you; the young shall kindle with rapture, as they repeat the name of Webster; the large company of the ransomed shall teach their children and their children's children, to the latest generation, to call you blessed; and you shall have yet another title, never to be forgotten on earth or in heaven,—Defender of Humanity,—by the side of which that earlier title will fade into insignificance, as the Constitution, which is the work of mortal hands, dwindles by the side of Man, created in the image of God.[193]
To my mind it is clear that the time has arrived when the Whigs of Massachusetts, the party of Freedom, owe it to their declared principles, to their character before the world, and to conscience, that they should place themselves firmly on this honest ground. They need not fear to stand alone. They need not fear separation from brethren with whom they have acted in concert. Better be separated even from them than from the Right. Massachusetts can stand alone, if need be. The Whigs of Massachusetts can stand alone. Their motto should not be, "Our party, howsoever bounded," but "Our party, bounded always by the Right." They must recognize the dominion of Right, or there will be none who will recognize the dominion of the party. Let us, then, in Faneuil Hall, beneath the images of our fathers, vow perpetual allegiance to the Right, and perpetual hostility to Slavery. Ours is a noble cause, nobler even than that of our fathers, inasmuch as it is more exalted to struggle for the freedom of others than for our own. The love of Right, which is the animating impulse of our movement, is higher even than the love of Freedom. But Right, Freedom, and Humanity all concur in demanding the Abolition of Slavery.
LETTER OF MR. WEBSTER TO MR. SUMNER.
Marshfield, October 5, 1846.
My dear Sir,—I had the pleasure to receive yours of September 25th, and thank you for the kind and friendly sentiments which you express. These sentiments are reciprocal. I have ever cherished high respect for your character and talents, and seen with pleasure the promise of your future and greater eminence and usefulness.
In political affairs we happen to entertain, at the present moment, a difference of opinion respecting the relative importance of some of the political questions of the time, and take a different view of the line of duty most fit to be pursued in endeavors to obtain all the good which can be obtained in connection with certain important subjects. These differences I much regret, but shall not allow them to interfere with personal regard, or my continued good wishes for your prosperity and happiness.
Yours truly,
DANIEL WEBSTER.
Mr. Sumner.
Letter to Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, Representative in Congress from Boston, October 25, 1846.
Sir,—Newspapers, and some among your friends, complain of the manner in which many of your constituents are obliged to regard your vote on the Mexican War Bill. This vote is defended with an ardor such as even Truth, Freedom, and Right do not always find in their behalf,—while honest strictures are attributed to personal motives, sometimes to a selfish desire for the place you now hold, sometimes even to a wanton purpose to injure you.
All this may be the natural and inevitable incident of political controversy; but it must be regretted that personal feelings and imputations of personal selfishness should intrude into the discussion of an important question of public duty,—I might say, of public morals. As a Whig, never failing to vote for you when I had an opportunity, I have felt it proper on other occasions to review your course, and to express the sorrow it caused. For this I am arraigned; and the question of public morals is forgotten in personal feeling. This is my excuse for recalling attention now to the true issue. Conscious of no feeling to yourself personally, except of good-will, mingled with the recollection of pleasant social intercourse, I refer with pain to your vote, and the apologies for it which have been set up. As one of your constituents, I single you, who are the representative of Boston, among the majority with whom you acted. I am not a politician; and you will pardon me, therefore, if I do not bring your conduct to any test of party or of numbers, to any sliding scale of expediency, to any standard except the rule of Right and Wrong.
To understand your course, it will be necessary to consider the action of Congress in declaring war against Mexico. I shall state the facts and conclusions briefly as possible.
By virtue of an unconstitutional Act of Congress, in conjunction with the de facto government of Texas, the latter was annexed to the United States some time in the month of December, 1845. If we regard Texas as a province of Mexico, its boundaries must be sought in the geography of that republic. If we regard it as an independent State, they must be determined by the extent of jurisdiction which the State was able to maintain. Now it seems clear that the river Nueces was always recognized by Mexico as the western boundary; and it is undisputed that the State of Texas, since its Declaration of Independence, never exercised any jurisdiction beyond the Nueces. The Act of Annexation could not, therefore, transfer to the United States any title to the region between the Nueces and the Rio Grande. That region belonged to Mexico. Certainly it did not belong to the United States.
In the month of January, 1846, the President of the United States directed the troops under General Taylor, called the Army of Occupation, to take possession of this region. Here was an act of aggression. As might have been expected, it produced collision. The Mexicans, aroused in self-defence, sought to repel the invaders from their hearths and churches. Unexpected tidings reached Washington that the American forces were in danger. The President, in a message to Congress, called for succors.
Here the question occurs, What was the duty of Congress in this emergency? Clearly to withhold all sanction to unjust war,—to aggression upon a neighboring Republic,—to spoliation of fellow-men. Our troops were in danger only because upon foreign soil, forcibly displacing the jurisdiction and laws of the rightful government. In this condition of things, the way of safety, just and honorable, was by instant withdrawal from the Rio Grande to the Nueces. Congress should have spoken like Washington, when General Braddock, staggered by the peril of the moment, asked the youthful soldier, "What shall I do, Colonel Washington?" "RETREAT, Sir! RETREAT, Sir!" was the earnest reply. The American forces should have been directed to retreat,—not from any human force, but from wrong-doing; and this would have been a true victory.
Alas! this was not the mood of Congress. With wicked speed a bill was introduced, furnishing large and unusual supplies of men and money. In any just sense, such provision was wasteful and unnecessary; but it would hardly be worthy of criticism, if confined in its object to the safety of the troops. When made, it must have been known that the fate of the troops was already decided, while the magnitude of the appropriations and the number of volunteers called for showed that measures were contemplated beyond self-defence. Self-defence is easy and cheap. Aggression and injustice are difficult and costly.
The bill, in its earliest guise, provided money and volunteers only. Suddenly an amendment is introduced, in the nature of a preamble, which gives to it another character, in harmony with the covert design of the large appropriation. This was adopted by a vote of 123 to 67; and the bill then leaped forth, fully armed, as a measure of open and active hostility against Mexico. As such, it was passed by a vote of 174 to 14. This was on the 11th of May, 1846, destined to be among the dark days of our history.
The amendment, in the nature of a preamble, and the important part of the bill, are as follows.
"Whereas, by the act of the Republic of Mexico, a state of war exists between that Government and the United States,—
"Be it enacted, &c., That, for the purpose of enabling the Government of the United States to prosecute said war to a speedy and successful termination, the President be, and he is hereby, authorized to employ the militia, naval, and military forces of the United States, and to call for and accept the services of any number of volunteers, not exceeding fifty thousand, and that the sum of ten millions of dollars be, and the same is hereby, appropriated for the purpose."
This Act cannot be regarded merely as provision for the safety of General Taylor; nor, indeed can this be considered the principal end proposed. It has other and ulterior objects, broader and more general, in view of which his safety, important as it might be, is of comparative insignificance; as it would be less mournful to lose a whole army than lend the solemn sanction of legislation to an unjust war.
This Act may be considered in six different aspects. It is six times wrong. Six different and unanswerable reasons should have urged its rejection. Six different appeals should have touched every heart. I shall consider them separately.
First. It is practically a Declaration of War against a sister Republic. By the Constitution of the United States, the power of declaring war is vested in Congress. Before this Act was passed, the Mexican War had no legislative sanction. Without this Act it could have no legislative sanction. By virtue of this Act the present war is waged. By virtue of this Act, an American fleet, at immense cost of money, and without any gain of character, is now disturbing the commerce of Mexico, and of the civilized world, by the blockade of Vera Cruz. By virtue of this Act, a distant expedition, with pilfering rapacity, has seized the defenceless province of California. By virtue of this Act General Kearney has marched upon and captured Santa Fe. By virtue of this Act General Taylor has perpetrated the massacre at Monterey. By virtue of this Act desolation has been carried into a thousand homes, while the uncoffined bodies of sons, brothers, and husbands are consigned to premature graves. Lastly, it is by virtue of this Act that the army of the United States has been converted into a legalized band of brigands, marauders, and banditti, against the sanctions of civilization, justice, and humanity. American soldiers, who have fallen wretchedly in the streets of a foreign city, in the attack upon a Bishop's palace, in contest with Christian fellow-men defending firesides and altars, may claim the epitaph of Simonides: "Go, tell the Lacedæmonians that we lie here in obedience to their commands." It was in obedience to this Act of Congress that they laid down their lives.
Secondly. This Act gives the sanction of Congress to an unjust war. War is barbarous and brutal; but this is unjust. It grows out of aggression on our part, and is continued by aggression. The statement of facts already made is sufficient on this head.
Thirdly. It declares that war exists "by the act of the Republic of Mexico." This statement of brazen falsehood is inserted in the front of the Act. But it is now admitted by most, if not all, of the Whigs who unhappily voted for it, that it is not founded in fact. It is a national lie.
"Whose tongue soe'er speaks false
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly LIES."
Fourthly. It provides for the prosecution of the war "to a speedy and successful termination,"—that is, for the speedy and successful prosecution of unjust war. Surely no rule can be better founded in morals than that we should seek the establishment of right. How, then, can we strive to hasten the triumph of wrong?
Fifthly. The war has its origin in a series of measures to extend and perpetuate slavery. A wise and humane legislator should have discerned its source, and found fresh impulses to oppose it.
Sixthly. The war is dishonorable and cowardly, as the attack of a rich, powerful, numerous, and united republic upon a weak and defenceless neighbor, distracted by civil feud. Every consideration of honor, manliness, and Christian duty prompted gentleness and forbearance towards our unfortunate sister.
Such, Sir, is the Act of Congress which received your sanction. Hardly does it yield in importance to any measure of our Government since the adoption of the National Constitution. It is the most wicked in our history, as it is one of the most wicked in all history. The recording Muse will drop a tear over its turpitude and injustice, while it is gibbeted for the disgust and reprobation of mankind.
Such, Sir, is the Act of Congress to which by your affirmative vote the people of Boston are made parties. Through you they are made to declare unjust and cowardly war, with superadded falsehood, in the cause of Slavery. Through you they are made partakers in the blockade of Vera Cruz, the seizure of California, the capture of Santa Fe, the bloodshed of Monterey. It were idle to suppose that the soldier or officer only is stained by this guilt. It reaches far back, and incarnadines the Halls of Congress; nay, more, through you, it reddens the hands of your constituents in Boston. Pardon this language. Strong as it may seem, it is weak to express the aggravation of this Act. Rather than lend your hand to this wickedness, you should have suffered the army of the United States to pass submissively through the Caudine Forks of Mexican power,—to perish, it might be, like the legions of Varus. Their bleached bones, in the distant valleys where they were waging unjust war, would not tell to posterity such a tale of ignominy as this lying Act of Congress.
Passing from the character and consequences of your vote, I proceed to examine the grounds on which it is vindicated: for it is vindicated, by yourself, and by some of your friends!
The first vindication, apology, or extenuation appears in your speech on the Tariff, delivered in the House of Representatives, June 25th. This was a deliberate effort, more than six weeks subsequent to the vote, and after all the disturbing influences of haste and surprise had passed. It may be considered, therefore, to express your own view of the ground on which it is to be sustained. And here, while you declare, with commendable frankness, that you "would by no means be understood to vindicate the justice" (why not say the truth?) "of the declaration that war exists by the act of Mexico," yet you adhere to your vote, and animadvert upon the conduct of Mexico, in refusing to receive a minister instead of a commissioner, as if that were a vindication, apology, or extenuation! Do we live in a Christian land? Is this the nineteenth century? Does an American statesman venture any such suggestion in vindication, apology, or extenuation of war? On this point I join issue. By the Law of Nations as now enlightened by civilization, by the law of common sense, by the higher law of Christian duty, the fact presented in your vindication can form no ground of war. This attempt has given pain to many of your constituents hardly less than the original vote. It shows insensibility to the true character of war, and perverse adherence to the fatal act of wrong. It were possible to suppose a representative, not over-tenacious of moral purpose, shaken from his firm resolve by the ardors of a tyrannical majority ordaining wicked things; but it is less easy to imagine a deliberate vindication of the hasty wrong, when the pressure of the majority is removed, and time affords opportunity for the recovery of that sense of Right which was for a while overturned.
Another apology, in which you and your defenders participate, is founded on the alleged duty of voting succors to our troops, and the impossibility of doing this without voting also for the bill, after it was converted into a Declaration of Falsehood and of War. It is said that patriotism required this vote. Is not that name profaned by this apology? One of your honored predecessors, Sir, a Representative of Boston on the floor of Congress, Mr. Quincy, replied to such apology, when, on an occasion of trial not unlike that through which you have just passed, he gave utterance to these noble words:—
"But it is said that this resolution must be taken as 'a test of
Patriotism.' To this I have but one answer. If Patriotism ask me to
assert a falsehood, I have no hesitation in telling Patriotism, 'I am
not prepared to make that sacrifice.' The duty we owe to our country
is, indeed, among the most solemn and impressive of all obligations;
yet, high as it may be, it is nevertheless subordinate to that which we
owe to that Being with whose name and character truth is identified.
In this respect I deem myself acting upon this resolution under a
higher responsibility than either to this House or to this people."[194]
These words were worthy of Boston. May her Representatives never more fail to feel their inspiration! "But," say the too swift defenders, "Mr. Winthrop voted against the falsehood once." Certainly no reason for not voting against it always. But the excuse is still pressed, "Succors to General Taylor should have been voted." The result shows that even these were unnecessary. Before the passage of this disastrous Act of Congress, his troops had already achieved a success to which may be applied the words of Milton:—
"That dishonest victory
At Chæronea, fatal to liberty."
But it would have been less wrong to leave him without succors, even if needful to his safety, than to vote falsehood and unjust war. In seeing that the republic received no detriment, you should not have regarded the army only; your highest care should have been that its good name, its moral and Christian character, received no detriment. You might have said, in the spirit of virtuous Andrew Fletcher, that "you would lose your life to serve your country, but would not do a base thing to save it." You might have adopted the words of Sheridan, in the British Parliament, during our Revolution, that you "could not assent to a vote that seemed to imply a recognition or approbation of the war."[195]
Another apology is, that the majority of the Whig party joined with you,—or, as it has been expressed, that "Mr. Winthrop voted with all the rest of the weight of moral character in Congress, from the Free States, belonging to the Whig party, not included in the Massachusetts delegation"; and suggestions are made in disparagement of the fourteen who remained unshaken in loyalty to Truth and Peace. In the question of Right or Wrong, it is of little importance that a few fallible men, constituting what is called a majority, are all of one mind. Supple or insane majorities are found in every age to sanction injustice. It was a majority which passed the Stamp Act and Tea Tax,—which smiled upon the persecution of Galileo,—which stood about the stake of Servetus,—which administered the hemlock to Socrates,—which called for the crucifixion of our Lord. These majorities cannot make us hesitate to condemn such acts and their authors. Aloft on the throne of God, and not below in the footprints of a trampling multitude, are the sacred rules of Right, which no majorities can displace or overturn. And the question recurs, Was it right to declare unjust and cowardly war, with superadded falsehood, in the cause of Slavery?
Thus do I set forth the character of your act, and the apologies by which it is shielded. I hoped that you would see the wrong, and with true magnanimity repair it. I hoped that your friends would all join in assisting you to recover the attitude of uprightness which becomes a Representative from Boston. But I am disappointed.
I add, that your course in other respects has been in disagreeable harmony with the vote on the Mexican War Bill. I cannot forget—for I sat by your side at the time—that on the Fourth of July, 1845, in Faneuil Hall, you extended the hand of fellowship to Texas, although this slaveholding community was not yet received among the States of the Union. I cannot forget the toast,[196] on the same occasion, by which you were willing to connect your name with an epigram of dishonest patriotism. I cannot forget your apathy at a later day, when many of your constituents engaged in constitutional efforts to oppose the admission of Texas with a slaveholding constitution,—so strangely inconsistent with your recent avowal of "uncompromising hostility to all measures for introducing new Slave States and new Slave Territories into our Union."[197] Nor can I forget the ardor with which you devoted yourself to the less important question of the Tariff,—indicating the relative value of the two in your mind. The vote on the Mexican War Bill seems to be the dark consummation of your course.
Pardon me, if I ask you, on resuming your seat in Congress, to testify at once, without hesitation or delay, against the further prosecution of this war. Forget for a while Sub-Treasury, Veto, even Tariff, and remember this wicked war. With the eloquence which you command so easily, and which is your pride, call for the instant cessation of hostilities. Let your cry be that of Falkland in the Civil Wars: "Peace! Peace!" Think not of what you call in your speeches "an honorable peace." There can be no peace with Mexico which will not be more honorable than this war. Every fresh victory is a fresh dishonor. "Unquestionably," you have strangely said, "we are not to forget that Mexico must be willing to negotiate."[198] No! no! Mr. Winthrop! We are not to wait for Mexico. Her consent is not needed; nor is it to be asked, while our armies are defiling her soil by their aggressive footsteps. She is passive. We alone are active. Stop the war. Withdraw our forces. In the words of Colonel Washington, Retreat! retreat! So doing, we shall cease from further wrong, and peace will ensue.
Let me ask you to remember in your public course the rules of Right which you obey in private life. The principles of morals are the same for nations as for individuals. Pardon me, if I suggest that you have not acted invariably according to this truth. You would not in your private capacity set your name to a falsehood; but you have done so as Representative in Congress. You would not in your private capacity countenance wrong, even in friend or child; but as Representative you have pledged yourself "not to withhold your vote from any reasonable supplies which may be called for"[199] in the prosecution of a wicked war. Do by your country as by friend or child. To neither of these would you furnish means of offence against a neighbor; do not furnish to your country any such means. Again, you would not hold slaves. I doubt not you would join with Mr. Palfrey in emancipating any who should become yours by inheritance or otherwise. But I do not hear of your effort or sympathy with those who seek to carry into our institutions that practical conscience which declares it to be as wrong in States as in individuals to sanction slavery.
Let me ask you still further—and you will know if there is reason for this request—to bear testimony against the Mexican War, and all supplies for its prosecution, regardless of the minority in which you are placed. Think, Sir, of the cause, and not of your associates. Forget for a while the tactics of party, and all its subtle combinations. Emancipate yourself from its close-woven web, spun as from a spider's belly, and move in the pathway of Right. Remember that you represent the conscience of Boston, the churches of the Puritans, the city of Channing.
Meanwhile a fresh election is at hand, and you are again a candidate for the suffrages of your fellow-citizens. I shall not anticipate their verdict. Your blameless private life and well-known attainments will receive the approbation of all; but more than one of your neighbors will be obliged to say,—
"Cassio, I love thee,
But nevermore be officer of mine!"
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
Charles Sumner.
October 26, 1846.