16 March 2020

Phyliss Wheatley and Christianity during Slavery

In her poem, “On Being Brought from Africa to America” Phyliss Wheatley uses Christian imagery and philosophy to speak of her salvation and ultimately to illuminate the sin of dehumanizing the black race. Initially, I took the poem’s tone to be sarcastic, though I have not found any sources that analyze it from that perspective. However, I cannot help but cringe at the lines “Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land, / Taught my benighted soul to understand / That there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too.” Was it really a mercy to be kidnapped and sold into slavery? I suppose from a Christian perspective, the exchange of relative peace and physical freedom in Africa for the horrors of slavery in the new world is more than justified by the salvation of one’s eternal soul, however, to me the hypocrisy is what is most readily apparent.

Throughout all the readings thus far, there is the thread of Christianity that runs through the tales of colonization, brutalization and slavery. There is talk of God’s mercy and the virtues of Christian morality from both slave owners and slaves. Slave owners use Christianity both as the foundation of British “civilization” and as some kind of gift given to the people they kidnapped and enslaved. The sadder part may be that some of the slaves themselves believed this.

An example of this thinking can be seen in an excerpt of a slave narrative titled, Uncle Tom’s Story of His Life: An Autobiography of the Rev. Josiah Henson. In the excerpt, Henson tales of his father defending his mother from being raped by an overseer and being publicly whipped for hitting a white man. Later, Henson’s family is sold at auction, and his mother begs the man who bought her to buy her child as well so they wouldn’t be separated. The man not only refuses, but violently beats her until she is forced to escape him. Henson writes, “As she crawled away from the brutal man I heard her sob out, “Oh, Lord Jesus, how long, how long shall I suffer this way!”  (Henson). Here we see the dissonance between Christianity in theory and in practice. Both parties here are presumably Christian, yet the white man has no compunction about buying and beating human beings, despite Christ proclaiming in Matthew 25:40, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did to me.” Similarly, there is present in the woman being beaten and separated from her child the warped belief that her suffering and dehumanization is somehow God’s will.

In a second narrative, an excerpt from Slave Cabin to the Pulpit, by Peter Randolph, he illustrates the two types of Christianity present on the plantation where he was enslaved.  He relates how the prevailing thought among white people was that, by capturing and enslaving Africans they were saving their souls, and “were it not for slavery, they would die in their sins- – that really, the institution of slavery is a benevolent missionary enterprise” (Randolph). He writes that the version of Christianity taught to slaves mostly consisted of sermons on subjects such as being obedient to your masters, and not lying or stealing, because these things show the slave’s “base ingratitude to your kind masters, who feed, clothe and protect you” (Randolph).

The fact that the entire foundation of the slave trade rested on robbery, both in the literal stealing of humans to place them in bondage, and the theft of the profit derived from their unpaid labor is not lost on Randolph, who invokes the names of Ananias and Sapphira, two early followers of Christ who sold their land to donate to the poor, but kept a portion of the earnings for themselves. Peter, the apostle, tells them they have lied to God, and they are struck dead on the spot.  Randolph writes of the white preachers:

I should think, when making such statements, the slaveholders would feel the rebuke of the Apostle and fall down and be carried out from the face of day, as were Ananias and Sapphira, when they betrayed the trust committed to them, or refused to bear true testimony in regard to that trust. (Randolph)

In contrast, the slaves would meet at night—secretly because if they were caught worshipping on their own, they would be whipped—where they would greet each other in brotherhood and each take turns preaching and singing. Randolph writes:

The slave forgets all his sufferings, except to remind others of the trials during the past week, exclaiming: “Thank God, I shall not live here always!” Then they pass from one to another, shaking hands, and bidding each other farewell, promising, should they meet no more on earth, to strive and meet in heaven, where all is joy, happiness and liberty. As they separate, they sing a parting hymn of praise. (Randolph)

However, even this temporary respite from the horrors of their lives was forbidden, and Randolph writes that in some places any slaves that were caught praying—even individually—would be whipped, and any slave that called out to God while being whipped was threatened with death.

I find it intriguing that both of the authors cited above became Christian preachers themselves after they were freed. While I could never see myself believing in a God that would allow the holocaust of the slave trade to exist, I am not so jaded by organized religion to be unable to perhaps admire the faith of Wheatley, and the cited authors, and the hope that that faith gave them that their suffering, however immense, was temporary.  

Works Cited

Henson, Josiah. “‘THE OVERSEER…SENT MY MOTHER AWAY…TO A RETIRED SPOT.’” Excerpts from Slave Narratives – Chapter 20, Jon K. Mřller, www.vgskole.net/prosjekt/slavrute/20.htm.

Randolph, Peter. “‘THE SLAVE ASSEMBLE IN THE SWAMPS.’” Excerpts from Slave Narratives – Chapter 24 Jon K. Mřller, www.vgskole.net/prosjekt/slavrute/24.htm.

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20 May 2020

Period Recap

Eng 302 was a survey course covering the “long” 18^th century spanning the years 1660 to 1815. Three important themes that run through this period are British Colonialism, the Transatlantic slave trade, and the emergence of gothic literature. In a way, all these themes are inextricably linked. In three novels of the period,  Aphra Behn’s Oroonoko, Daniel Dafoe’s Captain Singleton, and Olaudah Equiano’s, The Interesting Narrative, the reader is presented a world where the selling of slaves is not only commonplace, but it is made obvious that the labor provided by slaves provides the essential foundation on which British colonialism is based.

In Oroonoko, Behn explains rather matter-of-factly how slaves are acquired:

Those who want slaves make a bargain with a master or a captain of a ship, and contract to pay him so much apiece, a matter of twenty pound a head, for as many as he agrees for, and to pay for ’em when they shall be delivered on such a plantation: so that when there arrives a ship laden with slaves, they who have so contracted go aboard, and receive their number by lot; and perhaps in one lot that may be for ten, there may happen to be three or four men, the rest women and children. Or be there more or less of either sex, you are obliged to be contented with your lot (Behn).

During the long 18^th the British Empire grew exponentially with the colonization of India, the West Indies and the colonies in North America as well as Australia. Part of the study of English literature in this era involves how the authors explore British and colonist identity. That is, with the empire becoming so vast that at one point the sun never set upon it, the question of how colonists and slaves need to define themselves. In Behn’s narrative, Oroonoko reveals the complexity and nebulousness of this concept. He is described as better than the slave, even though he is a slave himself. This both helps and hinders him as he is alternately admired for being thought of as almost as good as a white man in one regard, while the same qualities of intelligence and charisma make him dangerous to the slave owners who fear he could instil a revolt among his fellow slaves.

The search for identity is also present in the gothic readings within the course. In Beckford’s Vathek, the themes of otherness are explored through Vathek’s renunciation of Islam, and through the name of the main antagonist, Giaour, whose names means non-muslim and is used mostly for Christians. This can be seen as a metaphor for both the assimilation and appropriation of colonized cultures by their colonizers, and the strict social boundaries between colonizer and colonist. Beckford’s novel in particular also illuminated another aspect of colonization in that the oriental—a metaphor for all things thought “exotic” by the western mind—is both feared and fetishized.

I found an interesting connection between Vathek and Coleridge’s poem Xanadu. In the novel, Beckford describes Vathek’s gaze. “When he was angry, one of his eyes became so terrible, that no person could bear to behold it; and the wretch upon whom it was fixed, instantly fell backward, and sometimes expired” (Beckford). Compare this to the end of the Coleridge poem, incidently also set in an oriental land.

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise  (Coleridge).

 Critical Annotations on Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

1)

A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she play’d,

Singing of Mount Abora.

The abrupt change in rhythm and obvious disjointed juxtaposition between the previous stanzas and this one may be attributed to the infamous Person from Porlock. Coleridge said that he awoke from an opium-induced dream with perhaps 200 lines of this poem in his head. However, while he was transcribing the words in his head, a visitor knocked on his door and so distracted him that he lost the thread of the dream. I always imagined when he returned to the poem that he could only produce these last lines. Various scholars have doubted the story, but the Porlock has become a metaphor for any distraction, procrastination or impediment to completing a work.

2)

IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

Both Xanadu and Kubla Khan existed in history. Kubla Khan was the grandson of Genghis Khan and united the Mongolian and Chinese kingdoms when he became emperor of China in 1263. Xanadu was built near the Mongolian steppes and was Kubla Khan’s first capital. The remains of the city exist today. The city’s listing on Unesco.org’s site states, “the site was a unique attempt to assimilate the nomadic Mongolian and Han Chinese cultures.”  This merging and respect for both cultures was a characteristic of Kubla’s reign. Though there was no pleasure dome, nor was there a river Alph—one exists in Antarctica, but not China—the symbolism Coleridge uses in the poem is a tribute to the panacea Kubla Khan was attempting to create.

3)

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round:

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills

In a preface to the poem, Coleridge wrote that he had been unwell and had taken a prescribed dose of opium while reading this sentence, from Purchas’s Pilgrimage: “Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately garden thereunto. And thus ten miles of fertile ground were inclosed (sic) with a wall.” Though Coleridge takes great poetic license in describing the city, the basis of the geography is confirmed by multiple historical sources. The explorer Marco Polo visited the city, then named Shangdu, and wrote of it that Kubla Khan

“caused a palace to be erected, of marble and other handsome stone, admirable as well for the skill displayed in its execution. The halls and chambers are all gilt, and very handsome…Within the bounds of the royal park there are rich and beautiful meadows, watered by many rivulets…”

4)

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced;

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:

And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

The passage here strongly evokes a birth. The woman wailing could be Gaia, goddess of the earth, panting in labor as she births this paradise. The dark chasm, filled with “ceaseless turmoil,” is the world’s womb, the crucible of life itself. The fact that the chasm is “seething” evokes the molten core of the earth. Coleridge reinforces the primordial imagery with his use of the word “grain,” which symbolically represents fertility and the earth.

5)

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Here Coleridge is using both biblical and mythological imagery and also alluding to the inspiration for the entire poem. In Norse and Germanic mythology, honeydew is said to be produced by the sacred ash tree, Yggdrasil, which is the same tree the god, Odin hung on for nine days to gain the knowledge of the world. Honeydew is also synonymous with “manna,” which in the bible is food sent by god to sustain the Israelites during their exile in the desert.

The milk of paradise is a nickname for opium, the allegedly prescribed medication whose influence he was under when he fell into the dream that inspired the poem.

Works Cited

Cartwright, Mark. “Xanadu.” Ancient History Encyclopedia, Ancient History Encyclopedia, 9  

May 2020, www.ancient.eu/Xanadu/.

Centre, UNESCO World Heritage. “Site of Xanadu.” UNESCO World Heritage Centre,

whc.unesco.org/en/list/1389/.

Colerid.html, web.suffieldacademy.org/english/english4h/colerid.html.

DomainOptions, Inc. “Synonyms for HONEYDEW.” Thesaurus.net, 10 May 2020,

www.thesaurus.net/honeydew.

Kubla Khan, knarf.english.upenn.edu/Coleridg/kubla.html.

In approaching the question of what it is like being a student in New York City studying and reading material concerning 18^th century British colonialism, I can’t help but speak about privilege, both in the sense of being a white male, and of being a native New Yorker. For many years I thought I understood the privilege I possessed in terms of race, but it is only in the last ten years or so that I realize how many layers of privilege I was unaware of, despite being exposed to diversity at an early age and lucky enough to befriend people who were outspoken about the inequities that existed in the world. Though I considered myself enlightened, and non-biased, the more I looked the more I realized how many subtle layers of institutional racism still lay within me. Once I had discovered it, I had to try to use that privilege to make a difference. 

I think that, even in the fast-paced, outwardly brusque and uncaring atmosphere of New York, where racism certainly exists and even thrives in some areas, we are still as a citizenry fairly sheltered from what the rest of the country—that is not the east or west coasts—look like. We are packed together, and on top of one another and perhaps because we have so much contact with so many people who look differently, and have cultures and beliefs that are not our own, we are by default more tolerant. Such is not the case in other parts of the country.  As a childhood friend of mine, a woman of color, recently said to me, “we were spoiled growing up in the Bronx, where everybody hung out with everyone and color and religion was never a problem. I found that out when I was wandering around the country. I found myself in places where my color was not appropriate.”  Those were her exact words.  “My color was not appropriate.”

So, I come to texts like Ooronoko, and Captain Singleton with that phrase ringing in my ears as I read about how color and class and circumstance decide who and who isn’t “appropriate” in this new “great empire” that is being birthed through slavery and oppression and conquest. I think about the political climate in our country right now, and I think about the discussions we will have about the texts we read in class, and I anticipate that we will all more or less be on the same page in condemning the inequities and seeing through the excuses and apologies given for why the colonizers thought their cause just. Then I think about this class being taught in the Rust Belt, or in Idaho, or Arizona, where just a few miles away from the university there are children locked in cages, and people in the classroom making excuses and apologies for why that is so. How do they see these texts?  Who are the heroes and the villains of these stories for them?

I don’t mean to stereotype. I am certain that every state and place I mentioned above has intelligent, compassionate people in them as well. I am only reacting to the rhetoric I hear when I enter political discussions about how this country should proceed, and how our society should be structured. The same attitudes of racism and imperialism seem to be pervasive in a certain section of our society. I think it is important to learn about these texts and, it is an English literature course after all, not a history or political science course, but I think we should be aware of the atmosphere in which we study, and to understand that the things we are reading about in this class are happening in today’s world as we speak, with only the specifics changed, and there are fellow citizens that are applauding those things as right and just.