“On the question of the lawfulness
of slavery, that is, of the right of one man
to appropriate to himself the faculties of another
without his consent, I certainly retain my early opinions.
On that, however, of third persons to interfere between
the parties, and the effect of Constitutional modifications
of that pretension, we are probably nearer together.”
There was a blow well dealt,—though at
one now greatly honored. We may refuse the subordinate
idea in the letter, but we will glory in that main
confession of political faith, in the last year of
Jefferson’s life; and we will not forget that
the last of his letters on slavery chastised the worst
sin of Northern statesmanship.
Jefferson, then, in dealing with slavery, was a real
political seer and giver of oracles,—always
sure to say something; whereas the “leading
men” who in these latter days have usurped his
name are neither political seers nor givers of oracles,
but mere political fakirs,—striving, their
lives long, to enter political blessedness by solemnly
doing and seeing and saying—nothing.
Jefferson was a true political warrior, and his battle
for human rights compares with the Oligarchist battle
against them as the warfare of Cortes compares with
Aztec warfare. He is the man full of strong thought
backed by civilization: they, the men trying
to keep up their faith in idols, trying to scare with
war-paint, trying to startle with war-whoop, trying
to vex with showers of poor Aztec arrows.
Jefferson was an orator,—not in that he
fed petty assemblages with narcotic words to stupefy
conscience, or corrosive words to kill conscience,
but in that he gave to the world those decisive, true
words which shall yet pierce all tyranny and slavery.
Jefferson was the founder of a democratic system,
strong and full-orbed: “leading men”
have fastened his name to an aristocratic system with
mobocratic cries.
This great tree of Liberty which we are all trying
to plant will, of course, not grow as we will,
but as God and Nature will. Some branches will
be exuberant through too great wealth of sunshine,—others
gnarled and awry through too great fury of storms.
We need find no fault with any growth, but we may
admire some branches and prize some fruits more than
others. Some grafts set by noblest hands have
often blossomed in bad temper and borne fruit bitter
and sour. Some fruitage has been of that poor
Dead-Sea sort,—splendid in coating, but
inwardly ashes,—wretched “protective”
schemes and the like. The world may yet see that
the limbs of toughest fibre and fruit of richest flavor
have come from grafts set by just such strong men
in theory and in practice as Thomas Jefferson.
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