Beyond my general desire to see an act of universal emancipation, at once and forever settling this great question, so that it may no longer be the occasion of strife between us, there are two other objects ever present to my mind as a practical legislator: first, to strike at Slavery wherever I can hit it; and, secondly, to clear the statute-book of all existing supports of Slavery, so that this great wrong may find nothing there to which it can cling for life. Less than this, at the present moment, when Slavery is still menacing, would be abandonment of duty.
So long as a single slave continues anywhere beneath the flag of the Republic, I am unwilling to rest. Too well I know the vitality of Slavery with its infinite capacity of propagation, and how little Slavery it takes to make a Slave State with all the cruel pretensions of Slavery. The down of a single thistle is full of all possible thistles, and a single fish is said to contain many millions of eggs, so that the whole sea may be stocked from its womb.
The modern founder of political science, Machiavelli, writer as well as statesman, in his most instructive work, the Discourses on Livy, has a chapter entitled, “For a Republic to have long life, it is necessary to bring it back often to its origin”:[295] where he shows how the native virtue in which a Republic was founded becomes so far corrupted that in process of time the body-politic is destroyed,—as in the case of the natural body, where, according to the doctors of medicine, something is daily added, from time to time requiring cure. The remarkable publicist teaches under this head that Republics are brought back to their origin, and to the principles in which they were founded, by pressure from without, where prudence fails within; and he affirms that the destruction of Rome by the Gauls was necessary, in order that the Republic might have a new birth, with new life and new virtue,—all of which ensued, when the barbarians were driven back. If the illustration is fanciful, there is wisdom in the counsel; and now the time has come for its application. The Gauls are upon us, not from a distance, but domestic Gauls, flinging their swords, like Brennus, into the scales; and we, too, may profit by the occasion to secure for the Republic a new birth, with new life and new virtue. Happily, the way is easy; for there is no doubt of its baptismal vows, or the declared sentiments of its origin. There is the Declaration of Independence: let its solemn promises be redeemed. There is the Constitution: let it speak according to the promises of the Declaration. Let it speak, and the last act of the great American tragedy will be ended, while the stage is piled with corpses. From its early beginning in the hold of the Dutch ship on its way to Jamestown, as the Pilgrims in the Mayflower were on their way to Plymouth, down to this bloody Rebellion, Slavery has been a prolonged tragedy. History and Art will hereafter portray the scenes. Nor can its death be otherwise than an epoch, not only for our own country, but for mankind. Slavery in its distant origin was the substitute for death. The slave was allowed to live, but without the rights of man. Instead of death in the grave with its insensibility and decay, there was death in life with constant degradation and suffering. Hence in all ages the awakened sympathies of the good and humane,—heard sometimes in sorrow for the unhappy fate of an individual, and then in appeal for a race.
How truly affecting are the words of Homer, depicting the wife of Hector toiling as bondwoman at the looms of her Grecian master,—or those other undying words which exhibit man in Slavery as shorn of half his worth! The story of Joseph sold by his brothers has been repeated in every form, touching innumerable hearts. Borrowed from the Bible, it figured in the moralities of the Middle Ages and in the later theatre of France. How genius triumphed over Slavery is part of this testimony. Æsop, the fabulist,—one of the world’s greatest teachers, if not lawgivers,—was a slave; so also was Phædrus, the Roman fabulist, whose lessons are commended by purity and elegance; and so, too, was Alcman, the lyric, who shed upon Sparta the grace of poesy. To these add Epictetus, sublime in morals,—and Terence, incomparable in comedy, who gave to the world that immortal verse, which excited the applause of the Roman theatre, “I am a man, and nothing which concerns mankind is foreign to me.” Nor should it be forgotten that the life of Plato was checkered by Slavery.
In later days the sympathy is more for a race than for individuals. Unhappily, the ban of color has become a certificate of Slavery, and a large portion of the human family, whose offence was a skin darkened by the hand of God, has been degraded to the condition of chattels. The sympathies once awakened only for illustrious gifts are now bestowed upon suffering humanity, marking an advance in civilization. To be a man is a sufficient title-deed for the rights of man, which we seek to establish. But their triumph among us will be the certain herald of triumph everywhere. In other places Slavery may linger yet a little longer; but its death here will make its continued existence impossible wherever civilization prevails.
Mr. President, the immediate question before us is on the proposition to prohibit Slavery in our country by Constitutional Amendment; and here I hope to be indulged with regard to the form it should take. A new text of the Constitution cannot be considered too carefully even in this respect, especially when it is nothing less than a new article of Freedom. For a moment we are performing something of that duty which belongs to the conditores imperiorum, placed foremost by Lord Bacon in “the degrees of sovereign honor,”[296] and “words” become “things.” From the magnitude of the task we may naturally borrow circumspection, and I approach this part of the question with suggestion rather than argument.
Let me say frankly that I should prefer a form of expression different from that having the favor of the Committee. They have selected what was intended for the old Jeffersonian Ordinance, sacred in our history, although, let me add, they have not imitated it closely. But I must be pardoned, if I venture to doubt the expediency of perpetuating in the Constitution language which, if it have any signification, seems to imply that “Slavery or involuntary servitude” may be provided for “the punishment of crime.” Instances anterior to the Constitution show the origin of this exception. In the absence of penitentiaries, Slavery was a punishment adjudged by courts. According to early Colonial records in Massachusetts, one William Andrews “was censured to be severely whipped and delivered up as a slave to whom the Court shall appoint.”[297] But it cannot be intended to sanction such judgment now. There can be no reason why Slavery should not be forbidden positively and without exception, especially as “imprisonment” cannot be confounded with this “peculiar” wrong. If my desires could prevail, I would put aside the Ordinance, and find another form.
I know nothing better than this:—