A sport of nature
The genius of Phillis Wheatley
The seeds of genius are cast haphazardly by a careless hand. While intelligence may have genetic links, the phenomenon that is genius appears unbidden, without reason, without will. But these seeds, like any, require fertile ground and nurture. We are all poorer when an Einstein or Michelangelo is born into poverty and starved of food and education. Potential withers from lack of care.
We needn’t prove a negative to understand how poorer the world is when lives are erased. Children who might become innovators in science, medicine, the arts, and technology remain unknown because they were unlucky enough to be born into war, poverty, illness, and the hellscape of greed. We feel the loss of their potential value to humankind with every wartime photograph that comes across our newsfeeds.
Nick Kristof highlighted the impact of denying humanitarian aid with the story of Evan Anzoo, a five-year-old who lived in South Sudan. America’s PEPFAR program provided low-cost health care for people living with HIV. Since 2003 it has saved over 25 million lives.1 Evan was born with HIV, but PEPFAR’s support kept him and his mother Jennifer alive. With PEPFAR funding frozen2 and medication no longer available, Evan and Jennifer died. The cost savings per patient? Twelve cents a day.
What is the value of a human life? According to some, the question begs to know, Which one?
The richest men in the world regard their wealth as validation of their unprecedented genius. Reportedly, Elon Musk is attempting to engender a master race encoded with his DNA. According to his logic, his progeny will have superior intelligence, which he assumes of himself. He need only point to the riches and power he’s amassed as evidence of his intellectual giantism.
Small problem: that’s not the way it works. An intellectual colossus would know that.
A girl was born into a West African family in 1753. Seven years later, a local chief, regarding her as just another natural commodity to be used for his profit, sold her to a trader. She survived the journey on a ship named The Phillis and arrived in Boston, where a wealthy merchant named John Wheatley purchased her to serve his wife. The Wheatleys decided to name her after the ship that brought her, and stamped her with their own last name. She would be called Phillis Wheatley.
The speed of Phillis’ intellectual development amazed the Wheatley family. Within six months, she was fluent in English. Within another ten months, Phillis could read any book in John Wheatley’s extensive library and was learning to read Latin and Greek texts. Realizing the young girl’s extraordinary ability, Wheatley relieved her of household duties and tasked his oldest daughter to tutor young Phillis. With informal assistance supporting her own substantial initiative, Phillis attained an education that few colonial girls could claim. Phillis devoted herself to writing poetry. She would master that as well, earning acclaim from many, including the man who would become the first President of the United States.
What does the world do with genius, when it presents itself? This is the story of a woman we only know as Phillis. Her story consists of three acts, a dramatic arc of promise, success, and tragedy.
This essay is part of a series called “Shut Out, Not Shut Up” on women through the ages who’ve written despite being dismissed because of their sex. They persisted.
Act One: Promise
At age 12, Phillis was reading classical authors in their native Latin and Greek languages. Her studies fueled an interest in poetry as the highest literary calling, and she labored to develop her craft by reading Alexander Pope, John Milton, Homer, Horace, and Virgil. She wrote her first poem when she was 14: To the University of Cambridge, in New England.
John Wheatley promoted the talents of his young (enslaved) protegée, making much of her skills in social situations and dinner parties. Over the next four years, Phillis’s poems filled a book. With John Wheatley’s support, Phillis attempted to find a publisher in colonial Massachusetts.
An “African slave” writing “excellent poetry” affronted the good citizens of Boston. They hauled her into court to defend her authorship of her poetry. John Wheatley submitted her for examination by local dignitaries, including John Hancock and the governor and lieutenant governor of Massachusetts. Wheatley presented their attestation of her authenticity with the manuscript for publication.
Regardless, no publisher in the colonies would print the book. Wheatley arranged for Phillis to travel to England with his son, in hopes of selling her work for publication.
Act Two: Promise fulfilled
While in England, Phillis wrote a letter to Samson Occom, a member of the Mohegan Nation who lived in Connecticut and whom John Wheatley called ‘the Indian Minister.’ Occom had impressed Phillis with his advocacy for the enslaved. In her letter, Phillis commended him for standing up for universal rights. Mr. Wheatley didn’t fail to mention this literary feat in shopping her book to English publishers.
Phillis was presented to the Lord Mayor of London and other British dignitaries. The Countess of Huntingdon and the Earl of Dartmouth signed on as her patrons, enabling the book to be printed in 1773.
The London Magazine reviewed the book and published one of its poems, saying:
“[T]hese poems display no astonishing power of genius; but when we consider them as the productions of a young untutored African, who wrote them after six months casual study of the English language and of writing, we cannot suppress our admiration of talents so vigorous and lively."
Phillis soon became the most famous African of her day. A meeting with the King of England was arranged, but Phillis had left the country before the scheduled date.
She wrote a poem, To His Excellency, George Washington, and sent it to the general. Washington received it enthusiastically and invited her to visit him in Cambridge. Thomas Paine republished the poem in The Pennsylvania Gazette in April 1776.
With the publications of her poetry, Phillis became the first professional African-American woman poet and the first African-American woman to have her writing published. She was only the third American woman, of any heritage, to have her written work published.
Act Three: Tragedy
The Wheatleys released Phillis into freedom after the successful publication of her book. In a just world, this would have been the start of a rewarding life.
Her change in status negated the novelty that had attracted her rich patrons. Phillis was no longer the freak African slave who wrote in their language, but a person who challenged their status quo. Phillis lost her patrons. Although her book would be printed for a total of 11 editions into the 19th century, she did not profit from it.
Enlightenment intellectuals who argued for the rights of all men—regardless their state or status—weren’t thinking of Africans, whom they considered not fully human. Thomas Jefferson wrote these words into the Declaration of Independence:
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
Almost 100 years and a civil war were required for America to interpret the words ‘all men’ in their literal meaning. But when he wrote the words, Jefferson was being highly selective. His intention was to extend fundamental rights only to men who looked like him.
In his 1785 book Notes on the State of Virginia, Jefferson deigned to mention Phillis in his ruminations on real poetry, which he distinguished from poetry written by Africans.
Misery is often the parent of the most affecting touches in poetry. Among the blacks is misery enough, God knows, but no poetry. Love is the peculiar oestrum of the poet. Their love is ardent, but it kindles the senses only, not the imagination. Religion indeed has produced a Phyllis Whately [sic] but it could not produce a poet. The compositions published under her name are below the dignity of criticism.
John Wheatley and his wife died not long after freeing Phillis, and their children made no effort to extend support to her. She married John Peters, a free black grocer. They lived in poverty.
Phillis lost two of the first three babies she delivered. With her husband in debtor’s prison, she took work as a scullery maid so that she could support her sickly infant son. She contracted pneumonia while pregnant for the fourth time. She died after giving birth to a girl, who did not survive. Phillis was 31 when she died.
Poems on Various Subjects, by Phillis Wheatley
The poem To Mæcenas opens the book with the observation that while poetic sensibility is bestowed broadly (“Read o’er what poets sung, and shepherds play’d. / What felt those poets but you feel the same? / Does not your soul possess the sacred flame?”), poetic recognition is reserved for the few, and almost entirely white men.
The poet imagines her potential as an artist, having been inspired by the muses:
“O could I rival thine and Virgil’s page, Or claim the Muses with the Mantuan Sage; Soon the same beauties should my mind adorn, And the same ardors in my soul should burn.”
She, however, is outcast. One classical poet, and only one, was African by birth: “The happier Terence all the choir inspir’d.”
"But say, ye Muses, why this partial grace, To one alone of Afric's sable race[...]"
She ends the poem with a humble request that she be heard, despite the paternalism of the arts, despite her African origins.
Subsequent poems frequently remind the reader that their author is African. In To the University of Cambridge, in New-England, Phillis addresses the students to remind them of their privilege and duty to use their education to improve their world. She imagines Harvard as the Tree of Knowledge, and the students susceptible to the enticement of the serpent, rendered here yet unborn, still in its shell. She, ‘an Ethiop’ who’s come from ‘those dark abodes,’ warns these privileged students against being seduced by hubris.3
On Being Brought From Africa to America sparingly gives her story only eight lines. Phillis declares her capture a ‘mercy’ since it removed her from paganism and gave her a Christian redemption. But this redemption she ‘neither sought nor knew’—it was, indeed, forced upon her. In her next breath, she notes that white people consider her race not only scornful but diabolical. She confronts this racism with a tart reminder that the color of a person’s skin is immaterial to one’s worth to God: “Remember, Christians, negroes, black as Cain, / May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.”
To S.M. A Young African Painter, on Seeing His Works launches with ecstatic praise for “a new creation rushing on my sight.” Midway, the language turns contemplative and dark. She imagines when time has stopped for the two of them, when ‘darkness ends in everlasting day.’ They will no longer glorify classical themes:
“No more to tell of Damon’s tender sighs, Or rising radiance of Aurora’s eyes, For nobler themes demand a nobler strain, And purer language on th’ ethereal plain. Cease, gentle muse! The solemn gloom of night Now seals the fair creation from my sight.”
Of the book’s 39 poems, 14 are funerary, dedicated to the memory of someone who had died—a spouse, a child, an infant. The form was popular for exploring religious themes as well as providing comfort with the dubious advice that the departed are in a better place, in heaven. In Phillis’ hand, these poems surpass giving comfort to grieving survivors by noting the earthly trials the dead have escaped. Writing of an infant dead at 12 months, she imagines this:
The raptur’d babe replies, “Thanks to my God, who snatch’d me to the skies, “E’er vice triumphant had possess’d my heart, “E’er yet the tempter had beguil d my heart, “E’er yet on sin’s base actions I was bent, “E’er yet I knew temptation’s dire intent; “E’er yet the lash for horrid crimes I felt, “E’er vanity had led my way to guilt, “But, soon arriv’d at my celestial goal, “Full glories rush on my expanding soul.” Joyful he spoke: exulting cherubs round Clapt their glad wings, the heav’nly vaults resound. Say, parents, why this unavailing moan?” A Funeral Poem on the Death of C. E. An Infant of Twelve Months
She challenges the parents in their grief: “Say would you tear him from the realms above / By thoughtless wishes, and prepost’rous love?” She pushes past tepid condolence and chastises the parents for their selfishness in wanting their son to live.
This young poet eschewed easy sentimentality and trite constructions. She laid bare the turmoil of her earthly experiences—being ripped from her home, sold into slavery, her talents and humanity dismissed. She braided the theme of darkness through much of her work, synthesizing the darkness of her skin, Western perceptions of her homeland as a place of pagan darkness, night, death. To this she contrasts dawn (Aurora), the rising of the sun, an allusion to Christian conversion that she quickly leaves behind to settle on art itself. Her discovery of art is at once dazzling and overwhelming, because for her, it’s both a blessing and a curse.
See in the east th’ illustrious king of day! His rising radiance drives the shades away— But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong, And scarce begun, concludes th’ abortive song. An Hymn to the Morning
With scant evidence about Phillis’ internal life, I must refrain from projecting my interpretation onto her story. What can we make of John Wheatley’s support for her intelligence and art? He provided her with the basic resources for her to educate herself. He promoted her locally and abroad, and his connections enabled patronage that was critical for her work to survive to this day. His advocacy also put her into the dock at court, forced to defend herself against racist attacks. Was his motivation free of self-interest? He considered her his property until shortly before his death. In promoting Phillis, was he actually promoting himself as the owner of an apparent freak of nature, someone not fully human who had greater mastery of poetic arts than any of her accusers?
The motivations of her patrons are less obscure, since they dropped support for Phillis as soon as she became free. While enslaved, she was a novelty and by extension, she proved a fashionable accessory. Phillis became a poor African woman as soon as she exited the Wheatley’s home. Former supporters wanted to have nothing to do with her.
How Phillis felt about being used is not so mysterious. She wrote eloquently about her experience while clothing her raw emotion in language that allowed her patrons to feel good about themselves. She craved the protection of ‘shady groves [… that] shield your poet from the burning day.’ She longed to quit the scrutiny and judgement over her very identity. Enticed by the beauty of art, she would renounce it for protection and the free exercise of personal rights.
The smartest person in the room
Musk and his fellow technology billionaires always consider themselves the smartest in any room they enter. They rely on their successes to confirm their intellectual status, and unlike a Black woman enslaved to a Massachusetts family, their successes are unquestioned.
Conveniently, they elide over their own dependence on the wealthy hands that lifted them above the rabble. Mark Zuckerberg was running a mean-spirited website at Harvard before the ideas and wealth of others enabled him to turn his misogynistic college website TheFacebook into the worldwide phenomenon Facebook, with a mission “to give people the power to share and make the world more open and connected.”
Tesla and SpaceX relied on $38 billion from the US government to create the wealth that’s elevated Musk to the highest reaches of power without accountability. While he’s been busy deconstructing US expenditures for social needs, his wealth has skyrocketed. In the past year alone, Musk’s wealth increased almost $150 billion, a 75% increase in a matter of months. Is this growth attributable to breakthrough ideas that he’s announced or brought to fruition, or has he depended on cozying up to a politician and providing assistance, alluded to but never explained, to win the presidential election?
Many, perhaps most, people maintain illusions about their own special value. Did these men not hold power over our data and therefore our lives, their overestimation of themselves might be laughable. We don’t have that luxury.
The brief flame of genius who was known as Phillis lives on in her art. It will outlive the overvalued companies currently inflating the egos of their owners. This is the value of a life.
Ellie’s Corner
Every morning I gather up Ellie’s toys and place them in basket under the living room table. She does not approve.
Thanks for reading,
Per HIV.gov, PEPFAR spent $100 billion and saved over 25 million lives. At about $4,000 per life saved, this is a bargain. An entry-level Tesla costs ten times that amount, and adds nothing of worth to humanity.
One of Trump’s first actions in January placed a 90-day freeze on foreign aid programs, reportedly to allow for executive review. Since then, Congress failed to reauthorize PEPFAR, and it is now shuttered.
Bear in mind, Phillis was 14 when she wrote this poem.
Outstanding. I had no idea. Wow.