If “We, the People” of the present United States were going to frame a government, would we really choose our present structure? Is it the best method for obtaining a constitutional goal–consent of the governed? We certainly would want to re-consider some key structural elements that can prevent the will of the People from prevailing. For example, we would think hard about the Electoral College.

While most often our president has been the person who has garnered the greatest number of votes, we, as has been demonstrated twice in the last generation, have no guarantee of that. Perhaps “We, the People” of today would see the electoral college as a result of understandable compromises that were necessary for the adoption of the Constitution in 1787, but we might now prefer the direct election of the President where every vote counts equally. This would produce a huge change in our presidential elections, and not just because the smaller states currently have a greater proportional representation in the Electoral College than the larger states or because sometimes the candidate with the most votes does not get inaugurated. The Electoral College in effect disenfranchises voters throughout the country.

I vote in New York, but my vote for president is, in a practical sense, meaningless. Last election, I could be confident that no matter whether I voted or not, New York’s electoral votes would go to Hillary Clinton because she was certain to get a majority of the state’s vote. The same can be said for California and other states. Similarly, voters in Texas and Alabama were casting meaningless ballots. Whether Trump or Clinton got more or fewer votes in most states simply did not matter. Voters in these states did not have much incentive to vote for President. Instead, the truly important voters throughout the country were in the “swing” states. Each swing-state voter, and non-voter, in effect counted much more than those in the safe states. When one person’s vote counts more than another’s, do we really have a government of the People?

This is not said because I thought Clinton should have won because she garnered most votes. No one should assume that if we had had the direct election of the President that Clinton would have been inaugurated. We can’t know that. With a direct election, all voters throughout the country would have had an equal incentive to vote because all votes would have mattered equally. An additional 50,000 votes for Trump or Clinton in New York or California or Texas would have changed nothing, but in a direct election, each of those votes would have mattered as much as the votes mattered in Wisconsin and Michigan. In all likelihood, with a direct election of the president, more people would vote than do now.

We also can’t assume that Clinton would have won in 2016 with a direct election because direct elections also would make campaigns different. If each vote in Alabama would matter as much as each vote did in Michigan, the candidates would have had to, shall we say, pander to every voter in Alabama as much as was done to get the Michigan votes. With equal appeals to every voter no matter the happenstance of residence, with an increased number of citizens voting, and with the majority determining the outcome, we might conclude that a direct election would more likely produce the consent of the governed than does the Electoral College system.

Today, in any presidential election, even when the candidate with most votes wins, can we really say that “We, the People of the United States” of today have chosen our national leader?

We have an electoral system chosen by the People of 1787, and those eighteenth century voters chose an amendment process that makes it almost impossible for the People of today to change our Electoral College. There is little point in even debating whether it is the best, or even a good, method of selecting a president. “We, the People United States” of today don’t really have a choice in this. Instead, the choices of the People of 1787 control us. If the People are sovereign, it is the People of 1787, not the People of today, who are the sovereigns on this matter.

(Concluded on July 20)

A seat on the Supreme Court is vacant. This means a season of idolatrous praise for the Constitution. We can expect the expression of a demanded fealty to our founding document. We may not ever say that the Constitution has the status of Holy Writ, but we know that it comes darn close. And just as we often hear the Bible’s initial words recited, we can expect to repeatedly hear the Constitution’s beginning passage: “We, the People of the United States, . . . do ordain and establish the Constitution of the United States of America.” Even though we hear these words, we don’t often consider  who the People are in “We, the People of the United States.”

We, the People of the United States do ordain” announced a radical concept. The “People” were creating a government. Elsewhere sovereignty resided in God-ordained rulers. In a momentous change, the Constitution rejected that. The People in adopting the Constitution were now the sovereigns, and the Constitution came to be seen as (nearly) God-ordained. The constitutional scholar Edward S. Corwin noted in The “Higher Law” Background of American Constitutional Law: “The Reformation superseded an infallible Pope with an infallible Bible; the American Revolution replaced the sway of a king with that of a document.” Under the Constitution, power would not run from the top down, but from the People up. The government did not have inherent powers or ones given by a god; instead, the government would only have the powers granted by the People.

The radicalism behind “We, the People” had already been announced in the Declaration of Independence: “We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness—That to secure these Rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their Just Powers from the Consent of the Governed. . . .” Rights were not granted to the people by the government; instead, rights were embedded in the individuals forming a society. The People do not exist to serve a sovereign monarch or government; instead, the government exists to serve the People.

This was radical stuff. Today we may point out the voting restrictions that existed in eighteenth century America to denigrate its limited notion of the People, but still “We, the People of the United States” was announcing a new concept in sovereignty, one that we feel still exists. Now women can vote and hold office; African-Americans can vote and hold office; people without real property can vote and hold office. We believe that our government now even more fulfills the promise of “We, the People of the United States” than it did in 1787. But our self-congratulatory pronouncements seldom truly examine whether “We, the People of the United States” of the twenty-first century have sovereignty. In important ways, the sovereign over our present country are not the People of today but the People of 1787.

The people of 1787 chose the government as defined in the Constitution. In 1787, the majority of the delegates to the state conventions controlled whether a state assented to the proposed Constitution. Since all the states adopted the Constitution, we can say that the People of the United States–as represented by a majority of the voters–formed the country.

But have the present People of the United States truly chosen this form of government? What have you done to select it? If you are like me, the answer is “nothing.” I was born into it. I suppose I could reject the government by becoming a citizen of another country, but I have taken no action to choose it. In some sense, only naturalized citizens have affirmatively chosen our government, and perhaps that is why they should be seen as more American than the rest of us. I live under a Constitution that the People of the eighteenth century and naturalized citizens have opted for, but not one chosen by the majority of Americans of today.

Perhaps we can say that present Americans choose the Constitution by not changing it. If we aren’t satisfied with it, we can amend it as Americans have done twenty-seven times. But can the People really modify the Constitution? It cannot be changed by a majority or even by a straightforward supermajority today. A tiny fraction of our citizens can prevent any amendment. That is because the People of 1787 chose a restrictive amendment process that prevents the People of the United States of future generations from truly governing themselves.

A constitutional amendment is proposed only if two-thirds of each House of Congress votes for it (or if it comes from a convention called for by two-thirds of the states for the purpose of proposing amendments, which has never happened.) The proposal becomes part of the Constitution only if it is approved by three-quarters of the states, with each state having one vote. Wyoming has one vote as does California, even though California’s population is sixty times greater than Wyoming’s. The nine largest states have a majority of this country’s citizens, but these people cannot control this amendment process. The sixteen largest states contain about two-thirds of the population, and the twenty-two most populated have about three-fourths of all Americans, but those twenty-two don’t even comprise a majority of the states, much less the three-quarters that are needed for an amendment.

When it comes to amending the Constitution, a Wyoming voter in effect counts as much as sixty California voters. Is that government by the People of the United States? Can we really say that the People of today control the process when a tiny fraction of the populace can prevent an amendment? Can we really say that the People have consented to the Constitution by not changing it? Isn’t it more accurate to say that the People of 1787 have forced an amendment process on us that prevents the People of today from being truly sovereign? And thus, at least in this instance, “We the People of the United States” means the People of 1787 are our sovereigns.

(Continued on July 18)

Good news and bad news. The good news is that even with my accumulated years I can still change a car tire in a chilly rain. The bad news . . . .

I am so old that I never got a participation trophy.

“There is a saying that every woman should have three daughters because that way there will be one to take care of her in old age.” Elizabeth Strout, Anything Is Possible.

It is the time of year for Adirondack chairs. Has anyone ever found them comfortable?

Pele did not like to be called “Pele.” Hank Aaron did not like being called “Hank.”

Patrons at the restaurant registered complaints about the server with tattooed arms. I understood because I don’t like tattoos, but then I thought back to when I was the server’s age and some reviled me simply because of the length of my hair and a beard.

“You always dread the unfamiliar.” Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451.

The driver is lost. He stops the car, and he or a passenger lowers the window, yells to a pedestrian, and motions him to the car. The pedestrian comes over and bends down to talk to the person in the car. Since it is someone in the car who is asking for a favor, shouldn’t that person get out of the car and walk over to the pedestrian? Or will this rudeness disappear because of smartphone apps?

I don’t own a smartphone.

No one was home. The delivery service left the package on the stoop. It was stolen. The package contained Nutrisystem food. Was this thief dieting? Or was the thief grossly disappointed?

The teen-aged Anne Perry along with her friend brutally murdered the friend’s mother in New Zealand. The crime and its trial garnered much attention. The girls because of their ages served five only years in prison. Perry, after much struggle, later became a successful and prolific author of mystery stories and historical fiction. She became a devout Mormon. (The person who committed the crime with her became a devout Roman Catholic.) Christians proclaim a belief in redemption and forgiveness, but it has always been hard to extend charity to those who have done a terrible thing even when the rest of their lives has been admirable. If you met Anne Perry, wouldn’t you be fascinated by the fact that she had bashed in a woman’s skull with a brick? What would that say about you? What does it say about me thinking about this?

In thinking about the post-modernism of the New Right, consider the Washington State football coach who sent out on social media an altered video of an Obama speech. Many quickly pointed out that the speech as presented never occurred. The coach responded again and again with the challenge, “Prove it.” While this response may seem to indicate a belief that things can be true or false, the speaker took the stance that even though he was asserting something, it was not his responsibility to assure its truth. By commanding others to prove that his assertion was false, he was saying what he said should stand until then. In other words, he had no responsibility for the truth of his assertions. Instead, others did.  But then the coach shifted his responses and asked, “What is a fact?” Of course, if he does not know what a fact is, then he will never accept that his assertion has been disproved. His proposition should live on until disproved, he indicated, but at the same time, he will not necessarily accept the disproof. This intellectually dishonest position abandons all responsibility for the truth.

Conservatives have another twist on postmodernism: multiple versions of the truth. There is truth and there are facts, but they rapidly change. The President makes assertions and relays information, but often he gives us conflicting facts and assertions within days or even hours. Truth may not be subjective, but it is changeable. (His assertions of shifting truths and facts have led to cries that the President lies. In a previous post, I discussed On Bullshit by Harry G. Frankfort and concluded that “liar” is not the correct term for Trump; “bullshitter” is. A liar is concerned about the truth; a bullshitter is not. It is fair to say that the President does not feel a responsibility for the truth of his pronouncements.)

That is dangerous enough, but the danger increases when others also don’t take a responsibility for facts and truth. Consider the ongoing disputes about the separation of families at the border. The Attorney General announces that the family separations are part of a policy to deter illegal immigration. Others later say that this is not a policy choice; instead, the law (adopted by Democrats) requires it. What is the true reason? The second speaker gave no indication of having talked with the AG to inquire about his earlier-asserted motives for the family separations. A person, of course, who felt responsible for speaking the truth would have done that.

Both the old leftist postmodernists and present conservatives are alike in absolving themselves of the responsibility of the often hard job of finding facts, of ascertaining the truth. It is enough to say that it could be true, it might be true, it has not been disproved to my personal satisfaction. The old leftists and the present conservatives are united in agreeing that they do not have to abide by the standards of good historical, scientific, sociological, anthropological inquiry. They don’t have to grapple with the strengths and weaknesses of sets of data. Well, yes. Life is a lot easier without that hard work. Others can foolishly spend their time looking for facts and truth, but we don’t need to. The truth is what we want it to be. And this prevents them from having to change their views. They never have to confront what T.H. Huxley said about science: “The great tragedy of science—the slaying of a beautiful hypothesis by an ugly fact.” Leisure increases and life is simpler without a responsibility for discerning or establishing facts.

On the other hand, the present conservatives separate themselves from the old leftists; at least they don’t try to justify their irresponsibility about facts by referring to incomprehensible writers. I thank them for that.

Many of my work colleagues through the years could have been described as leftist in their political and philosophical bent. Some of them were proudly of the post-modernist variety who spouted the clichés that there was no objective reality; that truth and morality were only “contingent.” Truth varied depending upon your viewpoint. This meant not just that all opinions should be considered and analyzed, but that all opinions must be respected, which soon morphed into the idea that all opinions were of equal validity. If something were true for you, then it was true. Facts were always subjective. There was no objective truth.

Sometimes a fraternity-style lingo was involved. I would hear terms like “reification,” “ramification,” or “hermeneutics.” To me these were quintessentially postmodernist terms. I would ask what they meant, and I would get different responses. I learned that they meant whatever the utterer meant them to mean, which did not have to mean what another utterer meant. They seemed to have no objective definition. But they sounded impressive, and since they seemed to be without a fixed meaning, when I heard them I began to believe that their presence often hid the absence of an idea.

Philosophers were invoked, often French ones. I felt that my knowledge was incomplete so I tried studying Messrs. Foucalt and Derrida. I would read a paragraph but could not make sense of it. I would read it again. I would read it a third time, but meaning would not emerge. Perhaps I was not as bright as my colleagues who discussed this philosophy, but I doubted that, and I began to doubt those who claimed to understand so much of this philosophy. Emperors and new clothes came to mind. I saw terrible writers or thinkers whose thought was so unclear that they could not clearly express what they meant. I am of the school that if the writing is opaque, the thinking is too. But the books seemed definitely postmodernist. Their truths were “contingent.” Each reader read individual meanings into the words.

Back in the day, it was anti-conservatives who claimed truth was indeterminate and subjective, and right-wingers railed against those who could not tell right from wrong or could not tell there was a recognizable, firm truth.

We have had a switch. Now “conservatives” say something similar to what leftists said before. Rudy Giuliani, for example, has recently stated that truth is relative. Other conservatives talk about “alternative facts.” Conservatives deny evidence about climate change suggesting that science, too, is relative–that it is only political. Conservatives seem to have adopted postmodernism, but they have gone beyond it.

(Concluded on July 11)

José Antonio Rey Maria had no intention of making history when he rowed out into the Atlantic from the coast of Andalusia in southwest Spain on April 30, 1943.” Ben Macintyre, Operation Mincemeat: How a Dead Man and a Bizarre Plan Fooled the Nazis and Assured an Allied Victory.

“The case comes in, or anyway it comes to us, on a frozen dawn in the kind of closed-down January that makes you think the sun’s never going to drag itself back above the horizon.” Tana French, The Trespasser.

“I shall never forget the one-fourth serious and three-fourths comical astonishment, with which on the morning of the third of January, eighteen hundred and forty-two, I opened the door of, and put my head into, a ‘stateroom’ on board the Britannia steampacket, twelve hundred tons burthen per register, bound for Halifax and Boston, and carrying Her Majesty’s mails.” Charles Dickens, American Notes.

“It was a pleasure to burn.” Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451.

“Through sixty-six separate books, 1,189 chapters, and hundreds of thousands of words, the Bible shares one extraordinary lesson: God loves you.” No listed author, Know Your Bible.

“Everyone in Shaker Heights was talking about it that summer: how Isabelle, the last of the Richardson children, had finally gone around the bend and burned the house down.” Celeste Ng, Little Fires Everywhere.

“I am always getting letters from people who want my job.”  Dave Barry, Dave Barry Talks Back.

“In the hospital of the orphanage—the boys’ division at St. Cloud’s, Maine—two nurses were in charge of naming the new babies and checking that their little penises were healing from the obligatory circumcision.” John Irving, The Cider House Rules.

“It all started when Constantine decided to move.” Fareed Zakaria, The Future of Freedom: Illiberal Democracy at Home and Abroad.

“Every summer Lin Kong returned to Goose Village to divorce his wife.” Ha Jin, Waiting.

“I struggle awake, and there she is. Russia.” David Greene, Midnight in Siberia: A Train Journey into the Heart of Russia.

No post today. Go  celebrate, or better yet or in addition, read the last post.

If you are like me, your Fourth of July rituals have changed through the years. When I was a mere tyke, I went to a parade on the main street of my Wisconsin birthplace. Representatives from a VFW post; floats decorated by kids from the day camps around town; a marching band or two. Lame and boring, I thought even then. (How often does a marching band actually play in tune? Not often, not ever while parading on Sheboygan’s Eighth Street.) Then a family reunion picnic at Aunt Maude’s where I might have to talk with the fearsome Aunt Beulah. The boredom increased. In the evening, fireworks over Lake Michigan—the only good part of the day.

As a young married, the spouse and I, many miles from our families, did not have any firm Fourth of July rituals. Sometimes we went to New York City’s fireworks–always magnificent. Sometimes, however, we were traveling on Independence Day, at least once in Italy where I watched Wimbledon on a TV in a store window, an activity that somehow made me feel homesick.

For decades now, I have been in a little summer community, Buck Hill Falls, with its own Fourth of July pageantry. A tiny parade followed by a program that almost never varies—a few songs; children reciting the names of the signers of the Declaration of Independence; a couple dressed as George and Martha (no one ever suggests that we have a couple dressed as Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings—I know, I know, Tom Jefferson was still married in 1776, but the thought of a Hemings impersonator at these events would be amusing. On the other hand, seeing “George” this year will make me think of the Reverend Parson Weems who created a George Washington who could never tell a lie. My thoughts turn to present president); sometimes a short speech by a community member, to which few pay close attention to even if they can hear it through the tinny speakers; the releasing of thirteen doves; and cookies and watermelons at the end. We then marvel at how Americana-ish we are. (I have some problems with the early morning routine. A rider on horseback goes through the community before a civilized wakeup time intoning, “The British are coming! The British are coming!” While this might be appropriate for Patriots’ Day, it is wrong for the Fourth. I don’t know where Paul Revere was on July 4, 1776, but he was not signing the Declaration, and he was not looking for lanterns to see whether if it was by land or sea. I have read my Longfellow and can even quote a bit.)

For a long time before the present rituals, however, I had my personal Fourth of July routine. The New York Times printed the entire Declaration on the first section’s back page, and I would read it. Even after dozens of readings, I would note the archaisms, but still admire the rhythm and the phrasing of the Declaration’s first section—“a decent respect to [not for] the opinions of mankind. . .”; “Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established. . . “let Facts be submitted to a candid world.”

If we even think of the Declaration today, we usually only contemplate these opening paragraphs, but I was also fascinated by the list of the elegantly-written grievances about the King and tried to remember, not always successfully, what specifics had occasioned the complaints. Some of my frustration at my lack of historical knowledge was relieved when, after many perusals of the Declaration, I read American Scripture: Making of the Declaration of Independence by Pauline Maier, who wrote “Today most Americans, including professional historians, would be hard put to identify exactly what prompted many of the accusations Jefferson hurled against the King, which is not surprising since even some well-informed persons of the eighteenth century were perplexed.” (Even so, I find it ironic today that the indictments included the assertions that the Crown had impeded immigration to our shores and prevented free trade. The list also includes some . . . shall we say . . . overstatements of fact. My own research for academic projects mirrors Maier’s conclusion: “Even the most assiduous efforts have, however, identified no colonists of the revolutionaries’ generation who were actually transported ‘beyond seas to be tried for pretended offenses.’”)

Even so, each reading led me to the conclusion that Jefferson was a genius in his language. This, too, has been tempered as I have learned that the Declaration was preceded by ninety or so state and local Declarations whose phrasings often were echoed in the Fourth of July Declaration and that Jefferson’s draft was frequently improved by the editing done by Congress. But still, Jefferson produced the draft that in its final form still lives. Or at least it lives, if we, not just a few oddballs and academics, continue to read and appreciate it. Yes, decorate the coaster wagons and golf carts with crepe paper, play John Philips Sousa, listen to platitudes about our freedom, watch the jets fly over, have a family softball game, eat ice cream and watermelon, and watch the fireworks, but at least once in a while also read the document that is the cause for all the celebration.

In addition to his actions and achievements that helped chart the path for the new country, Thomas Jefferson is also famous for his concern about education. He saw education as one of his legacies since he insisted that his epitaph also include the founding of the University of Virginia. He cared greatly about education on a more personal level. He insisted that his two (white) daughters get an outstanding education at a time when many women got little schooling. And, of course, Jefferson was renowned for his learning, a fame that has persisted through the centuries. John F. Kennedy memorably said at a White House dinner honoring Nobel Prize winners, “I think this is the most extraordinary collection of talent, of human knowledge, that has ever been gathered together at the White House, with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined alone. Someone once said that Thomas Jefferson was a gentleman of 32 who could calculate an eclipse, survey an estate, tie an artery, plan an edifice, try a cause, break a horse, and dance the minuet.”

Jefferson was a remarkable man. He did do great things that helped irrevocably shape the United States, but as I have learned more about him and have seen his house again, I can’t also help feel that he did not just serve mankind, but was also, at his core, selfish or self-indulgent. I could feel those undercurrents at Monticello.

I had known that Jefferson died in debt. He bought books and wines when he could not afford them, but his continual construction and reconstruction of Monticello was a chief cause of his indebtedness. Near the end of his life, he voiced concern about how his financial straits would affect others, but if he thought about this earlier, it did not affect his profligacy, and shortly after his death, because of his wanton spending, Monticello and his slaves had to be sold. Jefferson during his life tried not to break up slave families and even bought some slaves to reunite husbands and wives, but his debts at his death made sure that slaves would have to be sold and families ripped apart.

Jefferson’s home, upon which he spent so much time and money, is intriguing. It reveals his fascination with gadgets—the indoor-outdoor clock with its weights hanging through the floor, the machine to copy letters, the dumb waiter to bring up wine. But the home does not have a gracious, welcoming feel. Instead, it is a bachelor’s house primarily designed to feed the whims of one person. It does not show much concern for others who lived, worked, or visited the house. It seems self-indulgent. For me, the symbols of this were the staircases.

Jefferson’s study and bedroom were on the first floor. There seems to have been little reason for him to go to the upper stories. Jefferson thought that the grand staircases he had seen in Europe were a waste of space and did not design one for Monticello. Understandable. Instead, he had built two staircases in the house, but these are not the ordinary stairs that we are used to. Instead, they are both very narrow with a number of turns. They had to be hard to traverse. They would be especially difficult carrying a baby or a tray or anything at all. Women in those days wore long skirts, and surely the women whose rooms were on the upper floors had to be extremely careful in ascending and descending. I was not surprised when I learned that one of Jefferson’s adult daughters took a serious fall on the stairs. A house without a grand staircase can still have stairs that are convenient using only a little more space than these do, but not at Monticello. I wondered whether the stairs would have been different if Jefferson had had to use them regularly or if he was truly concerned about those who would use them.

The stairs, however, allow a bit more space on the floor that Jefferson inhabited. They suited Jefferson even if they inconvenienced, or were dangerous to, others. Somehow to me that was a metaphor for part of Jefferson’s personality.

On the other hand, I do have to have an abiding fondness for Thomas Jefferson if he said what is ascribed to him on a mug I bought at Monticello: “Coffee, the favorite drink of the civilized world.”

I most liked James Madison’s Montpelier of the presidential homes we visited in Virginia. By that I mean it is the one I would favor living in, if such a thing were possible. It has the best proportions, both inside and out, and it has sweeping views over undulating fields to the Blue Ridge Mountains. The DuPont family certainly liked the house, too. They bought it at the beginning of the twentieth century and deeded it to the National Trust for Historic Preservation in the 1980s. They added on to it during those years, but the additions fit well with what was already there, and no doubt the Madisons, if they had had DuPont money and still owned the home, would have remodeled the house during the years, as they did while they lived there.

The first portion of the structure was built by Madison’s father in 1764. Madison added to the house shortly before 1800, and then further enlarged it a decade later.

It was hard for me to picture what the fields were like back then. The thousands of acres and gardens were a working plantation. Now the fields seem dedicated to horse racing, and that is a legacy of the DuPonts. Apparently, annually in the fall steeplechase races are still held at Montpelier, drawing large crowds.

The most distinctive and most famous of the homes, with its dome and gadgets, is Monticello, but something about it made me uncomfortable. Monticello is seen, more than the other houses, as a personal statement by its creator, and while Jefferson was truly remarkable, something about him is off-putting and that carried over for me to his house.

My discomfort does not come from what can be seen as his hypocrisy about slavery or his relationship with Sally Hemings. Through our present-day lens, all those first Virginia Presidents were hypocritical about slavery. And this discomfort does not come because Jefferson did not do important, even great, things.

Perhaps we do overrate the Declaration of Independence. We esteem that document, but, of course, the truly important event was that the Second Continental Congress declared independence from Great Britain. No matter what was written on that parchment, we would have headed towards a new country because of how the delegates voted. But rhetoric can matter, and the Declaration drafted by Jefferson has rung in our ears through the centuries often prodding this country towards its better self. Perhaps the Declaration’s importance is best symbolized by the fact that we celebrate Independence Day on July 4, when the Declaration was adopted, not on July 2 when the Continental Congress voted for independence.

I am one who loves the Declaration of Independence. I have had the ritual, now sometimes lapsed, of reading that document on the Fourth of July.  I love the phrases and the rhythms. I think English students should not just study the poets and novelists, but also the Declaration, as well as Lincoln’s words, for a better understanding of the power and beauty of our language.

The first part of the Declaration of Independence contains the soaring phrases that are familiar. The second part contains specific complaints that were given as the reasons for the separation from Great Britain. They are less read or remembered than the opening paragraphs, but they are still worth contemplating. The King, the Declaration maintained “has endeavoured to prevent the Population of these States; for that Purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their Migrations hither. . . .” In other words, one of the reasons for a revolt was restrictions on immigration. Another complaint was that the King impeded international trade: “For cutting off our Trade with all Parts of the World.”

Jefferson can be praised not just for the Declaration but also for advancing individual rights that form part of the foundation of this country. His most famous effort in this regard may be his drafting of the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom, which was introduced into the Virginia General Assembly in 1779 when Jefferson was governor. It was enacted in 1786 shepherded by James Madison. The Statute disestablished the Church of England in Virginia and guaranteed freedom of religion to all faiths. This legislation was an important forerunner of both the Establishment and Free Exercise Clauses of the First Amendment in our Bill of Rights. Jefferson saw the Statute for Religious Freedom as so important that it was one of only three accomplishments that he wanted as an epitaph.

Jefferson was also a leader in preventing the formation of a formal aristocracy in our country by working after the Revolution to remove primogeniture laws, where estates had to be passed on to the firstborn son. We seem to take for granted today the absence of the laws that made for a landed aristocracy in England and other European countries, but repealing the laws was a radical shift away from English law that helped make the United States a more egalitarian society.

Jefferson also molded the country we now have through the Louisiana Purchase. This doubled United States land and gave us what is now the central part of our nation. Can you imagine the United States without all the Dakotas, Oklahoma, Nebraska, Arkansas, Iowa, Kansas, and more. (Ok, I can imagine the United States without Kansas.) What if those 826,000 square miles had stayed under French control? Or what if that land had later been sold to Britain or Spain? The country we know would simply not exist.

The Louisiana Purchase also irrevocably changed our constitutional path. The Constitution supposedly set forth a government that was limited to enumerated powers, and nothing in our fundamental charter gave the president the authority to make such a purchase. Even so, Jefferson who had been a voice for states’ rights and limited federal power, (yes, again, as with slavery, we can see Jefferson as a hypocrite) bought the land, and it stayed bought, which brought us to the path of ever-increasing executive power. (Today we don’t even seem to wonder how the president has the authority to impose tariffs or sanctions on Iran, even though such powers are not in Article II of the Constitution.) The Louisiana Purchase could be the most important presidential action taken in our country’s first generation.

(Concluded on June 29.)