As part of the major premise of the Declaration’s syllogism and of a general theory of rightful government, it is unlikely that the main ideas in the Declaration’s second paragraph exist as separate, free-floating nuggets of indeterminate meaning. My task in this essay is to reconstruct the theory of rightful government contained in that paragraph in order to progress toward fixing meaning for those ideas – equality, rights, liberty, and others – that have been so important to the self-understanding and political aspirations of Americans from 1776 on.

That the Declaration of Independence could be considered from the perspective of rhetoric might seem rather obvious, if not downright self-evident. Even so, appreciating how Jefferson thought about language not as an abstract concept but as a lived and material practice can help us appreciate the text of the Declaration from different perspectives. The text is shot through with the histories of race, nation, empire, and belonging that characterized the ideology of American revolutionary republicanism, and with Jefferson’s thinking about these forces and his own anxious place in them. In fact, despite and perhaps even in part because of his own difficulties with public speaking, Jefferson thought about the ability to access and marshal rhetorical exemplars and put them to use in legal and political argument as an elemental part of what it meant to be an effective citizen. His thinking about material rhetoric, about the absorption of what one read through notes, commentary, and commonplace books, turns out to be a critical component of how he thought about the legitimacy of the American project and of how he framed that project in successive drafts of the Declaration itself.

In the West, liberty and equality emerged as individual rights from theological speculations about the nature of God and human beings, and the relationship of human beings to each other and to God. It was a natural theology in which God is beneficent and glorifies in what God has created, having made a world in which it is possible for human beings to pursue happiness. Derived primarily from the writings of John Locke, that natural theology was embraced and expanded upon by Thomas Jefferson and articulated in the Declaration of Independence. The Declaration’s natural theology foundation holds that liberty serves God’s purpose: preservation of creation and flourishing in the pursuit of happiness. And liberty is equal liberty because, as Locke’s philosophy and Jefferson’s Declaration proclaim, human beings’ equality is more than a right; it is a fact of creation. For Locke and Jefferson, and for the “American mind” of the founding era, the theology underlying the Declaration implies duties to one another. Without such obligations beyond the self, egoism would lead to confusion as everyone would assert their own interests, and God’s purpose would not be realized.

As unprecedented as the Declaration was, it was not without intellectual antecedents. The Declaration interacted with and built upon recent expressions of European Enlightenment political philosophy in its focus on “Nature and Nature’s God,” and in its reliance upon the normative principles of “laws of Nature” as well as natural or “unalienable” rights. European Enlightenment political philosophers themselves stood in complex and varied relationships with their ancient and medieval predecessors; sometimes adding to, sometimes transforming, and sometimes rejecting these preceding ideas. The Declaration brilliantly navigates this complex web of intellectual antecedents by treating the ideas of laws of nature, natural rights, the social contract, and republicanism in such a way that the points of tension between their different interpretations are minimized and subsumed within a shared understanding of the importance of nature for political life. In so doing, the Declaration provides an intriguing hint of how the deep fault lines between these political philosophical traditions might ultimately be bridged. The Declaration’s succinct statement of political principles may be viewed as a transformative distillation of a few of its most important European antecedents.

Simultaneously an assertion of universal natural rights and the unique story of a particular peoplehood, the Declaration of Independence has from the beginning played a central role in the ongoing struggle over the ever-contested meaning of American identity. Though its ringing phrases have at times become occasions for smug self-congratulation, more often, the Declaration has presented an opportunity for self-evaluation, offering an internal critique of American practices that fall short of the claims the Declaration makes about American values and character. In this sense, the Declaration has become a capacious and evolving civic myth that in its best moments has invoked – and cultivated – a pluralistic solidarity out of volitional adherence to civic ideals and participation in democratic rituals that has substituted for the “natural” ascriptive allegiances characteristic of ethnonationalisms. The essay also suggests that this story of peoplehood was within the scope of Jefferson’s own intention. Through common commitment to the principles of the Declaration, Americans might unite as a nation.

This essay explores the deep and longstanding relationship between African Americans and the Declaration of Independence. From the 1770s to the present, black activists and thinkers have consistently excoriated the paradox of an American democracy that proclaims inalienable rights while systematically denying black citizens’ rights. Drawing on figures such as Frederick Douglass, Sojourner Truth, Frances E. W. Harper, Anna Julia Haywood Cooper, and Shirley Chisholm, the text illustrates how African Americans have employed the Declaration as a foundation for their demands for the abolition of slavery, civil rights, and equality. It examines black protest rhetoric’s critique of white supremacy, hypocrisy, and the failure of the United States to live up to its foundational principles. And it emphasizes the crucial role black women have played in advancing black liberation and expanding the scope of equality to include gender and race. Through the centuries, African Americans have called for the United States of America to reconcile its practices with its founding document’s principles of equality and justice for all.

The essays in this volume resemble the dialogue with the four children that takes place at the Passover Seder. The wise child is prepared to honor the commitments and aspirations made in 1776 but needs instruction on how to do so. The wicked child refuses to identify with the commitments made in 1776, either because the child identifies with some status hierarchy or, more likely, the child refuses to take seriously the pleas of faux revolutionaries who were committed to illegitimate status hierarchies during the late eighteenth century. The simple child does not understand the significance of the Declaration of Independence in 1776 or in 2026. The fourth child cannot figure out how to frame a question in the twenty-first century about a document written in the eighteenth century. The wise child assumes without adequate reflection a commitment to the Passover story and the Declaration of Independence. American independence was forged on a foundation of soldiers who died for lower taxes and, arguably, more secure rights to hold others in bondage. These problems require retelling both the Passover and the Declaration stories, so that the simple child can determine intelligently whether commitment to either (the same?) tradition is warranted.

This chapter focuses on how Native Americans have understood and purposed the Declaration. By asserting tribal sovereignty, Native American nations have been declaring independence since 1776. Cast as “merciless Indian savages” in the Declaration of Independence, Native Americans have cited the document in speeches, published writings, and legal briefs since the founding of the United States. They did so not to claim national belonging, but to argue that in its dealings with Native Nations, the United States should honor its founding document’s principles of self-determination and natural rights. Divided paths through the American Revolution, nineteenth-century disputes about responding to US territorial and cultural pressure, and twentieth-century efforts to balance tribal citizenship, US citizenship, and intertribal advocacy show how the citizens of tribal nations have consistently debated and adapted strategies for maintaining tribal sovereignty. Especially among Native American leaders subjected to assimilative schooling, the Declaration of Independence was a consistent feature of Indigenous arguments for independence from the United States.

This chapter explores how the Declaration of Independence was drafted and ratified. Congress created and assigned the task of drafting a declaration of independence to a committee of lawyers. When the draft went to the Congress, lawyers like Edward Rutledge had their chance to weigh in. The draft document and the final version was a legal document designed to place rebellion on a legal foundation. Jefferson later recalled that his draft of the Declaration of Independence merely recombined ideas that had long been discussed, and terminology long adopted, by Congress. The Declaration assumed independence, otherwise it would have had no foundation. Following this logic, as the members did, surely Jefferson among them, the Declaration was simply stating the reasons – a justification like the Declaratory Act of 1766, by which Parliament explained its authority over the colonies – for an event already transpired. The ringing elaboration of the rights of mankind, various borrowings from John Locke, echoes of natural law, and the language of prior resolves and declarations were not really pertinent to a declaration for the independence of a continent, but make sense in the more limited framework of Virginia constitutional change.

This chapter situates the Declaration of Independence in relation to another founding document of the United States, the federal Constitution. It assesses the Declaration’s role in debates over the Constitution, first during the latter’s framing in 1787, then in the struggle for ratification, and then later as political actors sought to interpret each document in light of the other. From the outset, debate over the Constitution highlighted the Declaration’s multivalence as well as its rhetorical power. Both defenders and opponents of the Constitution have sought to show how their cause best aligned with the ideals and aspirations expressed in the Declaration. Anti-federalists and their successors constructed a powerful narrative which juxtaposed the Declaration’s call to liberty with the Constitution’s blueprint for authority. Yet there was from the beginning an equally strong tradition that saw the Constitution as a consummation of the Declaration’s promise. Either way, this chapter argues, the Declaration continues to help shape the meaning of the Constitution – and to have its own meaning remolded in turn.

The rights of the insane, it is usually assumed, were not a prominent concern in early modern Europe, and they have rarely attracted the attention of scholars. However, the social and legal significance of mental disease in various times and places is well known, so it should be no surprise to find that the persons of the insane, and their attendant capacities, obligations and rights, were matters of substance in early modern jurisprudence. This essay shows how in this era the European legal understanding of insanity developed, and how the insane were deprived of many of their rights; but also how some of these were preserved. In the first part, I outline the conceptions of insanity, derived from Roman civil law, that were applied by jurists. We shall see that there were broadly two ways of thinking about madness in legal contexts. The first, which had wide acceptance from antiquity to the sixteenth century, treated all kinds of insanity as legally equivalent forms of irrationality.

This chapter examines rights, authority, and autonomy under the Dutch East India Company (VOC) in seventeenth century Southeast Asia. Exploring how the Company managed its employees, Asian treaty partners, and diverse populations under its rule, this chapter is divided into three sections. The first delves into the instruments that granted the Company a range of powers, including the Company charter, commissions, as well as employment and disciplinary contracts. In the 1640s these were later supplemented by the Batavian Statutes. The 2nd section explores the VOC’s interactions with Asian rulers by focusing on treaties and alliances. These treaties curtailed the liberty of Asian rulers, compromised their sovereignty, and reinforced their dependency on the VOC. The 3rd section shifts attention to the VOC’s administration of ethnic and religious communities under its rule.

The early modern period was a formative time for rights of asylum as older forms of sanctuary came to be replaced by new rules and practices. Various forms of sanctuary had already existed in the ancient world. Both ancient Greece and Rome knew ‘sacred and inviolable spaces’, often associated with particular gods, where the law did not hold and the persecuted were able to hide. In early Christianity too, sacred places of worship served as places of asylum – a concept that was carried over into the Middle Ages, where church sanctuary could protect an individual from the force of the law and thus contributed to establishing the Church as a separate jurisdiction. This competing jurisdiction came increasingly under attack with the Protestant Reformation, when secular rulers centralised power in their own hands and church sanctuary was successively restricted and finally abolished.

Rights are at home in law-courts. In popular understanding, they seem like attributes attached to individuals who are found in isolation. When carefully examined, however, they can be characterised as aspects of relations in the sight of a tribunal (which may, of course, be conscience or public opinion or God). They have their being, it might be said, within a field of vision - the version of reality that the tribunal sees - in which a right apparently located in one person must have a dissimilar correlate located in another. If, when the information that counts as fact in, a court is in principle willing to do X for A against B, it cannot simultaneously have the same willingness to do X for B against A. On the account definitively worked out by Wesley Hohfeld, my claim must have its correlate in someone else’s duty, but even the simplest privilege (my right against the world to take a walk into the park) has correlates in ‘no-rights’ attaching to the indefinite range of other individuals who might take legal action with a view to stopping me.

When authors in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries wrote about what it meant to have rights, they discussed a great diversity of ways in which that concept could be understood, but they almost always concurred on one point. It was vital, they argued, that right should never be conflated with power. As Hugo Grotius put it, we must never agree with the claim that might is right. The twenty-six essays in this volume show that the idea of rights was widely used in the early modern period to resist and limit power. Accordingly, modern liberals have portrayed the period in terms of a struggle for rights against arbitrary power. However, the authors in this volume question that the story of rights as resistance was the dominant narrative of rights. If there was a dominant discourse of rights in the early modern period at all, it was one in which rights were coextensive with power.