Born of Compromise — and Contradiction
In 1787, when 55 delegates convened in Philadelphia to revise the Articles of Confederation, they ended up embarking on a project that was much bigger in scope. As Americans are taught in history class, the delegates drafted a new document establishing a national government consisting of three branches — legislative, judiciary and executive — each functioning as a check on the others. The delegates were all white, and they were all men. But they nevertheless diverged on what they deemed to be an intractable issue: slavery.
Though several states had already passed abolition statutes, nearly half the delegates were slaveholders. The Constitution was thus born of compromise — with the enslavers getting the better end of the deal. To determine representation in the House and the Electoral College, the Three-Fifths Compromise allowed slave states to count three out of every five people held in bondage (none of whom, needless to say, could vote). And the fugitive slave clausestipulated that even when enslaved people escaped to free states they would never be free.
Such compromises meant that those who shared overlapping politics could still draw wildly different conclusions from the Constitution. The abolitionist William Garrison considered the compromises so damning as to make the Constitution “a covenant with death” and “an agreement with hell.” But Frederick Douglass maintained the opposite — that slavery in the United States could only be upheld “by claiming that the Constitution does not mean what it says.” As the historian James Oakes put it, Douglass shared Abraham Lincoln’s view, recognizing in the Constitution “the promise of universal freedom.”
A “promise of universal freedom,” yes, but also instructions on how to thwart it. There’s a glaring discrepancy between the soaring words in the Constitution’s preamble — a call to “we the people” that is “a seemingly ringing endorsement for popular governance,” as Chemerinsky puts it — and the distrust of democracy embedded in the rest of the document, reflecting the framers’ inability to conceive of a future when women and Black people would have a right to vote. The legacy of this history is a stubborn ambivalence: Is the Constitution supposed to be a guarantor of human equality? Or, for a society with a profoundly inegalitarian origin story, is the lofty principle just hypocritical cover?