Date the Declaration. Marry the Constitution.

Our founders matured a great deal between 1776 and 1787

I think of the Declaration of Independence as a smart, confident, brash 19-year-old holding forth in a dorm room at 2am.

I think of the Constitution as that same person 11 years later—30 years old now—with a spouse, an infant, a mortgage, two car payments, big responsibilities at work, a lawn that really needs to get mowed, and don’t even get me started on this property tax assessment.

The first is brimming with ideas. Certain how the world ought to be. Frustrated by others’ ignorance and lack of vision. Ready with a list of grievances. Champing at the bit to be in charge.

But also—importantly—lacking in experience in actually doing any of the things in that dorm-room lecture.

The second, older version is less poetic now. Doesn’t have the time or energy for gestures. No longer thinks in terms of grand theories. Has gained experience, wisdom, and judgment thanks to being in charge for a while and having responsibility for others’ well being.

The sparkling, theatrical potential of youth has matured into the seriousness and acumen of adulthood.

The 19-year old is exciting. Even inspiring. A bit full of himself. Tends to ignore the details. Kind of dramatic. Goes too far at times. Head in the clouds.

The second is, admittedly, sort of dry. Gives you fewer goosebumps. But he’s solid as oak. Careful. Estimable. Will stand the test of time. The more you get to know him, the more you realize his depth and strength.

In short, you date the Declaration. You marry the Constitution.

More Madisons, Fewer Jeffersons

Last week, I had a piece run over at The Dispatch arguing that from 1776 to 1787, our framers evolved from poets into practitioners.

I discuss four ways the Constitution improved or corrected the Declaration. The commonality among the four differences is that the Constitution was engaged in the mature work of using clear, specific language to deal with the realities of human nature and social life in order to produce an effective government. The Declaration, on the other hand, traded in abstractions and grand language.

First, the Constitution relies on popular sovereignty, democracy, and republicanism while the Declaration is focused on the amorphous “natural law” and “natural rights.”

Second, the Constitution is meant to be taken literally, and it does the hard work of advancing equality. The Declaration prefers a lovely turn of phrase that even the author didn’t fully believe.

Third, while the Declaration is vague about our rights, the Constitution makes crystal clear which liberties are to be protected.

Fourth, the Declaration incorrectly claims that governments are created to protect rights. The Constitution correctly notes that people create governments to take on an array of activities to advance the common good.

My overarching point is that there’s a big difference between saying things to say things and saying things for which you are responsible. As I’ve been arguing for several years now, American public life is chock full of commentators—people who love abstractions and grand language. But what we desperately need are people focused on the day-to-day work of public leadership.

As I write in the piece:

Today’s America struggles to seriously discuss statecraft, much less practice it, because public leaders now prioritize rhetoric instead of results, statements instead of solutions.

We’re filled to the brim with Jeffersons when we desperately need Madisons.

Ultimately, I argue that the best way to celebrate America’s 250th anniversary is to stop talking about governing and go do public service.

You can read the full Dispatch piece here.