The Greatest Challenge to Conservative Governing
Appreciating Frederick Douglass’s exceptional 4th of July Address
In recent years, it has become common for publications to re-release and celebrate Frederick Douglass’s famous 1852 Independence Day address, (widely known as “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July”). It was an indictment of America’s immoral practice of slavery and its celebration of freedom in the face of bondage.
For those who believe America should be raucously celebrated on the 4th of July, this new tradition of discussing Douglass’s condemnation can be jarring. But the full address is far more than an attack on America; it is one of the smartest and most thought-provoking speeches in our history. Unfortunately, since it is such a long speech (by today’s standards), it is nearly always excerpted, and those excerpts often excise much, if not all, of the first part of Douglass’s remarks. But in that portion Douglass praises the founders and expresses appreciation for others’ pride in Independence Day. In fact, by recognizing in his opening so much good in America’s history, Douglass expertly sets up the foundational questions raised in the rest.
In short, then, this address challenges conservatives to think hard about who benefits from longstanding institutions, how to recognize flaws in traditional practice, and what to do when such flaws are recognized.
In one sense, Douglass’s speech recognizes two pillars of conservatism: That our nation’s founders accomplished something spectacular and that they and their creation deserve praise. Conservatism is, at root, preserving the beliefs, practices, and institutions that have enabled a society to succeed. America has done great things, and our Declaration of Independence and Constitution contributed mightily to this success. So an American conservative is especially attached to the 4th of July because it is a day to commemorate the people and events that laid the foundation for what was to come.
Rather than starting with an attack on America, its founding documents, and its framers, Douglass spends paragraphs celebrating all of this. For instance, he describes the founders as “men of honesty,” “men of spirit,” “peace men,’ “wise men,” “brave men,” “great men,” “statesmen,” “patriots,” and “heroes.” That is astonishing. He had been enslaved, and millions of others were still suffering the same. It is also a remarkable rhetorical approach given what’s to come: Later, he sets ablaze the institution of slavery and those who defend it.
Doesn’t praise serve as the gift of armor for an enemy—helping protect the thing you aim to defeat? Not if done well. And Frederick Douglass does it brilliantly.
Though this tactic of praise could be seen as softening up his audience, temporarily defanging himself, or showing gratitude for the invitation to speak, it should be understood as wiser and cleverer than that.
It is common for critics to verbally lay waste to the institutions they aim to reform. But that seldom convinces those in power, especially if done on a day marked for celebrating such institutions. But doesn’t praise serve as the gift of armor for an enemy—helping protect the thing you aim to defeat?
Not if done well. And Douglass does it brilliantly. He concedes the conservative point—pride in Independence Day—but does so essentially in the passive voice. He admits that so much of America deserves praise without saying “I praise it.” He understands why so many others want to celebrate on that day while never saying that he or those like him want to celebrate. In fact, the most striking word in the first part of the address is “your.” He speaks of “your national Independence,” “your political freedom,” “your great deliverance,” “your fathers,” “your nation's history ,” and “your 4th of July.’
And this represents the first major challenge to the conservative.
In a nation as large and diverse as ours, we must appreciate that the beliefs, practices, and institutions that have enabled some to thrive are seen by others as the primary obstacles (or worse) to their thriving. Douglass all but says, “You are celebrating your institutions that have enabled you to succeed. But don’t expect me to do the same.”
Indeed, the language of celebration and preservation will come across as cold or cruel to those hindered by existing rules and beliefs. Conservatives should always remember this as we govern. Whether we’re making decisions about capitalism, criminal justice, civil society, gun rights, housing, taxation, transportation, schools, or something else, we should be humble enough to ask, “Should we expect all of our fellow citizens to want to preserve current arrangements?”
Obviously, there will always be some who want to overhaul some element of society. So asking the question doesn’t obligate us to accede to every objection to a longstanding practice. In fact, we may determine, after considering the objection, that adherence to the longstanding practice—for example, holding on to a particular education policy or zoning rule—is in the public interest. But that question should help us recognize old institutions that unfairly disadvantage civic-minded, law-abiding, contributing individuals and groups.
The remainder of Douglass’s address, beyond its excoriation of slavery, raises two connected challenges that again pose a challenge to conservatives, namely: How do we know when a longstanding institution should be fundamentally altered; and, when it is, how do we go about that process?
Conservatives have an implied checklist for assessing longstanding institutions accused of harm. This includes things like whether the institution adheres to explicit constitutional safeguards, whether it accords with unenumerated rights found in history and tradition, whether it was created and preserved through legitimate democratic processes, whether it was produced via voluntary action and reflects particular ways of life, and whether it is an adapted solution to a problem found in the human condition. The problem, however, is on occasion, this checklist is not enough to rule out unjust practices. For instance, slavery, tragically, was not unconstitutional in 1852, it was a longstanding practice, it was protected by democratic process, and so on. So, after nodding to Chesterton’s fence, how do we know which of the institutions handed down to us must be disassembled?
Though it is always easy to see instances of injustice in hindsight, it is far harder to do so in the present. In the future, we will surely see some of today’s practices as unjust. But what are they? Assigning low-income students to persistently failing schools? Allowing prosecutors to ignore categories of crimes? But if we become too fearful of the condemnation of future generations and do away with all of today’s institutions deemed unjust by someone, we’d quickly find ourselves without democracy, free speech, philanthropy, private property, and much else.
Some argue that “natural law” offers the answer; indeed, Douglass offers a version of it in later in this address, and Dr. King does so explicitly in his condemnation of segregation in “Letter from Birmingham Jail.” But the indeterminacy of natural law means it is unable to give us clear answers in the most difficult cases (e.g., natural law arguments can be made in favor of or against capital punishment and euthanasia).
Related is the question of the pace of change. Conservatives too have an implied playbook. We generally favor gradual reform, non-comprehensive change, and modest adjustments developed by those on the ground (not the grand gestures of theorists far away). This preserves hard-earned gains and the wisdom of those who came before us; it maintains stability and continuity; it allows for continuous course corrections; it avoids sweeping mistakes. Conservatives also generally counsel against apocalyptic predictions and overheated language. These stand in the way of prudence, and they invite radical, often misguided, interventions.
But as Douglass demonstrates in some of his most memorable passages, plodding change and moderate, accommodating language is entirely wrong in some circumstances. Responding to those who want him to “persuade more” and “denounce less,” he asks which aspect of slavery require calm conversation. Does he need “to prove that the slave is a man?” Is he supposed to convince others “that it is wrong to make men brutes, to rob them of their liberty, to work them without wages, to keep them ignorant of their relations to their fellow men, to beat them with sticks, to flay their flesh with the lash, to load their limbs with irons, to hunt them with dogs, to sell them at auction, to sunder their families, to knock out their teeth, to burn their flesh, to starve them into obedience and submission to their masters?”
No, he explains, he will not try to persuade, because “at a time like this, scorching irony, not convincing argument, is needed. O! had I the ability, and could I reach the nation's ear, I would, to day, pour out a fiery stream of biting ridicule, blasting reproach, withering sarcasm, and stern rebuke. For it is not light that is needed, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.” Dr. King offers a similar reply to those asking him to be more judicious and patient: “We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”
So in instances of the most grave social and governmental injustices, ferocious language and swift, comprehensive action are appropriate. But, again, how can we be sure which instances rise to that level? There is a cost to over-identifying such instances: If, on every issue, we relentlessly poured out a fiery stream of biting ridicule, blasting reproach, withering sarcasm, and stern rebuke on every issue, democratic deliberation would be impossible.
So while Douglass’s oration is rightly regarded as one of the most convincing arguments against slavery, it also presents three questions that should always be in the back of the mind of the conservative governing official:
Who gains and who loses if we preserve a particular belief, practice, or institution?
How do we know which of today’s beliefs, practices, or institutions need to be overhauled?
What is the right pace and language for addressing needed reform?
Thank you for this awesome reminder of Fredrick Douglass’ speech and your reflections on bringing these core questions into the present moment for conservatives. I do wonder if there’s a way to flip your questions such that they address a greater propensity to anchor on negative liberty/freedoms amongst conservative thinkers. In this way, I think the middle question: How do we know which of today’s beliefs, practices, or institutions need to be overhauled?—feels most important.
In keeping with an emphasis on negative liberty/freedom, it is worthwhile to conceive of ‘overhauling’ NOT as a totalizing project – as that would squelch viewpoint diversity in a way that feels out of bounds. Rather, I think a reasonable goal that both enables progress while supporting freedom of conscience might be to circumscribe and protect the exercise of certain beliefs, practices, and institutional affiliations —particularly those rooted in religious belief—in a way that offers some freedom from interference while still expanding the public sphere to incorporate more of humanity’s participation (and thus the human potential unleashed as a result). This is where I lean more heavily on the Templeton Religion Trust’s framing of pluralism as requiring freedom of religion, deeper cross-religious literacy, and an emphasis on embodying virtues (humility, empathy, patience, and courage) that sustain pluralism. This last element allows for distinguishing between closely held, communal beliefs (and the free exercise of them) and actions in the public sphere that seek to dehumanize and force others into beliefs they would not want (i.e., certain extreme versions of White Christian Nationalism).
As someone who identifies as queer, I understand that this is the space of pluralism – the coexistence of differing fundamental beliefs -- that John Roberts and Amy Coney Barrett seek to carve out. How we engage with and define the public square remains contentious, but perhaps a better terrain for the debate versus a fully totalizing one.