An Argument I Cannot Condone

As if secretly trying to crush any lingering hope that we could maybe do something—anything—without descending into embarrassing partisan bickering, last week the Republicans decided to read the Constitution on the House floor. Philip Rucker and David Fahrenthold of the Washington Post described the ensuing controversy:

House Republicans, who orchestrated the symbolic exercise as an early gesture to the tea party movement, touted it as a way to bring the new Congress, and the people they represent, back to America's roots.

But they didn't want to go all the way back.

…

The version read aloud was missing at least seven passages that remain etched in faded ink on the Constitution kept at the National Archives. Most are eye-glazing: procedures for electing senators, the workings of the electoral college.

But two, in particular, reflect a painful reality: The nation's founding document condoned slavery.

One, the "three-fifths compromise," counted slaves as three-fifths of a person for purposes of divvying congressional districts. The second dealt with runaway slaves—if they escaped to a free state, the Constitution required that they not be freed but rather "delivered up" to their owners.

Both were negated by the 13th Amendment but necessary to ratifying the original document, according to historians.

Any problems with that account? Maybe they sound a bit critical of Republicans, but not in an inaccurate way, or in a way that strikes me as unfair.^[1] I don't see much worth complaining about. Prominent Republican and Townhall.com columnist Ken Blackwell, on the other hand, is incensed. In an article titled "The Constitution Did Not Condone Slavery," he writes:^[2]

The Rucker-Farenthold article was nowhere labeled analysis, but who expects anything but front-page editorials these days, anyway? They waded right in to a two-hundred twenty-two year old controversy when they flatly stated that the original Constitution "condoned" slavery.

Abraham Lincoln did not agree. He revered the Constitution and said that the fact that it nowhere mentioned the words slavery, slave, African, or Negro was a silent but powerful admission that the Founders were ashamed of the existence of slavery among them. They hid it away, Lincoln said, as "an afflicted man hides a wen or tumor."

Abolitionist editor and orator Frederick Douglass also did not agree. He emphasized eloquently that not one word would have to be changed in the Constitution if only the states would follow George Washington's example and voluntarily give up slavery.

Lincoln and Douglass were right. James Madison explained why there was no mention of slavery in the Constitution. The framers were unwilling to admit in the federal charter there could be property in men.

The idea that our Constitution "condoned" slavery and was therefore an immoral document unworthy of being viewed with reverence is a stock liberal claim. It is false.

I'm sure he has more at his disposal somewhere, but Blackwell's reaction represents the combined effort of approximately two neurons—the one that loves the Constitution, and the one that's convinced liberals don't. The neuron that knows what "condone" means, though, was apparently not consulted. Here are a few definitions:

• To give tacit approval to. By his silence, he seemed to condone their behavior.
• To accept and allow (behavior that is considered morally wrong or offensive) to continue.
• To approve or sanction (something), esp. with reluctance.

So, to reiterate, the same person who wrote this…

[Lincoln] revered the Constitution and said that the fact that it nowhere mentioned the words slavery, slave, African, or Negro was a silent but powerful admission that the Founders were ashamed of the existence of slavery among them.

…also wrote this, three paragraphs later:

The idea that our Constitution "condoned" slavery and was therefore an immoral document unworthy of being viewed with reverence is a stock liberal claim. It is false.

What else is there to say? That the Constitution contained "a silent but powerful admission that the Founders were ashamed of the existence of slavery" is exactly what "condoned" means, right? If not, what should've been used in its place? Ignored, excused, and allowed all seem worse than condoned. Condemned, denounced, and decried all seem inaccurate, as the Constitution did none of those things.

In other words (so to speak), "condoned" strikes me as a perfectly cromulent word for the Post writers to use to make their point. And, by the way, the point itself—that despite whatever misgivings the Founders may have had about slavery, it was not prohibited under the Constitution—is indisputable. If there's anything historically- or semantically-flawed about saying the Constitution condoned slavery, I haven't figured out what it is. So, what triggered Ken Blackwell's column-length rant about liberals seeing the Constitution as "an immoral document unworthy of being viewed with reverence"?^[3]

I wouldn't accuse Blackwell of not knowing what "condone" means (after all, in the same column he uses words like "phalanx" and "tendentious," and rather artfully at that). I'd say what's happening here is that he's so committed to the conservative mantra that they are the proud defenders of the Constitution—the last line of defense protecting American values and the rule of law from those who (in their minds) would do away with both in a second, given the chance—that he just didn't bother to think about what "condone" really means, or what the Post writers meant when they used it. He read an article written, presumably, by liberals, in which the Constitution was discussed in not-entirely-positive terms,^[4] and that's all the fuel he needed.

This is where I'd normally write some sort of conclusion—something concise and witty that also reinforces the point I'm trying to make—but there's no need. While I was working on this post I came across a conclusion to another article that serves those purposes beautifully. I hope Ken Blackwell doesn't mind if I borrow it:

Let's rejoice that we have come this far. Let's not use the reading of the Constitution as an occasion for scoring cheap—and false—political points. Let's proceed as Lincoln proceeded: With malice toward none.

1. Personally, I say leave the archaic sections out. Not because they're objectionable, but because I thought the point of the reading was that people—members of Congress and private citizens alike—might benefit from being reminded that the Constitution has a lot of important stuff in it and, by the way, is still legally binding. I don't see how it serves that purpose to read the parts that are no longer in effect.
    Still, would it have been too much to ask for somebody (John Lewis, perhaps) to kick things off with a short speech about the history of the controversial provisions? Alternatively, would it have been too much to ask for the Democrats to just stop complaining for an hour and a half?

2. Blackwell also has some thoughts about the Post's take on the Three-Fifths Compromise. I, in turn, have some thoughts about Blackwell's thoughts about the Post's take on the Three-Fifths Compromise. All these thoughts eventually grew too large to reasonably cram into this footnote (and even began sprouting footnotes of their own), so they'll show up as a separate article within a few days.

3. Oh, almost forgot the requisite disclaimer: Just because I disagree with some parts of Blackwell's article, doesn't mean I see the Constitution as immoral or unworthy or reverence or…I'm already tired of writing this sentence. It's a powerful, ground-breaking document, but it also has its flaws, because so did the world that created it. Can we all agree on that?

4. Interestingly, Blackwell doesn't comment on this line in the Post article, which is the only part that jumps out to me as containing legitimate inaccuracies:

To some African Americans, skipping those passages was a stinging omission that overlooked the fact that under the original Constitution they would not have had a right to vote, let alone serve in Congress.

The original Constitution didn't restrict voting rights. It didn't say much about voting at all, really, other than the constitutional requirement that members of the House of Representatives be, in some non-specific way, chosen by the people. Determining who could vote and what they could vote on was, and still is (although Amendments XV, XVII, XIX, XXIII, XXIV, and XXVI established a few more ground rules), left up to the states. In a lot of states—you can probably guess what general part of the country we're talking about—free black men have been voting since the 1700s, and I'm pretty sure they were allowed to run for federal office, too.