Historian Jane Kamensky, currently the president of the Thomas Jefferson Foundation at Monticello, shares insights about the lasting significance of the American Revolution. She notes, “Everyone on all sides, including those who had been denied even ownership of themselves, had a sense of possibility worth fighting for.”
This perspective highlights a crucial aspect of the revolution that often gets overshadowed by iconic images and monuments. It wasn’t solely about independence; it was also a debate over fundamental questions: Who matters? Who belongs? Can ordinary people truly claim ownership over their lives?
In 1776, the very idea of citizenship was revolutionary. Historically, most individuals were subjects rather than citizens. Amidst British North America, a diverse group of ambitious yet often contradictory individuals began to envision a different governance. They challenged the prevailing notion that authority emanated from the monarchy; rather, it should derive from the people.
Initially, the promise of citizenship was limited to a select demographic—primarily white, property-owning men. However, as the concept of freedom spread, it became increasingly difficult to contain, particularly with ordinary people—teenagers and non-property owners—joining the fight, understanding that they deserved freedom as much as anyone in the elite circles of Philadelphia.
This reflects the unfinished brilliance of America’s inception: it ignited aspiration in a broader populace, surpassing the narrowed vision of its original advocates.
Benjamin Franklin epitomizes this American sense of possibility.
Historians Annette Gordon-Reed and Christopher Brown emphasize that while George Washington is often seen as indispensable to the revolution, Franklin holds a parallel significance.
Franklin’s beginnings were humble. Unlike Thomas Jefferson, who hailed from Virginia’s aristocracy, Franklin was born in Boston, the child of a candle maker. He spent time as an indentured apprentice to his brother in a printing house before moving to Philadelphia with little more than determination and a desire for self-transformation.
He evolved into a printer, publisher, and writer, even gaining recognition in Europe for his scientific work that linked lightning and electricity. Franklin’s inventions—like the lightning rod, bifocals, and the Franklin stove—provided practical benefits, while also reflecting a commitment to civic responsibility.
Long before the colonies achieved independence, Franklin recognized that unity was crucial for survival. His “Join or Die” cartoon is remembered not just as an image but as a powerful political statement advocating for the necessity of collaboration— a principle that remains vital today.
Today, America finds itself amid a similar fractured landscape, rife with distrust and frustration. Conversations often focus on rights, sidelining the importance of responsibilities. While freedom is celebrated, true efforts to sustain it—such as community engagement and self-governance—are sometimes met with resistance.
Franklin would have been quick to identify such threats.
He knew democracy isn’t automatic; it thrives on citizens’ engagement and improvement. Founders valued virtues like reading, debate, serving the community, compromise, and collaboration. A government can falter when people disengage from politics, thinking it’s someone else’s job.
Franklin’s own life reflected contradictions. He grew up in a family that owned slaves but later became an outspoken opponent of slavery, eventually leading the Pennsylvania Abolition Society.
His trajectory is a testament to the moral complexities in American history. The Founders were flawed individuals, not icons, and we shouldn’t idealize them. They faced challenges that remain relevant today.
As he attended the Constitutional Convention in 1787, Franklin played a crucial role in crafting a document that was both a remarkable achievement and a compromise that retained the institution of slavery.
Nonetheless, Franklin exemplified the American spirit: resilience over flawlessness. The belief that even imperfect people can construct lasting institutions.
There’s a notable moment in the Declaration of Independence draft where Jefferson describes truths as “sacred and undeniable.” Franklin suggested changing it to “truism.” Such a small adjustment carries profound implications.
He reframed freedom from a matter of divine ordinance to one of democratic entitlement. Rights are not bestowed by rulers; they are inherent to humanity, grounded in reason—even when equality seems elusive, as it often does.
Frederick Douglass later echoed these sentiments, challenging the meaning of Independence Day for those not afforded that promise. While critiquing the nation’s shortcomings, he clung to its founding ideals.
Franklin’s life is a remarkable human narrative. Though he didn’t wield weapons in anger, he effectively used intellect, dialogue, and empathy to frame the struggle as collective. The Founding Fathers, including Jefferson, Adams, Washington, and Franklin, represent all of us. In early 1775, their chances seemed slim, yet they considered future generations—like us.
The Founders don’t want adoration but encourage ongoing dialogues. They urge us to broaden the definition of “We the People,” realize what was merely envisioned, and assert that freedom should belong to everyone, not just a fortunate few.
As we reflect on 250 years of history, the faces and images of our founders ask us a pressing question: “What will you do?” How are you planning to enhance the potential that is America?
