During the nearly two centuries of British rule, the colonists’ attitude toward England gradually changed. The early colonists had regarded themselves as English people who happened to live across the ocean from their mother country. For the most part they had been content to be ruled by lawmakers and governors sent from England. The children and grandchildren of these early colonists wanted more of a say in their government, and so England had allowed them to elect assemblies with limited powers. By the 1760s, this was not enough for many colonists. A few were even in favor of the colonies separating from England and becoming a new country.
There were several reasons for these growing feelings. By the mid-1700s, the colonies were home to many thousands of less-wealthy English people and to thousands more who had come from such countries as Ireland, Scotland, Germany, the Netherlands, France and Sweden. Most of these peoples had never been to Great Britain, did little or no business with the British, and felt little loyalty to England.
Events like Lexington and Concord, followed by the larger battle at Breed’s Hill, cut sharply through the strata of American society. Many men who previously had accepted things as they were now had to declare themselves for or against independence. Conservatives and, in general, those who held offices in America struggled to maintain the connection with England. They angered those who regarded war as the only course, and with each violent incident the breach widened. Radical leaders like Sam Adams, who had urged independence for nearly a decade, seized upon the division and fanned the flames of revolution to white heat. Another firebrand, Thomas Paine, published his pamphlet Common Sense, and at once it became a best seller. The propagandist, as always, had put into words what many men had been thinking but could not say.
The British seemed continually to provide reasons for colonial charges against them. The king had already announced that blows must decide the issue, and when he received what was called the Olive Branch Petition from the colonies, he rejected it, stigmatizing all Americans as disloyal. The moderate William Pitt proposed a compromise, but Parliament rejected it.
What does lie at the core of the consensus that sustains the Congress, the Philadelphia Convention, the Federalist, and we must add now, the first Congress? It is, he insists, an agreed-upon public philosophy, stated in propositional form (e.g., but only e.g., all men are created equal), and propositional in both of the two senses of that ambiguous word “proposition”: that of a truth that is asserted (as self-evident, as demonstrated, or as demonstrable); and that of an intention to be realized, an operation to be performed (as when we say: I propose to, etc.) –that, then, on the one hand, of a doctrine, and that, on the other, of a project, but claiming assent on grounds of reason. He will attempt, as he proceeds, to identify the content of the proposition; but sound methodology, as he understands it, requires that we should first be clear as to the kind of proposition it is and the kind of proposition it is not, and his theses here are, as I believe, theses of the first importance for the contemporary conservative movement, if it is to relate itself correctly to the origins of the tradition that it purports to cherish.
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