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achieve both reform and the preservation of the constitutional government.
In this “Quaker process,” as Friends call it today, they had a distinct use and
understanding of language and speech. They self-consciously used particular
words and the very act of speaking (or not speaking) itself to order their polity,
de¬ne their political procedures, and effect change in the world around them.
For Quakers, theory and practice were not separate; theirs was a theory of
action. And in this theory, practice, process, language, and the act of speaking
were the same.27 Their theory was about a constant process of creating and
recreating the constitution “ both the composition of the body politic and the
written document “ of a polity through what they termed “conversation” and
“walking” “ words and deeds that were “peaceable,” “holy,” and “orderly.”
Speech-acts in effect created the polity. Because of the Quaker emphasis on
action, it is crucial to note at the outset of this study that the theory being
explored here is not found exclusively in written texts.
With their emphasis on process, it is useful to consider Quakers as very
effective bureaucrats in their religious meetings and civil government. Drawing
on Weberian theories of political authority “ particularly the legal-rational and
charismatic models “ the analysis deals with how they used their process for
balancing both their ecclesiastical and civil polities. It was a form of authority
used to contain the libertine, dissenting elements in the meeting and keep it
uni¬ed, and also a means for manipulating the legal and political systems
of the state to secure more liberties for themselves and others. They became
experts at exploiting the very mechanisms of state oppression to achieve their
By engaging with the polity in this manner with the intent to effect drastic
systemic change, Friends thus challenged conventional understandings of a
constitution that held it to be either static or dispensable. And they pioneered
a mode of political engagement unlike anything their contemporaries had seen.
They gave the people a role in the legal process that preserved the sanctity
of the government while effectively limiting its reach. But there is a distinctly
problematic aspect of this theory as it was translated into practice. Once such a
dissenting theory has been disseminated and implemented, how can radicalism
or anarchy be prevented? What if those who adopted the dissenting aspects of
Quaker theory did not also employ the process that demanded a conciliatory
posture toward government? This was a perennial problem Quakers faced both
in- and outside of their Society, and Martin Luther King and Gandhi had their
own dif¬culties as well in this regard. On the other hand, in containing the
dangers of a dissenting theology, how is tyranny prevented? Exploration of the
question of political balance in the context of Quaker theologico-politics is
thus another important theme of this study.

27 See J. L. Austin, How to Do Things with Words, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1975).
Introduction 13

In the following pages, I use the early modern nautical metaphor of the
“trimmer” to describe Quakers™ relation to the polity. Two opposing meanings
of the term were employed in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries to
describe political actors. The ¬rst and more common was derogatory and
referred to trimming the sails to steer the course of the ship with the prevailing
winds. In other words, these trimmers allied themselves opportunistically with
one faction or another, privileging self-preservation over principle. Today we
call them “centrists” and “¬‚ip-¬‚oppers.” But the second meaning, used most
notably by George Savile in 1688, was laudatory.28 It referred to one whose
duty it is to strategically place the cargo or ballast on a ship to keep it stable
and a¬‚oat.29 Trimmers such as these acted on principle, espousing moderation
and eschewing self-interest. The story of a principled trimmer “ as opposed
to an opportunistic one “ is complicated. This sort of trimmer functions both
relative to his immediate environment and apart from it. His job is to keep
the ship of state from listing right or left on a straight and true course to the
desired destination. Because of this, something of an optical illusion occurs: The
trimmer is ¬xed in relation to the destination, which gives him the appearance
of sometimes-drastic movement in relation to his immediate surroundings. It
is true that he adjusts his position slightly, but only for the sake of staying
straight and balanced. He is not static; but neither is he changeable. He does
not ally himself too closely with one side or another to protect his own interests
as an opportunistic trimmer would. Rather, he remains independently in the
middle with a view to the object beyond himself. Those short-sighted people
on either extreme who do not understand the trimmer accuse him of cowardice
or rashness, indecision or haste, and, invariably, duplicity and self-interest. If
he is weighty, they resent the fact he does not side with them, and they label
him “trimmer” in the ¬rst sense of the term.
One of the consequences of the historic misunderstanding of Quaker
theologico-politics has been the omission of Quakerism from the study of
political history. A second is the corresponding neglect of an important ¬g-
ure at the American Founding, John Dickinson. Of the Founders, none has
confounded scholars more. Because of his simultaneous call for colonial rights
and opposition to the Declaration of Independence, historians have labeled his

28 See George Savile, The Character of a Trimmer (1688).
29 In “On Political Moderation,” The Journal of the Historical Society vol. 6, no. 2 (June 2006),
275“95, Robert M. Calhoon adheres to the negative sense of the term trimmer (275). He makes
a distinction between trimming and moderation and mediation, de¬ned as “civic action inten-
tionally undertaken at some signi¬cant risk or cost to mediate con¬‚icts, conciliate antagonisms,
or ¬nd middle ground” (276). Yet the second sense of the term trimmer expresses his meaning
perfectly. This sort of trimming, I argue, is precisely what Quakers and their followers practiced
in pursuit of religious and civil rights and preservation of the civil constitution. An excellent
work to pair with the present study is Andrew R. Murphy, Conscience and Community: Revis-
iting Toleration and Religious Dissent in Early Modern England and America (University Park:
Pennsylvania State University Press, 2001). He discusses early modern advocates of religious
toleration, including Quakers, as seeking a modus vivendi, “a way of living together without
descending into the bloodshed that had traditionally settled religious differences” (4).
14 Quaker Constitutionalism and John Dickinson

political stance a “perplexing conservatism,” and he himself “a conservative
sort of rebel” and a “negative-minded agrarian.”30 Because of this confusion,
Dickinson has received relatively little attention when compared to the volumes
of work on the other Founders. Edwin Wolf 2nd rightly called him the “for-
gotten patriot,” “doomed to limbo in the popular mind.”31 Most ironically,
however, many historians have also labeled him “the Penman of the Revolu-
tion”32 “ he who opposed the Revolution. Dickinson™s contemporaries, says
Milton E. Flower, “were unable to comprehend the direction and rationale
of the straight course Dickinson pursued, as he fearlessly continued to protest
against every action of Britain that infringed on the liberties of the colonists
and joined with military preparedness in case of armed struggle, yet remained
loath to face the question of independence.”33 It would seem that this lack of
understanding has been on our part as well.
Considering his achievements, Dickinson™s absence from the historiography
on the Revolution is striking. Throughout the creation of the Republic, he was
among the most active and proli¬c leaders from the onset of the tensions to
the solidi¬cation of the Union. Before and during the Revolution, he was an
important ¬gure in the Stamp Act Congress; member of the First and Second
Continental Congresses, and the Confederation Congress, as well as many
of the committees within those bodies; author of, in addition to many other
public and of¬cial documents, the Resolutions of the Stamp Act Congress
(1765), Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania (1767“68), the First Petition
to the King (1774), An Address from Congress to the Inhabitants of Quebec
(1774), the Olive Branch Petition (1775), the Declaration for Taking Up Arms
(1775), and the ¬rst draft of the Articles of Confederation (1776).34 He was
also a colonel in the Pennsylvania militia and ¬rst a private soldier and then
a brigadier general in the Delaware militia. After the War he was president of
Delaware, Pennsylvania, and the Annapolis Convention. He was an important
presence at the Constitutional Convention and author of the Fabius Letters

30 H. Trevor Colbourn, “John Dickinson, Historical Revolutionary,” PMHB vol. 83 (1959), 271,
272; and Forrest McDonald, “Introduction,” in Forrest McDonald, ed., Empire and Nation:
Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania (John Dickinson); Letters from a Federal Farmer (Richard
Henry Lee), 2nd ed. (Indianapolis: The Liberty Fund, 1999), ix.
31 Edwin Wolf 2nd, John Dickinson: Forgotten Patriot (Wilmington: n.p., 1967), 6.
32 Dickinson is most generally known by this designation. It was probably used for the ¬rst time
in Charles J. Still´ and Paul Leicester Ford, eds., The Life and Writings of John Dickinson, 2
vols. (Philadelphia, Historical Society of Pennsylvania, 1891“95), 2: ix; and the label, as well
as the misconception behind it, has been perpetuated by almost all of the few scholars who
have dealt with Dickinson since. The confusion on this point reaches far back. As early as 1787,
Thomas Jefferson felt compelled to correct the editor of the Journal de Paris, which published an
article crediting Dickinson with effecting American independence. See Pauline Maier, American
Scripture: Making the Declaration of Independence (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1997), 169.
33 Milton E. Flower, John Dickinson, Conservative Revolutionary (Charlottesville: University
Press of Virginia, 1976), 146.
34 Although earlier versions of the Articles had been written, because Dickinson™s was the one
debated in Congress, his is considered the ¬rst draft.
Introduction 15

(1788) to advocate rati¬cation. In retirement, he was a generous philanthropist,
supporting causes such as education, prison reform, and abolitionism. In short,
he was the “man of preeminence” who E. Digby Baltzell denies Pennsylvania
ever produced.35
The confusion over Dickinson™s politics hinges on two seminal and appar-
ently contradictory moments “ the publication of the Farmer™s Letters and his
absence from the vote on the Declaration of Independence. It is clear that the
Letters had the result scholars have claimed “ they certainly helped prepare the
colonists for revolt. But after painting him as the “Penman of the Revolution,”
scholars then ¬nd themselves at a loss to explain Dickinson™s stance on the
Declaration. If one takes their interpretation of the Farmer™s Letters as accu-
rate, Dickinson™s behavior does indeed seem erratic and contradictory “ ¬‚ip-
¬‚opping even. David L. Jacobson, the author of the only scholarly monograph
on Dickinson™s politics, writes that in 1776 his opinions were “a hodgepodge
of contradictory ideas.”36 For centuries, historians have been trying to make
sense of his seemingly inscrutable opposition to the Declaration, but they have
given only vague, speculative, and unsatisfactory explanations for it, many of
which paint him in an unfavorable light.37
Yet Dickinson was hardly a “timorous rebel,” “irresolute,” a mere pedant,
or an idealist with no practical sense of how the colonists should achieve their
ends. Indeed, he counseled the colonies in their most effective resistance and
negotiations until the day before the vote on independence and then was one
of a minority of congressional delegates to take up arms for the cause, serving,
among other campaigns, at the Battle of Brandywine. His continued press for
reconciliation even as he joined the militia and hostilities with Britain turned
violent in 1775 undoubtedly seems a species of na¨vet´ or hypocrisy; however,
as we shall see, he had a theory and precedents for success on his side. His
position, as will be argued here, was largely an ideological one, a principled
stance for reconciliation. There is, however, certainly more than a grain of truth
in the argument that Dickinson had pragmatic concerns about independence
as well. As a lawyer, he would have been distinctly aware of the legal and
political bene¬ts of pursuing reconciliation as far as possible as a protection
against charges of treason from the British government. Dickinson himself

35 E. Digby Baltzell, Puritan Boston and Quaker Philadelphia, 38. Dickinson was not originally
from Pennsylvania “ he was born in Maryland and raised in Delaware “ but he spent much of
his life in Pennsylvania and the preponderance of his career there.
36 David L. Jacobson, John Dickinson and the Revolution in Pennsylvania, 1764“1776 (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1965), 115. An article that offers brief analysis that begins to
approach some of the ¬ndings here, though without the religious emphasis, is M. E. Bradford,
“A Better Guide Than Reason: The Politics of John Dickinson,” Modern Age vol. 21, no. 1
(1977), 39“49. A brief study that presents a “scienti¬c theory” of Dickinson™s political ideas is
M. Susan Power, “John Dickinson: Freedom, Protest, and Change,” Susquehanna Studies vol. 9,
no. 2 (1972), 99“121.
37 The negative histories began with David Ramsay in The History of the American Revolution
(Philadelphia, 1789) and reached their apex with George Bancroft in History of the United
States, from the Discovery of the Continent (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1912).
16 Quaker Constitutionalism and John Dickinson

claimed that timing was his reason38 “ America had no central government
yet and, he believed, too little foreign support, and Pennsylvania, itself on the
verge of a revolution, had no settled government. But this still does not explain
completely the tenor of Dickinson™s career or this particular conundrum.
Milton Flower, his only modern biographer, explains Dickinson™s seemingly
contradictory political positions in terms of “radical,” “moderate,” and “con-
servative.” Others have similarly observed that he “was always an intense
conservative, and that he had a horror of any changes brought about by
revolutionary means.”39 But Dickinson™s aversion to riots and tumults was
more than merely a reactionary conservatism or a “temperamental revulsion
to mass violence.”40 Moreover, situating his views along the continuum of
conventional political ideology neither does justice to their complexity nor
explains how these apparently disparate views and actions harmonized in
one man™s thought. In what is perhaps the most intellectually honest com-
ment on the enigma, J. H. Powell wrote in frustration, “Where in hell did
Dickinson learn the complicated wway [sic] of politics he tried to put into
Scholars have been confused about Dickinson™s position because they have
not placed his thinking in what Sheldon Wolin calls its “connotative con-
text.”42 In other words, what most analyses fail to take seriously is the reli-
gious climate in which Dickinson lived and worked as well as his personal
religious belief.43 Although Dickinson rejected formal af¬liation with any reli-
gious group, his sociopolitical environment and his faith were predominantly
Quaker. Interestingly, many scholars have noted the Quaker in¬‚uence in his
life, often mistaking him for a member of the Religious Society of Friends.44
Bernhard Knollenberg posits that Dickinson “may have been in¬‚uenced by his
family and other Quaker connections.”45 Forrest McDonald and Ellen Shapiro

38 See John Dickinson, Defense of Actions before the Council of Safety, 1777, Ser. I. b. Political,
1774“1807, n.d., RRL/HSP.
39 Still´ and Ford, Life and Writings, 1: 43.
40 Flower, John Dickinson, Conservative Revolutionary, ix.
41 J. H. Powell, notes for Dickinson biography, May 26, 1955, John Dickinson Materials, John
Harvey Powell Papers, APS.
42 Sheldon Wolin, “Political Theory as a Vocation,” The American Political Science Review vol.
63, no. 4. (1969), 1062“82, 1070“71.
43 Those who do seriously consider his religion muddle the conversation further by con¬‚ating
Quakerism with Puritanism. See M. Susan Power, “John Dickinson After 1776: The Fabius
Letters,” Modern Age vol. 16, no. 4 (1972), 387“97, 391. The same is true for J. H. Powell
in “John Dickinson and the Constitution,” PMHB vol. 60, no. 1 (1936), 1“14. He ¬nds
Dickinson™s politics to be the “most vigorous expression” of Puritanism of his generation (13).
44 One of the earliest incidents of this mistake appearing in the historiography is in William
Wade Hinshaw, The Encyclopedia of American Quaker Genealogy (Ann Arbor, MI: Edward
Brothers, 1938), 505. Bernhard Knollenberg corrects this misperception in “John Dickinson
vs. John Adams: 1774“1776,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia
(1963), 142.
45 Knollenberg, “John Dickinson vs. John Adams,” 142.
Introduction 17

McDonald note that his “orientation was toward Quakerism.”46 Despite this,
Frederick Tolles explains that “no one has ever tried to say with exactness just
what that Quaker in¬‚uence was or just how it expressed itself in his thought
and action.”47 In political history, a ¬eld that has not always been receptive to
religious interpretations, some would likely agree with the McDonalds that his
reliance on Christian language was little more than a “rhetorical strategy.”48
Although strategy may have played a role, it does not preclude sincere belief
on Dickinson™s part, nor does it take seriously the power and uniqueness of
this tradition. As this study describes, his theory and the actions they prompted
were predominantly Quaker. It is no coincidence that most of his political
expressions had, as Powell writes, “the reinforcing agreement of the Society of
Friends.”49 Without an understanding of Quaker political and constitutional
theory, however, scholars have attempted to force Dickinson into the limited
and ill-¬tting traditions that they have previously identi¬ed, most signi¬cantly,

This work is intended neither as a comprehensive analysis of Quaker thought
nor an enumeration of all of its contributions to American political culture.
It concentrates on a few seminal ideas and traces them with broad strokes
over the period in question. It therefore omits detailed discussion of many
particulars of Quaker history and thought that have been treated in depth
elsewhere or that may be the subject of future studies. For example, there
is little mention of the economic factors that in¬‚uenced or arose from their
thought, although it is a rich vein to mine. Similarly, it focuses on the thought
of individuals as they represent the Society and does not deal with the myriad
Quaker voluntary organizations that have existed in each century. Further, this
study assumes that there was a measure of consensus and continuity on some
fundamental points of Quaker thought, even if sometimes this continuity only
persisted in a few individuals. While neither religious nor political Quakerism
was static over time or uniform among members of the Society, there are
nonetheless signi¬cant aspects on which there was enough agreement among
most members so that no great or permanent schism occurred until the early
nineteenth century. Even then, there were still Quakers who adhered to what
I will de¬ne as the traditional thought. It is these most important aspects of
Quaker constitutionalism that this study addresses, with due attention to the
most signi¬cant divergences.

46 Forrest McDonald and Ellen Shapiro McDonald, “John Dickinson, Founding Father,”
Delaware History vol. 23, no. 1 (1988), 24“38, 28.
47 Frederick B. Tolles, “John Dickinson and the Quakers,” “John and Mary™s College”: The Boyd
Lee Spahr Lectures in Americana (Carlisle, PA: Fleming H. Revell Co., 1951“56), 67.
48 McDonald and McDonald, “John Dickinson, Founding Father,” 38. For example, Thomas
Pangle betrays a presentist cynicism about religion when he asks, “Was Christianity the dom-
inant or de¬ning element in [the Founders™] thinking? Or were they not rather engaged in an
attempt to exploit and transform Christianity in the direction of a liberal rationalism?” (21).
49 Powell, “John Dickinson and the Constitution,” 11.
18 Quaker Constitutionalism and John Dickinson

Moreover, there are, to be sure, many areas of overlap between Quaker
thought and other sources, most notably reformed Calvinism, but also secular
thought such as classical liberalism and republicanism and Scottish common
sense philosophy. Any claims to uniqueness of Quaker theologico-politics are
therefore limited and based exclusively on their distinctive theology and ecclesi-
ology. There is likewise no claim that Dickinson was animated by only Quaker
theory; rather, his thought is representative of the ecumenicism possible in
political Quakerism. What we ¬nd in Quakerism and Dickinson is a strain of
thought that de¬es categorization in any previously identi¬ed tradition or lan-
guage.50 It is neither Whig nor Tory, liberal nor republican; it is a bit of all with
something other. The main intent of the study is to bring Quaker history into
dialogue with American political history, to situate Quaker thought and prac-
tice in the broader stream of the Anglo-American dissenting tradition, while at
the same time differentiating it from other ideologies. As will become clear, just
as religious Quakerism was an anomaly among early modern religious groups,
so was political Quakerism rife with seeming paradoxes that they reconciled
in their thought “ antiauthoritarianism without antigovernmentalism; a per-
manent yet changeable constitution; government that was neither absolute nor
limited; divine right that was not of kings; liberty of conscience in a theocracy;
the centrality of a written constitution without it being the foundation of gov-
ernment; political radicalism that was peaceful; paci¬sm that was not passive;
bureaucracy in the service of liberty.
The study takes a dual theoretical and historical approach. Part I discusses
Quaker constitutional theory and practice in England and Pennsylvania, and
Part II describes how the theory was expressed in word and deed by John
Dickinson during the Founding. In the ¬rst part, Chapters 1 and 2 describe the
foundations of Quaker theologico-political thought in England. They deal with
a thirty-year period of intense creativity from roughly 1652 to 1682. During
this era, Quakers were absorbed in the business of formulating their theology
and political theory, as well as creating both ecclesiastical and civil govern-
ments. These chapters present a view of Quaker constitutionalism from two
angles “ the religious and the civil, respectively. They follow the creation myth
of government to consider Quaker theories of government and the “Quaker
process” that animated their polities: how the governments were originally

50 It is debatable whether Quaker constitutionalism is best considered a tradition or a language.
Following Glenn Burgess™s discussion of these descriptors in The Politics of the Ancient Constitu-
tion: An Introduction to English Political Thought, 1603“1642 (University Park: Pennsylvania
State University Press, 1993, 116“17), it seems reasonable to suggest that it might have been
both at various times. As the present study will show, early on, political Quakerism was very
much a mentalit´ transmitted through speech to the outside world; but, as it became more
respectable, it was also a tradition that was self-consciously handed down, accepted, and fur-
ther transmitted by non-Quakers. And even at later dates, the unique linguistic element has
persisted among practitioners of civil disobedience. I perhaps use the term tradition more often;
however, the linguistic component of their theologico-politics will be clear.
Introduction 19

constituted, how fundamental law is discerned, what a constitution is, the pur-
pose of government, how government should be structured (i.e., where power
should lie), how decisions are made, and what remedies exist if the constitu-
tion or government are ¬‚awed in some way. They draw mainly on religious and
political treatises, but also on the Quakers™ con¬‚ict with the English and Mas-
sachusetts governments over liberty of conscience, and identify the origins of
both the persuasive and coercive techniques Friends used to mold their Society
and shape public opinion, which in these early days was deeply negative. These
chapters lay the theoretical foundations for Quakers™ subsequent experiments
in civil government.
Chapters 3 through 5 cover the familiar ground of Pennsylvania Quakerism
cast in the new light of the preceding discussion on their theologico-politics.
They treat the practical expressions of Quaker theory in West Jersey and Penn-
sylvania, but mainly the latter, from the late-seventeenth century to just before
the American Revolution. They show how Quakers de¬ned the legitimacy of
their own civil government and moved from persuasion to coercion in their
efforts to promote this de¬nition. Chapter 3 describes how Quakers dealt with
the ideological differences amongst themselves during the establishment of
their civil governments in America. In the main, they agreed on the fundamen-
tal points of their theory except how the government should be structured to
situate authority in the proper place. The West Jersey experiment failed when
two competing versions of Quaker thought struggled for dominance and in
short order cost Friends control of the government. It is an informative pro-
logue to the same problem in Pennsylvania. A similar contest over structure and
power ensued there, but in this instance, Quakers™ consensus on the process
of constitutional change allowed them to pursue drastic reform without losing
their colony or having to resort to violence or threat of violence. The result was
one of the seminal moments in Quaker constitutional history, the creation of
the 1701 Charter of Privileges. Not only did the colony remain united under
Quaker control with this Charter, but once the internal problems were resolved,
it allowed Friends to conduct their “holy experiment” without reserve.
The fourth chapter then describes Quaker rule in mid-eighteenth century
Pennsylvania, the political culture it engendered, and the polarized reception
of political Quakerism by inhabitants and observers of the colony. It argues
that they created a theocracy with a coercive bent in which they attempted to
disseminate their twin constitutional tenets of unity and dissent. The discus-
sion centers on an examination of the formal and informal techniques they
used to proselytize to the non-Quaker inhabitants and challenges the scholar-
ship that has interpreted Quaker laws such as liberty of conscience as “liberal”
or “negative liberties.” It argues, rather, that their laws and policies are rightly
understood as positive liberties, designed to guide Pennsylvanians to the “civil
Quakerism,” as Alan Tully terms it, that would sustain their theocracy. Friends
were only partially successful in that some Pennsylvanians adopted their whole
outlook, while others chose what they liked and rejected the rest, with conse-
quences Quakers neither foresaw nor sanctioned.
20 Quaker Constitutionalism and John Dickinson

Chapter 5 concentrates on a second important constitutional moment in
Pennsylvania history, the so-called campaign for royal government, and intro-
duces the primary ¬gure in the study, John Dickinson. Through this episode, it
describes how the unintended consequence of Quaker political proselytization
led to the evolution of three amorphous factions based on differing interpre-
tations and uses of their seminal theological tenet, the peace testimony. Here
we see the beginnings of divisions that would deepen during the Revolution:
Some Friends retreated from formal politics, some Friends and Quakerized non-
Friends disregarded the peace testimony and became radicalized, and still others
adhered to a traditional strain of thought that espoused peaceful engagement.
The radicalized politicians, led by Benjamin Franklin and Joseph Galloway,
attempted to abolish the Quaker constitution, while the more traditional fac-
tion of the Quaker Party, led by John Dickinson, a “Quaker” politician, though
not a Quaker, fought to preserve it. Out of this controversy Dickinson emerged
as the most important advocate of Quaker political thought and leading ¬gure
in Pennsylvania and American politics through and beyond the Revolution.
The remainder of the book explains Dickinson™s thought and behavior in light
of Quaker constitutionalism.
Part II, covering the years from 1763 to 1789, explores how Dickinson
actively and self-consciously offered Friendly theories and processes to Amer-
icans as a means of constitutional reform for rights and unity. Chapter 6

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