The conclusion proposes alternative ways to think about Christian normativity, drawing on the concepts of polydoxy and religious autonomy from Alvin Reines, with additional support from Catherine Keller and Laurel Schneider, and the concept of theological disobedience, derived from Louis Michael Seidman’s notion of constitutional disobedience.

The electoral college’s provisions for contingent elections of the president and vice president blatantly violate political equality, directly disenfranchise hundreds of thousands of Americans, have the potential to grossly misrepresent the wishes of the public, make the president dependent upon Congress, give a very few individuals extraordinary power to select the president, have the potential to select a president and vice president from different parties, and fail to deal with a tie for third in the electoral college. In addition, any resolution of a congressional choice of the president is likely to be tainted with charges of unsavory transactions. It is no wonder that even the most stalwart defenders of the electoral college choose to ignore contingent elections in their justifications of the system of electing the president.

The first chapter offers an introductory discussion of the major developments in scholarship that serve as points of departure for this study: (1) the problem of anti-temple biases in scholarship, which are rooted in latent antisemitic tendencies inherited by modern biblical scholarship; (2) recent developments in understanding the early Jewish character of the Jesus movement, which challenge previous assumptions about the so-called Parting of the Ways with special emphasis on recent discussions of Matthews social location (Matthew within Judaism); (3) growing concerns about historical methodology and the issue of authenticity in Jesus research. In addition, the introduction highlights the work of scholars (e.g., Matthew Thiessen, David Sim, Ulrich Luz, Donald Senior, W.D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, Jr.) who have made the case that in certain instances Matthew appears to present us with more historically plausible accounts of traditions also narrated by Mark, such as Jesuss teaching about hand washing (cf. Matt 15:1–20; cf. Mark 7:1–23), his activity in gentile regions (cf. Matt 15:21–22; cf. Mark 7:24), and the mocking of the Roman soldiers (Matt 27:28; cf. Mark 15:17).

Presidents Jefferson and Madison’s Republican-backed policies prompted new waves of state interposition. Federalist-dominated state legislatures in New England passed interposition resolutions that protested:Jefferson’s Embargo Acts (1807–1809); United States v. Peters (1809) emphasizing the Supreme Court’s finality over constitutionality; the recharter of the Bank of the United States; and Madison’s efforts to mobilize state militias before the War of 1812. After the controversy over the Alien and Sedition Acts and Jefferson’s election in 1800, Americans might have expected Republicans to advocate strict construction of national powers under the Constitution while Federalists would urge broader powers. However, defenses of states’ rights never belonged exclusively to one political viewpoint or party. Americans debated whether sounding the alarm resolutions and state interposition were legitimate state actions – and some asked if and when they would be justified in more forcefully resisting federal law, notably during the Hartford Convention in 1814 that called for constitutional amendments to reduce the power of Southern states and the repeal of the Three-Fifths Clause.

The Virginia and Kentucky Resolutions of 1798 that James Madison and Thomas Jefferson authored as a repudiation of the Federalist-backed Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798 are incorrectly viewed as originating the idea that John C. Calhoun would develop into his theory of nullification, that is, the right of an individual state to veto federal law. Although these interposition resolutions lacked support from other states, their interstate circulation mobilized a grassroots movement that helped elect Jefferson as President in 1800 and overturned Federalist policies. Despite their political success, what Jefferson and Madison meant by language they used in the resolutions burdened the future efforts of states seeking to monitor the governmental balancing of powers and resulted in a deeply troubling political legacy. Madison drew subtle but crucial constitutional distinctions, yet failed to explain what he meant by the theoretical right of the sovereign people to interpose in the last resort (expressed in the Virginia Resolution and in his Report of 1800). Moreover, Jefferson’s statements that unconstitutional laws were null and void seemingly foreshadowed the remedy of nullification.

In this chapter, we argue that Thomas Jefferson affirmed the core of classical philosophical theology.Jefferson understood Nature’s God to be a creating, particularly providential, and moralistic being, whose existence and causal relation to the world was essential to the foundations of natural-rights republicanism.For Jefferson, belief in such a God was warranted on the basis of reason, and thus is akin to the propositions that Thomas Aquinas called the preambula fidei. Jefferson’s theology was essential to natural-rights republicanism in that God’s creation and ordering of man to happiness grounded the moral law, human moral equality, and the natural right of property.Jefferson did not adhere to the major tenets of orthodox Christianity as presented in the religion’s earliest creeds, but he nonetheless affirmed the existence of a God of Nature whose attributes included being a providential, moralistic creator. And while Jefferson can appear at times as a philosophical dilettante with scattered thoughts,Jefferson developed a natural theology that has surprising continuities, and some important discontinuities, with the classical natural-law tradition.

Alexis de Tocqueville’s classic Democracy in America is widely recognized as one of the most definitive accounts of American society and political culture. However, his thoughts on the US Constitution have often been overlooked. In this chapter, Jeremy D. Bailey argues that this neglect is unfortunate insofar as Tocqueville’s view of the US Constitution diverges in significant ways from the authoritative rendition of The Federalist. Rather than echoing classic explanations of the workings of the US Constitution by James Madison and Alexander Hamilton, Tocqueville’s understandings of federalism, Congress, US elections, the presidency, and the Supreme Court are more influenced by the constitutional interpretation of Thomas Jefferson. Despite his extensive discussion of other parts of the US Constitution, however, Tocqueville has little to say about the Bill of Rights. This apparent oversight may be explained by the fact that he sees a respect for rights as emerging from political culture rather than any specific institutional framework.

The corresponding societies of the Age of Revolutions survived through turning into more durable organizations – political parties. The Democratic-Republicans hotly contested the election of 1796 but suffered reversals for being Francophile enthusiasts amid the Quasi-War of 1798. Despite being threatened with repression by the Alien and Sedition Acts, however, party activists remobilized for the election of 1800, which brought Thomas Jefferson to the presidency and the Democratic-Republicans into power.

The chapter traces the historical origins of the right to life from antiquity to the modern era. It encompasses the Code of Hammurabi and the American Declaration of Independence as milestones along a long road.

This chapter moves to the French Enlightenment, arguing that echoes of Renaissance humanism emerge in the Encyclopédie. This project, famous in the history of the book, was the brainchild of Diderot and D’Alembert, two luminaries who believed that a comprehensive account of all branches of human knowledge was needed. They financed the project themselves, through subscriptions, made expert use of illustrations, and created a monument in the history of the book. In their comprehensiveness, Diderot and D’Alembert were the heirs to Poliziano’s multidisciplinary drive. In their views of religion, they were the distant progeny of Valla. And in their antiinstitutional nature, they reflect Italian Renaissance humanism, a cultural movement whose protagonists often took care to situate themselves outside of existing institutions. After the treatment of the Encyclopédie, Thomas Jefferson makes a cameo appearance. In his “Jefferson Bible,” he literally cut and pasted parts of the New Testament that he believed showed Jesus’s true nature – not, in Jefferson’s view, as a divine personage (Jefferson discarded all the stories of miracles), but rather as an ethical exemplar. Doing so, Jefferson reflected one very important tendency in history of philology, one that Valla had begun, the Protestant Reformation spread, and the French Enlightenment completed: the desacralizing of the Bible

This chapter examines the fifteenth-century thinker Lorenzo Valla (1406–57), whose work serves both as an emblem of a certain style of reading in the fifteenth century and as a connector to today’s debates on the humanities. Through his meticulous reading and scholarship, Valla accomplished a number of things. He uncovered a historic forgery claiming that the Church was owed substantial property by secular rulers, doing so with both emotional appeals to common sense and technical criticism of the language of the forgery. He wrote the most successful presentation of the Latin language’s grammar and syntax in the Renaissance – an exceedingly important accomplishment, since Latin was the language of international scholarship. He opened the floodgates to the later, 16th-century Reformation by suggesting that the Latin Vulgate Bible’s language could be changed to reflect the meaning of the original Greek in which the New Testament was written. This move was momentous, since by Valla’s day 1,000 years of Christian theology had been practiced with the Latin Vulgate as its basis. The chapter also argues that to understand him – and by extension the humanities at large – emotions need to be brought into the picture.

This chapter moves to the French Enlightenment, arguing that echoes of Renaissance humanism emerge in the Encyclopédie. This project, famous in the history of the book, was the brainchild of Diderot and D’Alembert, two luminaries who believed that a comprehensive account of all branches of human knowledge was needed. They financed the project themselves, through subscriptions, made expert use of illustrations, and created a monument in the history of the book. In their comprehensiveness, Diderot and D’Alembert were the heirs to Poliziano’s multidisciplinary drive. In their views of religion, they were the distant progeny of Valla. And in their antiinstitutional nature, they reflect Italian Renaissance humanism, a cultural movement whose protagonists often took care to situate themselves outside of existing institutions. After the treatment of the Encyclopédie, Thomas Jefferson makes a cameo appearance. In his “Jefferson Bible,” he literally cut and pasted parts of the New Testament that he believed showed Jesus’s true nature – not, in Jefferson’s view, as a divine personage (Jefferson discarded all the stories of miracles), but rather as an ethical exemplar. Doing so, Jefferson reflected one very important tendency in history of philology, one that Valla had begun, the Protestant Reformation spread, and the French Enlightenment completed: the desacralizing of the Bible

Chapter 6 deals with the question of American self-understanding after the Declaration of Independence—were they one people or many peoples?—and the framing of the state constitutions. The first part of the chapter offers substantial excerpts from the first constitutions of Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Massachusetts as well as critical examinations of these documents by contemporaries, including passages from Jefferson’s Notes on the State of Virginia and Benjamin Rush’s Observations on the Present Government of Pennsylvania. The selections reveal two fundamental problems to be decided by the state constitutional conventions: who was qualified to write a constitution and who should approve and ratify it—the people at large or the natural aristocracy? The second part of the chapter presents the Articles of Confederation and excerpts from related writings. The same confrontation between the principle of corporate representation and the principle of numerical majorities played out in the debates on the Articles of Confederation as delegates disagreed whether to emphasize the union or the states.

This essay revises traditional notions of the plantation as antithetical to modernity by linking foundational Anglo-American writings about the plantation to English Enlightenment thought. By examining writings about the American plantation enterprise ranging from Thomas Harriot’s Briefe and True Report of the New-Found Land of Virginia (1588/1590) to John Locke’s Fundamental Constitutions of Carolina (1669), this essay establishes a clear relationship between practical considerations of settlement and epistemological and ethical questions central to Enlightenment thinking. Harriot’s text, for instance, performs a shift from deductive to inductive reasoning when considering plantation settlement, thereby anticipating the modern scientific method. Locke’s contribution, however, presages a more dissonant relationship between evolving Enlightenment ideals and the American plantation system as notions such as climatic determinism and the immorality of enslavement became more pervasive.

Decades before the ACS even came to exist, white reformers had planned black colonies for what they imagined to be the vacant wilds of the American West. They discerned how internal colonization might address the “race question” while not wasting black labor overseas; for their part, black Americans took less offense at an idea that offered them autonomy without expatriation. But as white migrants, with slaves or without, settled the West at a rate few had foreseen, Americans abandoned continental black colonies. That changed with the Civil War, which rekindled northerners’ faith in internal colonization – but for the South, not the West. While chaos within the White House mothballed President Lincoln’s foreign colonization schemes, policy makers began to trust the white North’s salvation to “natural” trends of racial migration, which just might do the job that conscious design had failed to. Yet the postwar frustrations of conservatives such as President Andrew Johnson, and of the freedpeople (who craved ownership of the land that they had long worked), showed that black resettlement would continue to hold a place in American race relations.

This chapter examines eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century visions of apocalypse regarding the future of black lives in the American body politic. It begins with readings of Jefferson’s fear of a black planet in Notes on the State of Virginia and Crèvecoeur’s depictions of racial terror in Letters from an American Farmer. The chapter then investigates the writing of an African American herald of the end times, Christopher MacPherson. The chapter reads the apocalyptic jeremiad of MacPherson’s pamphlet, Christ’s Millennium (1811), as a reparative response to the suppression of black voices and the annihilation of black lives.

Chapter 11 discusses the early vaccination in North America. Dr Benjamin Waterhouse pioneered the practice in Boston in August 1800, rebranded cowpox as kinepox and briefly enjoyed a monopoly of the practice. Aware of the hazards associated with smallpox inoculation, Americans welcomed the new prophylaxis. President Thomson Jefferson took up the lancet at Monticello and, largely in a private capacity, helped to entrench and extend the practice. Philadelphia emerged as a new hub of vaccination, seeding its establishment in the southern states and on the western frontier. Serviceable to individuals and communities, the new practice served to bind together the new nation, with slaves often among the first to be vaccinated and prophylaxis being offered, as opportunities arose, to Native Americans. The problem of maintaining a supply of good vaccine in sparsely populated districts and on the frontier appeared more urgent with the outbreak of war with Britain in 1812 and explains the Federal government’s unusual decision to fund a (short-lived) National Vaccine Agency in Baltimore.

Chapter 1 examines the first, and arguably most important, act of rogue diplomacy in American history: the refusal of Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, and John Jay to heed the Continental Congress's instructions that they make no peace with Britain without first obtaining French consent. The government of Louis XVI had kept the American Revolution afloat through nearly a decade of war, and the French foreign minister - Charles Gravier, Comte de Vergennes - expected his American allies to follow Paris's lead during peace negotiations, but Adams, Jay, and particularly Franklin executed a briliant end-run around Versailles and concluded a separate treaty with London that gave the infant United States far more generous borders (along with other concessions) than Vergennes or Louis ever would have countenanced. By defying the Congress, and by profiting so immensely thereby, Franklin, Jay, and Adams established a standard of diplomatic insubordination that endures to the present day.

Chapter 2 explores how two rogue diplomats, Robert Livingston and James Monroe, obtained half a continent for the United States without shedding a drop of blood. Despite President Thomas Jefferson's instructions that Livingston and Monroe negotiate only for the city of New Orleans and as much territory east of that city as Napoleon Bonaparte's government could be persuaded to part with, they broke ranks and pledged $15 million for the transfer of the immense Louisiana territory from France to America. This act violated two of Jefferson's most cherished principles: economy in government and strict construction of the Constitution. Fifteen million dollars was a huge sum of money in 1803 - it vastly expanded the national debt - and there was no clause in the Constitution empowering the president to buy land. Livingston and Monroe risked their reputations, and possibly their lives, on the gamble that Jefferson would cast his scruples aside and submit the Louisiana treaty to the Senate. They were right, and, as a result of their disobedience, the United States doubled in size, acquiring 827,000 square miles of territory west of the Mississippi at a cost of three cents an acre. It was a mind-boggling bargain, and, like the treaty that ended the American Revolution, it grew out of American diplomatic indiscipline.

This article was originally published in the November/December 2018 issue of the Journal of Criminal Justice as a “Special Issue on the Study of Ethnicity and Race in Criminology and Criminal Justice,” addressing a target article by the psychologist James Flynn on “Academic Freedom and Race,” dealing with the always-controversial topic of racial group differences in IQ scores. The subject of this issue is not the IQ test and whether or not group differences are real (and if they are, what the cause of those differences might be). Instead we were tasked with thinking about to what extent scientists and scholars (and anyone else) should be free to inquire into the matter and, especially, if they should be free to report their findings and opinions, regardless of the political or cultural implications.