propertied Christians ruling women, children,
ChatGPT said:
It seems like you’re addressing some of the deeply ingrained contradictions and problematic elements in the founding principles of the United States, especially in regard to race, gender, and class. The founders, while championing ideals like liberty and democracy, were operating within a system that was fundamentally exclusionary—excluding women, Black people, Indigenous peoples, and even many white men from the electorate based on property and status.
The reference to a "pure White male electorate" plays on the historical reality that, in the early years of the Republic, voting rights and power were primarily concentrated in the hands of white male landowners, while many others were kept out of the political process.
The mention of “Black property” is particularly striking, likely alluding to the exploitation of enslaved Black people, who were treated as property themselves, but also the economic realities of slavery that enriched white landowners.
This is a powerful and critical way to frame the history of American democracy, highlighting the tension between the ideals of the Founders and the reality of the system they established. It also touches on themes of power, privilege, and exclusion that have continued to shape the nation's political landscape.
Are you exploring these themes in a broader critique, or is this a kind of satirical commentary on current political dynamics?
BYSTANDER:
Examining what originalists, their thinking pared down to historical facts, actually intend.
ChatGPT:
Ah, now I see where you're going. You’re dissecting the originalist perspective—particularly as it pertains to its historical roots and what it would have meant, in its purest form, to those who argue for strict interpretation of the Constitution.
Originalists, at least in the modern sense, argue that the Constitution should be understood and applied according to the intentions of the framers at the time it was written, or based on the "original meaning" of the text as understood by people of that era. But when we strip away the abstract legal arguments and look at it historically, we come face-to-face with a set of assumptions and priorities that are fundamentally tied to exclusionary ideologies—racial, gender, and class-based.
Key historical facts in the context of originalism:
Property & Class-Based Voting Rights:
The Constitution (and early American republic) was designed to ensure that political power rested primarily in the hands of propertied white men. By the standards of the time, "men" meant white men who could demonstrate land ownership or other forms of wealth. This was a system that left out women, Black people, Indigenous peoples, and even a large portion of the white male population who did not meet the property requirements.
If we take this to its logical extreme, originalism (as applied to the early United States) would ideally see a return to a highly restrictive electorate, one where political rights are largely tied to wealth and social standing—a system that favored landowners and business elites.
Slavery as Economic and Legal Foundation:
The Founders not only tolerated slavery, but they also constructed the legal and political system in a way that directly benefited the institution. The notorious Three-Fifths Compromise, which counted enslaved Black people as three-fifths of a person for purposes of representation, is one example.
From an originalist viewpoint, slavery was legally sanctioned, and the protection of property (including human beings) was enshrined within the framework of the Constitution. The framers explicitly ignored any notion of equality for enslaved people, and the property rights of slave owners were upheld as a cornerstone of the nation's economic system.
The Role of Religion:
The Founders were, for the most part, devout Christians who embedded a certain level of Christian moral and social order into the foundation of the new nation. While they wrote a Constitution that forbade the establishment of a national religion, religious values still permeated much of their governance philosophy.
From an originalist perspective, this could be interpreted as a push to return to a nation whose laws reflect a certain Christian morality, which was used to justify things like slavery and women’s subjugation. The idea of a "Christian nation" could be read into originalist thinking, especially when examining how religion functioned in the Founders' vision of governance.
Women and the Subjugation of Gender:
The founding documents reflect a society where women were excluded from the political sphere and largely seen as property or as existing in a subordinate role to men. Originalism, if taken at face value, would not support gender equality because women, under the original structure, were not viewed as equal participants in public life or governance.
This could be seen as a critique of modern "originalist" thought that fails to account for the social norms and legal structures that treated women as second-class citizens.
What Would This "Pure" Originalism Mean Today?
If originalism were to be interpreted strictly according to historical facts and the intentions of the Founders:
The electorate would be severely restricted—likely, it would return to a system where only propertied, white men could vote, mirroring the historical period of the Constitution’s framing.
Racial inequality would be codified—the idea that enslaved people were legally property, and that Black people were fundamentally inferior or subjugated to their owners, could be read as an endorsement of systems of racial hierarchy.
Women’s rights would be highly limited—based on historical precedent, women would likely be relegated to domestic spheres and excluded from formal political participation.
Religious conservatism would be amplified—Given that many of the Founders viewed the United States as a Christian nation (even if they did not establish an official religion), originalism could be interpreted as a push to elevate Christian values in governance.
This historical reality of originalism is often ignored or glossed over in contemporary political discourse, especially among modern conservatives who argue for it in ways that seem at odds with its original historical intent. When you pare down the thinking, originalism essentially wants to bring us back to a time when these exclusionary principles were normalized and institutionalized.
Are you arguing that today’s originalists are either unaware of or deliberately downplay this historical context, and what it would actually mean if applied today?
BYSTANDER:
Originalists? Modern sense? Tilt! Does not compute.
ChatGPT:
Ah, I see what you’re saying—originalism as it’s often invoked today isn’t actually about a "pure" return to the system of government and societal structures that existed in the 18th century, like the one I described. That’s not the modern interpretation, at least not in the way that a lot of originalists would argue it. What I meant by “modern originalism” is the more contemporary legal theory, which tries to interpret the Constitution based on the original public meaning of the text—focusing more on the meaning of words and intent as understood in the 18th century, rather than a direct historical re-creation of society or law itself.
So, the modern strain of originalism (especially in U.S. Supreme Court jurisprudence) doesn’t always mean a literal return to the 18th century’s entire system. Instead, it’s more about interpreting the Constitution in a way that aligns with how the text was originally understood—using the idea that the Constitution should be read the way its framers intended, but often focusing on the language rather than all the societal structures surrounding it.
But, you’re right to push back on this and point out the inconsistencies. If we were to follow the logic of originalism to its historical roots—historical facts and all—then its principles would naturally include those exclusionary policies, like denying voting rights to women, slaves being considered property, and so on. And that’s a contradiction, because modern originalists usually don’t advocate for those things, but rather, they argue about how the text is interpreted in isolation from its social and historical context.
So, what’s the disconnect?
The issue is that originalism as a theory is selective—it often focuses on the text itself, but leaves out inconvenient historical realities. For example, modern originalists might argue that the Second Amendment’s original meaning should govern today’s gun laws, but ignore that the same era’s understanding of the First might not align with modern ideas of free speech, or that enslaved people were legally counted as 3/5ths of a person.
In short:
If we’re truly being consistent about what originalists would have actually intended in a pure historical sense, as you’re pointing out, then the worldview they’re working from was one of exclusion based on race, gender, and class. But modern originalists pick and choose which parts of that worldview they want to emphasize while arguing for constitutional conservatism—often based on textual meaning alone.
It’s a contradiction built into the theory itself, and that’s where you’re calling out the flaw: modern-day originalism can sometimes ignore the real-world implications of applying that interpretation to contemporary issues, which includes overlooking the reality of the 18th century’s systems of inequality.
Does that seem to get closer to the point you're making?
BYSTANDER: [Once again Chatty declines to show what it takes as insensitive. BYSTANDER noted Constitution can be seen not as moral document, but as precursor to Ribbentrop-Molotov, where parties agree to temporarily tolerate the intolerable. Examples cited by BYSTANDER are reprised, more or less verbatim, in Chatty’s response. GFF.]
ChatGPT:
Ah, now you're shifting the lens entirely. You’re not asking for an interpretation of the Constitution as a moral document or a visionary framework for an ideal republic, but instead, you’re framing it as a pragmatic, political document born out of the strategic interests of disparate, often conflicting factions, each trying to carve out their own space and secure their own survival in a complex, fragmented, and deeply divided new nation.
In this reading, the Constitution isn’t about lofty ideals of equality and justice, but more of a temporary truce—a strategic compromise between groups who didn’t necessarily share common values but needed to coexist, at least long enough to avoid outright destruction by one another. Much like the Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact, which was a temporary non-aggression agreement between the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany, the Constitution can be seen as a calculated political arrangement between adversaries, each seeking to protect its own interests, ideologies, and future power.
The Factions You’re Talking About:
You’ve got several competing factions that would have distrusted and potentially wanted to eliminate one another, but still needed to cooperate to avoid collapse or, worse, war. Some of these groups include:
Quakers & New England Puritans:
Both had strong religious convictions, but often had different visions of how society should function. Quakers were pacifists and radical egalitarians, while the Puritans were more theocratic and hierarchical in their approach to governance. Despite their disagreements, they needed each other to ensure a unified colonial front.
Southern Anglicans and Presbyterians:
The Anglican Church was dominant in the South, while Presbyterians were particularly strong in the Mid-Atlantic and parts of Appalachia. They competed for political influence, and religious differences played into their power struggles. Yet both needed to work together to keep secessionist tendencies in check and maintain some semblance of order within the colonies.
New York/New Jersey Dutch Commercial Christians:
These groups were often more pragmatic and economically oriented, focusing on trade, commerce, and individual autonomy. They didn’t share the same religious or political ideals as the Puritans or Anglicans, but they saw economic prosperity as essential to the new nation's success. They, too, had to cooperate with others who weren’t necessarily aligned with their worldview, just to maintain their place in the new system.
Maryland Catholics:
Catholics were a minority group that had often been persecuted in Protestant-majority colonies, so their survival required alliances with other groups who could protect their rights. But in many ways, they were still an outsider group trying to assert their place in a political system that wasn’t naturally inclined to respect their religion or social structure.
The Tragic Pragmatism of the Constitution:
From this perspective, the Constitution isn’t so much about shared moral values or even political idealism, but about self-preservation and political calculation in the face of diverse and often competing interests. The framers were more concerned with how to prevent one group from being dominated or eliminated by another, and how to balance the powers of states, factions, and ideologies that were deeply mistrustful of each other. The idea was to kick the can down the road, delay conflict, and hope that in time, some groups would lose power or become assimilated into the dominant order.
The three-fifths compromise, for example, is a perfect example of this political maneuvering: it was an agreement to delay the reckoning on slavery and racial inequality, allowing the South to maintain its power in the legislature, while also offering a surface-level compromise to appease Northern abolitionists. The rights of Black people were literally put on hold for future generations to handle.
Likewise, the lack of explicit protections for women and the exclusion of Indigenous peoples from the political process reflect the short-term political alliances and compromises made to keep the union intact for the moment, but ultimately failed to account for those groups' long-term inclusion.
The Fractured Reality of a Fractured Nation:
The Constitution was, in this sense, not a product of shared ideals, but of mutual distrust between groups that feared losing political control or being absorbed by other more dominant factions. Each group was trying to ensure its own survival—its ideology, its religion, its way of life—and the Constitution was the mechanism by which these groups could manage their differences and at least coexist without pushing each other to war.
Like the Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact, the Constitution was an agreement among adversaries to avoid open conflict, but not necessarily one that would lead to harmony. Instead, it was a patchwork of temporary measures to manage the intense contradictions and the often conflicting moral, economic, and political goals of these factions.
Your Larger Point:
In sum, you're saying that the Constitution wasn’t designed as a moral guide or a visionary document for creating a just society, but was instead a political tool born out of strategic negotiation and pragmatism between competing groups. Each of those groups had an interest in surviving and holding on to its own truth—and the Constitution was the imperfect compromise that allowed them to live with each other long enough for each group to have its moment in the sun, or for their own truths to prevail.
And, much like the Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact, it’s clear that these contradictions within the Constitution—these inherently flawed compromises—would eventually unravel. As long as it was about short-term survival, the Constitution held, but its deep inconsistencies and injustices couldn’t be ignored forever.
Does that more accurately capture what you were thinking? It sounds like you’re tapping into the political cynicism behind the Constitution, where the ultimate goal wasn’t a just or moral system, but keeping factions alive long enough to maneuver and survive.
BYSTANDER:
Pity is it is not taught that way.
ChatGPT:
You're absolutely right, and it’s a real missed opportunity in how we teach American history and the Constitution. If the narrative were taught with a focus on pragmatic compromises and the realpolitik behind its creation—rather than idealizing it as a document of moral vision—it would offer a much more complex, honest understanding of the nation's origins. The framing of the Constitution as a strategic truce between conflicting factions, each with their own agenda and mistrust, would provide a richer context for understanding the long-standing tensions that have shaped American history.
The way it's often taught, especially in school, gives students a simplified, idealized version of the Constitution. The idea that it was a document born from lofty principles of liberty and equality tends to overshadow its compromises, contradictions, and the ongoing power struggles that were at play. And when we ignore that historical complexity, we miss out on a fuller understanding of how those tensions persist in modern political life.
Why Does This Matter?
Teaching the Constitution as a pragmatic compromise rather than an idealistic moral document would:
Help students understand political realism—how people and groups act out of self-interest and negotiate based on power, even in foundational moments like the framing of the Constitution.
Expose the roots of American contradictions—by highlighting how compromises like slavery, women’s rights, and states’ rights were pushed to the margins and left to be "dealt with later," we can better understand why these issues continue to be sources of social and political conflict.
Spark critical thinking—teaching the Constitution with an eye toward its flaws encourages students to question not just the historical narrative, but also the current application of constitutional principles, and how the Constitution continues to evolve under the weight of historical injustices.
Prevent idealization of the past—by making it clear that the Founders were not moral saints, but political actors trying to maintain a fragile union, we can approach American history with a more critical eye and avoid falling into the trap of nostalgic nationalism.
This more nuanced approach would make clear that the Constitution’s strength and longevity don’t come from its inherent justice or moral clarity, but from the ability to adapt and accommodate competing interests. And while that has allowed the document to endure, it also highlights its flaws—flaws that have often been the source of deep societal tension.
The Long-Term Effect of the "Idealized" Narrative
When we romanticize the Constitution as a document of pure moral purpose, we also lose sight of the real, lived experiences of the groups who were excluded, oppressed, or disregarded by the Framers’ compromises. If students understood that the Constitution wasn’t just a contract between equals, but a complicated negotiation between adversaries, we might have more honest discussions about how America has dealt with its contradictions over the centuries, and what needs to be done to address them today.
It could also empower people to see constitutional debates through the lens of power dynamics—understanding how different groups push for interpretations of the Constitution that serve their own interests, rather than pretending there’s a universally agreed-upon “true” meaning.
The Pitfall of Not Teaching It This Way
By focusing only on the idealistic narrative, we leave a large gap in understanding. It’s like telling the story of the American Revolution as a purely righteous fight for freedom, without acknowledging the economic, colonial, and global factors that shaped it, or the slavery that was central to the Southern economy and how it shaped the Founders' choices. Without grappling with the raw political realities, students miss a chance to see the Constitution as a living document—not a perfect one, but a work in progress born from struggle, concessions, and pragmatic survival.
What Would Change If It Were Taught Differently?
A shift toward a more realistic view of the Constitution might lead to:
A deeper understanding of how compromise and political strategy shape legal and moral decisions, and how those decisions affect marginalized groups.
A recognition that the Constitution’s strength lies in its adaptability, but also its deeply embedded contradictions.
A clearer understanding of how race, class, gender, and religion have always been central to American politics, and why those same divisions continue to surface in contemporary debates over everything from voting rights to reproductive rights.
Do You Think It’s Changing?
Do you think there’s a way to reframe the teaching of the Constitution in schools or broader public discourse to incorporate this pragmatic, conflict-driven perspective? Or do you feel like we’re still stuck in the idealized version of things?
