Thomas Jefferson was drafting the Declaration of Independence when he made a deliberate, almost quiet, alteration that would fundamentally reorient the American project. In his list of grievances against King George III, Jefferson paused at the word “subjects.” He scratched it out. In its place, he wrote “citizens.”
This linguistic shift—the transition from being under a monarch to being part of a body politic—remains the central pillar of American identity. Yet, as scholars and historians point out, this pillar rests on surprisingly vague legal ground. While the term “citizen” appears at least ten times in the Constitution, the document offers no formal definition of what a citizen actually is.
William Novak, a prominent historian, has noted this constitutional silence, highlighting a paradox at the heart of the nation’s founding documents. The definition was left to be forged through centuries of legislative debate, judicial rulings, and social upheaval. Historian Jill Lepore has documented how Congress and the courts struggled to codify the legal boundaries of citizenship in the wake of the Civil War—a period of intense contestation that remains relevant to modern legal debates.
Despite the legal ambiguity, the philosophical intent behind citizenship has always aimed at something more expansive than a mere residency status. The American founders looked to the Roman model of Cincinnatus—the military leader who famously laid down his near-absolute power to return to his farm—as the gold standard for civic behavior. This ideal was personified by George Washington, who famously resigned his military commission to retire from the public stage, signaling that the highest role in a republic is not the commander, but the person who serves and then returns to the ranks of the people.
This sentiment was later echoed by Supreme Court Justice Louis D. Brandeis, who famously remarked that the “most important office” in a democracy is one that every person can and should fill: “that of private citizen.”
In a modern context, where the definition of who belongs and who does not is frequently a point of political friction, scholars Harry Boyte and Trygve Throntveit are revisiting these foundational obligations. They argue that citizenship should not be viewed merely as a legal tool for sorting and dividing the governed. Instead, they describe it as a “station” or a calling for the public to meet common challenges and improve common lives.
The tension between citizenship as a legal status and citizenship as a civic practice is particularly acute in current public discourse. In his first inaugural address, Jefferson attempted to bridge this gap by suggesting that political disagreement does not equate to a betrayal of national principles. “Every difference of opinion is not a difference of principle,” he proclaimed, calling on Americans to recognize themselves as “brethren of the same principle.”
This ongoing investigation into the meaning of American identity extends beyond citizenship to other words currently saturating public conversation. Terms such as socialism, oligarchy, and fascism are frequently used in polarizing ways, often without a shared understanding of their historical meanings. Conversely, unifying concepts such as community and intelligence are also coming under renewed scrutiny as the nation seeks common ground.
Ultimately, the work of Boyte and Throntveit suggests that the office of the citizen is not a passive one. It is a proactive role designed to improve common life. As the debate over legal definitions continues in the courts and halls of power, the historical legacy of the American citizen remains tied to that original Jeffersonian edit: the rejection of being a subject and the acceptance of the responsibilities that come with being a self-governing member of a republic.
