Our Lives, Our Fortunes, and Our Sacred Honor

When was the last time—if ever—that you read the Declaration of Independence?

I was asked that question recently, and I honestly could not answer it.

I am sure I must have read it in seventh-grade government class. But do I remember reading it? Absolutely not.

Some of its words are deeply familiar to us, almost etched into our collective memory:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident…”

“Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…”

But even with the celebrations surrounding America’s 250th anniversary and all the renewed attention being given to the Declaration of Independence, I do not think it is a stretch to say that the average American probably could not recite much more of it—let alone describe its structure or speak to the full argument it makes.

Beyond recognizing a few famous phrases and knowing that it is one of our founding documents, I would not have said that I had any real connection to the Declaration.

That changed when I attended a reading and discussion hosted by my local Houston Braver Angels Alliance and co-facilitated by members of a local book club.

Reading the Declaration Slowly

We literally read the document line by line, pausing at nearly every word or phrase that gave someone a reason to pause.

What does “unalienable” mean?

What does it mean for governments to derive “their just powers from the consent of the governed”?

Who was the document written for? Was it directed only at the king of Great Britain, or was it also intended for other nations, the colonists themselves, and future generations?

What does “prudence” mean in this context?

It is remarkable how different a familiar document can become when you slow down enough to actually read it.

Would it surprise you to know that some of its paragraphs are made up of only one very long sentence?

Did you know that there is an entire section addressing the people of what is now Canada—without naming Canada directly?

Did you know that nearly half of the Declaration is devoted to a detailed list of grievances against King George III? There are 27 of them—not simply a vague complaint about tyranny, but a case built point by point, naming abuses involving representation, courts, taxation, trade, military power, and repeated efforts to seek redress.

The ideals of life, liberty, and consent of the governed may be the words we remember, but the grievances show why the colonists believed those ideals were being violated.

Did you realize that the document declares that the political connection between each of the colonies and Great Britain “is and ought to be totally dissolved”?

And did you know that its final two words are “sacred Honor”?

What Did Honor Mean?

The closing sentence reads:

“And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.”

We paused on the word “honor” for a moment.

We talked about what it meant in that context and briefly considered how the word does not seem to carry the same weight today that it once did.

I have continued pondering that question ever since.

What follows is only my own reflection—one way of thinking about how the meaning of honor may have changed in American culture. I am still working through the question, and I suspect others will see it differently.

In the Declaration, honor was about more than being respected or admired. It included integrity, credibility, loyalty, courage, responsibility, and a willingness to accept the consequences of one’s actions.

By calling their honor sacred, the signers were placing their names, reputations, property, safety, and futures behind the cause. They were publicly binding themselves to one another and to the principles they had declared.

Today, we may be more likely to speak of integrity, accountability, responsibility, authenticity, or moral courage. Perhaps honor has not disappeared so much as its meaning has been divided among several other words.

Honor, Trust, and Public Institutions

One place where the language of honor may have weakened is in our changing relationship with institutions.

Younger generations, in particular, have developed a deep skepticism toward government bureaucracy, established authority, and the military-industrial complex. But skepticism toward institutions is not necessarily dishonorable.

After all, the Declaration itself was written by people rejecting the authority of their established government.

Perhaps the shift is not simply that people no longer honor institutions. Perhaps institutions are no longer presumed to deserve honor merely because they are established institutions.

Trust must be earned.

But citizenship cannot end with distrust.

Our public institutions are not entirely separate from us. In a representative democracy, citizens have a responsibility to help form them, cultivate them, oversee them, improve them, and hold them accountable through civic participation.

We may not owe unquestioning loyalty to every institution, policy, or leader. But we do owe some measure of responsibility for the civic life we create together.

That responsibility may include voting, learning how government works, attending public meetings, serving on local boards, communicating with elected officials, volunteering, organizing, listening across differences, and sometimes stepping forward to lead.

It also requires courage.

Courageous Citizenship

This has particular meaning for me because Braver Angels has begun using the phrase “Courageous Citizenship” through its Braver Network.

Courage belongs in this conversation about honor.

Democracy asks us to speak honestly, question authority, defend principles, listen across differences, admit when we are wrong, and remain engaged even when participation becomes uncomfortable or discouraging.

Those acts require courage.

They also require something very close to honor.

As we were wrapping up the evening, two things had become apparent to me:

The Declaration is a living document.

And I now have a relationship with it.

I am no longer familiar only with a few famous phrases. I have spent time with the document, questioned it, listened to other people interpret it, and considered what its promises and grievances might mean for civic life today.

So I am left with two questions:

Has honor disappeared from American culture, or have we simply lost a shared language for recognizing it?

And what would “sacred honor” mean in a democracy where loyalty must be balanced with conscience, institutional trust must be earned, and citizens are responsible for cultivating the institutions that govern our shared life?

Perhaps reading the Declaration should be more than an anniversary activity or a classroom assignment we vaguely remember from childhood.

Perhaps it can also be an invitation to ask what we are willing to pledge to one another now—not only as Democrats, Republicans, independents, activists, skeptics, or voters, but as citizens responsible for the democracy we have inherited.

Read and Reflect

As you read the Declaration, you might ask yourself:

How much of what the founders were declaring independence from sounds familiar today?

How many of their grievances raise questions about the life, liberty, representation, accountability, and pursuit-of-happiness issues we face within our own government?

And when we recognize those similarities, what responsibility do we have—not only to criticize our institutions, but to participate in repairing, cultivating, and improving them?

The Declaration began as a statement of separation. Perhaps reading it today can also become an invitation to relationship—with the document, with our public institutions, and with one another as citizens.

You can read the Declaration of Independence and other important founding documents through the National Archives:

https://www.archives.gov/founding-docs/declaration-transcript

Note on process: This essay grew from my own experience, notes, questions, and opinions. I used ChatGPT as a thought partner and as a drafting and editing tool, then revised the piece myself and take responsibility for the final content.