I don't have much of a social life, and I have a wife, kids, and friends who are very patient. I dove into hundreds of letters from Jefferson, Ben Franklin, and John Adams—the "big three" movers and shakers behind this. I went through the congressional register, the record taken by the Secretary, Thompson. There are large gaps; this happens in history over time. But also, the founders were cognizant of the fact that they were committing treason and would probably be swinging from a rope when the British caught them, so not a lot was recorded. We still don't have accurate information on day-to-day attendance, the questions asked, or who voted which way, but I was able to pick bits and pieces out.

As with all historical projects, you are left with newspaper coverage and so many other things, but invariably, you find that we know A, but not B and C. We know D, but not E; then we have to go all the way to L before we know something. You're playing historical detective, trying to piece this together and see what parts of the record are coherent and consistent with what we know. There are still things we'll never know, but I've been interested in the founding and the founders for my entire 36-year career, so it was fun to do the full deep dive.

A takeaway was that, while we know a lot of them were just brilliant, they literally were reading and debating the great Enlightenment thinkers—from Rousseau and Montesquieu to Voltaire and John Locke. They were well-versed in Plato's Republic and Aristotle's Politics. It is just remarkable, the brain power and the thoughtfulness.

We take for granted today the idea that King George III was mad and abusive and that we had the right to throw him off. But at the time, the divine right of kings prevailed; the king was God's spokesperson on Earth, and God spoke directly through him. To question the king was an affront to God and went against the natural order of things. Jefferson, Franklin, and Adams were in a quandary: how do we justify this unprecedented act against God and the natural order?

They relied on the idea of natural rights—rights that transcend and supersede any laws given by the monarch because they exist in nature and are granted by God. The founders were deists; to them, nature was God and God was nature. In their sentences, they would literally write "nature and nature’s God" back-to-back. They found that through natural rights, if the king is not treating God's children well, they have the right to revolution.

The Declaration was an announcement of independence, an audacious first step toward creating a nation without a blueprint, and a hell of a legal brief of grievances against the king. Most importantly, it was a profound philosophical statement. In that respect, one cannot help but note the grotesque hypocrisy: writing "all men are created equal" while women, enslaved folks, freed blacks, indentured servants, and native peoples had no basic rights and could not own land. Jefferson, a slave owner, had children with his young teenage slave, Sally Hemings.

The great Ben Franklin realized this. My most important takeaway is that Franklin understood the Declaration was not just for the American people of that time. Because of the hypocrisy and the long way we had to go, it was an aspirational gift to humanity—the hope that one day we could move toward true rights, true freedom, and true equality. It is a gift for all humanity of a transcendent new form of governance. Ben Franklin, America’s Da Vinci, offered a heady perspective that allows us to understand the fallibilities and hypocrisies of the founders. Put in that context, it provides a bit more satisfaction.

Diversity is a strength and pluralism is an asset. If I had a "real job"—not being a professor writing books and walking around battlefields and museums—I would hire people who disagreed with me, not people who agreed. I would bring in an artist, a philosopher, an engineer, a mathematician, and a physicist; that is how you make good decisions. I have always taught the Declaration not as a declaration of independence, but as a declaration of interdependence. We needed one another. The colonies needed to be united and sought to speak with unanimity; at points when they were not on the same page, the goal was to get a state to abstain from voting rather than have a "nay." They needed England, Europe, France, trade, and alliances.

You could not pick three more different people than Franklin, Jefferson, and Adams. Adams is short, round, grumbly, and direct; he will tell you exactly what he thinks. Jefferson is tall, refined, aloof, and shy, yet also prissy, whiny, and avoids confrontation—writing dirt about you behind your back. Ben Franklin is raunchy, hilarious, and a brilliant polymath with a sense of humor the other two lacked. They were also different ages: Jefferson was 33, while Franklin was one of the oldest people anyone had ever met, given the short life expectancies. Putting these three very different people together produced magic; they each complemented one another's shortcomings.

It is borderline tragic that we have not learned from this. Governments and politicians often do not tolerate disagreement or dissent, when we should know that debate and dissent are fundamentally the building blocks of democracy. It is shocking to see this "groupthink," "bobblehead," "yes-men" mentality and a "my way or the highway" approach, when history shows that the opposite is how to do things.

Here we are at the 250th anniversary, where no one gets along and the current regime does not tolerate any dissent. They are threatening reporters, professors, and school teachers—anyone who even dares to disagree with a blatant lie and promote facts. We are scrubbing and rewriting history from national park sites, the Smithsonian, the National Archives, and the Library of Congress. I cannot highlight just how awful and dangerous this is. As we claim to celebrate the 250th by silencing dissent, we must look back and see that the guidepost was clear in these three remarkable individuals.

It is that ability to think outside of the box, to look around the corner and have a vision for what is coming when very few others see it. But it is also the ability to not only tolerate, but embrace, difference—not a superficial demographic difference, but the profound difference in ideas, experiences, and perspectives that seems to be shut out and lost today. Franklin and Adams did not get along. Later, Jefferson would treat John Adams awfully; they did not speak for an 18-year period, from 1800 to 1818. Quite frankly, Adams was a bit jealous of Franklin and Jefferson was a bit intimidated. When Jefferson replaced Franklin in France as minister and ambassador, he had a chip on his shoulder, thinking, "I'll never be Franklin." It wasn't that they were three best friends.

But they did not allow those differences to interrupt their work in 1776 and again during the Constitutional Convention later. Although Jefferson was in Europe, they collaborated by mail and correspondence; they were able to rise above it. This is what seems to be lacking these days—not only in the White House, but in Congress, in politics, in business, and in society at large.

Everybody is stuck in their own little disciplinary box and narrow worldview, as if any of us have all the answers. We forget too often—especially as academics, researchers, and scholars—how much we do not know. With every passing year, I learn how little I know; there are oceans of knowledge escaping me. This idea that someone can be "cock-sure" about everything—without ever having done a deep dive, without disciplinary expertise, and without reading—is pervasive. People "know" because they read something on social media or heard someone on the radio, and they are willing to die on that hill. Other than caring for loved ones and celebrating diversity, I don't know that there is a hill I would die on for any issue, because it changes.

Ben Franklin gave a great speech on September 16, 1787, the day before the Constitution was signed. He was not physically well and had someone read his speech for him. He noted: "Having lived long, I've seen issues that I once embraced with all my energy that I now oppose with all my energy, and issues I once opposed, absolutely, and I now embrace absolutely." He was trying to convey to the framers that they need to doubt their own infallibility and realize that nothing is perfect. It was a profound way—given that he was the eldest and wisest member—to say, "I don't know." Today, we lack the humility and self-awareness to say that, and it is truly tragic.

Ongoing thread. More from Robert P. Watson to follow.