A Constitution Meant to Grow

The Constitution of the United States was born in a specific moment — 1787 — amid a world of powdered wigs, slavery, and property-based suffrage. But remarkably, it was not written only for that moment. The framers, though limited by their era, had the foresight to admit that they could not predict the future. Instead of pretending to have final answers, they created a system that could be revised.

This system is the amendment process — a mechanism built directly into the text itself. Through it, the Constitution can be changed not by force or whim, but by deliberate, collective judgment. It is, by design, a high threshold: two-thirds of both houses of Congress and ratification by three-fourths of the states. This protects the nation from impulsive shifts. Yet, crucially, it allows change when deep and lasting consensus emerges.

And change has come.

The Constitution once accepted slavery — it now forbids it.

It once ignored women’s voices — it now protects their votes.

It once limited the franchise to the privileged — it now extends it to 18-year-olds from all walks of life.

Each amendment is more than a legal update. It reflects a moral struggle, a societal reckoning, and a redefinition of justice. The amendment process forces us to ask: What deserves to last? What must be left behind? What kind of nation are we becoming?

But there is a paradox: While the Constitution was built to evolve, it is also resistant to frequent revision. Some see this as a flaw. Others see it as a safeguard — a way to ensure that change carries the weight of democratic legitimacy, not just the winds of trend or emotion.

This tension — between permanence and possibility — is what makes the Constitution not a relic, but a living framework. It does not promise that justice will be easy. It promises that justice can grow.

And in that promise lies a quiet but profound faith:

That the people, over time, can become wiser than the people who came before them.