"Business as Usual" For Originalism?

I've argued at length elsewhere that three of the highest-profile cases of the Supreme Court's October 2021 term marked a shift away from an originalist approach to constitutional interpretation. In Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization, New York State Rifle & Pistol Association, Inc. v. Bruen, and Kennedy v. Bremerton School District, the Court set forth a "history and tradition" approach to determining the scope of constitutional rights. In doing so, the Court elevated historical practices to a level at which these practices define the scope of constitutional rights. The Court pays lip service to the Constitution's text, but a close reading of these opinions reveals that the text plays no meaningful role in deciding the outcome. It is therefore a mistake to call these opinions originalist, as many have.

Enter Randy Barnett and Lawrence Solum and their recent draft article, "Originalism After Dobbs, Bruen, and Kennedy: The Role of History and Tradition." Barnett and Solum advance what Michael Ramsey at The Originalist Blog describes as "an important antidote to the flood of academic commentary proclaiming that the Court's recent cases aren't originalist."

From the article's abstract:

In three recent cases, the constitutional concepts of history and tradition have played important roles in the reasoning of the Supreme Court. Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization relied on history and tradition to overrule Roe v. Wade. New York State Rifle & Pistol Association v. Bruen articulated a history and tradition test for the validity of laws regulating the right to bear arms recognized by the Second Amendment. Kennedy v. Bremerton School District looked to history and tradition in formulating the implementing doctrines for the First Amendment Establishment and Free Exercise Clauses.

These cases raise important questions about the Court’s approach to constitutional interpretation and construction. Do Dobbs, Bruen, and Kennedy represent a new theory of constitutional interpretation and construction based on history and tradition? In the alternative, should the references to history and tradition in these opinions be understood through the lens of constitutional pluralism as modalities of constitutional argument? Finally, can the use of history and tradition in Dobbs, Bruen, and Kennedy be reconciled with the Supreme Court’s embrace of originalism?

Part One of this article elucidates the constitutional concepts of history and tradition. Part Two lays out four distinct roles that history and tradition can play: (1) as evidence of original meaning and purpose, (2) as modalities of constitutional argument within a constitutional pluralism framework, (3) as a novel constitutional theory, which we call “historical traditionalism,” and (4) as implementing doctrines. Part Three investigates the roles of history and tradition in Dobbs, Bruen, and Kennedy. In Part Four articulates a comprehensive strategy for the incorporation of history and tradition in constitutional jurisprudence.

Barnett and Solum describe the use of history and tradition tests as "business as usual" for the Supreme Court, and argue that Dobbs, Bruen, and Kennedy "contain scant evidence of the emergence of a new approach to constitutional interpretation that would supplant either Public Meaning Originalism or Constitutional Pluralism." (p. 26). This got my attention, as I've concluded the opposite.

Walking through Barnett and Solum's analysis of Dobbs, Bruen, and Kennedy reveals the lengths one must go to in order to conclude that these cases are consistent with an originalist approach to constitutional interpretation. Despite Barnett and Solum's conclusions about the healthy state of originalism after the October 2021 term, their analysis of each case acknowledges that each opinion strays from typical originalist analysis in varying degrees. While they attempt to account for these deviations and present each case in as originalist a light as possible, they fail to demonstrate that the Court's recent decisions reflect an originalist methodology. And this is important--these were some of the biggest cases of the term, and in recent memory. If originalism isn't how the Court decides these important cases, this casts doubt on originalism's explanatory and predictive value.

Choosing History

Will Baude has written a column in the Washington Post, entitled Of Course the Supreme Court Needs to Use History. The Question is How.

Baude discusses the Supreme Court's use of history in its most recent term. He argues that using history is unavoidable:

History is inextricably connected to law. Our Constitution and statutes were enacted in the past, and amended in the past, and so understanding their content is an inherently historical endeavor. History, practiced properly, also can supply objectivity, giving the justices a basis for deciding beyond their personal views and the controversies of the day.

This use of history, as Baude notes, led to some recent dramatic decisions. In Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization, the Court ruled that there was no constitutional right to abortion, overturning Roe v. Wade, and causing abortion becoming illegal in numerous states due to trigger laws. In New York State Rifle & Pistol Association, Inc. v. Bruen, the Court overturned a New York statutory scheme that had been in place for more than a century that required people to prove good cause in order to obtain a license to carry concealed firearms.

In Bruen, the Court first held (after about a page of analysis with no historical discussion) that the Second Amendment protected a right to carry firearms in public--extending the scope of the Second Amendment's protection beyond the scope of the home. The Court then spent most of its opinion applying a "historical tradition" approach to the constitutional interpretation. In Bruen, this meant that the government could restrict the Second Amendment right to carry firearms only if it could show a historical tradition of analogous restrictions on the right to carry firearms in public. The Court considered a host of laws, cases, and commentary, ranging from English law and common law, to colonial-era restrictions, to laws at the founding, during reconstruction, and beyond. Laws that happened to support broad restrictions were outliers, the Court argued. Old English authorities, like the Statute of Northampton, were outdated. Many of the founding-era and reconstruction-era restrictions were too narrow to be analogous--they restricted carrying firearms for certain purposes only, like causing terror and disruption. By choosing what historical laws were analogous, the Court was able to shape the historic record to fit its desired outcome: that there was no tradition of restricting the carrying of firearms. New York's law therefore had to go.

The next day, in Dobbs, the Court engaged in similar analysis to determine whether there was a historical tradition of permitting abortion. No such tradition existed, the Court claimed, citing "English cases dating all the way back to the 13th century" (despite its earlier discrediting of the Statute of Northampton as too old) and citing a host of historic restrictions banning pre-quickening abortion (that is, abortion before movement of the fetus could be detected--often at a point between the 16th and 18th week of pregnancy). These pre-quickening restrictions--restrictions that prohibited abortion in certain circumstances--are similar to many of the historic restrictions on carrying firearms that the Court rejected in Bruen--gun restrictions only banned carrying firearms in certain circumstances. In Dobbs, however, the Court cited these cases to support its conclusion that there was no historic recognition of any right to an abortion. The Court argued that just because pre-quickening abortion "was not itself considered homicide, it does not follow that abortion was permissible at common law--much less that abortion was a legal right." (Dobbs, p. 2250). Using this logic (logic that was notably absent in Bruen) The Dobbs Court cited partial abortion restrictions as evidence of a lack of a historical tradition of recognizing abortion rights. 

This closer look at these opinions reveals that the Court is not so much "doing" or "using" history as Baude suggests, but "choosing" history. Looking up historical evidence and parsing out historic laws and their development is a small, and seemingly insignificant part of the Court's analysis. The real work happens when the Court decides whether evidence is analogous to a present claimed right or restriction. 

The Court provides virtually no guidance or rules for this process. The Court doesn't say how many historical laws and regulations are necessary to establish a tradition, how old examples can get before they are too old, or where to draw the line between founding- or reconstruction-era laws that clarify or liquify meaning versus those that are unacceptably modern. This failure to provide guidance isn't an accident. It gives the Court the flexibility to treat the evidence in a manner that supports its desired conclusion. For example, in Dobbs, the Court cited commentaries from as far back as the 13th century as evidence of historic abortion restrictions. But the day before, in Bruen, it dismissed the Statute of Northampton (enacted in 1328 and in place for hundreds of years thereafter) as inapplicable, in part because they were unacceptably ancient. 

Another example: in Bruen, the Court dismissed colonial-era examples of restrictions on carrying firearms, stating that the respondents had only identified three such regulations and that "we doubt that three colonial regulations could suffice to show a tradition of public-carry regulation." (Bruen at 2143). Earlier in its opinion, though, the Court asserted that restricting firearms in "sensitive places" was consistent with historical tradition--despite citing sources that were only able to identify two examples of colonial and founding-era restrictions on carrying firearms in sensitive places. (Dobbs at 2133, citing an article by Kopel & Greenlee and an amicus brief that only identify Maryland laws forbidding carrying guns in the houses of the legislature and a Delaware constitutional provision prohibiting guns in polling places). When it comes to restricting firearms, three examples are not enough to establish a historical tradition. But when it comes to reaffirming the sensitive places analysis that Justice Thomas had previously signed onto when he joined the Court's opinion in District of Columbia v. Heller, two examples were sufficient.

Baude argues that if critics of the Court want to make a difference, they're going to "have to make the best use of history, not try to escape it." They can't be like the dissenting Justices who "engaged superficially on historical grounds." This strategy is misguided. Confronting the Court with historical evidence likely make a difference in politically salient cases--as Bruen and Dobbs demonstrate. Critics may do history, they may use history. They may set forth a slew of examples in support of their claims. But this won't make any difference to a Court that chooses history to support desired results.

Choosing history as a basis for constitutional interpretation also skews the playing field against progress and protection of disadvantaged groups. The dissenting Justices make this point in Dobbs: 

We referred there to the “people” who ratified the Fourteenth Amendment: What rights did those “people” have in their heads at the time? But, of course, “people” did not ratify the Fourteenth Amendment. Men did. So it is perhaps not so surprising that the ratifiers were not perfectly attuned to the importance of reproductive rights for women's liberty, or for their capacity to participate as equal members of our Nation. Indeed, the ratifiers—both in 1868 and when the original Constitution was approved in 1788—did not understand women as full members of the community embraced by the phrase “We the People.” In 1868, the first wave of American feminists were explicitly told—of course by men—that it was not their time to seek constitutional protections. (Women would not get even the vote for another half-century.) To be sure, most women in 1868 also had a foreshortened view of their rights: If most men could not then imagine giving women control over their bodies, most women could not imagine having that kind of autonomy. But that takes away nothing from the core point. Those responsible for the original Constitution, including the Fourteenth Amendment, did not perceive women as equals, and did not recognize women's rights. When the majority says that we must read our foundational charter as viewed at the time of ratification (except that we may also check it against the Dark Ages), it consigns women to second-class citizenship. (Dobbs at 2324-25, Breyer J. dissenting).

What does Baude have to say to the fact that history itself is skewed due to the historic mistreatment and disenfranchisement of women and African-Americans?

The use of constitutional history has been challenged as inherently regressive. Why should today’s public policy decisions owe anything to past eras when women or people of color were excluded from power? This argument misses the point. In cases like Dobbs, the court seeks to free government from constitutional constraint, arguing that today’s governing majorities are entitled to make their own choices about abortion policy, no matter what dead White men in wigs may have thought. In cases like Bruen, the court relies on historical arguments that the right to keep and bear arms was especially vital to newly freed African Americans in the wake of the Civil War. And in other cases, the court has used history to vindicate the rights of criminal defendants and other unpopular groups.

Baude's point about Dobbs is unresponsive. As the Dissent points out, the absence of women's voices and participation in the political process is a glaring example of how history is skewed in a particular direction--here against the interests of women. For hundreds of years, women weren't guaranteed the right to vote. They were restricted from many professions, including the law and and the teaching of law. Is it really all that surprising that the notion that the right to abortion had anything to do with the right to privacy was a relatively recent part of legal discussions over abortion law? What's more, Dobbs wasn't about the meaning of the Constitution's text. The Court's conclusion regarding the scope of Due Process was based entirely on historical laws and restrictions, filtered through the selective reliance on certain examples and characterizing other examples in a manner that rendered them irrelevant or transformed them into further support. 

Additionally, Baude's mention of historical arguments about the relevance of the right to bear arms for newly freed African Americans in Bruen rings hollow in light of the fact that substantial majorities of modern communities of color support stricter gun laws (a point that Adam Winkler raises here). Baude's argument demonstrates the point he's trying to refute. In citing the reconstruction-era need for African Americans to be armed, the Court applies the oppression that African Americans faced during reconstruction to modern circumstances. This historic violence, which was perpetuated by white communities and government officials, ends up shaping and defining the modern right to keep and bear arms for all communities, despite the opposition of modern communities of color.

Perhaps there will be occasional exceptions where historical tradition aligns with the rights of criminal defendants an unpopular groups. But historical discrimination and oppression of women, racial minorities, Native Americans, and other disadvantaged communities suggests that we are off to a rough start if we choose to look to the past to guide present decisions. Cloaking the analysis in with phrases like "original public meaning" or "historical tradition," and characterizing the analysis as "ultimately deciding . . . law, not history for its own sake" as Baude urges may obscure this reality and make the process seem more neutral. But "doing" or "using" history leaves those seeking meaningful reforms and protections for disadvantaged groups and communities at a disadvantage from the outset. 

A clarification: Parties and those arguing before the Court should, of course, do what they can to make historical arguments. Doing so will ensure that no stone is left unturned and will shine a brighter spotlight on the Court's motivated reasoning.

Criticizing the Court's methodology is preferable to attempting to meet the Court on a skewed playing field. Perhaps the Court won't listen. But making this point abundantly clear to voters and lawmakers may prompt reforms or--at the very least--urge the election of Presidents and Senators who will appoint and approve Justices who engage in alternate methodology. Critics are better off making these arguments than legitimizing flawed, skewed, malleable historical and originalist methodologies by participating in those methods themselves.

UPDATE

Those who want to read even more about this should check out my draft article on the Court's historical tradition approach in Bruen, which I just posted to SSRN. Comments are welcome!

Originalism is Neutral Because the Court Hasn't Outlawed Abortion Everywhere?

That seems to what Michael Ramsey argues in response to this column by Paul Waldman.  Waldman argues (fervently) that conservative justices vote their political preferences and are not constrained by purportedly neutral theories of interpretation:

It was all a lie, a scam, a con: the assurances that they were blank slates committed to “originalism” and “textualism,” that they wouldn’t “legislate from the bench,” that they have no agenda but merely a “judicial philosophy.”

Somehow that philosophy nearly always produces results conservatives want: undermining voting rights, enhancing corporate power, constraining the rights of workers, enabling the proliferation of guns, and now most vividly, allowing state governments to force women to carry pregnancies to term against their will.

Ramsey takes issue with this:

But the abortion case actually shows the opposite of Waldman's claim.  The conservative legal movement doesn't want just to overturn Roe; it (or at least part that cares most about the issue) wants to outlaw abortion.  In Dobbs, though, at most the Court may merely withdraw the constitutional bar on abortion restrictions so that the question can be resolved by the political branches. 

Why not do more?  Why wouldn't the Court rule that states that permit abortion violate the Constitution?  If the conservative Court really believes it can "legislate from the bench" to "produce[ ] results conservatives want," isn't that the outcome we would expect?

Surely the Constitution can accommodate that conclusion.  As many on the left have argued, the Constitution's due process and equal protection clauses are open-ended and can be read to appeal to broad principles to be applied in light of contemporary morality and policy.  If, as anti-abortion conservatives believe, human life begins at conception or some point near to it, an aggressive living-constitutionalist conservative could find in those clauses a protection for unborn life.  Far less plausible claims have been made and accepted by courts on behalf of the policies of the left.

The conservative originalist Justices on the Court are not going to rule this way, and Justice Scalia -- as firmly anti-abortion as anyone -- never considered it.  The reason is originalism.  Though a few scholars have argued to the contrary, the overwhelming mainstream originalist position, among both scholars and judges, is that the Constitution's original meaning does not protect unborn life.  (See here from Jonathan Adler: Why the 14th Amendment Does Not Prohibit Abortion.)  It is the Justices' commitment to originalism and textualism that prevents them from legislating from the bench to achieve conservative policy goals in the abortion debate.  (And originalism is criticized by some conservatives on this ground.)

Ramsey claims that originalism is what prevents conservative Justices from affirmatively outlawing abortion. But this is what overturning Roe would do, to a significant extent. If the Court overturns Roe by upholding a ban on abortion, the effect is that abortion is banned in the affected jurisdiction.  Not only that, but it's immediately banned in 21 other states as well. Overturning Roe has the practical impact of banning abortion immediately in nearly half of the states. 

Sure, it isn't a nationwide ban. But once Roe is overturned, how soon will it be until there is federal legislation to ban abortion nationwide? From betting that's going on in academic spheres, it look like the expectation is a couple of days. With Roe out of the way, lobbying and support for such a law will redouble, backed by assertions that it has the Court's blessing. I hope that this is a pessimistic view of things--maybe the overturning of Roe will light a fire under democrats and prompt them to take action. But I'm not optimistic this will happen.

Such a federal law wouldn't be a constitutional decree. But under this chain of events, the conservative Justices' goal of outlawing abortion would be achieved with no other Court action beyond overturning Roe v. Wade. The Court would not suffer the institutional loss of credibility that an aggressive, constitution-based ban on abortion would entail. The Court would therefore be free to support conservative policies and goals under the guise of originalism's neutrality in any number of other cases and contexts.  Ramsey claims that a refusal to affirmatively outlaw abortion on constitutional grounds is evidence of originalism's constraining effect. A far more plausible explanation is that conservative justices want to preserve their influence and credibility, and can do so at no cost, since most of the work they want to see done will be done for them by other political actors.

Just because the Court doesn't take an immediate and drastic turn to the right and capitulate to the wildest dreams of the most extreme conservatives does not prove that originalism is the neutral, constraining principle that its proponents claim it to be. Claiming that this is what must be demonstrated to prove that originalism covers up political decisions is a disingenuous tactic that moves the goalposts and ignores political context.

Trump's Presidency and the Supreme Court

Cass Sunstein has this interesting article at Bloomberg View. Sunstein begins by correctly noting that even though Trump will appoint Justice Scalia's successor, this will leave the Court's current ideological balance unchanged. Sunstein then addresses the possibility of Trump replacing one or more of the Court's liberal justices (he mentions Justices Ginsburg and Breyer -- I would add Justice Kennedy in light of his role in recent gay rights and abortion decisions). On that topic, Sunstein writes:

Suppose, though, that one of them does resign. At that point, significant changes would be possible. But probably not many. 

One reason involves the idea of respect for precedent. The justices are usually reluctant to disturb the court's previous rulings, even if they disagree strongly with them. In this light, would a new majority really want to announce in, say, 2018, that states can ban same-sex marriage, after years of saying otherwise? That’s unlikely: Such an abrupt reversal of course, defeating widespread expectations, would make the law seem both unstable and awkwardly political. 

Would a Trump court want to overrule Roe v. Wade, which has been the law since 1973, and thus allow states to ban abortion? Considering the intensity of conservative opposition to abortion, that is somewhat more probable. But judges are not politicians, and again to avoid the appearance of destabilizing constitutional law, any majority would hesitate before doing something so dramatic. 

Would a court composed of Alito, Roberts, Kennedy, Thomas, and one or two Trump appointees be willing to grant broad new powers to the president? No chance. The current conservatives have expressed a great deal of skepticism about executive authority. They aren’t going to turn on a dime merely because the president is a Republican. 

There is a more general point. Many judges (and Roberts in particular) are drawn to “judicial minimalism”; they prefer to focus on the facts of particular cases. Quite apart from respecting prior rulings, they like small steps and abhor bold movements or big theories.

I agree with portions of Sunstein's analysis. Sunstein's point on respecting precedent is a good one, and is bolstered in the abortion context by the Court's 2016 decision in Whole Woman's Health v. Hellerstedt, a 5-3 decision striking down Texas laws restricting abortion. While two Trump appointees would likely leave the balance of the Court opposed to the Whole Woman's Health decision, a change of course this soon after the Court's ruling would indeed appear dramatically political.

This point about precedent may not hold up in the context of affirmative action, however. The most recent Fisher v. University of Texas case that upheld the University of Texas's affirmative action program was a 4-3 decision, and therefore rested on the opinion of a minority of the nine justices that typically sit at the Supreme Court. Commentators are quick to point out that Justice Kennedy authored the opinion and that Justice Kagan, who was recused, would have brought the majority's total to five justices. But these observations do not affect the fact that the majority consisted of only four justices. Should the Court revisit affirmative action with two Trump appointees replacing any one of Justices Ginsburg, Kennedy, or Breyer, the Court may likely to overrule its prior 4-3 decision with a new 5-4 decision restricting affirmative action.

As for Sunstein's point about incremental change, while he may well be correct, this will probably do little to appease those who wished to see a liberal shift in the Supreme Court. Even if the Court takes the minimalist approach that Sunstein describes, the incremental shifts will likely be to the right, rather than the substantial shifts to the left that liberals were hoping to see under a Clinton presidency.

Finally, to take a brief step into the uncertain and unpleasant world of political prognostication, many commentators expect that Trump will have the opportunity to replace Justice Ginsburg in addition to appointing Justice Scalia's successor, as she is now 83 years old and is unlikely to remain on the Court for four more years. Democrats, however, will likely begin to operate under a time frame of two, rather than four, years as Trump's presidency begins and as his Court begins to take shape. If Democrats manage to mobilize in 2020, they may take back the Senate. Once they have done so, they may well adopt the Republican tactic of refusing a hearing should any seats open up on the Supreme Court. While such an approach would represent a reversal of position for Democrat's who condemned Senate Republicans' refusal over the past many months, they would likely accept this inconsistency in favor of the influence that such a refusal could have on the Court.

I do not like the approach I described above -- whether it is practiced by Republicans or Democrats. But 2016 ushered in a new level of political combat over Supreme Court appointments, and I do not expect these political precedents to be overturned anytime soon.