This entry picks up more or less where the last one left off: with an assessment of the book On Reading the Constitution by Michael Dorf and Laurence Tribe. In this book, Dorf and Tribe argue how one should and should not read the Constitution (as you might guess). Among the methods one should not use are Disintegration, in which a reader treats every clause, sentence, and article in isolation, apart from the textual, historical, and theoretical context in which it lies, and Hyper-Integration, a method marked by a reader's insistence that the whole Constitution can be explained with one comprehensive theory, and then proceeds to shoehorn uncomfortably any part of the document unexplained by the unified theory.
In the last entry, I argued that the use of the 9th Amendment as a source of fundamental rights gives judges a blank check of constitutional legislative power. I argued further that it is better to understand the 9th Amendment as a tool of civic education, an instrument outside of the hands of the unelected judiciary, whose unique power to discern fundamental rights on behalf of the people is never explained by either Dorf or Tribe. I argued that the people ourselves are best able to define what else we want our Constitution to protect beside those enumerated.
Of course, we would not always do what's best. But then, neither do judges.
Here I'll pick up with some further thoughts, as I continued to read their book. Dorf and Tribe build on Ronald Dworkin’s
claim that the use of precedent in interpretation is like a chain novel, where
several authors write discrete segments of a book. One picks up where the other left off, using
what’s already been said to inform their later choices.
They point out some problems:
Judges
sometimes overrule precedent (break with the previous author).
Judges
sometimes restrict their decisions/opinions to the facts of the case (like an
interlude not bearing at all on the story as a whole).
Some other problems which occur to
me: unlike chain authors, judges can be separated by centuries, and as such,
the context and people about which they write will be very different from one
another. As a result, the facts of a
distant case may be difficult to reconcile with the facts of a current case, as
a coherent storyline should be reconcilable across authors.
Imagine a
two-century jump in the chain authors’ story; it would be a challenge to
continue in a coherent way, such that readers would be willing to buy any
asserted consistency between the events of a story spanning such disparate time
periods (unless it’s a time traveller’s tale)
Therefore,
witness the difficulties in applying a case like McCullough v. Maryland or Gibbons
v. Ogden to a present-day Commerce Clause case. The facts of those cases as compared to any
modern Commerce Clause case would necessarily be so different, or at least
framed in a very different world, as to make them irreconcilable. The concepts may yet apply (and would have to
be broad enough, or be expanded enough, to make the cases operate by a coherent
principle), but the concepts and
facts could hardly both be commensurable across centuries.
Perhaps the
analogy between judges and chain authors doesn’t work that well.
Because
authors must create the facts of their cases, or because chain authors must
rely on those already provided (unlike judges, who get a new set of facts every
time, the chain author must continue to work with the same set), it allows
greater consistency in the chain story, and also creates a greater expectation
of such consistency from the readers.
Another problem: allowing a chain
novel to continue from the premises created by only the author before them,
rather than recurring to a fundamental set of written principles with each new
author, allows much great straying from the story’s starting point because it
allows building on a framework erected around a fundamental principle as though
that framework were the fundamental principle itself.
Therefore,
Tribe and Dorf allow a case like Roe v.
Wade to proceed from the starting point of a privacy right created by
previous cases like Griswold, Eisenstadt, Poe, etc. They allow the
authors of Roe to proceed from the point
at which the previous authors stopped, like a chain author should, without
reference to the beginning of the story, as a judge should.
In a novel,
authors can’t be referring constantly to the beginning of their story or else
the book would move at a snail’s pace and no one would buy it. It also would interrupt a linear, narrative
flow.
But such
reference is ESSENTIAL in constitutional interpretation, because it does not
tell a story, but rather provides a stable, predictable framework which can in turn
guide the outcomes of many different stories (cases) which come to it seeking
resolution.
In that
way, perhaps judges are less chain authors than the litigants, who have
written their story to a point where judges and the Constitution
provide guidance as to where they must proceed.
Regardless,
without frequent reference back to fundamental principles, and a text that
cannot and must not be interpreted infinitely to whatever end, judges gain the
ability to take their story in virtually any direction they wish, especially as
case law grows more and more voluminous.
What Tribe and Dorf
refer to as the irreducible problem of value choice in interpreting the outcome
of a case from precedent, history, text and structure (with which I agree),
will become an infinite source of innovation if judges act as chain authors,
building on the possibly erroneous or outdated assumptions of their
predecessors. Perhaps indeed judges
cannot avoid making value choices; perhaps they must interject some of their
own preferences, even in making choices as to method. But regardless, judges must forever remain
tethered to the text itself, and must take great care in interpreting such
malleable words as “liberty” in the 14th Amendment.
In sum, case law cannot take on co-equal legal status with the Constitution itself. It must remain a subordinate enterprise open to frequent reevaluation, or endless judicial innovation may well ensue. I think that this is what happened when Tribe and Dorf discuss Griswold and Roe: they use Griswold to establish a privacy right, and then in turn use that privacy right (and related cases) to justify Roe. Therefore, they have rested Roe not on the Constitution, but on a theory derived from the Constitution. That this is an error should be manifest.
Essentially,
the point remains: T+D have yet to come up with a firm, articulable principle
that will cabin the creative powers of judges to make value choices.
If the
necessity of such value choices remains in spite of whatever attempts to cabin
oneself to originalism or textualism or strict precedent, etc then some rule,
some method for restricting the bounds of interpretation is ESSENTIAL because
without it, an elastic term like “liberty” and its judicial definition will
continue to be stretched.
This is, in
my judgment, the greatest failing of this book: it does not provide an
acceptable means or principle by which judicial value judgments in defining the
appropriate range of a liberty can be controlled. It invites readers interested in searching
for fundamental liberties and rights to begin from those enumerated in the
text, but does not do enough to place boundaries on judicial elaboration.
I think
Tribe and Dorf are comfortable with that.
They seem to be from the tenor of the book, anyway, because they take
issue with no cases in which the Court sided with an individual or minority on
liberty grounds. They do little to show
what goes too far.
They offer
impressive insights, but seem to lead to a rapidly expanding zone of judicial
power without a robust means of stopping or limiting it.
And
especially, in that vein, the book does not articulate much of a reason for
which judges should be entrusted with such expansive powers.
If such
choices as to the proper definition of rights and liberties cannot be avoided, and
the result is tidal shifts in the range of legislative power vis a vis judicial
power, then should this not be an argument for taking more interpretive power
out of judges’ hands? Should this not
sound an alarm that our judges really can do almost whatever they want to do
with our supreme law?
Which rights can really count as
constitutional must rely on something more then T+D’s analysis in chapter
3 where they make the claim that there is no qualitative difference in the
extent of judicial innovation between a judge defining that three years to wait
violates an accused’s right to a speedy trial, and a judge’s definition of the
term “liberty” to include an abortion right.
This
clearly cannot be true; it is reductive to say the least.
Law,
perhaps by judicial pronouncement, must be able to articulate a difference
between setting a reasonable limit to what constitutes “speedy” with regard to
a trial, and judicial definition of the term “liberty”.
The words
“speedy” and “liberty” are OBVIOUSLY qualitatively different in how far they
can be interpreted, and which levels and sorts of activity can be contained
within them.
“Liberty”
can refer to a naturally endowed freedom to do LITERALLY ANYTHING by the
presumption that a human is allowed to do whatever he or she is able to do, and
not positively prohibited from doing by duly enacted law (or on a natural law
understanding, anything a person is able to do minus what is deducible by
reason to be prohibited).
“Speedy”,
with regard to a trial, connotes a far less expansive range of activity; it
appears to contemplate a defendant’s right as “ASAP” with some small allowance
given to administrative and logistic realities.
It admits of far less expansive definition than “liberty”, especially
when it refers only to a specific right to trial. So defined, elaboration on what “speedy”
demands can draw much more easily on precedent and historical practice, which
offer guidance on what constitutes a “speedy” trial as opposed to what
constitutes “liberty”, a term I expect one will find largely to be
undifferentiated in its common and legal understandings.
And as for
history and precedent, it’s worth reminding T+D that “due process of law”
without which liberty cannot be violated, only took on a substantive component
in the 20th century (with the possible exception, as Tribe lays out
in The Invisible Constitution, for Scott v. Sanford where a prototypical
version appears as Taney refers to the Takings Clause and Due Process Clause of
the 5th Amendment). According
to an article written by Chapman and McConnell, the defenses of due process in
the common law only referred to the proper procedures by which liberty could be
deprived; it did not refer to substantive limits on legal process, or specially
protected rights and liberties until American judges created that doctrine in
the 20th century.
In conclusion,
I am concerned about the results of judges getting too creative with the
Constitution. I see little reason to
suppose that judges are better suited to give the document meaning than all
others, and I worry that overly creative elaborations on the Constitution’s
explicit text allow unelected judges to impose law to which the people have not
given any—even implicit—consent.