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On Judicial Philosophy: A Reflection on Judge Jackson’s Hearing

photograph of Ketanji Brown Jackson with law books behind

Judge Jackson’s recent confirmation hearing raises a variety of questions about the nature of judicial philosophy and what relationship it has with judicial “methodology.” In her opening statement, Judge Jackson outlines a three-step methodology to how she approaches each case: to clear her head, to examine the data, and to apply the relevant laws if it is her job. When pressed and questioned about what her philosophy is, she candidly maintained her judicial philosophy is her judicial methodology.

This has received a variety of attention. Some think her response is indicative of her defying being labeled by others. Others think she is required to give us her judicial philosophy, that her methodology is the bare minimum of what to expect from a judge. Indeed, some were analyzing and predicting what the judicial philosophy would be based on her previous remarks and experience.

While Judge Jackson’s response has been a highlight of Republican criticism, it would be rash to infer this question is pointless, a divisive tactic asked for the sake of moral grandstanding. It is worth addressing the nature of one’s judicial philosophy, its importance, and asking whether it is equivalent to a methodology.

Let us presume that a judicial philosophy comprises the values and stance from which one sees and evaluates judicial cases. In this way, a judicial philosophy is value-laden and often prescriptive of how to interpret the law and act. In contrast, a methodology is often only descriptive. This gives the impression that a methodology is fair, insofar as it does not necessarily subscribe to values and prescribe responses.

This distinction maps onto our standard use of the terms and some intuitive examples. Consider how an ethical philosophy not only describes but evaluates as well as prescribes certain actions. For instance, deontology describes and evaluates actions according to the well-known categorical imperatives, the rule of universalization, and the intrinsic value of rational agents. When the deontologist maintains “Don’t lie,” it is based on a value of rational agency and is universal in its scope and demand.

A methodology, in contrast, is procedural. Much like the surgeon who must conduct several steps to perform surgery, a methodology describes the steps of parsing data and conducting certain actions. Moreover, while a methodology evaluates appropriate actions according to the issue at hand, a methodology does not have certain prescriptions built-in (aside from, perhaps, the general prescription to act in accord with the role one stands in; consider how the Hippocratic Oath is an imperative to do no harm). Where a scalpel is required in some situations, an IV is required in others — it depends on the patient’s need.

If this distinction is plausible, then it follows that a judicial methodology and judicial philosophy are not equivalent. This is not to say, however, that the two cannot overlap. For every judicial philosophy can avail itself of a methodology, and vice versa. So, we need some clarity on what Judge Jackson means when she maintains her philosophy just is her methodology.

Would it be a problem to only maintain a judicial methodology without a judicial philosophy? At first blush, it would seem like a fortunate state of affairs if the judge were to be impartial like the surgeon with a methodology. One might argue by analogy that the judge collects the relevant data with a clear mind and applies the relevant tools according to the need. If the brain surgeon is not trained and equipped to conduct heart surgery, one would hope he denies the request to operate and calls his colleague! So too with the judge. Impartiality, after all, is necessary for a judge to be just.

Indeed, this cleanly depicts how Judge Jackson describes her own three-step judicial methodology in more detail:

  1. Remain neutral: to proceed “without fear or favor.” Before approaching any case, she clears her head of biases and prejudices.
  2. Evaluate the data: to receive all of the appropriate inputs for the case (e.g., hearings, factual records, etc.)
  3. Apply the law: to exercise the “Interpretation and application of the law to the facts in the case, and this is where I am really observing the constraints on my judicial authority.”

Regarding this last step, she may look at her jurisdiction to see if it is her place to hear the case. Like the surgeon who coolly evaluates cases and responses, one might think Judge Jackson’s methodology is sufficient for her role as a judge.

However, the surgical analogy fails on precisely the points it should help. On the one hand, it is questionable that both the surgeon and judge may coolly evaluate data. Does not collection of data require an evaluation of the case’s salient features? It would seem so, though perhaps this is a common problem. If so, it would be what I like to call a ‘work hazard’ for simply engaging in this activity and thus not uniquely problematic to this particular issue. On the other hand, the respective standards which the surgeon and judge consult and the corpus to which they apply these decisions are different. For the Constitution is not self-interpreting and is far from clear at many points. For example, whose right is it to bear arms? Moreover, the application is also an issue. For example, does the prohibition of ‘cruel and unusual’ punishment preclude the death penalty today? Both of these issues of interpretation and application require values to guide the judge.

To illuminate how a judge might offer different sentences based on different judicial philosophies, consider two prominent philosophies:

Originalism: Interpreting the legal text(s) according to the words and original context, most prominently the original author’s meaning and public understanding of the text.

Prudentialism (also known as pragmatism): Interpreting the legal text(s) according to the respective values and interests at play at the time of the case (Justice Breyer, whom Judge Jackson is to replace, exercised this methodology).

Based on the philosophy, one will have different answers to the above questions. According to originalism, “cruel and unusual” punishment might not preclude the death penalty. In other words, this could lead a judge be open to giving a sentence of the death penalty. Based on prudentialism, “cruel and unusual” may very well preclude the death penalty. Individuals’ sensibilities of what counts as cruel may differ from the original authors (e.g. are there really any “humane” methods of executing a human?) In other words, this could lead a judge to avoid such a sentencing. Indeed, based on the sharp decrease in numbers of executions since ‘99, there is good reason to think that sentimentality has shifted for what classifies as “cruel.”

I would suggest, then, that a judge not only ought to have a judicial philosophy but is required to have a judicial philosophy. A judge ought to have a judicial philosophy because it is both an obligation of the role and prudent to make explicit one’s values and interpretive methodology. A judge is required to have a judicial philosophy if only out of operational necessity. The Constitution and law must be interpreted and applied, and to take a stance on ‘no judicial philosophy’ is perhaps to take a stance on a nascent philosophy.

We could, of course, attempt to deduce Judge Jackson’s judicial philosophy. Some have pursued this route – she clearly maintains that “adherence to text is a constraint on my authority. I’m trying to figure out what those words mean as they were intended by the people who wrote them.” While such comments as this may be indicative of an originalist position, I find it more helpful to see how Judge Jackson’s minimal position is prudent and not unprecedented.

Judicial philosophies can unnecessarily be understood to signal a political philosophy. If offered in this forum, her position could very well be misunderstood and utilized to characterize her in different ways. This would not be unlikely, given some of the grandstanding and loaded questions from many senators. And Judge Jackson was admirably keen to avoid these issues and “stay in her lane.” So, regardless of whether a candidate is obliged to inform the committee or public of her position, it seems to be cautious in some respects.

Such a brief response is also not unprecedented. Consider, for example, Justice Sotomayor’s opening statement for her hearing before the Judicial Committee. When describing her judicial philosophy, Sotomayor stated that it’s

Simple: fidelity to the law. The task of a judge is not to make law, it is to apply the law. And it is clear, I believe, that my record in two courts reflects my rigorous commitment to interpreting the Constitution according to its terms, interpreting statutes according to their terms and Congress’ intent, and hewing faithfully to precedents established by the Supreme Court and by my Circuit Court.

Justice Sonya Sotomayor

It could very well be that this is a stock and trade answer for such a forum. Moreover, it is an intentionally minimal answer and thus, a cautious maneuver.

For all the prudence and precedence, however, the point stands: a judicial philosophy is distinct from methodology, and the former is necessary for a judge. While a judicial philosophy is perhaps part of a judicial methodology, it will not be the whole parcel.

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Gun Control and Constitutional Interpretation

photograph of gavel resting on Bill of Rights

Since the beginning of 2021, there have been 133 mass shootings in the United States. While some of these shootings find their roots in racism, misogyny, and xenophobia, they are also the result of the relatively easy access to firearms in the United States. Many Americans might attribute this prevalence of guns to the right guaranteed in the United States Constitution, enunciated in the Second Amendment’s phrase “the right of the people to keep and bear Arms.” However, the application of the Second Amendment as affording the individual liberty of gun ownership is a modern, highly disputed, doctrine in constitutional law. Two contemporary landmark cases, District of Columbia v Heller (2008) and McDonald v City of Chicago (2010) fundamentally altered the power of state and federal governments to regulate gun ownership by recognizing an individual right to own and keep firearms. These cases were highly divisive, included multiple dissenting opinions, and were decided by bare, 5-4 majorities. However, the majority and minority in both cases relied a type of constitutional interpretation called originalism to bolster their conclusions. The difference, however, lies in the majority’s use of original meaning and the minority’s use of original intent.

How were the different forms of originalism employed in both cases? What are the moral pitfalls of either type of originalist interpretation? And is relying on the ideas or desires of the Founders an ethical basis on which to decide cases?

In District of Columbia v Heller (2008), several individuals, including members of lobbying groups like the National Rifle Association and the Cato Institute, challenged the constitutionality of a D.C. law which imposed several restrictions on gun ownership, including the regulation that rifles and shotguns be kept “unloaded and disassembled or bound by trigger lock.” In an opinion written by Justice Antonin Scalia, the Supreme Court held that the Second Amendment granted individual citizens the right to keep and bear arms for the purpose of self-defense. Though the Court had previously defined the scope of the Second Amendment in United States v Miller (1939), the widely-accepted application of the Second Amendment in constitutional law was that the right to bear arms only applied to ownership of weapons in the context of use in an organized militia. For this reason, many decisions involving individual gun ownership in the 20th century refused to acknowledge that the Second Amendment bestowed an individual right which restricted states or the federal government from regulation.

The little room that was left open for gun regulation after District of Columbia v Heller was quickly closed two years later in McDonald v City of Chicago (2010). The majority opinion, this time penned by Justice Alito, held that Chicago’s regulation which essentially prevented firearm registration and ownership was a violation of rights bestowed to individuals by the Constitution. This case was significant because it granted individuals broad legal protection from gun regulation. Many constitutional scholars and theorists view both Heller and McDonald as landmark Supreme Court decisions which fundamentally altered the legal conception of the Second Amendment.

Originalism is a form of constitutional interpretation which understands the Constitution in terms of what it originally meant when it was written, the original intent of the Framers, or both. One consideration, which applies to both original meaning and original intent interpretation is the reliance on the ideas and intentions of people long-dead and gone when deciding what rules should govern society. Nobody alive today had a hand in writing the original Constitution. Sometimes known as the “dead hand problem,” a moral and philosophical paradox arises when considering whether one can consent to a government, they had no hand in designing.

Fundamental to the reasoning employed in both Heller and McDonald was originalist meaning. Proponents of original meaning generally argue that it ultimately benefits society by limiting the discretion given to judges. By limiting the power of judges to use their own authority to decide what the Constitution says (or should say), originalism might be said to prevent an unequal application of the law and to leave political battles to the legislature where it can be more democratically controlled.

Those critical of originalism, however, might see it as giving far too much weight to the language, culture, and politics of a long-gone society and see it as detrimentally rigid and inapplicable to a rapidly changing society. Upholding the original meaning of the Constitution might also force one to condone immoral provisions, such as those enabling slavery or only bestowing rights upon certain groups of people. While originalism might safeguard certain moral values present in the Constitution it also prevents moral correction. For example, in the case of gun reform, even if the original meaning of the Constitution was meant to bestow individual gun rights, perhaps this liberty should be reexamined in the face of advanced technology and the prevalence of gun violence.

Turning not to the original meaning but instead to the original intentions of the Framers is another strategy used in originalist constitutional interpretation. In their dissents in Heller, both Justice Stevens and Justice Breyer point to historical evidence which implies that the Second Amendment was intended only to apply to militias and was not conceived to apply to individual self-defense. Originalism which focuses on the intentions of the Framers in terms of gun rights has also been a popular method among gun reform advocates, and late night comedy hosts, who point out that firearm capabilities at the time of ratification were vastly different than firearm capabilities today. While many gun regulation advocates might agree with the application of the Framers’ intention in this instance, the pitfall of applying such an interpretive strategy includes reckoning with some of the potentially immoral intentions present in certain provisions of the Constitution. Article I, Section 9 of the Constitution condoned slavery, and experts have contended that the Framers did not intend for certain Constitutional rights, like the right to vote, to extend to poor men, women, or BIPOC folks.

Another potential problem with considering the intention is that the Founders were arguably themselves immoral. More than a few of the Founders owned slaves, and though some expressed moral grief over this fact, their decision to subjugate human beings is entirely reprehensible. Even relativist arguments which defend the Founders and advocate for original intent, might fail on the basis that the point is exactly that we have changed as a society and should not be turning to the dead for guidance in solving society’s most pressing legal problems.

Since Heller, the rate of gun deaths in the United States have increased 17%. The United States is the one of the leading countries in the world when it comes to firearms death, and there is a clear political, cultural, and moral interest in reexamining the individual right to gun ownership. If one’s goal is to regulate firearms, the most effective form of constitutional interpretation to do so might very well lie outside of originalism altogether. However, it is important to recognize how originalist application has greatly influenced gun control in the United States. By understanding the moral quandaries that belie the forms of modern constitutional interpretation applied to firearms cases, we can better understand which types of arguments best support the gun regulation we seek.

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Gorsuch, Textualism, and The Magic Lamp

Detail of the SCOTUS building that reads "equal justice under law"

If you’re wondering how a conservative justice could have sided with the liberal side of the Supreme Court and rule that the 1964 Civil Rights Act protects homosexuals and transgender persons from workplace discrimination, the best analogy to think of is when a genie from a magic lamp interprets your words so literally that you get something completely opposite of what you want. 

Neil Gorsuch, like his predecessor Antonin Scalia, is an avowed textualist–someone who thinks that we ought to interpret federal laws based on what they literally seem to say and what those literal statements logically entail. They disavow the idea that we should look to what authors of the law intended (or would have done had they foreseen the consequences of the law they’ve written). They are staunchly opposed to the tendency toward judicial activism or legislating from the bench. Instead, they are adamant that the courts should not be engines of social change, and believe that this temperance is necessary to preserve our system of checks and balances. Given the fact that judges aren’t directly accountable to the people, they believe that if the law needs to change, the legislature should be the body to enact that change. The duty of a judge, then, is simply to ensure that the laws are faithfully discharged in a manner consistent to the way they were enacted.

In this case, the law prohibits discrimination (even in part) based on sex. And in 1964, “sex” was defined in terms of one’s biological makeup at birth. So how does a textualist look at a law from 1964, which defined “sex” in terms of biology, and find a law that protects people based on their sexual orientation or gender identity? 

I asked myself the exact same question, so I looked at Gorsuch’s opinion in Bostock v. Clayton County, GA, and the answer lies in this sentence: “Because discrimination on the basis of homosexuality or transgender status requires an employee to intentionally treat individual employees differently because of their sex, an employer who intentionally penalizes an employee for being homosexual or transgender also violates Title VII.”

Think about it. You can’t label someone as homosexual without reference to their biological sex. A homosexual man is a “biological man” who is oriented toward men. A transgender woman was assigned male at birth but identifies as a woman. Because those identities essentially contain biological sex, if you disciminate against someone based on these identities, then you discriminate against them in part on the basis of their sex (as defined in 1964). 

Now, you might be thinking, “But surely when they wrote the law in 1964, if they could have seen that the consequences of that law (as written) would protect homosexuals and transgender persons, they would have written it differently.” You’re probably right. But you’re also making an argument that is decidedly not textualist.

Justices Alito and Kavanaugh disagreed with Gorsuch’s textualist logic. Alito argued that “Textualists do not read statutes as if they were messages picked up by a powerful radio telescope from a distant and utterly unknown civilization.” Kavanaugh criticized the majority for taking a “literalist” approach rather than a textualist one, suggesting that the majority chose instead to “simply split statutory phrases into their component words, look up each in a dictionary, and then mechanically put them together again.” To the dissent, the majority opinion did indeed usurp legislative power. 

In personal terms, Gorsuch’s majority opinion might not have come as a surprise: he worked as a clerk for former Justice Kennedy, who played a pivotal role in Obergefell v. Hodges, and Gorsuch’s friends have expressed that he’s supported gay friends and attended churches that welcome gay members. 

So perhaps this is why the genie analogy is a propos. Gorsuch is a textualist. He is that genie in the lamp who reads things (and their logical consequences) quite literally, and for some, these readings result in wishes that really do come true.