An important civics lesson, well taught

The permanent exhibit in the rotunda of the National Archives in Washington, D.C. includes original copies of the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Constitution’s first ten amendments, the Bill of Rights.

However faded they have become over more than two centuries, these parchment documents continually evoke a sense of wonder. How did men of diverse experiences, sensibilities, political convictions, and religious beliefs manage to work together under the pressure of dramatic events to produce such a ringing affirmation of liberty in 1776—and eleven years later, create the governing architecture for a democratic republic that, despite numerous past challenges and present contentions, continues to guide the public destinies of 340 million people spread over a 3,000-mile wide continental expanse?

There is nothing else like it on this earth. Nothing.

That point was driven home by the unprecedented and enhanced rotunda display that, from September 17 through October 1, included, in addition to the three historic texts just mentioned, the rarely seen “fifth page” of the Constitution (the instructions on how to ratify and implement the draft Constitution, signed by George Washington as president of the Constitutional Convention), and copies of the official texts of the 17 constitutional amendments that followed the Bill of Rights. Tens of thousands of visitors were fortunate enough to experience that comprehensive celebration of American constitutionalism. One hopes they came out onto Pennsylvania Avenue with a new appreciation of how our constitutional system works.

That appreciation would be significantly enhanced if, on return home, each of those visitors read Justice Amy Coney Barrett’s new book, Listening to the Law: Reflections on the Court and the Constitution—and then urged their friends and neighbors to do the same.

Justice Barrett’s book is many things at once.

It is a moving, but never mawkish, reflection on the importance of family, marriage, and place in shaping a life of public consequence.

It’s a brief, readily accessible course in what we used to call “civics,” as the Justice explains why we have a written constitution (the first in history) and what difference that makes; why a brief constitution like ours (less than 8,000 words) is preferable to a prolix tome like Germany’s (over 25,000 words); how the federal system is structured; and why federalism was the answer to the burning question of how to hold the newborn United States together.

It’s a fascinating history lesson, as Justice Barrett leads the reader through several of the Supreme Court’s most contentious cases, explaining why the justices of the day reasoned as they did and how they got it right or wrong.

It’s a primer in the theory and practice of judging known as “originalism,” which shapes the Court’s jurisprudence today by anchoring it to the constitutional text, but that does not deliver pre-baked answers to complex questions of constitutional interpretation.

And it’s a window into the internal dynamics of the governmental institution that is, necessarily, least open to public scrutiny. Justice Barrett lucidly explains how the Court accepts cases and how it decides them, the justices working with their clerks and challenging each other. Readers will also find here heartening stories of how justices who disagree profoundly on contested points of law can nonetheless behave like adults (what we used to call “ladies” and “gentlemen”) toward each other—the part of the book that ought to be required reading across First Street N.E. in the U.S. Capitol which, these days, more often resembles a sandbox of fractious children than a congress of mature, rational legislators.

What I find most impressive in Justice Barrett’s book, however, is not its depth of knowledge or its readability but its tacit display of public service lived vocationally: not as a matter of career enhancement, not as a means of acquiring wealth, and certainly not as performance art.

Which is perhaps why I found it a happy coincidence that, while I was reading Listening to the Law, I also spent an hour or so watching the last half of a great baseball movie, A League of Their Own. As the film reaches its climax, crusty manager Jimmy Dugan (Tom Hanks) explains the metaphysics of baseball to star catcher Dottie Henson (Geena Davis), who’s finding the daily grind of professional baseball too hard. “It’s supposed to be hard,” Dugan/Hanks says with some asperity. “If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.”

The same can be said of judging: it’s hard and it requires sacrifices, which Justice Amy Coney Barrett has had to make. But, as in baseball, the hard is what makes great judges and great public servants great.