Originalism, Derrida, and the Urgent Need for an ‘Applied Humanities’ in Our Courts and Beyond
- Eric Anders
- Feb 14
- 18 min read
By Eric W. Anders, Ph.D., Psy.D.
Introduction: The Irony of Originalism as a Supposed Bulwark
In a recent New York Times op-ed (February 10, 2025)—"This Supreme Court Philosophy Could Constrain Trump: A federal judge on the legal theory that is often at odds with an authoritarian view of governmental power,"—David French argues that originalism, the judicial philosophy of interpreting the Constitution by reference to its text as understood at the time of its ratification, can serve as a powerful bulwark against creeping authoritarian impulses in American governance. On the surface, French’s argument appears perfectly reasonable: a philosophy that tethers judicial decisions to the Constitution’s original meaning, understood in good faith, could serve as a constraint upon a populist demagogue who otherwise seeks to circumvent the rule of law.
Yet if we look more closely, a deep irony emerges. On the one hand, originalism could indeed offer a limiting principle on raw power if it were coupled with genuine intellectual rigor, a nuanced approach to history, and an ethical sensitivity to contemporary injustices. On the other hand, the actual practice of originalism—especially as championed by the Federalist Society—has itself become an insidious and central contributor to the very crisis it claims to avert (see this from The New Yorker connecting originalism, the Federalist Society, and the overturning of Roe v. Wade).
Instead of rigorously defending constitutional democracy, many self-styled originalists have embraced a simplistic and historically shallow notion of textual interpretation, one that inevitably undercuts the rich complexity of legal analysis. This is not a minor quirk or accidental misapplication of an otherwise sound theory; rather, it reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of the humanities. Originalism often attracts those with the weakest backgrounds in the humanities, providing a sense of certainty while fostering an environment that shields authoritarian attitudes rather than challenging them.
Originalism as a Naive Theory of Textual Analysis
To appreciate the full extent of originalism’s corrosive potential, we must consider the simplistic way in which it often treats textual meaning. Many originalists seem to believe that we can pin down a singular, univocal “founding intention” or “public meaning” that remains stable across centuries—disregarding context, linguistic evolution, and ethical imperatives emerging from historical change. This approach opens the door to what we might call intellectual incoherence: it claims an absolute historical grounding while simultaneously conceding that modern exigencies necessitate adjustments, expansions, or reinterpretations.
Judge Jeffrey S. Sutton, prominently featured by David French in the New York Times piece, exemplifies this contradiction. On one hand, he insists that “fixed” meanings are the foundation of constitutional legitimacy; on the other, he concedes that both these meanings and the law itself somehow “evolve.” In practice, this often results in a contradictory stance where judges claim to be bound by the “original” understanding of the Constitution while ignoring the historical, cultural, and linguistic contexts that have shaped its meaning over time. They act as if constitutional interpretation can occur in an 18th- or 19th-century vacuum, disregarding the complexities of language, legal evolution, and historical change. Worse still, some judges manufacture a fantasy version of “original” understanding—weaponizing selective, anachronistic sources to justify regressive rulings. Alito’s reliance on 18th-century quacks to overturn Roe v. Wade is a glaring example: not an honest engagement with history but a cynical misuse of it, designed to strip away rights under the pretense of fidelity to the past. The irony, of course, is that even the Founders—who proclaimed self-evident rights while limiting them to white men—understood that law must adapt to new realities. It is questionable if the Founders themselves were originalists, or if they believed in what we now call a "living" Constitution.
A sophisticated philosophy of language—drawing from disciplines like literary theory, hermeneutics, philosophy, and intellectual history—would never treat texts as though they contain a single, stable kernel of meaning just waiting to be extracted by the right interpretive technique. Unfortunately, many Federalist Society originalists exhibit only a surface-level engagement with these fields. They fixate on so-called “plain meaning” or “original public meaning,” thereby ignoring entire centuries of debate on how meaning is formed, contested, and constantly renegotiated within social and linguistic contexts.
At its core, the problem with originalism is not just its flawed application but its fundamentally mistaken understanding of how meaning works. It treats constitutional interpretation as a static retrieval of historical intent rather than an evolving engagement with language, context, and ethical responsibility. The result is often deeply authoritarian rulings that mask their rigidity behind the rhetoric of “tradition” (as exemplified by Alito’s leaked opinion and then Dobbs—a strikingly shallow, intellectually inconsistent, and poorly reasoned argument that would have earned a failing grade in any reputable law school if submitted as a first-year paper). By claiming fidelity to the Founders’ vision, these judges bypass the interpretive complexities—and moral responsibilities—involved in applying 200-year-old provisions to a modern, pluralistic society. In doing so, they reduce law to a mechanical exercise, as if meaning were frozen in time, rather than a living, historically situated practice that must be continually reexamined in light of justice.
Reading Derrida and the Challenge of Justice à Venir
To find a more robust way forward—a genuinely “applied humanities” approach to constitutional interpretation—we might revisit the insights of philosopher Jacques Derrida. In his essay “Force of Law: The ‘Mystical Foundation of Authority’” (1990), Derrida explores the concept of justice à venir—or justice that is always “to come.” Unlike originalist theories that purport to possess a final, fixed meaning from the past, Derrida insists that justice cannot be fully captured by any single interpretive schema. As he puts it, “Justice remains, is yet, to come, à venir... the very dimension of events irreducibly to come” (Force of Law, 27).
Derrida’s stance rejects the notion that any legal or philosophical position can be complete or absolute in its capture of “justice.” Rather than proposing a chaotic, anything-goes relativism—the common critique of Derrida by many, even scholars, who have either not read him or read him poorly—Derrida’s approach calls for ongoing vigilance: the never-ending work of re-reading, re-evaluating, and re-interpreting texts in light of present circumstances and future needs. Far from a recipe for anarchy, this is an ethical demand—an insistence that we remain open to the possibility that our current understanding might be incomplete or ethically insufficient.
By contrast, originalism’s claim to a final or definitive meaning chokes off the future-oriented dimension that Derrida believes is essential to justice. The result is a jurisprudence at odds with the fluid and evolving nature of human societies. Instead of responding to lived realities, it clings to a nostalgic ideal of Founding-Era “Truth,” neglecting the ethical call that modern crises—racial injustice, climate change, digital privacy—demand from us.
Sutton’s Confusion Over “Fixed” Meanings is Almost Universal
In the NYT piece, Justice Jeffrey Sutton’s confusion about how “fixed” meanings evolve is a case in point. His insistence that meaning is only valid if it remains permanently anchored in a singular, unchanging truth reveals a nearly universal cognitive reflex—a compulsive need to assert that Truth must be capital-T Truth rather than a contingent, historically situated small-t truth. This tic is particularly visible in religious circles, where the demand for absolute certainty often overrides interpretive flexibility. But as Derrida has shown, this impulse is far more widespread, shaping legal, philosophical, and political thought in ways that obscure the complexity of meaning.
Nietzsche and many other great philosophers have demonstrated that we run into trouble when we impose our longing for absolute certainty onto a universe that offers only shifting, contextual truths. The drive to fix meaning in finality blinds us to the fluid, interpretive nature of reality, where truth is always provisional, shaped by history, and in flux. Sutton might have developed a more nuanced understanding of this had he received a stronger foundation in the humanities during his education. In his defense, such courses may not have been readily available—not only because of the chronic underfunding of the humanities, which long preceded the current wave of reactionary attacks on higher education, but also because many humanities courses themselves still operate within a framework of capital-T truth. Too often, they present fixed, canonical interpretations rather than embracing the very interpretive openness and historical awareness that the humanities, at their best, should cultivate.
Today, figures like Ron DeSantis are accelerating this intellectual impoverishment, systematically stripping universities—including my own doctoral alma mater, the University of Florida—of their critical edge and reshaping them to reflect their own ideological rigidity. Under this model, complexity is flattened, nuance is sacrificed to dogma, and the very habits of thought essential for meaningful legal and political reasoning are eroded. The result is precisely the kind of inflexible, mechanistic thinking that Sutton exemplifies—a jurisprudence that conflates rigidity with clarity and, in doing so, undermines the very principles of interpretation and justice it purports to uphold.
Theological Parallels: Humility in the Search for “Capital-T Truth”
Even the most rigorous theological scholars understand that seeking a capital-T Truth—an absolute, fixed understanding of God, scripture, or doctrine—is a futile endeavor, one that collapses under the weight of historical, linguistic, and philosophical complexity. Rather than pretending to possess divine certainty, many theologians acknowledge that ultimate truth, if it exists at all, belongs only to the God they contemplate, not to human interpretation. Figures like Paul Tillich, Karl Barth, and even medieval thinkers such as Thomas Aquinas recognized that human knowledge is inherently limited, that faith is not about mastering a final, uncontested reality but about engaging with mystery.
This is why theology, at its best, is not dogmatic but hermeneutic—an ongoing process of interpretation rather than a final, settled destination. In this sense, theology shares something with agnosticism—not as a posture of doubt, but as an expression of humility before what remains unknowable. As thinkers from Kierkegaard to Derrida have argued, demanding absolute certainty in matters of faith is to mistake human finitude for divine omniscience, confusing the limits of language and thought with the limits of reality itself. Few contemporary theologians navigate this tension as thoughtfully as James K. A. Smith of Calvin University, whose work exemplifies a theology that resists rigid doctrinal closure in favor of an open, interpretive engagement with tradition, culture, and the mystery of belief. In fact, his book on Derrida, Jacques Derrida: Live Theory, is one of the best this Derrida scholar has ever read.
The most thoughtful theologians recognize this distinction, while those who insist on an unchanging, singular religious truth often fall into the very idolatry they claim to reject—elevating human interpretation to the level of the divine, as if their reading of scripture were indistinguishable from the voice of God. Ironically, this is perilously close to a precise definition of blasphemy. Seen in this light, theological traditions that embrace interpretive openness reflect the same ethical responsibility and humility that Derrida advocates in legal interpretation—an acknowledgment that meaning is never final and that interpretation carries an ongoing obligation to justice and truth. By humbly acknowledging that no human language can fully contain the “divine,” theologians offer a powerful parallel for judges who must grapple with legal texts: a recognition that the quest for absolute, fixed meaning can quickly become an exercise in self-delusion, or worse, an unwitting pursuit of authoritarian control.
When we consider this theological humility alongside debates about constitutional interpretation, it becomes evident that clinging to a singular, unchanging legal truth mirrors the same pitfalls that dogmatic religion has confronted for centuries. Both risk conflating human interpretations with ultimate reality—whether that “ultimate reality” is labeled God or the Founders’ will. In either scenario, a more fruitful approach acknowledges the ongoing need for re-interpretation, ethical discernment, and responsible adaptation to changing contexts. This does not mean discarding tradition or revelation, whether religious or constitutional. Rather, it means recognizing that both must be interpreted and remain open to new insights—just as scripture is continually re-evaluated in light of evolving understanding, so too must legal and political traditions be engaged with critically, rather than treated as static and unquestionable truths.
Language, Law, and Ethical Responsibility
The issues raised above are not merely academic concerns. Language, law, and meaning do not function as sealed, unchanging systems. As Derrida argues, justice is not an immutable artifact but an ongoing ethical obligation—one that demands engagement with the uncertainties, contradictions, and historical shifts that shape our political and legal realities. Insisting that constitutional meaning is forever “fixed” is not an act of respect for the law; it is a refusal to recognize the extent to which social contexts evolve and moral insights must evolve over time.
We also see the ethical dimension of this interpretive work in the philosophies of Emmanuel Levinas, who stresses that our obligation to the Other precedes legal formalities. Reading constitutional provisions on equality, due process, or freedom of speech demands more than a mechanical recitation of 18th-century definitions. It calls for a moral engagement that acknowledges our responsibility to those who are marginalized, disenfranchised, or otherwise vulnerable under current power structures.
When judges insist that we cannot deviate from a Founding-era interpretation, they may be masking a reluctance to confront the moral implications of our present moment. In doing so, they abdicate their responsibility to address injustice as it manifests here and now. This “moral abdication,” as I would term it, is often rationalized as “fidelity to the Constitution,” but in practice, it serves to entrench discriminatory or oppressive outcomes that the drafters themselves could not have foreseen—or worse, would have explicitly endorsed. After all, an uncompromising commitment to the so-called “original meaning” requires acknowledging that the Constitution, as written, not only accommodated but justified slavery. Yet few originalists are willing to say outright that their method requires deference to that particular historical reality. Instead, they selectively claim to preserve the Founders’ intent while quietly disavowing the parts that no longer serve contemporary political legitimacy. This inconsistency reveals that originalism is less about genuine historical fidelity than about using the past as a tool for ideological convenience.
HistCon, the Ethics of Interpretation, and the Importance of “Applied Humanities”
My experience with UC Santa Cruz’s History of Consciousness (HistCon) program offers a compelling model for how the humanities—when practiced in their most radical and rigorous form—can inform legal thought. HistCon rejects the idea that meaning is static or self-evident, emphasizing instead that interpretation is always an act of power. Drawing from thinkers like Michel Foucault, the program highlights how historical, social, and political forces shape what is considered knowledge, truth, and legitimacy. Foucault’s Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (1975) and The Archaeology of Knowledge (1969) are particularly crucial in understanding how power operates through discourse, constructing and regulating the boundaries of what is accepted as truth within legal, political, and institutional frameworks. Meaning is not something waiting to be discovered; it is something that is continually produced and contested. This perspective stands in direct opposition to originalism, which treats legal meaning as if it were fixed at the moment of a text’s drafting, ignoring the evolving power structures that determine how that text is interpreted and applied.
Yet HistCon is an exception, not the norm. When practiced in their fullest and most rigorous form, the humanities are inherently subversive. They challenge authority, unsettle fixed meanings, and reveal the ideological scaffolding that upholds dominant narratives. This is precisely why those in power so often defund the humanities—or, when they do fund them, work to render them as non-threatening as possible by sidelining the more disruptive traditions championed by HistCon: deconstruction, feminism, Critical Race Theory, postcolonial studies, Women’s and Gender Studies, Marxism, psychoanalysis, and other frameworks that expose the entanglements of knowledge and power. By marginalizing these critical perspectives, they attempt to neutralize the humanities' capacity to question systems of oppression and disrupt received wisdom.
Across the country, reactionary forces have reshaped humanities programs into safe, uncritical spaces—reducing them to either sanitized surveys of “great books” stripped of their radical implications or instrumentalized career-training disciplines designed to serve market needs. What is increasingly rare is the kind of humanities practiced at HistCon: a humanities that interrogates power, resists ideological complacency, and refuses the comfort of simplistic narratives. Instead, the broader academy has been gutted by austerity, disciplined into compliance with capitalist priorities, and subjected to increasing ideological policing—all in service of ensuring that the humanities, if they survive at all, do so as a hollowed-out shadow of what they could and should be.
Nowhere is this dynamic clearer than in the absurd debates over Critical Race Theory (CRT), which reactionaries have turned into a culture-war boogeyman. CRT is not a radical ideology—it is simply an acknowledgment that legal and political systems are shaped by the historical realities of racial power. To teach CRT in law or history courses is to teach history in a responsible way: to recognize, for instance, that the U.S. Constitution was drafted in a way that justified slavery, even as it spoke the language of equality. To acknowledge that the country’s founding contradictions have produced lasting racial disparities is not a matter of ideology; it is a matter of intellectual honesty. Yet the hysteria around CRT has successfully rebranded responsible historical inquiry as an existential threat. The result? Legislators across the country have banned the teaching of racial history under the guise of protecting “American values,” a move that is itself a reactionary attempt to dictate what is taught and what is forgotten.
This erasure of history has real consequences. We are a nation that claims to be founded on principles of equality, yet we have once again allowed a white supremacist to occupy the Oval Office. The refusal to confront systemic racism—past and present—is not just an academic failure; it is a moral one. When we strip humanities education of its critical function, when we defund programs that teach students to think historically, we create a citizenry that is unable to recognize or resist authoritarian impulses. This is why the struggle for a robust, politically engaged humanities is not just an academic issue—it is a democratic imperative. HistCon models what the humanities should be: a discipline that not only interprets the world but challenges the power structures that shape it. If we had more humanities programs like it, we might have a legal system less susceptible to the naïve textual fundamentalism of originalism, a judiciary more willing to engage with historical and ethical complexity, and a political culture more capable of reckoning with its own contradictions.
A Society Shaped by Interpretation: Why The Undecidable Unconscious Matters
This was a central motivation behind The Undecidable Unconscious: A Journal of Deconstruction and Psychoanalysis (Nebraska, 2014-2021), the journal I founded and co-edited. It was committed to bridging the best of humanities scholarship with clinical practice and the ethics of care—an ethics that not only considers the well-being of the individual but also engages with the broader societal conditions that shape health and suffering. The core premise is that interpretation is not just an academic exercise—it is an ethical responsibility, one that should inform how we engage with individual and societal crises.
When the humanities are marginalized or stripped of complexity, the void is filled by rigid dogmas, whether in law, politics, or healthcare. We see this in the reactionary efforts of figures like Ron DeSantis, who actively work to erode the critical capacities that a robust humanities education fosters (DeSantis was right to target the Univesity of Florida, which produced this "applied humanities" scholar focus on ethics and thinking other-wise). The consequences are profound: an impoverished public discourse, a weakened democracy, and institutions incapable of addressing emerging challenges, from systemic racism to the ethical dilemmas posed by AI.
Nowhere is this clearer than in the intersections of AI and mental health. AI models, already shaping judicial decision-making, educational policy, and healthcare administration, operate through statistical predictions that flatten nuance, erasing the complexities of subjectivity, context, and care. Just as originalism reduces legal meaning to a fixed historical interpretation, AI systems risk codifying existing power structures under the guise of neutrality. If left unexamined, they will not only reflect but reinforce biases in healthcare, law, and governance—replicating injustices under the illusion of objectivity.
This is why a humanities-driven ethics of care is essential. Rather than allowing AI to channel human values down authoritarian paths—just as the internet and social media did in 2016 and 2024—we must interrogate its underlying assumptions, ensuring that technology serves people rather than disciplining them into rigid categories. The Undecidable Unconscious sought to create a space where these urgent questions could be explored with the depth and rigor they demand, advocating for an interpretive framework that resists dogmatism, embraces uncertainty, and foregrounds the ethical imperatives of justice and care.
For more on my ethics of care and AI, see my blog, "The Ethics of Cyborgian Care." For more on these topics from other sources see the following:
"Americans Are Trapped in an Algorithmic Cage" – The Atlantic (February 2025): This article discusses the control tech companies and their leaders have over public perception and reality in the United States, drawing comparisons to past governmental manipulations. It examines how figures like Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, and Elon Musk have shaped information dissemination, influencing political agendas and potentially trapping Americans in a cycle of misinformation.
"Can Democracy Survive the Disruptive Power of AI?" – Carnegie Endowment for International Peace (December 2024): This piece explores how AI models enable malicious actors to manipulate information and disrupt electoral processes, posing significant threats to democracies. It emphasizes the need for comprehensive approaches combining technical solutions and societal efforts to address these challenges.
"Authoritarianism Has Been Reinvented for the Digital Age" – Centre for International Governance Innovation (June 2021): This article analyzes how authoritarian regimes utilize digital tools to silence dissent, both domestically and internationally. It highlights the transnational nature of modern authoritarianism, facilitated by digital threats, coercion, and spyware, making suppression more subtle and far-reaching.
"Social Media, Authoritarianism, and the World As It Is" – Law and Political Economy Project (April 2024): This essay delves into the implications of U.S. control over social media platforms, expressing concerns about free speech and expression. It discusses how these platforms can become tools for authoritarianism by shaping political narratives and suppressing dissenting voices.
"The Artificial State" – The New Yorker (November 2024): This piece examines the evolution of automation in American politics, discussing how data-driven political campaigns and algorithmic control have led to a polarized and mistrustful electorate. It critiques the replacement of genuine democratic engagement with automated, corporate-dominated digital communications infrastructure.
Originalism’s Authoritarian Impulses
It’s crucial to emphasize that originalism’s problems are not merely a matter of “bad faith.” Even sincere originalists who genuinely want to “defend the Constitution” can fall into authoritarian logic if they refuse to acknowledge the complexities of interpretation. Hiding behind a purportedly stable, “objective” historical meaning is often a strategic move that short-circuits democratic debate. It also conveniently sidelines ethical questions that arise from modern contexts—such as systemic racism, LGBTQ+ rights, technological surveillance, or reproductive freedoms—where the Founders had little if any direct insight.
Indeed, such naive originalism can serve as an ideal vehicle for authoritarian abuse. With its aura of historical legitimacy, it can cloak deeply regressive policies or rulings in the language of “respect for tradition.” As a result, it undercuts genuine democratic engagement and moral reasoning, leaving citizens feeling that the Constitution is an inscrutable relic rather than a living framework that belongs to them.
For more critiques of originalism that point out its potential vehicle for authoritarianism:
"Worse Than Nothing: The Dangerous Fallacy of Originalism" by Erwin Chemerinsky (2022)
Chemerinsky argues that originalism is not only impractical but also dangerous, as it can be used to justify regressive decisions that threaten modern understandings of rights and liberties.
"Originalism Run Amok at the Supreme Court" by the Brennan Center for Justice (2022)
This article critiques the Supreme Court's application of originalism in recent rulings, suggesting that it serves as a facade for enacting radical changes that may undermine individual rights.
"Originalism Was Impossible" by The Atlantic (2024)
This piece discusses the historical impracticality of originalism, highlighting how early American lawyers lacked the resources to interpret the Constitution's original meaning, thereby questioning the feasibility and intent behind originalist approaches.
"Originalism for Liberals" by Cass Sunstein (University of Chicago)
Sunstein examines the limitations of originalism, arguing that it often fails to account for the need for interpretive discretion and can lead to the rejection of well-established constitutional principles.
"Originalism Run Amok at the Supreme Court" by the Brennan Center for Justice (2022)
This article critiques the Supreme Court's application of originalism in recent rulings, suggesting that it serves as a facade for enacting radical changes that may undermine individual rights.
Toward a Judiciary That Thinks Other-wise
By contrast, a judiciary informed by the best of the humanities would recognize that textual interpretation requires constant dialogue between past and present. Rather than seeing law as a static code transmitted from the Founders, such a judiciary would see it as the combined ethical inheritance of our shared political community. Far from devolving into an “anything goes” living constitutionalism, this approach would bring the Founders’ insights into critical conversation with modern ethical demands—allowing the legal system to evolve responsibly, rather than merely reactively.
Such a judiciary would also adopt a hermeneutics of suspicion, aware that hidden biases, historical omissions, and power imbalances often lurk behind claims to original “truth.” Inspired by thinkers like Derrida, Levinas, Foucault, Lacan, Freud, Marx, and Nietzsche, judges could cultivate a more profound humility about the interpretive process—remaining vigilant against the flattening of complexity or the moral short-circuiting that arises from authoritarian populism.
(See my blog posts, "Unpacking the Trump Cult: Psychoanalysis, the Authoritarian Personality, and the Humanities," "Thinking Other-Wise: A Genealogy of Radical Inquiry and the Ethics of Encounter" and "The Hermeneutics of Suspicion: A Framework for My Intellectual and Creative Projects.")
Conclusion: The Real Barrier Against Authoritarianism
David French is correct in one crucial respect: a consistent, ethically rich interpretive framework does have the potential to restrain a would-be strongman like Donald Trump. But such an approach will not emanate from the thin soil of Federalist-Society–style originalism, which far too often eschews the deep insights that the humanities can provide. Originalism, as currently practiced, masks itself as a defense of the Constitution while actively enabling authoritarian misuses and abuses of it.
To build a lasting barrier against authoritarianism, we must cultivate an “applied humanities” paradigm—one that integrates Derrida’s concept of justice à venir, Levinas’s ethical responsibility to the Other, Foucault’s analysis of power and his genealogical approach to the history of knowledge, and a deep historical consciousness into how we interpret and apply the Constitution. This approach does not presume that the text ever had a fixed grounding—original or otherwise—but recognizes that meaning is never static, whether in the past, present, or future. Instead, meaning emerges through ongoing moral and social negotiation, shaped by historical contingencies and the interpretive responsibilities of the present. Only by embracing this dynamic, ethically engaged mode of interpretation can we ensure that the law remains a living instrument of justice rather than a tool of oppression.
Had the Federalist Society and law schools worldwide fostered a deeper engagement with these humanities traditions, our judiciary might stand more firmly in defense of democracy and fundamental human rights—such as the right to make decisions about our own bodies. We might see fewer rulings that disregard modern ethical imperatives or erode public trust in the court’s integrity. Indeed, the Supreme Court’s current crisis of legitimacy—marked by opaque rulings, ethical scandals, and the selective invocation of “tradition”—could have been mitigated had the bench embraced a more profound interpretive responsibility rather than clinging to the illusion of “fixed” historical truths.
It is not too late to forge a better path. By integrating philosophy, literary theory, and intellectual history into legal education alongside constitutional law, we can cultivate judges and legal scholars who are better equipped to navigate the evolving challenges of a vibrant democracy. This is the essence of my call for a robust “applied humanities” approach—one that bridges the deepest insights of the humanities with real-world practice across law, mental healthcare, education, theology, public policy, business management, and beyond. In doing so, we uphold not only the letter but the spirit of the Constitution, honoring our responsibility to future generations and to the ever-unfolding concept of justice that, as Derrida reminds us, is always to come.
Commenti