Yesterday evening my husband and I lucked out and got in to hear Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas speaking at Grove City College, Grove City, PA. Because we hadn’t thought to reserve a spot in the auditorium beforehand like we were supposed to, we were ushered below the auditorium into a dark room featuring a screen and a live video feed. So it was like watching a megachurch pastor give a sermon (just kidding).
It was well worth the little inconvenience of not being in the same room with the Justice, though.
Instead of hearing a lecture on law (though we would’ve been stoked if it had been, honestly), we heard US Court of Appeals Judge Alice Batchelder engaging Justice Thomas in a personal conversation before the audience. Drawing from his memoir, she asked him about things like growing up with his grandfather, his views on young people today, and of course, his originalist view of the Constitution.
Justice Thomas was relaxed, sitting back in a wingbacked chair opposite Judge Batchelder, occasionally leaning his chin on his hand, speaking quietly, thoughtfully, and (mostly) seriously.
Two things struck me hard about the Justice. First was his humble, almost casual attitude. Here was one of the most powerful men in the nation (though incidentally, the Founders never intended the justices to be so powerful). And yet Justice Thomas acted not like a demigod, but like a human being. He even insisted at one point that he and the other justices were simply flawed humans, and that the American people should properly view them that way.
At other points he poked mild fun at Judge Batchelder’s questions. For example, the judge asked him if he had read any of the “contumely” written about him. (At that moment I wrinkled my brow, registering that “contumely” was lurking somewhere back in the vaults of my tenth grade vocabulary book memories.) I paraphrase:
“Contumely?” he joked. “I don’t read any of that contumely stuff.”
The judge scrambled, fearing that he was laughing at her rather obscure word choice. “I mean do you read any of the bad things written about you,” she revised.
By now the justice was laughing wickedly and heartily, a belly laugh so full that everyone couldn’t help laughing along. “No, I don’t read any of that stuff. I wouldn’t even know who those people who write that stuff are, if you told me their names.”
Earlier he had brushed off a negative New York Times editorial Judge Batchelder had mentioned. “I don’t pay attention to the newspapers,” he insisted. “I just interpret the Constitution. I’m not in Washington to push an agenda or make certain outcomes happen. I just interpret law by the founding principles in the Constitution.”
This was the second thing that struck me: Justice Thomas was not political in the classical polarizing sense. As he spoke, it came through clearly that he was a conservative, but he was not a politician by any stretch.
He told stories about his grandfather, who had worked his way out of poverty by sheer determination. As the Justice spoke, his grandfather’s conservative principles of hard work and lack of self-pity shone through, speaking for themselves.
We caught glimpses of his grandfather’s perspective on the Great Society and welfare in the black community. “Boy, there’s somethin’ not right about puttin’ po’ people on top of po’ people,” his grandfather had commented to him in the 1960’s, when he and his grandfather were visiting relatives in the Bronx and had seen their first government project high rises, brand-new at the time.
By sharing these anecdotes, Justice Thomas grounded conservative principles in a context—in his and his grandfather’s own histories—and consequently really made these principles look attractive and wise.
“You get up when life knocks you down, instead of sitting there crying about it,” sums up the Justice’s attitude toward life, learned from his grandfather. “Be honest with yourself and with other people. We’re all so afraid to tell the truth anymore. We should stand up for our principles and not lose heart when other people hate us for it. Weathering this criticism makes us stronger. The principles are worth fighting for.”
It was grandfatherly advice. But who could deny the proof that the principles worked—evident in Justice Thomas himself? His own story—his working his way up from a rebellious dropout in 1968 to a Supreme Court Justice, his losing his faith and then regaining it, his losing any sense of principles to gaining a strong set of conservative principles—this story was proof.
“Everyone is telling young people today, ‘You can conquer the world.’ I say there is no way you can conquer the world,” said Justice Thomas. “You’re going to have enough trouble conquering yourself. Once you do that, then maybe you can conquer the world.”
It was a once-in-a-lifetime night.
