Populism—the politics of resentment—is generally regarded as a right-wing phenomenon.
Three U.S. states originally had unicameral legislatures, Pennsylvania, Georgia, and Vermont. Unicameralism didn’t last long in those states. Georgia adopted a second chamber in 1789. Pennsylvania in 1790. Vermont held out a bit longer, adding a second chamber to its legislature in 1836. All states subsequently joining the Union, including Nebraska, came into it with bicameral legislatures.
Interest in unicameralism returned, however, with the advent of the Progressive movement but in new ways.
There is a long established convention of referring to the Supreme Court in a given era by the name of its Chief Justice. Thus, we have the Marshall Court, the Warren Court, and the Rehnquist Court. But this name is often a misnomer because the Chief was not the most influential member of his Court. Like all other justices, he always has but one vote. Particularly in the modern era, where political scientists can evaluate judges based on ideological scores, the better name for a Court might that of the swing or median Justice. Under this view, we are living currently in the era of the Kennedy Court.
But probably not for much longer. Justice Anthony Kennedy has announced to prospective clerks that he thinking of retiring. Moreover, as I have previously discussed, with rise of partisanship, justices now have every incentive to retire when both the Presidency and the Senate is under the control of the party whose President appointed them. Otherwise the Court may be left short-handed for an indefinite period and they may be replaced by justices of the opposite party when that alignment finally occurs. Kennedy cannot be confident that the Republicans will control the Senate after 2018.
Assuming that, as is likely, Kennedy is replaced by a justice with views like Neil Gorsuch, the Roberts Court will actually become the Roberts Court in more than name, because the Chief Justice will also become the median justice.
Recently, Laura Donahue, a professor at Georgetown Law and an expert on digital privacy, came to the Originalism Center at the University of San Diego to talk about her recent article, “The Original Fourth Amendment.” The article is a long one, nearly 150 pages long in a law journal, and it covers the development of search and seizure law through English, Colonial and American history. One of the messages that comes across is the familiar one that the Americans were Whigs, who took one strand of English thought that was protective of liberty, and wrote it into the Constitution.
Constitutions are naturally conserving documents. Their purpose is to say what a society cannot change, or at least cannot change readily. In constitutive moments, polities lash themselves like Odysseus to the mast, not the pilot’s seat.
This is lost on those political commentators, ascendant during the NFL’s anthem controversy, who seek to press the language of the Constitution’s Preamble into the service of Progressivism. We are talking about Progressivism with a capital “P”— the strain that believes in unrelenting progress as the inherent good of man and the inevitable trajectory of events. The phrase in question is an old rhetorical favorite: the Preamble’s quest for “a more perfect union.”
Richard Thaler deserves the Nobel Memorial Prize in economics. But media treatments of Thaler’s work, and of behavioral economics more generally, suggest that it provides a much-deserved comeuppance to conventional microeconomics. Well . . . Not quite.
[T]he future of Europe rests in renewed loyalty to our best traditions, not a spurious universalism demanding forgetfulness and self-repudiation. Europe did not begin with the Enlightenment. Our beloved home will not be fulfilled with the European Union. The real Europe is, and always will be, a community of nations at once insular, sometimes fiercely so, and yet united by a spiritual legacy that, together, we debate, develop, share—and love.
-The Paris Statement, October 7th, 2017
Europe is “reaching a dead-end,” warn the signatories of the Paris Statement. Entitled “A Europe We Can Believe In” this Statement by prominent academics and writers from across Europe (Roger Scruton, Remi Brague, Ryszard Legutko, Chantal Delsol, among others) says that Europe’s great civilizational inheritance has been dissipated and buried by ideological distortion and deception. Beyond hand-wringing, the Paris Statement evokes the manifold beauty of the European mind and spirit. The reclamation of Europe must engage its full cultural, political, and spiritual dimensions. Europe might be headed to nowhere, but the signatories provide an affirmation of Europe that should serve as a lodestar for efforts to revive its flagging fortunes.
A friend of mine, an academic researcher in what at least 99.9 per cent of the population would find an arcane area of human knowledge, recently brought to my attention the form he was obliged to sign in order for a particular learned journal (owned by a publishing conglomerate) to agree to publish a review article that he had written.
It was an extraordinary form, six pages long, and so one-sided in the contractual obligations it imposed, or tried to impose, that I wondered whether any court would enforce it.
It is not surprising that Left-liberals are calling for more government power to regulate and break up information technology companies, particularly when, like Franklin Foer, they worked in industries disrupted by those companies. But it is disheartening to find that the some on the Right are joining the interventionist chorus. To be sure, Silicon Valley leans left on everything but government regulation. It is not clear that this exception is just hypocrisy driven by self-interest or reflects the general political truth that people tend to be most conservative on matters on which they are most knowledgeable. But the Right should be grateful that Silicon Valley, unlike Hollywood and the mainstream media, is an ally on one issue.
Arguments that antitrust rules should be changed to apply to dominant tech firms and not just firms engaged in “monopolization”—the term actually used in the Sherman Act—would both weaken our economy and, even worse, allow government to harass firms based on a vague and manipulable standard. Even beyond the statutory language, there are very good reasons that the law requires the government, before it can apply sanctions, to show both that a firm exercises monopoly power and engages in exclusionary conduct unjustified by a substantial business practice.
First, the desire for a monopoly is not itself a bad thing.