Anyway, one of the opinions was of course by Justice Blackmun. Here's how it opened:
Cases such as these provide for me an excruciating agony of the spirit. I yield to no one in the depth of my distaste, antipathy, and, indeed, abhorrence, for the death penalty, with all its aspects of physical distress and fear and of moral judgment exercised by finite minds. That distaste is buttressed by a belief that capital punishment serves no useful purpose that can be demonstrated. For me, it violates childhood’s training and life’s experiences, and is not compatible with the philosophical convictions I have been able to develop. It is antagonistic to any sense of “reverence for life.”This was a dissenting opinion. Because, Blackmun says, his sentiments against the death penalty are purely those that should characterize legislative or perhaps executive decision-making, not the judicial disposition of cases. A little later on he says that:
To reverse the judgments in these cases is, of course, the easy choice. It is easier to strike the balance in favor of life and against death.The implication is that, while it would be easy, it would not be correct, and it would not be correct because this is not a decision for judges to make. This is a pretty common trope, employed perhaps most often by Justice Felix Frankfurter, although Blackmun's opinion is unusual in a way. The typical Frankfurter line is that "whatever we may think of the merits of this policy," it is not unconstitutional and therefore the judiciary is powerless to stop it. Blackmun, on the other hand, tells us in no uncertain terms what he thinks of the policy; he goes into considerable depth about how it is contrary to all of his deepest values. Blackmun closed by saying that:
Although personally I may rejoice at the Court’s result, I find it difficult to accept or to justify as a matter of history, of law, or of constitutional pronouncement. I fear the Court has overstepped. It has sought and has achieved an end.Of course, some several decades later Blackmun famously declared that he would "no longer tinker with the machinery of death." That is to say, he had become convinced not that capital punishment was inherently unconstitutional but that it could not be imposed through a system that was anything other than arbitrary and capricious, contrary to the Constitution's requirements.
There's a lesson in that, I think. From his childhood through his retirement from the Court and his death, Harry Blackmun felt nothing but revulsion toward the death penalty. When he joined the Court, he felt however compelled to ignore his own moral impulses and instead apply "the law," operating of course under the assumption that those were two disjoint categories. Justice Blackmun would not do the "easy" thing and strike down those laws he found so morally repugnant; no, he would follow the law. But the older, wiser Justice Blackmun eventually became convinced that the "hard" thing simply could not be done lawfully. He never took the position Justice Brennan forcefully (and, in my opinion, masterfully) espoused in Furman, that death was an inherently unconstitutional punishment. Rather he realized that judicial attempts to craft a system of procedural safeguards that would cabin the evils of the punishment, to "tinker with the machinery of death," were futile, that the system could never be good enough. That was the voice of experience, not naive idealism. It was rather naive when he once thought that such tinkering was worthwhile, that we could in fact build a good enough machine of death.* Experience taught him to follow his heart.
Yes, it is easy to strike the balance in favor of life and against death. There's a reason for that, and it's not just that it's the right thing to do, morally speaking (though it does follow from this basic fact). It's because a wrongful decision striking down these laws would have been no worse than any other decision wrongly denying legislative authority to the American people on some purported constitutional grounds, while a wrongful decision upholding them would have been far worse than any other decision wrongly permitting to them such legislative power, for it would have led the American government to kill people, human beings in its custody, in violation of the Constitution--perhaps the worst legal atrocity imaginable. Therefore, had I been in Blackmun's situation, I would not have voted to uphold the death penalty unless I was absolutely convinced that there was no possible legitimate constitutional argument for striking them down. This is ultimately the key point of Philip Bobbitt's theory of constitutional law: that the law is ultimately indeterminate, that there are different ways of making valid legal arguments and that these modalities can conflict, and that this is an acceptable, nay, indispensable part of our legal system because it allows us to choose. And that choice, between different possible legitimate ways of resolving a case, cannot help but be a place where conscience enters the legal system. For Bobbitt, this is the whole point.
In 1972, Harry Blackmun thought he didn't have a choice--or rather, he thought he had one choice that was easy and another one that was correct. But, fortunately, we live in a constitutional system that does make some room for conscience and for moral choice. And when we make those moral choices, when we follow our conscience in choosing between two visions of the law, of course those choices will feel easy. It should always feel easier to follow conscience than to disregard it. But just because it is easy doesn't mean it isn't also right.
Just ask Justice Blackmun.
*No, not that kind.
