Wednesday’s hearings offered more of the kabuki theater we have come to expect from Supreme Court confirmation hearings. Senate Republicans tried to elicit evidence she would be a doctrinaire liberal on the court, with little success. Peppered with questions on topics from Habeas Corpus and the Commerce Clause to gun rights and gay marriage, Kagan refused to show her hand.

Jeffrey Rosen, however, has what seems to be a very different view, that “[f]ar from turning into a ‘vapid and hollow charade,’ to use Elena Kagan’s now-famous condemnation of other Supreme Court confirmation hearings, her own have been impressively substantive.

Kagan, of course, did refuse to answer any questions regarding how she would rule in pending or future cases. As a lawyer, I would expect nothing else. No responsible legal mind would prejudge a case before allowing the lawyers for the parties to the case present their evidence and arguments to the court. Only law professors think legal questions can and ought to be decided based on the possible circumstances and arguments they can imagine without input from people whose lives will genuinely be affected by the decisions.

As Rosen points out, Kagan was asked about and did answer that she considered certain matters that existing precedent ignores important, no small thing. Thus, for example, Kagan was asked whether the decision in New York Times v. Sullivan, which insulates from liability false statements about public figures unless they are made with knowledge of their falsity, is sufficient in an age of social media and blogging. Kagan first graciously stated that “I think people should be able to write anything they want about me, and I don’t think that I should be able to sue them for libel” (again, no small thing), but then acknowledged that the legal system does have to recognize the reality of harm posed by current media:

Even as we understand the absolute necessity for a kind of New York Times versus Sullivan sort of rule and for protection of speakers from libel suits, defamation suits, even as we understand that, we should also appreciate that people who did nothing to ask for trouble, who didn’t put themselves into the public sphere can be greatly harmed when something goes around the Internet and everybody believes something false about a person. That’s a real harm. And the legal system should not pretend that it’s not.

As a lawyer I respect the nuances she displayed on issues pertaining to gay rights, though it’s plain to me too that people with fixed views on these matters would like her to share their fixed views.

After I have had a bit of time to review the transcript of the hearings, I hope to include my own evaluation of her performance.

The new technologies for copying and disseminating information have of course thrown our legal system into confusion over copyright. Those technologies also are having a profound impact over notions of confidentiality and privacy. Wikileaks is of course in the news in connection with its disclosures of U.S. military secrets, including its release of an Apache helicopter attack in Iraq.

The efforts of a British court to deal with Wikileaks illustrate the difficulties courts often have in applying legal rules that grow out of an era already long past to the new world. Wikileaks’ released of documents from Barclays Bank detailing Barclays’ efforts to use offshore affiliates to evade taxes in Great Britain. A judge ordered the Guardian newspaper, which had published the documents, to take the material down because, he reasoned, the bank had a right to confidentiality.” He also ordered the Guardian not to publish links or other directions for finding the documents on the internet even though they were widely available on sites not based in Great Britain.

As Alan Rusbridger, the editor of the Guardian, explains, the disconnect between the court’s view of confidentiality and the realities of the internet expose a certain degree of absurdity:

The Internet is throwing sharp relief to the illogical nature of our system. Technology is way ahead of the law, and the law is limping along trying to make sense of it.

Professor James Edelman of Oxford believes the court order in connection with the Barclays documents might be the last example of this particular type of confusion, particularly because Barclays may realize that its legal efforts, even if “successful” in getting an order barring publication in the U.K., only serve to publicize the existence of the documents the bank is trying to keep hidden:

“What is significant about the ruling,” he said, “is that it will open people’s eyes that even if you can get an injunction to preserve information that is able to be obtained over the Internet, I suspect that the injunction won’t last.” The publicity over the injunction creates more interest in the material, leading other sites to publish it. The Guardian will be able to return to court, he said, and argue the injunction no longer serves any purpose.

Mr. Rusbridger said that the newspaper still had not decided whether to do that. The cost for being wrong, he said, could be as much $300,000 in legal fees.

Seeming to prove Professor Edelman’s larger point, however, when Wikileaks became overloaded by the traffic about a week ago, another site, techcrunch.org, published the seven memos under the heading “How Barclays Ensured That Everyone Would See Their Confidential Tax Documents.”

The entire speech is worth reading for anyone interested in a high-level lesson in constitutional analysis given in clear, straightforward prose. I will try here to touch on a few of its highlights.

First, Souter points out that many of the Constitution’ guarantees are phrased in such open-ended language that they necessarily will require a large degree of interpretive work to determine their application to new facts in new times: ‘The Constitution has a good share of deliberately open-ended guarantees, like rights to due process of law, equal protection of the law, and freedom from unreasonable searches.” He contrasts these provisions to provisions that provide bright lines that make decision easy — provisions such as the requirement that Senators be 30 years old.

But, as he makes clear, pointing out that determining, for example, whether a given governmental action satisfies the requirement of “due process” “hardly scratches the surface” of constitutional judging. First, provisions may be clear and yet any consideration of their real implications makes obvious that they cannot be applied literally. Second, as I’ve pointed out before (in discussing why “empathy” plays a far greater part in judging than implied those who would suggest empathy is merely soft-heartedness), determining which facts are more or less significant makes all the difference in the world of a judge:

The reasons that constitutional judging is not a mere combination of fair reading and simple facts extend way beyond the recognition that constitutions have to have a lot of general language in order to be useful over long stretches of time. Another reason is that the Constitution contains values that may well exist in tension with each other, not in harmony. Yet another reason is that the facts that determine whether a constitutional provision applies may be very different from facts like a person’s age or the amount of the grocery bill; constitutional facts may require judges to understand the meaning that the facts may bear before the judges can figure out what to make of them.

To make these points, Souter uses two examples. The first was the Pentagon Papers case, in which the “New York Times and the Washington Post had each obtained copies of classified documents prepared and compiled by government officials responsible for conducting the Vietnam War. The newspapers intended to publish some of those documents, and the government sought a court order forbidding the publication.” While the Court ruled that the newspapers had the right under the First Amendment to publish the Pentagon Papers, it did not do so on the simple basis that the First Amendment provides that “Congress shall make no law … abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press.” (emphasis added.) Instead, the Court adopted the interpretation advanced by Irwin Griswold, who responded to the suggestion by Justice Black that the case was a simple one of applying the rule that “no law” means “no law” with the argument that it was not so simple:

Now Mr. Justice, your construction of that is well-known, and I certainly respect it. You say that no law means no law, and that should be obvious. I can only say, Mr. Justice, that to me it is equally obvious that “no law” does not mean “no law,” and I would seek to persuade the Court that that is true.

Thus, the [C]ourt’s majority decided only that the government had not met a high burden of showing facts that could justify a prior restraint, and particular members of the court spoke of examples that might have turned the case around, to go the other way. Threatened publication of something like the D-Day invasion plans could have been enjoined; Justice Brennan mentioned a publication that would risk a nuclear holocaust in peacetime.”

How can it be that “no law” does not mean “no law”? Isn’t that kind of “interpretation” exactly the kind of thing that gives judges a bad name? As Souter makes clear, it is nothing of the sort; it’s the reason we consider judging an activity requiring the utmost in wisdom, intelligence, and experience. The First Amendment guarantee of freedom of the press cannot possibly be absolute because the Constitution provides for a plethora of other individual rights and governmental obligations, no one of which is entirely consistent with the other. As the examples above illustrate, we also have to account for the constitutional authority of the President to provide for national security . As anyone who has considered matters of individual liberty at any depth know, individual liberty is often necessarily at odds with equality. Yet the Constitution guarantees both individual liberty and equality. As Souter explains, an interpretation based on merely believing “no law” in the First Amendment means “no law”

fails because the Constitution has to be read as a whole, and when it is, other values crop up in potential conflict with an unfettered right to publish, the value of security for the nation and the value of the president’s authority in matters foreign and military. The explicit terms of the Constitution, in other words, can create a conflict of approved values, and the explicit terms of the Constitution do not resolve that conflict when it arises. The guarantee of the right to publish is unconditional in its terms, and in its terms the power of the government to govern is plenary. A choice may have to be made, not because language is vague but because the Constitution embodies the desire of the American people, like most people, to have things both ways. We want order and security, and we want liberty. And we want not only liberty but equality as well. These paired desires of ours can clash, and when they do a court is forced to choose between them, between one constitutional good and another one. The court has to decide which of our approved desires has the better claim, right here, right now, and a court has to do more than read fairly when it makes this kind of choice. And choices like the ones that the justices envisioned in the Papers case make up much of what we call law.

Souter’s second example is The Supreme Court’s decision in 1954 in Brown v. Board of Education, in which the Court unanimously held that racial segregation in public schools imposed violated the Constitution’s guarantee of equal protection of the law. As Souter explains, “Brown ended the era of separate-but-equal, whose paradigm was the decision in 1896 of the case called Plessy v. Ferguson, where the Supreme Court had held it was no violation of the equal protection guarantee to require black people to ride in a separate railroad car that was physically equal to the car for whites.”

Souter, significantly, thinks that best explanation for the differences in the results between Plessy and Brown is an explanation that is forbidden to those who would believe the Constitution means now what it did in 1789 and must always mean what it meant in 1789: “the difference between the cases is the dates they were decided.”

How can this be so? It is because the significance of facts differ from judge to judge, and, of course, the significance of facts differs over time. What seemed equal treatment of the races in 1896 — when the contrast was to the recent legality of slavery — no longer seemed equal in 1954, and it would be folly to suggest otherwise:

[T]he generation in power in 1954 looked at enforced separation without the revolting background of slavery to make it look unexceptional by contrast. As a consequence, the judges of 1954 found a meaning in segregating the races by law that the majority of their predecessors in 1896 did not see. That meaning is not captured by descriptions of physically identical schools or physically identical railroad cars. The meaning of facts arises elsewhere, and its judicial perception turns on the experience of the judges, and on their ability to think from a point of view different from their own. Meaning comes from the capacity to see what is not in some simple, objective sense there on the printed page. And when the judges in 1954 read the record of enforced segregation it carried only one possible meaning: It expressed a judgment of inherent inferiority on the part of the minority race. The judges who understood the meaning that was apparent in 1954 would have violated their oaths to uphold the Constitution if they had not held the segregation mandate unconstitutional.

As Souter so succinctly puts the matter: “So much for the assumption that facts just lie there waiting for an objective judge to view them.” And so much for the contention by John Roberts that judging is merely a matter of “calling balls and strikes.” As Souter says, such a simplistic view of what judges do “fails to account for what the Constitution actually says, and it fails just as badly to understand what judges have no choice but to do.” “Judges have to choose between the good things that the Constitution approves, and when they do, they have to choose, not on the basis of measurement, but of meaning.”

Most fundamentally, Souter sees the contrast between his view of the Constitution and the view of those who would have it that judging his way means that he is making it up along the way to evade the plain language of the law as the contrast between those who would impose certainty in a world where there is no certainty. Most importantly, Souter believes that, in the face of uncertainty, we fulfill our national aspirations best by applying reason and judgment to the application of the principles that our nation was established to uphold:

Where I suspect [I] differ most fundamentally[from the those who would apply a simple, literal meaning to constitutional language] is in my belief that in an indeterminate world I cannot control, it is still possible to live fully in the trust that a way will be found leading through the uncertain future. And to me, the future of the Constitution as the Framers wrote it can be staked only upon that same trust. If we cannot share every intellectual assumption that formed the minds of those who framed the charter, we can still address the constitutional uncertainties the way they must have envisioned, by relying on reason, by respecting all the words the Framers wrote, by facing facts, and by seeking to understand their meaning for living people.

That is how a judge lives in a state of trust, and I know of no other way to make good on the aspirations that tell us who we are, and who we mean to be, as the people of the United States.

As I explained yesterday at some length, there’s good reason to believe Kagan will be forthcoming in her confirmation hearings about precisely what Gerson states it would “be helpful to know”: “her political, legal, and constitutional views.”

But even more importantly, this view that Kagan has been silent on political, legal, and constitutional issues is pure fiction. SCOTUS Blog, in almost 10,000 words, summarizes her career, and includes links to her legal scholarship. Eugene Volokh, no liberal, writes the following:

Kagan was a working scholar from 1991–95, and then 1999–2003. Between those years, she worked in the Clinton Administration; after those years, she was dean at Harvard Law School, a position that these days leaves its holder with very little time to do serious scholarship. In those eight years, she wrote or cowrote four major articles (linked to here), Presidential Administration (Harv. L. Rev. 2001), Chevron’s Nondelegation Doctrine (Harv. L. Rev. 2001, cowritten with David Barron), Private Speech, Public Purpose: The Role of Governmental Motive in First Amendment Doctrine (U. Chi. L. Rev. 1996), The Changing Faces of First Amendment Neutrality: R.A.V. v. St. Paul, Rust v. Sullivan, and the Problem of Content-Based Underinclusion (Sup. Ct. Rev. 1993). She also wrote three shorter but still substantial pieces, When a Speech Code Is a Speech Code: The Stanford Policy and the Theory of Incidental Restraints (U.C. Davis. L. Rev. 1996), Confirmation Messes, Old and New (U. Chi. L. Rev. 1995), and Regulation of Hate Speech and Pornography After R.A.V. (U. Chi. L. Rev. 1993).

Quantitatively, this is quite good output for eight years as a working scholar. It looks a lot smaller if one looks at her career from 1991 to 2009, when she was appointed Solicitor General — but for the reasons I mentioned above, that’s not the right way to look at it.

Moreover, two of her articles have been judged to be quite important by her colleagues. Presidential Administration has been cited 305 times in law journal articles (according to a search of Westlaw’s JLR database) — an extraordinarily high number of citations for any article, especially one that is less than 10 years old. In fact, a HeinOnline list of all articles with more than 100 citations, run in August 2009, reports that her article was at the time the 6th most-cited law review article of all the articles published since 2000. Many legal scholars, even ones working in the relatively high-citation fields of constitutional law and administrative law, have never and will never write an article that is so much cited.

Chevron’s Nondelegation Doctrine has been cited 75 times, a very high number for an article’s first 10 years; I suspect that only a tiny fraction of one percent of all law review articles are cited at such a pace. Private Speech, Public Purpose has been cited 129 times, likewise a very high number. The Changing Faces of First Amendment Neutrality has been cited only 36 times, but that probably stems in large part from the fact that Supreme Court Review articles from that era are not on Westlaw or Lexis (ridiculous, especially for a faculty-edited journal with the Supreme Court Review’s excellent reputation, and likely stemming from a short-sighted non-licensing decision by the University of Chicago Press).

And while some articles might be heavily cited because they fit with academic ideological fashions, I don’t think these would qualify.

Blank slate, my ass.

My favorite part of her writing is her may be her reminiscence of Justice Thurgood Marshall, for whom she clerked. It might be less in the scholarly mode, but it is perhaps as revealing as anything about what she would be like as a judge:

Justice Marshall thought all lawyers (and certainly all judges) should be reminded . . .  that behind law there are stories-stories of people’s lives as shaped by law, stories of people’s lives as might be changed by law. Justice Marshall had little use for law as abstraction, divorced from social reality (he muttered under his breath for days about Judge Bork’s remark that he wished to serve on the Court because the experience would be “an intellectual feast”); his stories kept us focused on law as a source of human well-being.

That this focus made the Justice no less a “lawyer’s lawyer” should be obvious; indeed, I think, quite the opposite. I knew, of course, before I became his clerk that Justice Marshall had been the most important-and probably the greatest-lawyer of the twentieth century. I knew that he had shaped the strategy that led to Brown v. Board of Education and other landmark civil rights cases; that he had achieved great renown (indeed, legendary status) as a trial lawyer; that he had won twenty-nine of the thirty-two cases he argued before the Supreme Court. But in my year of clerking, I think I saw what had made him great. Even at the age of eighty, his mind was active and acute, and he was an almost instant study.

Above all, though, he had the great lawyer’s talent (a talent many judges do not possess) for pinpointing a case’s critical fact or core issue. That trait, I think, resulted from his understanding of the pragmatic-of the way in which law worked in practice as well as on the books, of the way in which law acted on people’s lives. If a clerk wished for a year of spinning ever more refined (and ever less plausible) law-school hypotheticals, she might wish for a clerkship other than Justice Marshall’s. If she thought it more important for a Justice to understand what was truly going on in a case and to respond to those realities, she belonged in Justice Marshall’s chambers.

None of this meant that notions of equity governed Justice Marshall’s vote in every case; indeed, he could become quite the formalist at times. During the Term I clerked, the Court heard argument in Torres v. Oakland Scavenger Co. There, a number of Hispanic employees had brought suit alleging employment discrimination. The district court dismissed the suit, and the employees’ lawyer filed a notice of appeal. The lawyer’s secretary, however, inadvertently omitted the name of one plaintiff from the notice. The question for the Court was whether the appellate court had jurisdiction over the party whose name had been omitted; on this question rode the continued existence of the employee’s discrimination claim. My co-clerks and I pleaded with Justice Marshall to vote (as Justice Brennan eventually did) that the appellate court could exercise jurisdiction. Justice Marshall refused. As always when he disagreed with us, he pointed to the framed judicial commission hanging on his office wall and asked whose name was on it. (Whenever we told Justice Marshall that he “had to” dosomething-join an opinion, say-the Justice would look at us coldly and announce: “There are only two things I have to do-stay black and die.”

A smarter group of clerks might have learned to avoid this unfortunate grammatical construction.) The Justice referred in our conversation to his own years of trying civil rights claims. All you could hope for, he remarked, was that a court didn’t rule against you for illegitimate reasons; you couldn’t hope, and you had no right to expect, that a court would bend the rules in your favor. Indeed, the Justice continued, it was the very existence of rules-along with the judiciary’s felt obligation to adhere to them-that best protected unpopular parties. Contrary to some conservative critiques, Justice Marshall believed devoutly-believed in a near mystical sense-in the rule of law. He had no trouble writing the Torres opinion.

Elena Kagan, For Justice Marshall, 71 Texas L. Rev. 1125, 1127-28 (1993).

I bring this up because of how refreshing I find Elena Kagan’s views on the confirmation process. Ever since the rejection of Robert Bork’s nomination by Ronald Reagan, right wingers have defined the verb “to bork” to refer “to the way Democrats savaged Ronald Reagan’s nominee, the Appeals Court judge Robert H. Bork.” As a result, nominees since Bork have been careful to the point of absurdity to avoid revealing their views on their judicial philosophy or on particular judicial precedent.

But can anyone seriously believe that John Roberts would vote to uphold Roe v. Wade despite insisting, in connection with questions about it, on his respect for precedent? In advance of the Court’s decision in Citizen’s United, Jeffery Rosen wrote in the New York Times that Roberts could “support a narrow, restrained campaign finance decision that Republicans and Democrats can embrace, or he can hand down a broad, activist decision that turns our political system upside down.” Rosen expected the former because “when . . . Roberts became chief justice of the United States, he said that he hoped to emulate the modesty and unanimity of his greatest predecessor, John Marshall.”

We now know Roberts was lying.

It is worth keeping in mind, therefore, that  when he was nominated to the Supreme Court, Robert Bork

[P]romised to keep an open mind on the issue of abortion and the right to privacy. Liberal and moderate Democratic and Republican senators did not believe him, and they were right not to. Bork, after he resigned from the federal bench, admitted that he believed Roe v. Wade was wrongly decided and all but explicitly said that had he been on the Supreme Court he would have provided the fifth vote to overturn Roe v. Wade.

Sheldon Goldman, Judicial Confirmation Wars: Ideology and the Battle for the Federal Courts, 39 U. Rich. L. Rev. 871 (2004-2005), citing Robert H. Bork, Coercing Virtue: The Worldwide Rule of Judges at 71 (2003).

It’s worth noting Bork’s precise language in Coercing Virtue regarding Roe v. Wade and a later decision upholding it, Planned Parenthood v. Casey:

It is mind-boggling that citizens were admonished that accept Roe because they”must respect the “rule of law.” Both Roe and Casey are, in fact, crass violations of the rule of law; they are not rooted in any conceivable interpretation of the Constitution, and have nothing to do with “constitutional terms.”

This from the guy who said, in sworn testimony during his confirmation hearings, that he had an “open mind” about the constitutional basis for a right to privacy.

Why was Robert Bork rejected as a nominee to the Supreme Court? It was because his judicial philosophy was so out of tune with what the country expected of a Supreme Court judge in 1987 that the Senate deemed him unacceptable. We could not accept as a Supreme Court judge someone who at the time it mattered — when Congress was considering the legislation — opposed the Civil Rights Acts. We could not accept someone who once wrote passionately that the First Amendment protection of free speech did not extend to art and literature. As reported in 1987:

In 1963 and 1964, as a 36-year-old law professor, Mr. Bork wrote impassioned attacks on legislation to desegregate lunch counters and other public accommodations. He argued that the bill, by invading the liberty of proprietors to turn away blacks, was based on ”a principle of unsurpassed ugliness.” Not until 1973, when seeking Senate confirmation as Solicitor General, did he publicly renounce this view, stated with such unsurpassed surliness.

Even in his latest appearance he declined to revise his pinched view of civil rights. He has criticized some of the Supreme Court’s landmark civil rights decisions for reasons that vary from case to case. The bottom line, however, is almost always the same – unfavorable to minorities.

Free Speech. Repeatedly over the years, Judge Bork has taken a narrow view of the rights of expression. He declared that only the ”core” value of political speech was immune from government restraint. Not until 1984 did he allow as how art and literature might be protected, and then only because they sometimes relate to politics. His conversion, late, is also limited.

Even this limited liberty, in his view, remains utterly at the mercy of the majority when speech becomes advocacy of illegal action. The Court and the mainstream of public opinion have long tolerated strident dissent, reserving punishment for incitement to imminent lawless action. Judge Bork rejects this tradition. Senator Arlen Specter of Pennsylvania extracted from him a ”commitment” to apply settled law rather than his own view. But even such assurances failed to persuade the Judiciary Committee’s ablest questioner, who has decided to oppose the nomination.

So let’s get over this nonsense that Robert Bork was somehow wronged — Robert Bork was denied appointment to the Supreme Court because his judicial views were too far out of step with what the U.S. had come to expect from its Constitution in connection with protection against racial prejudice and restrictions on expression.

What does this have to do with Elena Kagan? Kagan believes that the Senate should explore a nominee’s views, that the confirmation hearings should not continue to be what they have been since the days of Robert Bork — silly, ritual dances that permit the likes of John Roberts to evade completely straight answers to questions that are of central importance to the operation of the Court. As Kagan has written:

The Bork hearings presented to the public a serious discussion of the meaning of the Constitution, the role of the Court, and the views of the nominee; that discussion at once educated the public and allowed it to determine whether the nominee would move the Court in the proper direction. Subsequent hearings have presented to the public a vapid and hollow charade, in which repetition of platitudes has replaced discussion of viewpoints and personal anecdotes have supplanted legal analysis. Such hearings serve little educative function, except perhaps to reinforce lessons of cynicism that citizens often glean from government. Neither can such hearings contribute toward an evaluation of the Court and a determination whether the nominee would make it a better or worse institution. A process so empty may seem ever so tidy–muted, polite, and restrained–but all that good order comes at great cost. And what is worse even than the hearings themselves is a necessary condition of them: the evident belief of many senators that serious substantive inquiry of nominees is usually not only inessential, but illegitimate–that their insistent questioning of Judge Bork was justified, if at all, by his overt “radicalism” and that a similar insistence with respect to other nominees, not so obviously “outside the mainstream,” would be improper. This belief is not so often or so clearly stated; but it underlies all that the Judiciary Committee now does with respect to Supreme Court nominations. It is one reason that senators accede to the evasive answers they now have received from five consecutive nominees. It is one reason that senators emphasize, even in posing questions, that they are asking the nominee only about philosophy and not at all about cases–in effect, inviting the nominee to spout legal theory, but to spurn any demonstration of what that theory might mean in practice. It is one reason that senators often act as if their inquiry were a presumption-as if they, mere politicians, have no right to ask a real lawyer (let alone a real judge) about what the law should look like and how it should work. What has happened is that the Senate . . . has let slip the fundamental lesson of the Bork hearings: the essential rightness–the legitimacy and the desirability–of exploring a Supreme Court nominee’s set of constitutional views and commitments.

Elena Kagan, Confirmation Messes, Old and New, 62 U. Chi. L. Rev. 619, 941-942 (footnotes omitted), reviewing Stephen L. Carter, The Confirmation Mess (1994).

So Kagan doesn’t have much of a paper trail. David Brooks therefore writes that she “is a person whose career has dovetailed with the incentives presented by the confirmation system, a system that punishes creativity and rewards caginess.” Consequently, he finds her “kind of disturbing.” It’s almost funny. Brooks wrote when John Roberts was nominated that

I love thee with the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee because this is the way government is supposed to work. President Bush consulted widely, moved beyond the tokenism of identity politics and selected a nominee based on substance, brains, careful judgment and good character.

What inspired this poetic passion from Brooks? According to Brooks, Roberts “is principled and shares the conservative preference for judicial restraint.” And “[a]nybody who is brilliant during Supreme Court grillings, as Roberts is, will be impressive at confirmation hearings.” Finally, Roberts “has shown that character and substance matter most.”

So Kagan — who has put on the record her belief that Supreme Court nominees should address the issues that will come before the Court — is “disturbing,” but Roberts, who lied about being a conservative consensus builder with a deep respect for precedent has “substance, brains, careful judgment and good character.”

Yeah, right. Here’s my suggestion to all those who think Kagan’s a “blank slate” — why don’t you withhold judgment until the confirmation hearings. Let her answer questions, questions she’s on record stating she thinks are legitimate and should be answered. It’s more than we got from John Roberts.