Thanks for joining this episode of the No. 86 lecture series, where we discuss classical and modern Jurisprudence. Today’s episode features Joshua Kleinfeld, Professor of Law at Northwestern Pritzker School of Law. Professor Kleinfeld teaches and writes in legal and political philosophy; legislations and statutory interpretation; and criminal law and procedure. As always, the Federalist Society takes no position on particular legal or public policy issues; all expressions of opinion are those of the speaker. Professor Kleinfeld, where do we see philosophical principles in the law? How do these principles work in different types of law - like criminal law or property law? This gets to a distinction that I think is particularly interesting in different ways of doing philosophy of law. Think about philosophy and law. There's sort of different projects associated with that. So what's the best philosophical description of what law is? Just as you might have a philosophy of science, where you try to define science, there's a philosophy of law that tries to define law. And it has sort of leading questions about the definition of law. Like, to what extent is law tied to morality? That has been called, ever since Austin, who coined the term, general jurisprudence. And then there are various other things you might do with philosophy and law. For example, law regularly kicks up philosophical questions, like there are causation issues in law, and so we ask philosophical questions about the nature of causation. Or, there are moral questions in law, like, what is the nature of animus toward a group, or what is the nature of malice in criminal law? Those are philosophical questions, and we can ask them as philosophers. I sometimes think of these different facets of philosophy and law as like a rotating prism. As the prism rotates, it casts light in different ways. So sometimes the prism rotates and it casts light on the nature of law itself. That would be where you find positivism or natural law. Sometimes, it's more like a philosophical movement in American law. That's where you'll find legal realism and critical legal studies. Sometimes, the prism rotates so as to cast its light on a particular department of law. By department of law, I mean a field of law, like you might take a class in. It might be contract law or tort law, criminal law, property law. There are these synthetic, philosophically-oriented, comprehensive theories of what these departments of law are all about, what it is they're supposed to be doing, what are the big ideas that define them? I have always felt that that category of legal philosophy needs a name. And so I've come to call it specific jurisprudence. It's a little bit of a play on Austin's terms, because he distinguished general jurisprudence from what he called particular jurisprudence. General jurisprudence is a theory of law as such, particular jurisprudence is an actual system of law, like British law is British jurisprudence, or American law is American jurisprudence. So he took particular jurisprudence, I couldn't use it. How about specific jurisprudence? Specific jurisprudence is the philosophy of contract law, the philosophy of tort law, the philosophy of criminal law, the philosophy of property law. It's an attempt to give a comprehensive and synthetic account of a particular department of law. So one of the most interesting examples of specific jurisprudence is corrective justice theory in tort law. That is a whole collection of people, indeed, an intellectual tradition, of trying to think about the structure of tort law, the doctrines of tort law and the structure of an accuser who is the victim, and an accused who is the alleged injurer, and a demand for compensation by the accuser to the accused. And the argument is that a certain kind of justice is imminent or embodied or reflected in that form of law, and they call it the corrective justice tradition. So the thought is that the values of corrective justice are somehow, again, it's unclear what we should use as the verb, embedded in, or reflected in, or maybe we should say imminent in, the structures of tort law. So corrective justice theory becomes a theory of a department of law, a theory of tort law. There are competing theories. Civil recourse theory is a competing philosophical account of tort law. In a sense, economics-oriented, efficiency-oriented accounts of tort law are themselves a kind of philosophical account of tort law. They're this attempt to have a comprehensive, synthetic, theory of a department of law. You also see this in criminal law. There are retributive theories of criminal law. There are deterrence-oriented theories of criminal law. These purposes of punishment, these sweeping purposes of punishment, function as synthetic accounts of a department of law, namely the criminal law, criminal system. I've worked on a tradition of thought that I've labeled the reconstructive theory of criminal law. The reconstructive theory of criminal law says that what a crime essentially is, is a tearing of the social fabric, a breach in an existing culture's normative order. And punishment is properly understood or is properly done as an attempt to reconstruct that broken normative order, or re-stitch that torn social fabric. I call that reconstructivism. It's an attempt to do specific jurisprudence. It's an attempt to give a comprehensive account of criminal law. And you can find contract as promise theory in contract law, where Charles Fried originally, and many since, have tried to account for the basic character of contract law, in terms of a liberal society's commitment to the freedom of individuals to bind themselves via promise to one another, and to be free outside of their promising to one another. He tries to associate the concrete institution of contract law, with higher order ideas about a liberal society's commitment to freedom and to what that means for promise. All of these are just examples. I think specific jurisprudence is one of the great frontiers of legal philosophy. It's one that I particularly like, because it includes lawyers to a greater extent than general jurisprudence. I mean, many practicing lawyers encounter these great, sweeping ideas from Austin and Hart and Dworkin and Fuller, about the very nature of law. And they think, "Well, what does this mean for my practice?" I think it does mean something for their practice, but I confess that the relationship is more indirect and obscure than one might wish. But specific jurisprudence is really talking to lawyers and judges about particular enterprises within the law, and trying to work out the logic of that enterprise in a way that makes sense of the experience of being a lawyer practicing in that area. Or, tries to productively revise the experience of being a lawyer in that area. So there's a kind of discourse between philosophers and lawyers, and indeed between philosophy and law itself, that is somehow more close and direct in specific jurisprudence than in other areas. Plus, I just find it fascinating. I just love it. I get more excited about a corrective justice account of tort law, or a promise account of contract law, or a reconstructive account of criminal law, or the rebuttals to all three of those accounts of their respective areas of law, than I do about the general sweeping theories of law as such, so that's just a matter of taste. But I think this is a sort of fascinating area of law to mine. Maybe someone is an IP lawyer, and they're doing intellectual property work, they're doing work on copyright and patents and trademarks, and they are bored. They're bored. They're not enjoying their job anymore. Just maybe, starting to think about what intellectual property law is all about, thinking theoretically about it, can give them some inspiration, make it more clear why what they're doing is valuable. Maybe they come to find one particular account persuasive and others unpersuasive. Maybe they find the account that what we're trying to do here fundamentally is incentives for creative production and technological production, they find that unsatisfying. And they think, "What we're really doing here is protecting the rights of creators. These people put their spirit into their work, and they, in a sort of Lockean sense, they, having mixed something of themselves, their labor, their intelligence with the work, they have a right to the fruits of their labors." And then that idea can give their work meaning. So I guess part of what I'm trying to say is, specific jurisprudence produces ideas, ideas about what areas of law are for, that give your work within that area of law meaning. And that can be a source of satisfaction, as a lawyer. Let’s talk more about that. Philosophy helps people answer questions about what it means to be human, to be a good person, to achieve happiness. What does that process look like for a lawyer or law student specifically? Well, this is one of my favorite aspects of the philosophy of law. That prism that we imagined before, that turns and rotates and casts light in different directions as it turns, sometimes the light is oriented to the law, and you're asking, what is the nature of law? And philosophy is a way of illuminating the nature of law. Sometimes it's turned to a specific area of law, or a specific question within the law. And you're asking, what is the nature of tort law? How does causation work in the law? What I love about that rotating prism is, sometimes it can turn back to you, yourself, and compel you to ask basic philosophical and basic ethical questions about your life in the law. Now, I don't mean legal ethics in the sense of, do you have a conflict of interest? I mean legal ethics in the sense of, is the life of a lawyer a life you can be proud of? If you're a zealous partisan advocate, is that a good life or a bad life? Are you doing more good or harm in the world? And a still further question, even if it is a useful life in some sense, is it a life you can be proud of and happy with? What is it to be a person who's living a life of meaning and a life of flourishing as a lawyer? These are Socratic questions about what it is to live the good life, being directed to the profession of being a lawyer. I think students are rarely asked to answer these sorts of questions. They go to law school and there's sort of an assumption that being a lawyer is a worthwhile thing to be. It's not like in your classes, including your classes on legal ethics, that people are routinely invited to reflect on the nature of the life they're undertaking. But I think a lot of students are actually experiencing sort of crises of confidence in the profession they're taking up. If you're becoming a pediatrician, or any kind of doctor, really, there's this sense in which, "Well, I know this is a worthwhile life. I am helping people. And it may be more or less satisfying, or I might do a better or worse job of it, but I know that at the end of the day, I'm helping people." A lot of lives in the law are more morally ambiguous than that. When I say morally ambiguous, I don't mean bad, but I don't want to call them bad. I mean, genuinely morally ambiguous. It is unclear whether you're doing more harm or good in the world, or what the nature of the good is, and you're unclear about whether it's a life that's ultimately a satisfying one. So I think students are struggling with these questions, and one of the offices that philosophy can perform in law school is allowing... Philosophy has always included a Socratic tradition of asking, with intellectual rigor, questions about the theoretical basis of our own lives. And philosophers can perform in law school that function. They can give students ideas and materials by which to have a thoughtful, rigorous, theoretical or intellectual discussion about the nature of their own lives in law, trying to find a life of meaning in the law. I think that's rare. I think law students are socialized to be relentlessly critical, but almost exclusively of things outside themselves, critical of that policy, that case, that judge, that politician, that party, relentlessly critical of the society. But rarely is that relentlessly critical eye turned toward themselves, and a sort of self-questioning engaged in. But that self-questioning is very important for a person's humility, I would even say spiritual growth, moral decency, even their happiness. So one of the things I love about philosophy is the capacity to ask Socratic questions about a life well-lived in the law. And let me say one more thing about it. When you start asking Socratic questions about a life well-lived in the law, the conversation can get personal and as it gets personal, it can get offensive. Someone is saying, "I'm going to go out and join a law firm and I'm going to be a litigator." And you're saying, "Is that a life you can be proud of?" That's philosophy that really stings. That's not the nature of law and whether it has a necessary or a contingent connection to morality. That's the philosophical questioning of the basis of your own professional life. That's what Socrates did. He went around Athens asking people about the basis of their own life. If he had only asked abstract questions, they wouldn't have wanted to kill him. It's when you go around challenging how people are living their lives that they start getting really upset. But I still think it's a deeply valuable thing to do, and it's something philosophy is uniquely well-positioned to do in the legal setting. Socratic philosophy, philosophy that hurts, can also be a source of clarity and wisdom about the moral basis of your own life, and that can give you confidence that you're doing good in the world. It can also give you a sense of meaning and happiness in the way you're living your life as a lawyer. What about a lawyer's relationship with a client? Does it matter how a lawyer interacts with other people, and whether they do a good job of representing someone? I'd like to start with a famous challenge, a sort of gauntlet thrown down, by a philosopher named David Luban, to the zealous partisan ideal of lawyering. So the zealous partisan ideal is the idea that you have, as an ethical matter as a lawyer, that your role in the world is to pursue all legal means, all means within the boundaries of law and legal ethics, for the benefit of your client. Your client's interests are what matter to you, and you will fight for those interests, provided that in doing so, you're not breaking the law or breaking some quasi-legal ethical rule governing lawyers. Lawyers, David Luban argues, law students are socialized to accept the zealous partisan ideal, but he thinks the socialization is just enabling them to look away from their own failures, and the failures of this ideal. And the consequences of this ideal. So he talks about how, look at virtually any system of moral thought. Kantianism says that we should treat other people as ends in themselves and not as means. But the zealous partisan treats them as means. They are tools in the service of his or her client's interest. They are obstacles in the way of his or her client's interest. The utilitarian says, act so that your action can maximize overall utility. But the zealous partisan isn't trying to maximize overall utility. The zealous partisan is trying to maximize his client's utility. Just think about the Golden Rule, do unto others as you would have them do unto you. But the zealous partisan doesn't value his neighbor's interests as much as his own. He values his client's interests more than anybody else's. Luban also presents a series of concrete examples, of particularly ugly examples, of zealous partisanship, and asks hard questions about them. So he presents the example of Edward Bennett Williams of Williams & Connolly, the famed lawyer defending Richard Helms in a CIA investigation. And what Williams did was, essentially, threaten to expose national security secrets in the course of litigation, unless the prosecutors would back down. And they backed down, because the country's national security interest was more important than prosecuting Richard Helms. And Luban asks whether that sort of extortionate threat can possibly be right. An example that Luban uses that is particularly disturbing and vivid to my mind is the Dalkon Shield litigation. Dalkon Shield was a, I believe it was a contraceptive that had been inadequately tested, and sterilized a lot of women who used it. So it had really frightful and horrible consequences for these women. The lawyers had Dalkon Shield dead to rights. They had produced a bad product that created mass sterilization and damaged a lot of people's lives, and they were going to get sued for a lot of money. So they came up with a strategy. There were other possible sources of sterilization, such as a STD or such as unhygienic practices, and what they'd do is ask plaintiffs humiliating questions in the course of discovery, to see if they could get them to back off their claims. So they'd ask them questions about their personal hygiene, about their sexual history, maybe see if they could expose an affair here or there. And they were successful in getting an awful lot of sterilized women to back off their claims. Or he gave the example of SLAP lawsuits. SLAP lawsuits is an acronym. What it essentially means is, a wealthy institutional party using the threat of lawsuits to intimidate people complaining about their activity. It's most common with corporations and unions. There might be a teachers' union that tries to intimidate parents from complaining about the performance of teachers, because say if a parent makes that complaint, the union will sue them for tortious interference with business relations. Now, that lawsuit has no merit, but it's not designed to have merit. It'll be kicked out of the courtroom right away. But the parent still has to go hire a lawyer and spend a bunch of money defending themselves, and it's scary, and it's expensive, and so they don't bring the claim. Or maybe a real estate developer will be presented with a complaint from local homeowners about the new development. Same strategy, some baseless lawsuit that intimidates them from bringing a complaint. And these examples can be multiplied ad infinitum. So what could possibly justify a lawyer acting as this kind of zealous partisan, fighting for his or her client's interests so hard that you hurt all these other people in society for the sake of your client? Luban concludes that there's no justification for this, except the adversary system. So the value of being a zealous partisan is entirely tied to the virtues and vices, the merits and demerits, of the adversary system. And then he starts asking, sort of makes a transition and starts asking hard questions about the adversary system. Is that something we can defend? Is that something we can stand behind? Well, the first prominent argument in favor of the adversary system is that it is the engine of truth, that when two parties who are professionally responsible for opposing one another confront each other in the courtroom, the truth will out. The clash of parties who disagree with each other will expose the truth. Luban argues that there's no evidence for that, and it's probably false. He says, for example, in science, we celebrate the clash of different ideas, but we don't hire someone to represent a view they personally believe to be false. What you try to do is get people to be educated in the facts, and then genuinely represent their belief. It would actually just be distracting to have someone in the physics department who's hired to deny gravity or electromagnetism or something of that nature, and potentially using specious arguments to that end. Scientific progress comes from the consensus that comes from reasonable people coming to agree with each other on the facts. So he is skeptical of the engine of truth argument. And the next argument he takes up is the idea that the adversary system is the best way of securing clients' legal rights, that if everyone is doing their job, there's an adversary on one side, an equally skilled adversary on the other side, and a judge or jury to neutrally arbitrate their dispute, and their rights get adequately protected. I guess you could see the paradigm of this in criminal justice, where someone is accused of a crime, maybe they committed the crime, but maybe the police abused their rights in some respect in the course of arresting them or interrogating them for the crime, and the defense lawyer's role isn't to deny that the crime took place, or it's probably not plausible to make that argument, but to argue that the police did some unlawful search and seizure. And in so doing, they make sure that people's rights are upheld. Luban is skeptical there, too. He thinks that often, what a zealous partisan lawyer in the adversary system is doing is not defending his or her client's legal rights, but attacking another person's legal rights. He says, "There's no plausible sense in which those Dalkon Shield lawyers were defending Dalkon Shield's legal rights. They were just using the institution of discovery to try to abuse and intimidate other people," likewise with the SLAP lawsuits, likewise with Edward Bennett Williams and Richard Helms. Finally, he takes up the argument that, what one might call the lawyer as friend ideal, the idea that everyone in times of trouble deserves to have one person who will stick by their side, so they can't be scapegoated or persecuted. And he's skeptical there, too. He says, "Many of these clients are actually very powerful, they're not friendless, and they're not really the person in trouble. They're the person putting other people in trouble. They're the person victimizing others." After all these reflections, Luban does not come to the conclusion that we should overthrow the adversary system, but he does think we should temper the zealous partisan ideal. And he thinks that lawyers out in the field, working for firms, and as prosecutors and defense lawyers and all the rest of it, should not engage in extreme or abusive forms of zealous partisanship. They have to be somewhat ethically tempered in the way they go about their job. Well, I don't agree with a lot of Luban's arguments. I think there's more to be said for zealous partisanship, and certainly more to be said for the adversary system than he says about it. What I love about it is the challenge he presents to students, forcing them to think about the very thing they'll be engaged in when they go out into the field. Many of our students will join firms, and many of them will become litigators or do things that are tantamount to litigation. They're representing their client's interest in various ways, and they will fight hard for their clients, and they'll fight in ways that they can only justify by reference to the ideal of zealous partisanship in an adversary system. And he's asking them, he's compelling them, with the force of his arguments, to ask whether that's something they can be proud of. Some students don't want to think about it, but I think it's healthy that they do. After giving your students the tools to think about these questions, how do you advise them to approach the actual practice of law? How does a practicing lawyer find meaning in his or her career? The Socratic tradition of philosophy challenges us to think about how to live a worthwhile and meaningful life. And it challenges us to think about that not only in terms of doing good in the world, but also living a life we can be proud of, living a life of true happiness, a life where we embody certain excellences or certain virtues, and we can have a kind of self-esteem and a kind of happiness that derives from our skillful acquisition of those excellences or virtues. You can ask yourself whether going into law is a pathway to a life of happiness and a life of meaning, and if so, what sort of a life is it? Is it just the paycheck, the six figures; if you're lucky, seven figures, that you might get? Hopefully, there's more to life than that. Especially after you get it, there's got to be more to life than that, or it becomes empty. So what makes the life of a lawyer a life of excellence and pride and self-esteem and a sense of meaning? There's a great book by Tony Kronman called The Lost Lawyer, in which he asks this question and presents an answer. He calls it the lawyer statesman ideal. And the lawyer statesman ideal is an attempt to make sense of a kind of excellence that he thinks is embodied by most characteristically, not exclusively, but most characteristically by lawyers. And it's the excellence of being a person of practical wisdom. What is practical wisdom? Well, it's not just intelligence. It's not just how much raw intellectual horsepower you have, solving logic games or something like that. It's not just technical skill. It's not just how adept you are at manipulating the doctrine of law to secure your clients' ends. It is two things. It is, first of all, the ability to think not just about means, but about ends, not just about how to secure the things you want, but about what sorts of things are worth wanting. So you can think about, oh, imagine two people are going through an ugly divorce, and one spouse, furious at the other, says to the lawyer, "Destroy my ex. I want you to ruin him. Take away custody of the kids. I want custody so that we can tear down this person's whole whatever, whole life." The lawyer of practical wisdom says, "We could do that, but don't be surprised if when your kids grow up, they are totally psychologically damaged by what they've gone through. Re-think what you're asking me to do. Let's think about how you want your life to go and your children's life to go after this divorce is over." And that ability to deliberate wisely about ends, talk clients out of their worst impulses, enable them to see where their real interest lies, is a sort of lawyer excellence associated with practical wisdom. In addition, there's something else which is not intelligence and not technical skill, but is what is traditionally called prudence. That is, it's a sort of worldly sense of how things work in human social life, and how to take risks that are reasonable, avoid risks that are unreasonable, and how generally to navigate complex currents, in order to steer your client or yourself or your firm or your community to the best ends. Part of why Kronman calls this ideal the lawyer statesman ideal is, he says, these are the lawyers who are most distinctively equipped to take leadership positions in the judiciary or in other facets of government, because they are skillful at deliberating about the ends of the community itself, and they are skillful about seeing how to wend their way through the difficult waters of politics, in order to secure the best interests of the community. He associates the lawyer statesman ideal with people like Lincoln and Earl Warren and lesser known figures, but also great figures, like Dean Acheson and Arthur Lyman, who he thinks all displayed this kind of practical wisdom in the course of their careers. So Kronman thinks that the lawyer statesman ideal is something that can give lawyers a justified sense that they're living an excellent kind of life. And he thinks that law has always had the potential to create this kind of person, because law involves people in a diverse array of disputes, of complex human situations, either in reading cases or representing clients or being judges or whatever else. And it forces them to sort of, as he puts it, have multiple sympathies, to sympathetically attach to one person's position and see the world through their eyes, see it from their perspective, but then, to detach from that perspective and see it from another party's perspective. Only by doing that can you effectively figure out what is in your own client's interest or others' interest, what is possible, what the judge is likely to do. So there's this process of arguing for one position, arguing for another position, trying to do it in a sort of full-throated way, with real conviction, and then trying to take the community's point of view, the law's point of view, in order to figure out which way the dispute should go. Kronman is not so naive as to think that this ideal is easily acquired in today's world. So his book is divided into two halves. The first half is called, Ideals, and the second half is called, Realities. We've been talking about the Ideals half of the book. The second half of the book, the Realities, is about why this ideal is slipping away, why there are impersonal forces at work in legal practice that are making it ever-harder to be a lawyer statesman, and to develop the skills of practical wisdom that the lawyer statesman embodies. Some of these forces are market forces. He thinks market pressures at law firms lead to ever more specialization, lead to lawyers who are compelled to work very quickly on many, many different matters, which they have minimal overall control over. He thinks that some of those same forces prevail in courts, where judges become sort of case managers, trying to efficiently process cases, rather than reflective, engaged in acts of deliberative wisdom about each of those cases. Oh, and with respect to law schools, he points out that the imperative of... the sort of close relationship between law professors, legal scholarship, and the university, it brings to the fore antiprudentialist ideals, ideals of originality that might be unsound, or of research productivity that aren't consistent with deliberative wisdom. And he thinks that law schools today cultivate a sort of antiprudentialist scholarly outlook. So he thinks that the ideal of the life of a lawyer statesman, the ideal of practical wisdom, is not impossible to achieve, we can find it in little nooks and crannies in the legal world, but is no longer the organizing ideal of the legal profession as such. It's no longer open to everyone to try to secure that kind of life. What I find most interesting about this is, I find the lawyer statesman life very compelling. But when you start to think about Kronman's defense of a certain kind of life, it becomes easy to see other kinds of life that could embody certain ideals for lawyers. One is the life of a lawyer activist, a crusader lawyer, fighting for his or her conception of justice. This is someone who maybe works for a non-profit, the ACLU, a legal clinic, fighting for a certain conception of justice, right? And their pride comes from the fact that their politics are just, or so they believe, and so insofar as they advance their cause, they believe their life is a well-lived life. They're fighting for their conception of justice. Of course, if their conception of justice is wrong or flawed, then it might be the worst kind of life. It might just be a life in which you use the law because you're extremely ideological, and rather than a warrior for justice, you're actually just an ideologue. And then, of course, there's the lawyer statesman ideal, this ideal of cultivating practical wisdom. And then there's a third ideal, which is the ideal that David Luban was criticizing, the ideal of the Edward Bennett Williams lawyer, who is a zealous partisan on behalf of his clients, and is fighting for his or her client's interest. We could think of fourth and fifth kinds of life, but I think what is most interesting about it is the challenge. Which of these forms of life do I think has the most meaning? Which of these forms of life do I want to take up as my own ideal and my own source of self-esteem? There are some professions where your sense of self-esteem and worth in society are fairly unproblematic. If you're an elementary school teacher, and you're doing a good job of it, you are helping people. If you're a doctor, and you're doing a good job of it, you are helping people. Law, I think, is different from that, not because it's worse, but because it has potential to be worse and potential to be even better. There are lawyers doing remarkable things for the well-being of society, for the well-being of justice. I think it's ridiculous to look at a society with the rule of law and a society without it, and to realize that the rule of law depends on lawyers who are manning the ramparts, and making sure that government and business and individuals relate to one another on a legal basis rather than on the basis of pure power. Anyone who looks at societies, who has just traveled and seen societies that don't have that, know that lawyers are collectively doing something very good in society. At the same time, if you think lawyers can just relax and go to the firm and practice their profession and be assured that their life is a good one, the way they can if they're a doctor who joins a hospital, or a teacher who joins an elementary school, I think that's mistaken, too. I think there are lawyers who are not cultivating any virtues that they can be proud of, or who are not helping people in a way they can be proud of. The basic challenge of being a lawyer, if you're thinking about the Socratic tradition of living an examined life, is to figure out an ideal of lawyering that gives you a sense of justified self-esteem, a sense that you're doing good in the world, and a sense that you're developing, in the course of doing good, a character, a professional character, you can be proud of. So law, more than most other professions, challenges its practitioners to engage in self-examination, because the profession is so fraught with risk, with the potential to live one of the worst kinds of life or one of the best. Thank you for listening to this episode of the No. 86 Lecture series on Jurisprudence. The spirit of debate of our Founding Fathers animates all of the No. 86 content, encouraging discussion and critical reflection relative to how each subject is widely understood and taught in law schools and among law students. Subscribe to the No. 86 Lecture series on your favorite podcast platform to have each episode delivered the moment it’s released. You can also go to fedsoc.org/no86 for lectures and videos on Federalism, Separation of Powers, the Judiciary and more. Thanks for listening. See you in class!