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What does the Supreme Court talk about when it talks about itself? In addition to the debates over interpretive method and doctrine that fill their opinions, Supreme Court justices often discuss what it means to be “a Court” and how such an institution must function. Our chapter explores this specific form of judicial self-representation, examining the ways in which members of the Court define their own “Court-ness” in their decisions. We argue that the Court’s acts of autobiography simultaneously generate images of impartiality and partiality. The result is the public projection of a contradictory judicial persona.

Beginning with Rawls's claim that the Supreme Court is the exemplar of public reason, we develop a theory of how reasoned arguments are used in political disputes. We argue that justices often make piecemeal arguments and that this fragmented style of argumentation extends beyond the bench. The result is that many political disputes are “legalized” – not because public arguments are necessarily about laws, but because public arguments often unfold in the same ambiguous way that they do on the Court. We illustrate our argument by examining the use of American Dream talk in the dispute over same-sex marriage (SSM).

C. Herman Pritchett saw politics in law without losing the sense that law was not simply politics. This synthesis from the 1940s was lost in the last half of the 20th century and it deserves to be brought back. While denial that politics matters is a staple of Supreme Court confirmation hearings, this position is no longer credible. In constitutional law in particular, politics has pushed law aside in the minds of scholars, journalists, and many Americans. This makes it hard to find a place for law in the study of the Supreme Court. This chapter advocates a return to the balance that was in place over 50 years ago when we were first taught that Supreme Court decisions were political.

Stuart Scheingold's The Politics of Rights provided a path-breaking theoretical analysis of what he called the “myth of rights.” Scheingold's key insight was that even though rights were a myth, rights ideologies nevertheless left a significant imprint on American politics. The book charted a research agenda that has now been followed by a wide range of sociolegal scholars. Looking across that diverse body scholarship, I find convergence on two points. First, scholars claim that law and legal ideology contribute to processes of legitimation and to political acquiescence. Second, and seemingly in tension with the first, most people do not appear to believe in idealized legal myths and express only qualified commitments to legal ideals. Most scholars have responded to this tension by downplaying evidence that people have doubts about legal ideals, often treating expressions of doubts as evidence of confusion. As a result, scholars still conclude that residual commitments to legal myths help to explain legitimation and acquiescence. Such moves produce accounts of legal myths that are insufficiently attentive to politics and power. Scholars would do better to return to Scheingold's more ambivalent perspective on the politics of rights in order to understand the political consequences of commitments to rights’ ideologies.