Today constitutional theory is marked by the staying power of originalism, interest in nonjudicial constitutional interpretation, and reconsideration of when judicial review is “countermajoritarian.” Alexander M. Bickel and Robert H. Bork shaped these concerns in the 1960s and early 1970s while they were close friends and Yale faculty colleagues. Both recognized that the Warren Court's liberal activism, when considered in the aftermath of legal realism, demanded a clearer theory of the limits of legitimate judicial power. This article examines their legal and constitutional thought in this period and then briefly surveys how their ideas continue to configure constitutional theory. Current defenders and opponents of originalism are still compelled to wrestle with the imprint of positivism, formalism, and judicial restraint Bork gave the doctrine. Current challenges to the “countermajoritarian difficulty” in favor of nonjudicial interpretation must contend with this influential formulation of Bickel, and they owe more to the Bickel of constitutional “colloquy” than has been appreciated.

Most commentators see Henry David Thoreau's political essays as an endorsement of liberal democracy, but this essay holds that Thoreau's critique of majoritarianism and his model of civil disobedience may intend something much more radical: when his criticisms of representative democracy are articulated in more formal terms of political and moral obligation, it becomes clear that the theory and practice of democracy fundamentally conflict with Thoreau's conviction in moral autonomy and conscientious action. His critical examination of the way in which a democratic state threatens the commitments that facilitate and give meaning to the practice of morality intends to reorient the focus of politics, away from institutions and toward the people such institutions were ostensibly in place to serve. His critique stands as a warning that becoming complacent about democracy will inhibit the search for better (perhaps more liberal) ways to organize political life.

Revelation and reason are pivotal in Strauss's project. Yet nearly three decades after his death, questions remain about the essential meaning of this core dimension of his project. Scholarship of recent years has tended to approach his project by situating its position in relation to revelation and reason—to one or the other or to both. Among those who hold Strauss in high regard and inclusive of his former students, those often called Straussians, the view is far from clear. Was Strauss's allegiance with reason alone, that is, with Athens and classical political philosophy? Did his vocation as a political philosopher and his loyalty to the party of Athens preclude his being open to revelation, that is, open to the possibility that the Bible conveys truth regarding the good life? Or was he beyond a dogmatic attachment whether to reason or to revelation?

According to Rousseau in The Government of Poland, the “love of liberty,” when properly cultivated, engenders the patriotism and virtue of citizens. The citizen's love of liberty, however, is not his enjoyment of liberty; it is his fiery longing or passion for national liberty, which has endured in the hearts of Poles owing to the constant threat posed by Russian imperialism. Unless the Poles continue to believe their liberty is threatened, they will begin to believe they can enjoy the luxury of possessing liberty; and then Poland will start down the familiar path of bourgeois corruption, culminating in despotism. Therefore, Rousseau's proposed “reform” of Polish institutions in fact aims to refine “the advantageous evils” of Poland's weakness and anarchy. His intention is to intensify and to orchestrate the defensiveness of all Polish citizens—against internal as well as external threats to liberty—for Rousseau understands that state of soul to be “the leaven” of the magnificent virtues of the ancients.