Can
someone
check
in
on
Judge
Wilkinson?
Because
the
conservative
legal
movement
luminary
appears
to
be
having
a
moment.
Wrapping
up
a
routine
insurance
opinion
by
musing,
“What
after
all
does
it
matter?”
the
Fourth
Circuit
veteran
took
Owners
Ins.
Co.
v.
Walsh
on
a
three-paragraph
journey
into
a
dorm-room
philosophy
session
gone
rogue.
Deciding
a
dispute
about
whether
a
man
fatally
struck
by
a
car
while
on
his
riding
mower
could
tap
uninsured
motorist
coverage
after
exhausting
the
driver’s
policy
limit,
Judge
Wilkinson
channeled
Carl
Sagan
in
full
1970s
turtleneck
mode:
A
case
but
a
speck
in
the
recesses
of
interstellar
space
and
in
the
four-plus
billion
years
since
our
solar
system’s
birth.
Buddy.
It’s
a
South
Carolina
insurance
dispute,
not
the
Voyager
Golden
Record.
Just
kick
back,
turn
on
the
black
light,
and
crank
up
Dust
in
the
Wind.
To
be
fair,
Judge
Wilkinson
has
shared
some
THOUGHTS
about
the
rule
of
law
lately.
We’re
mere
days
removed
from
Wilkinson
dropping
a
blistering
opinion
in
the
Abrego
Garcia
case
laying
out
the
stakes
involved
in
the
Trump
administration’s
new
“Disappearances
R’
Us”
strategy
for
an
actually
principled
conservative:
The
government
is
asserting
a
right
to
stash
away
residents
of
this
country
in
foreign
prisons
without
the
semblance
of
due
process
that
is
the
foundation
of
our
constitutional
order.
Further,
it
claims
in
essence
that
because
it
has
rid
itself
of
custody
that
there
is
nothing
that
can
be
done.
This
should
be
shocking
not
only
to
judges,
but
to
the
intuitive
sense
of
liberty
that
Americans
far
removed
from
courthouses
still
hold
dear.
Perhaps
standing
at
the
edge
of
legal
authoritarianism
and
staring
into
that
void
has
left
him
pondering
life,
death,
and
14-point
Times
New
Roman.
Which
brings
us
to
this
latest
opinion,
in
which
he
contemplates
the
mortality
of
man,
the
meaning
of
justice,
and
then
affirms
the
district
court’s
ruling
that
the
insurer
owes
nothing
more
under
the
contract.
To
be
human
is
to
live
in
the
here
and
now.
This
small
case
extracts
courageous
meaning
from
the
vast
impersonality
in
which
it
resides.
Its
immediacy
confounds
infinity;
its
passions
light
the
dark.
Somewhere
a
law
school
gunner
just
got
that
tattooed
on
their
chest.
And
then
got
renditioned
to
El
Salvador.
Behind
all
the
planetary
metaphors
and
meditations
on
cosmic
dust,
Wilkinson
seems
to
be
asking
—
maybe
himself,
maybe
the
universe
—
“Is
this
enough?”
What
does
it
matter,
this
case
deserted
by
both
space
and
time?
Are
you
there
God?
It’s
me,
Harvie.
Joe
Patrice is
a
senior
editor
at
Above
the
Law
and
co-host
of
Thinking
Like
A
Lawyer.
Feel
free
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Follow
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Joe
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