Justice Clarence Thomas has cultivated a singular presence on the Supreme Court that transcends traditional labels. While commentators routinely describe his methodology as originalism, his approach more accurately reflects a form of personalism. Through his unique lens, nearly every American judge who served during the past two centuries essentially wasted their professional lives attempting to interpret the Constitution. In Thomas's view, they should have simply waited for his definitive revelations about the document's true meaning.
This perspective isn't merely academic—it's foundational to his entire judicial career. For decades, Thomas has systematically advocated overturning hundreds of Supreme Court precedents. He writes separate opinions with a frequency that dwarfs his colleagues, often filling them with extensive citations to his own previous writings. As fellow justices have noted both privately and publicly, Thomas fundamentally rejects stare decisis, the principle that courts must respect their prior decisions. He operates without the constraints of institutional memory, legal continuity, or collegial consensus.
Even against this backdrop, his dissent last week in the case challenging President Trump's tariffs stands as extraordinary. In a sprawling 17-page opinion, Thomas constructed an almost unrecognizable vision of separation of powers, congressional authority, and the founding era itself. His ambitious goal: to argue that the president possesses sweeping, virtually unchecked powers to levy tariffs against American citizens and businesses—authority extending far beyond what any conservative colleague could accept.
"As a matter of original understanding, historical practice, and judicial precedent, the power to impose duties on imports is not within the core legislative power," Thomas asserted. From this controversial premise, he concluded that Congress could freely delegate this authority to the executive branch. Justice Neil Gorsuch, typically one of Thomas's staunchest allies, broke ranks to describe this reasoning, in a separate opinion, as "a sweeping theory" that "presents difficulties on its own." This characterization ranks among the Supreme Court's more significant understatements in recent memory.
The case itself tested whether tariffs imposed by President Trump under the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA) of 1977 were lawful. The Supreme Court ruled 6-3 against the administration. The prevailing opinion, authored by Justice Elena Kagan, notably employed neither the major questions doctrine nor the nondelegation doctrine to reach its conclusion. Instead, Kagan applied what she termed the "ordinary rules of statutory interpretation," finding that the statute's text simply didn't authorize the president's actions.
What made the ruling particularly remarkable wasn't merely the outcome, but the unusual division among the court's six conservative justices. Three conservatives—Chief Justice John Roberts and Justices Neil Gorsuch and Amy Coney Barrett—sought to invalidate the IEEPA tariffs on major questions grounds, arguing that such significant economic decisions require clear congressional authorization. The other three—Justices Clarence Thomas, Samuel Alito, and Brett Kavanaugh—aimed to uphold the tariffs by discovering an implied national security exception to the major questions doctrine. (Kavanaugh himself had floated this possibility in an unrelated case last summer.)
This 3-3 conservative split left the three liberal justices as the deciding bloc, and they cast their lot with the Roberts-Gorsuch-Barrett position, creating a 6-3 majority against the tariffs.
Thomas's dissent reveals a judicial philosophy that treats constitutional history not as a constraint but as a canvas for his own reinterpretation. He dismisses centuries of precedent not through careful analysis of founding-era intent, but by asserting his singular understanding of what the Constitution should mean. This approach transforms originalism from a method of historical inquiry into a vehicle for personal ideology, where Thomas alone determines which historical sources matter and how they should be understood.
The practical implications of his reasoning would be profound. If Thomas's approach prevailed, it would fundamentally reshape the balance of power between Congress and the presidency, granting executives authority to impose taxes and tariffs without explicit legislative approval. Such a shift would represent one of the most significant expansions of presidential power in modern history, effectively allowing the White House to bypass the House of Representatives' constitutional authority over revenue measures.
Gorsuch's gentle but firm rebuke highlights the growing isolation of Thomas's position. When even his most frequent ideological allies cannot support his reasoning, it signals how far his jurisprudence has strayed from mainstream conservative thought. Thomas doesn't merely advocate for a more rigorous originalism; he demands a complete reconstruction of constitutional law according to his personal vision, unbound by precedent, practice, or the consensus of his colleagues.
The majority's reliance on standard statutory interpretation rather than sweeping constitutional doctrines suggests a court still committed to traditional legal analysis, at least in this case. By focusing narrowly on the text of IEEPA itself rather than engaging the abstract principles about delegation that Thomas emphasized, the majority avoided the constitutional confrontation he seemed eager to provoke. This approach preserved the court's flexibility for future cases while still restraining presidential overreach in this instance.
This case illustrates a broader pattern in Thomas's three decades on the Supreme Court. He consistently positions himself as the sole arbiter of constitutional truth, writing lengthy dissents and concurrences that cite primarily his own previous opinions. His disregard for precedent isn't selective—it's systematic and comprehensive. He views the entire body of constitutional law as fundamentally flawed until corrected by his hand, making him simultaneously the court's most consistent originalist and its most radical revisionist.
For close court observers, the real story isn't just the rejection of Trump's tariffs, but the growing distance between Thomas and his conservative colleagues. The conservative legal movement that elevated him to the bench embraced his originalism, but even they have limits. Thomas's vision of unchecked presidential power on trade and economic matters proved too extreme for justices who typically support strong executive authority in other contexts.
The decision also demonstrates the continued relevance of the major questions doctrine as a limiting principle on executive power, even if conservatives don't apply it uniformly. By invalidating the tariffs on statutory rather than constitutional grounds, the majority left room for future debates about presidential authority while still imposing meaningful limits in this case.
In the end, Thomas's dissent serves as a reminder of his unique role on the modern Supreme Court. He is simultaneously its most intellectually consistent originalist and its most radical revisionist, willing to discard not just liberal precedents but conservative ones that don't align with his personal constitutional vision. His colleagues may respect his intellect and conviction, but as this case shows, they're increasingly unwilling to follow him into his constitutional wilderness. The 6-3 majority against the tariffs represents more than a rejection of executive overreach—it marks a subtle but significant check on Thomas's influence within the conservative bloc itself.