Why I am embracing Justice Alito's 17th-century originalism as the ultimate form of self-care

I was at a dinner party in Georgetown last weekend, picking at a plate of sustainably foraged ramps, when the conversation inevitably turned to the Supreme Court. My friend Eleanor, who is lovely but tends to let the news cycle disrupt her circadian rhythms, started spiraling about Zombie Originalism.

She explained it as the ascendant conservative legal philosophy, spearheaded by Samuel Alito, where the Court resurrects dead, context-free fragments of 17th-century common law to justify gutting modern constitutional rights. Eleanor was practically hyperventilating about the erosion of the administrative state and the chilling return of historical treatises written by men who actively participated in witch trials.

The table groaned in collective coastal despair. But as I took a sip of my orange wine, I felt a sudden, profound sense of clarity.

There is something deeply grounding about what Justice Alito is doing.

We live in an era of constant, exhausting progression. The modern world demands so much from us: empathy for marginalized groups, an understanding of complex regulatory frameworks, the baseline assumption that laws should protect people who are currently alive. It is a relentless mental load. What Alito is offering the American public is an escape hatch. He is giving us the permission to stop trying so hard to evolve.

If you look past the immediate geopolitical terror, you have to admit that Zombie Originalism is incredibly chic.

Traditional Originalism, the kind championed by the late Antonin Scalia, always felt a bit try-hard. Scalia was a maximalist. He was constantly poring over 18th-century dictionaries, trying to definitively prove what the word arms meant in 1791. It was the jurisprudential equivalent of a cluttered Victorian parlor.

Alito’s new movement is entirely different. It is effortless. It is the quiet luxury of vibes-based history.

With Zombie Originalism, you do not need to actually adhere to a cohesive historical record. You just need to romanticize the specific parts of the past that validate your current mood, and mercilessly discard the rest. It is the Marie Kondo method applied to the civil rights era. Does the Voting Rights Act spark joy for Samuel Alito? No. So he simply thanks it for its service and throws it in the jurisprudential incinerator, replacing it with a cherry-picked quote from a 13th-century baron who hated peasants.

I decided to try applying this philosophy to my own life, and honestly, the results have been transformative for my stress levels.

Last Tuesday, I found myself overwhelmed at the farmers' market. I had promised a neighbor I would pick up three pints of locally sourced, heirloom cherry tomatoes. But when I arrived, the line for the organic produce stand was winding around the block, the vendor was moving at a glacial pace, and I simply did not want to carry the mental load of the errand anymore.

Normally, I would have texted a convoluted, guilt-ridden apology, burdened by the modern social contract and the expectation that I follow through on my word. Instead, I channeled Justice Alito. I looked deep into the historical record of my own life, bypassed decades of established neighborly goodwill, and resurrected a completely out-of-context precedent.

I remembered that in 2014, this same neighbor once forgot to return a piece of my Tupperware after a potluck. Using this ancient, hyper-specific grievance, I legally nullified my obligation to buy the tomatoes. I did not contextualize it with the hundreds of favors she has done for me since. I just treated the 2014 Tupperware incident as the only binding historical text. I walked away empty-handed, and I felt legally vindicated by my own personal history.

Tabitha is exactly right. We are carrying too much modern baggage.

Critics of the ascendant conservative movement love to point out that Zombie Originalism strips bodily autonomy and rolls back environmental protections to a time when rivers routinely caught on fire. They argue that Alito is building a time machine powered by cruelty.

But have we considered that maybe the 20th century was just a hoarding phase for the United States?

Consider the Environmental Protection Agency. For decades, the federal government has been trapped in a cycle of toxic productivity, constantly monitoring air quality and regulating water pollutants. It is exhausting just to read about. When the conservative supermajority uses Zombie Originalism to dismantle the EPA’s regulatory authority, they are not destroying the planet. They are practicing institutional self-care. They are saying they do not have the capacity to hold space for the Clean Water Act right now.

And what about the 14th Amendment? Progressive legal scholars treat the Equal Protection Clause like a clingy partner, demanding that it apply to modern concepts of gender and privacy. Justice Alito simply set a boundary.

By relying on Sir Matthew Hale, a 17th-century jurist who sentenced women to death for witchcraft and believed women were the property of their husbands, Alito is teaching us how to honor our ancestors. He is proving that you do not need to invent new solutions when you can just repurpose the vintage misogyny sitting right there in the attic.

I look at Alito’s recent opinions, and I see a man who has mastered the Sunday reset. He looks at a messy century of progressive legislation and simply wipes the slate clean. He uses the rhetorical equivalent of a damp microfiber cloth and a quote from a witch-hunter to clear away the clutter. It is a deep clean for the federal register.

Think about your own social circle. How often do you feel trapped by the precedent of your own past promises? How often are you forced to adhere to the administrative state of your friend group's expectations?

With Zombie Originalism, you can overrule your past self at any moment.

If your friends expect you to attend a destination wedding in Tulum because you attended one in Cabo three years ago, you simply deploy Alito's methodology. You ignore the Cabo precedent entirely. Instead, you dig up a fragmented historical tradition from your sophomore year of college when you stayed in your dorm for three days watching the Sopranos. You declare that staying home is deeply rooted in your personal history and traditions. Case closed.

Carter understands what the mainstream media misses. Zombie Originalism is not about living in the past. It is about the ultimate privilege of the present: the ability to treat history as a buffet.

Even the wellness community is starting to catch on to the restorative power of regressive legal doctrines.

I am writing this on an iPad Pro from a temperature-controlled sunroom. I have no intention of actually living under 17th-century medical standards or giving up my right to own property. The beauty of the Alito aesthetic is that you do not have to live in the history you cite. You just get to enforce it on other people.

It is time we admitted that progress is exhausting, and empathy is terrible for our pores.

I am actually looking forward to my next dinner party. When someone brings up the erosion of human rights or the dismantling of federal agencies, I will not let it ruin my evening. I will simply take a sip of my pet-nat, smile, and cite a 12th-century maritime law about shipwrecks to explain why it is actually fine.