In 1162, King Henry II of England made Thomas Becket the Archbishop of Canterbury and the leader of the English Catholic Church. Becket, one of Henry’s most loyal supporters, had been the king’s Chancellor. Henry assumed that, with Becket in charge, the Church would cease to be a thorn in his side and instead become a pillar of support for his rule.
Becket was ambitious, a bit of a medieval party animal, and, prior to his elevation, showed little sign of having any principles at all, much less religious ones. He was only ordained as a priest on the day before he became Archbishop.
But much to everyone’s surprise—probably including Becket himself—Thomas Becket got religion. Rather than becoming Henry’s tool and helping him bend the Church to his whims, Becket became an outspoken and aggressive advocate for the Church’s rights and interests.
The king was first bemused, then furious. Somehow, Becket had found his moral compass. When Becket was the King’s man and his Chancellor, he sought to please him in all things. But when Henry made him head of the Catholic Church, he was forced to accept higher loyalties.
“You know how long and loyally I served the king in his worldly affairs. For that cause, it pleased him to promote me to the office which now I hold. When I consented, it was for the sake of the king alone,” said Becket. “When I was elected, I was formally acquitted of my responsibilities for all that I had done as a chancellor.”
Thomas Becket became Archbishop of Canterbury by order of the King. But once he had become Archbishop, he was no longer the King’s to command.
In many ways, American lawyers have much in common with medieval priests. Like them, American lawyers are initiated into a long tradition filled with arcane and powerful knowledge. The law, like religion, has its own profound moral code that may be baffling to outsiders.
It’s a popular suspicion that lawyers have no ethics. In reality, they are trained in a rigorous ethical system that values things which, to the layman, may seem odd, like independent judgment and fair procedures rather than “morally correct” results. It is also an ethical code that is based, unusually, on humility. An American legal education is devoted to the proposition that there are at least two sides to every question and that there are no right answers, only valid arguments.
Consequently, since they know that the “correct” result is always debatable, lawyers place their faith in fair procedures above all. And they can be passionately attached to their principles even when they are not in their best interests.
It is no surprise that the main line of defense against President Donald Trump’s efforts to warp our justice system has been Republican lawyers appointed by Trump himself. These lawyers value the rule of law, an independent judiciary, and a fair and apolitical justice system far more than they value their careers.
Lawyers, of course, are human and often fail their creed. But even as they violate them, they know that they are falling short of the standards they have been trained to respect.
Jeff Sessions was one of Donald Trump’s most ardent supporters and perfectly happy to abandon a lifetime of conservative principles for a ride on the Trump train. Like Becket, Sessions was willing to do almost anything to please his political master. He defended Trump’s indiscretions, made excuses for his failings, and publicly praised him in the most nauseating terms. He even wore a MAGA hat.
But when Senator Sessions became Attorney General Sessions, like Archbishop Becket, he got religion. It is one thing to clown around on the sidelines, but when you become the latest in a long line of lawyers entrusted with enforcing the laws and defending the Constitution, it changes you.
Senator Sessions seemed willing to say or do anything that seemed politically expedient. But Attorney General Sessions has, most often, done the right thing, even at great political cost. First came his decision to recuse himself from the Russia investigation, an easy call for a lawyer to make—you may not act when you have even the appearance of a conflict of interest—but one that President Trump still considers an unfathomable act of personal disloyalty.
The more that Trump pressured him to be “his” attorney general and politicize the Department of Justice, tear down the FBI, and end the Mueller investigation, the more Jeff Sessions seemed to live the principles he had learned so long ago in law school.
“The more I loved the king, the more I opposed his injustice until his brow fell lowering upon me. He heaped calumny after calumny on my head, and I chose to be driven out rather than to subscribe.” While the sentiments are Thomas Becket’s, they could just as easily have been those of Jeff Sessions.
A few weeks ago, in response to yet another presidential attack on his decision to recuse himself from the Russia investigation, Sessions responded, “While I am attorney general, the actions of the Department of Justice will not be improperly influenced by political considerations. I demand the highest standards, and where they are not met, I take action. However, no nation has a more talented, more dedicated group of law enforcement investigators and prosecutors than the United States.”
Credit where credit is due: Jeff Sessions’s journey from Trumpian sycophant to chief defender of the rule of law is complete. In the end, when it mattered, Jeff Sessions turned out to be a lawyer after all.
This all ended badly for Becket but quite well for the church he led. On what they believed to be King Henry’s orders, four of his knights assassinated Becket. While Henry denied responsibility, he was widely blamed for Becket’s death and was forced to abase himself before the power of the Church. Thomas Becket is now revered in both the Catholic and the Anglican churches and is considered to be one of the outstanding figures in English history. While Jeff Sessions will eventually be dispatched by the tweet rather than the sword, may his ending be as worthy.
