Perhaps Scalia rejects the burden of winning over his colleagues because he came to the high court in 1986 weighted with the expectation of conservatives who saw him as the antidote to then-justice William Brennan—who schmoozed his way from one liberal triumph to another in the 1960s and early '70s. But Scalia never managed to glad-hand his way to a conservative counterrevolution. Some commentators believe his slash-and-burn approach was responsible for pushing Rehnquist Court moderates leftward.

Even at 72, Scalia seems not the least bit bothered by his inability to persuade his colleagues to embrace his constitutional viewpoint. While he may not have converted his brethren, the court has moved dramatically to the right, with the appointment of two new conservative jurists. And as they have embraced his politics, if not his methodology, he's dusted off the old charm to sell the rest of us—guys to whom he would refer when teaching law school as "Joe Sixpack"—on the elegant simplicity of originalism.

Scalia's persuasiveness about his own constitutional world view benefits from near radio silence from the court's liberal wing. His enormous intellectual selfconfidence has allowed Scalia to eschew persuasion, waiting more than two decades until "Joe Sixpack" was ready to hear him out. And without a compelling competing legal theory from the court's liberals, it was virtually guaranteed that once Scalia uncorked his considerable charisma, his views would appear as charming as he is. Scalia has mastered the art of persuading by simply being. If that isn't a chapter in his new book, it should be.

Lithwick is a NEWSWEEK contributing editor and a senior writer for Slate. A version of this column appears on Slate.com.

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