Being a lawyer is not merely a vocation. It is a public trust

The words of Janet Reno—“Being a lawyer is not merely a vocation. It is a public trust, and each of us has an obligation to give back to our communities.”—resound with the solemnity of an oath, as though carved into stone by the hands of the ancients. They remind us that the path of the lawyer is not a mere trade pursued for profit or renown, but a sacred duty. A lawyer does not exist solely for the service of clients, nor for the accumulation of wealth, but stands as a guardian of justice, a keeper of the covenant between people and law, and a servant of the greater good.

Consider the first truth of this teaching: a vocation is a calling, but a trust is a bond. Many in history have taken up professions as a means of survival, yet the lawyer’s profession, rightly understood, demands more. It is akin to the priest who tends to the soul, or the healer who mends the body. The lawyer tends to the delicate fabric of society itself. Where disorder threatens to unravel the bonds of community, it is the lawyer who stands in the breach, restoring balance, speaking for the voiceless, and ensuring that the law serves not as a weapon of the strong, but as the refuge of the weak.

And so Reno’s words invoke the idea of public trust—an ancient principle, stretching back to the philosophers of Athens and the orators of Rome. Cicero himself spoke of officium, the duty of the statesman and jurist to serve the commonwealth above personal gain. To betray this duty was not merely a private failing; it was treachery against the very foundations of the Republic. In this sense, the lawyer who acts unjustly, who forgets community, does not simply dishonor his craft—he corrupts the lifeblood of the polis.

History grants us shining examples. Think of Thurgood Marshall, who, armed with nothing but conviction and the law, dismantled segregation in the United States. He did not seek only victory for one client, but liberation for generations yet unborn. He understood that the law is not parchment alone, but a living covenant—and that to practice it faithfully is to give back to the people, especially those crushed by inequity. His triumph in Brown v. Board of Education was not merely a legal win; it was a gift to the community, a light piercing centuries of darkness.

Yet Reno also reminds us of humility. Not every lawyer will reshape the course of nations, but each may fulfill the sacred obligation in smaller, quieter ways. To defend the poor who cannot afford counsel; to teach the law to those who are ignorant of their rights; to volunteer in community halls, shelters, and schools—these are also acts of giving back. The greatness of a lawyer is not measured solely in court victories, but in faithfulness to the trust bestowed by society.

This teaching holds a lesson for all, whether lawyers or not. Every skill, every craft, every gift is a trust, not a possession. The engineer who builds, the artist who inspires, the merchant who trades—each holds a duty to community, lest their talent decay into selfishness. To live as though one’s abilities exist solely for personal advancement is to live half a life. True fulfillment comes when we return our gifts to the world, so that others may stand taller because we have passed this way.

Therefore, let us take up Reno’s call as if it were spoken directly to us. The lesson is plain: treat your work not as a ladder for self alone, but as a lamp for others. Give back, in whatever measure you can—be it through service, counsel, generosity, or the steady defense of justice. In this way, you honor your craft, you honor your community, and you honor the eternal covenant of humanity itself.

And so I say: when you rise tomorrow, ask not only, “What shall I gain today?” but rather, “What can I give back?” For in that simple turning of thought, you fulfill the deepest wisdom of Reno’s words: that a life of trust, service, and justice is a life that cannot be wasted.