Principles
Ideas do not entirely get their own way in real life; they are embodied in facts, and these latter appear influenced largely by material necessities and forces. It is not without importance for the development of legal principles whether the atmosphere surrounding them is that of a pastoÂral, an agricultural, or an industrial community; it is certainly of imporÂtance for public and private law whether a nation is living an independÂent life or has to submit to conquest, etc.
p. ViNOGRADOFF, Outlines OfHistoricalJurisprudence (1920)
Across epochs and peoples, legal thinkers have just as easily made recourse to principle at the earliest apprehension of a novel situation. In legal thought, principles will be observed to carry out a very different function to analogies, for they lend themselves to general rather than specific application, and ordiÂnarily tend to require a moral consensus. Whether principles are true or false, anachronistic or contextual, complicated or unsophisticated, they have often proven helpful to legal thinkers in the process of reaching a particular outÂcome. Principles are the perfect vehicles, in other words, for discretion and flexibility in order to reach perceivably good or â€?fair' ends.
In Old Kingdom Egypt, as Alexandre Loktionov reveals in his chapter, the religious concept of â€?right conduct' (M,,'.t) was personified and worshipped as a goddess of truth. The related principle of â€?fair judgment' (wd'-mdw) was inÂvoked in offerings to the goddess of M,,'.t. Similarly, the adulation of dike (∆iκη) in Ancient Athens may have performed the same kind of function, insofar as it too was associated with the acceptance within the community of empirical assessments of right and wrong, free and unfree, and so on.[30]
Principles tend to be invoked in contemplations of the voids in written or doctrinal law, of which there is an early glimpse in the Aristotelian conception of epieikeia (⅛πιεfκεια).
Commonly rendered as aequitas and from thence into equity, this ideal of fairness began as a corrective to strict law. Epieikeia, as preÂsented in the Nicomachean Ethics and Rhetoric, to convey the broadest princiÂples of justice, was accessible by consulting the lawgiver instead of the laws. For modern readers, the strength of Aristotle’s esteem for the ethics of the pubÂlic office of appellate judge might be the most remarkable part of this appraisÂal. Less objectionable is the space this opens, within legal thought, for the prinÂciples of fairness to inform good judgement and to address defects, because this space is still needed today.[31]When it came to the accommodation of foreigners from outside the comÂmunity, the Athenian principle of anthropinos (ανθρωπινος) was often put to work in legal argumentation. This is one of the findings provided by Alberto Esu in his contribution to this volume on the early history (or pre-history, deÂpending on one’s perspective) of â€?judicial review’. And it finds an arresting - if unexpected - parallel in Sarah Winter’s chapter on the legalism of abolitionÂism, where it is shown how the principle of humanity was turned into a vehicle for rights talk in the pre-history (or proto-history, again, depending on one’s perspective) of â€?human rights law’.
A feature of Roman legal thought from the third century BCE onwards is the increasing propensity of praetors and jurisconsults to query and dispense genÂeral principles of law and morality[32] Expressions of principle proliferated from this time and survivie as precepts, maxims, regula and definition. Informing procedural and substantive law, principles are observed according to variable levels of strictness as rules, whenever they are given some positive charge by a court or a legislature. But, just as it happened in Ancient Athens, the strictness of such rules could just as easily be met with a corrective by the careful invocaÂtion of a contradictory principle of law (few of which were more successful than those offairness).
For centuries, variation prevailed among magistrates over the ranking of certain principles, until finally the methodical reorganisation of the entire RoÂman law was orchestrated by the central imperial government - and just as that empire was beginning to lose all of its remaining legitimacy! This, of course, was the Corpus iuris civilis of Justinian’s reign, a succession of princiÂples, some of them â€?rules’ of mixed persuasiveness, in comprehensive lists, and classifiable loosely into categories of persons, things, and actions. But Justinian was not only a codifier of the laws, we must remember. He was also a legislator, as Weber points out in her chapter. Straddling a fence between two distinctly different empires, Justinian had to determine how far it would be possible (and unobjectionable) to impose, upon the newly dominant eastern portion, the time-honoured principles of law that had been worked out in the disintegratÂing western portion. Weber is able to identify a number of dilemmas of this kind, by reading the Code alongside records of papyri and in reference to the authoritative principles endorsed in the Digest. And a very similar trend is to be seen in several of the chapters, following Weber’s, which deal with the recepÂtion of the Corpus iuris civilis in different parts of Europe during the long MidÂdle Ages. Good lawyers had to be discerning with their principles of Roman law.
In the Middle Ages, principles of Christian teaching crept into neo-Roman legal thought, just as papal decrees and conciliar canons borrowed from RoÂman legal principles where necessary. A number of divine and human ideas became infused into principles of lasting importance in consequence of the coexistence of secular and sacred bodies of thought.[33] â€?Political theology’ of this kind can pop up in unlikely places, such as the administrative concept of the census, which is the subject of Tiziana Faitini’s chapter. As she argues, the brute political realities of registration, taxation, and subjection were rationalÂised and understood over many centuries of medieval thinking upon the New Testament. This argument, together with the arguments made by Mark Somos, Zachary Chitwood, and others reveal how it was (and to what ends) canonists, civilians, theologians, and politicians compared notes to forge out new princiÂples of law.
Principles of nature are perhaps the most manipulable of all principles - and, with this observation, finally we come up against that unshakable intelÂlectual philosophical habit over the two millennia or so that elapse between the Laws of Plato and the enlightenment philosophes: that is, the justification of particularly inventive interpretations of something or other by making conÂjectures about the condition of nature and human instinct within it. More important is it, within the scope of this book, that Gaius, Ulpian, Justinian, and Gratian all let â€?nature’ be a factor in law, so other legal thinkers inevitably followed - including, most influentially, Grotius. As Somos reveals in his chapÂter, natural law was one of the most profound elements of Grotius’s legal thought, particularly on the topic of the sea.
Looking away from Grotius (for a moment), it is possible to notice the diversity - and, by implication, the opportunism - of every appraisal of natural law offered by every one of its proponents, Grotius included. Placed into the service of boni et aequi, nature has never been more or less than a concept used to set out principles of an ad hoc kind. It was attractive to medieval and early modern legal thinkers for allowing more and more length to be leveraged onto the leashes that still bound them to ancients, apostles, and anybody else. For that reason, invocations of nature have been multiple and often strange.
A few examples selected from this volume will alone suffice for evidence in support of this generalisation. Zachary Chitwood introduces the eastern Mia- physite view of Christ (possessed of â€?one nature’), which was conceived in opÂposition to the Chalcedonian Christological perspective (that Christ was the embodiment of both a divine nature and a human nature). Dante Fedele reÂveals how often (and complicatedly) the separate concepts of ius gentium (the law of peoples) and ius naturale (natural law) informed each other, which was almost as often as they contradicted each other.
On natural â€?rights’, Paul McHugh and Matthew Crow present us with different aspects of the thought of Thomas Jefferson: the former revealing the Jeffersonian view that civil instituÂtions, by their nature, are designed to ensure that all the lands within the limits of society are subject to the allotment of members within that society only; the latter revealing the Jeffersonian view that voyaging, settling, and trading were natural rights that could not be intruded upon. Winter explains for us how aboÂlitionists like Granville Sharp had to condemn any natural law argument that was favourable or neutral towards slavery, in order to identify, instead, with the natural law arguments of those who were more specifically opposed to slavery in the common law, in conformance with an overall shift within the imperial common law away from using natural law reasoning to uphold pernicious legal institutions like slavery (what Sharp considered to be â€?a gross perversion of all the indispensable principles of Natural Justice and Righteousness’). Naveen Kanalu shows how, in India around the same time, colonial judges and visiting jurists made the case for using natural law to adjudicate cases in Islamic law that did not allow for the use of precedent. Jordan Rudinsky introduces James Bryce, who considered that the Roman Empire and the British Empire were both the â€?effort[s] of Nature to gather men together under one type of civiliÂzation’. And my chapter presents the following argument, made by AfrikanÂers, for control of the whole â€?South African Continent’: â€?that all interference with or usurpation of that right is illegal and unconstitutional, and in contempt of the natural liberties of the South African people'.In the light of all this variation, we must avoid the temptation to regard â€?natÂural law' as a coherent body and source of law in the same way that the terms â€?civil law' and â€?canon law' are regarded. Civilians, who all referred back to JusÂtinian, worked within a distinct legal tradition meticulously elaborated in the works of commentators, glossators, and others after them.
Canonists, who all referred back to Gratian and whatever popes and councils they admired, worked within a distinct legal tradition meticulously elaborated in the works of decretists, decretalists, and others after them. There could never be any â€?natÂuralists' in the same sense, for as long as natural law remained a device much cherished by humanists and scholastics as well as civilians and canonists (and much loathed, instinctively, by positivists) for its unsystematic flexibility. PreÂcisely the same observation can be made about the ius gentium, one of the reasons for whose call into being was the need for universality and exceptions on the provincial fringes of Rome and beyond them. Dante Fedele performs for us all a terrific service by tracking the concept across Roman legal thought from Cicero to Vattel. His intervention provides yet another reminder that, for a very long time, ius gentium was an idea functionally if not semantically interÂchangeable, at times, with ius naturale. Only in the early modern period was ius gentium allowed to develop a distinct connotation with the natural princiÂples of law both within nations and between nations - flexible guidelines which were especially timely, of course, for guiding the colonising powers of Europe through the modern age of global expansion. Very recent and ground-breaking research by Somos - whose chapter in this collection provides an excellent starting point - is now beginning to reveal even further how the â€?law of nature' and â€?natural law' were problematically combined in Dutch, English, and coloÂnial American legal thought during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.[34]4