In a prior post,
I noted the developments in American legal education over the last 150 years
that have led to the central place of economics, psychology, and history, among
other disciplines, to the study of law. One discipline I did not say much
about, however, was my own: philosophy. And yet the philosophical study of law
has been central to legal education in both the European and Anglophone
traditions, and for a much longer time than the other important disciplines
that now loom so large.
My own institution, the University of Chicago, invented
in the 1960s and 1970s the economic analysis of law that has taken over legal
education in the last generation, yet in its very first year as a law school
more than a century ago, “Jurisprudence” (the philosophy of law) was one of the
dozen or so courses offered to the very first student. Indeed, Chicago was the
first law school to appoint a PhD philosopher, without a law degree, to its
faculty, back in the 1930s! Why would that be?
The explanation has partly to do with the nature of
philosophy as a discipline and partly to do with the deep affinities between
law and philosophy.
Law is, first and foremost, a discursive discipline: lawyers and judges live in
the domain of reasons and meanings. We interpret statutes and cases, articulate
rules to guide behavior, and then argue about their import in particular cases.
Judges write opinions, in which they give reasons for their conclusions.
Lawyers offer arguments to persuade judges. Even lawyers who never argue cases
in court still deal continuously with rules, their meanings and entailments.
Philosophy is, of course, the discursive discipline par
excellence. The English philosopher John Campbell (who now teaches at
Berkeley) famously and quite perceptively described philosophy as “thinking in
slow motion.” Lawyering, especially in an oral argument before an appellate
court, is often “thinking in fast motion,” but the key fact is that both
disciplines are concerned with rational and logical thought. Lawyering typically
demands more attention to rhetoric than has philosophy, at least since the time
of the Sophists in the 5th-century B.C.. But the pejorative connotation of
“sophistry” that has come down to us from Plato’s successful defamation of the
Sophistic philosophers should not mislead us: there is an art to persuasion,
and that art is only partly exhausted by the rules of formal and informal
logic. As the U.S. Supreme Court put it in Old Chief v. U.S. (1997), “A syllogism is not a story,
and a naked proposition in a courtroom may be no match for the robust evidence
that would be used to prove it.”
Even allowing for that very real difference between legal
and philosophical argument, the affinity is clear enough, so much so that
American legal education takes its most famous pedagogical approach (“the
Socratic method”) from philosophy. Law teachers question students, much as
Socrates questioned citizens of Athens about the nature of knowledge and
justice. The method is supposed to illustrate and teach the kind of dialectical
skill that lawyering, as a discursive discipline, requires.
It is equally important, however, that philosophy as a
discipline concerns itself with literally everything, whether science or art or
morality or law. We can always ask of any of these domains of human activity,
“What is its nature? What makes it what it is?” Philosophers have asked this
about science, about art and also about law. This is why “Jurisprudence” —
philosophical theorizing about the nature of law and legal reasoning, and the
differences between law and morality — has been a staple of the curriculum
wherever law is taught at the university level. Indeed, it is a required
subject for all law students at Oxford, as it is for most law students in
Europe and South America. (Law is an undergraduate subject in almost all these
jurisdictions, unlike in the U.S.)
As with many areas of philosophical inquiry,
philosophical inquiry into law simply brings to light and makes explicit what
is often implicit and unargued. We have all heard someone criticize a Supreme
Court decision as “politically motivated, rather than following the law.” But
that already presupposes we know where the boundaries of law and politics are
located, precisely what jurisprudential inquiry tries to illuminate! So, too,
when commentators criticize a judge’s reasoning in support of her conclusion,
they invariably presuppose claims about the nature of law, legal interpretation
and the character of legal reasoning. It is the task of jurisprudence to brings
those presuppositions out in the open and subject them to scrutiny.
Philosophical inquiry has also played an important role
in the development of the law. The two greatest legal philosophers of the past
hundred years, the Austrian Hans Kelsen and the Englishman H.L.A. Hart, both
had profound impacts on the law. Kelsen’s jurisprudential work informed his
influential contributions to the development of international law, including
the creation of a “Constitutional Court” charged with judicial review of
legislation for its constitutionality, a model adopted throughout the civil law
countries of the world. Hart, through his influential extension of John Stuart
Mill’s utilitarian philosophy, was the driving intellectual force behind the
decriminalization of homosexuality in Britain in the 1960s.
Within the academy, the influence of philosophers on
legal scholarship has been substantial. When the “Chicago School” of economic
analysis of law took over the legal
academy starting in the 1970s, it was philosophers like the late
Ronald Dworkin and my Chicago colleague Martha Nussbaum who articulated an
alternative to “wealth maximization” as the goal of legal regulation. Some of my own
philosophical work has
vindicated the jurisprudential insights of the American Legal Realists—whose
profound impact on American law
and legal education I discussed previously—by offering a
philosophical reconstruction of their position and defending it against critics
like Hart. In twenty years of teaching jurisprudence, including American Legal Realism,
I have been struck by how many students find it to be one of the most
“practical” of courses, not because it taught them legal rules, but because it
helped them understand legal reasoning and how judges decide cases, as well as
bringing out into the open the implicit jurisprudential premises of both
jurists and scholars.
David Hills, a philosopher at Stanford, famously said
that philosophy is “the ungainly attempt to tackle questions that come
naturally to children, using methods that come naturally to lawyers.” Children
typically do not wonder what the difference is between legal and moral
obligation, or between justification and excuse in criminal law, but lawyers
and law students do! And here the methods of philosophers — so familiar to
lawyers — do come quite naturally, and will no doubt continue to do so wherever
law is taught.
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