JURISPRUDENCE
TOPICAL OUTLINES
1.
Legal Positivism
2.
Natural Law
3.
Feminist Jurisprudence
4.
Marxist Jurisprudence
5.
Sociological Jurisprudence
Meaning and introduction to Jurisprudence
The word jurisprudence derives from the Latin term juris prudentia, which means "the study, knowledge, or science of law." In the United States jurisprudence commonly means the philosophy of law. Legal philosophy has many aspects, but four of them are the most common. The first and the most prevalent form of jurisprudence seeks to analyse, explain, classify, and criticize entire bodies of law. Law school textbooks and legal encyclopedias represent this type of scholarship. The second type of jurisprudence compares and contrasts law with other fields of knowledge such as literature, economics, religion, and the social sciences. The third type of jurisprudence seeks to reveal the historical, moral, and cultural basis of a particular legal concept. The fourth body of jurisprudence focuses on finding the answer to such abstract questions as What is law?
How do judges (properly) decide cases?
Apart from different types of jurisprudence, different schools of jurisprudence exist.
Formalism , or conceptualism , treats law like math or science. Formalists believe that a judge identifies the relevant legal principles, applies them to the facts of a case, and logically deduces a rule that will govern the outcome of the dispute. In contrast, proponents of legal realism believe that most cases before courts present hard questions that judges must resolve by balancing the interests of the parties and ultimately

drawing an arbitrary line on one side of the dispute. This line, realists maintain, is drawn according to the political, economic, and psychological inclinations of the judge. Some legal realists even believe that a judge is able to shape the outcome of the case based on personal biases.
Apart from the realist-formalist dichotomy , there is the classic debate over the appropriate sources of law between positivist and natural law schools of thought.
Positivists argue that there is no connection between law and morality and that the only sources of law are rules that have been expressly enacted by a governmental entity or court of law . Naturalists , or proponents of natural law, insist that the rules enacted by government are not the only sources of law . They argue that moral philosophy ; religion , human reason and individual conscience are also integral parts of the law.
There are no bright lines between different schools of jurisprudence. The legal philosophy of a particular legal scholar may consist of a combination of strains from many schools of legal thought. Some scholars think that it is more appropriate to think about jurisprudence as a continuum.
LEGAL POSITIVISM
RESEARCH DONE FROM: http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/legal-positivism/
Legal positivism is the thesis that the existence and content of law depends on social facts and not on its merits. The English jurist John Austin (1790-1859) formulated it thus:
“The existence of law is one thing; its merit and demerit another. Whether it be or be not is one enquiry; whether it be or be not conformable to an assumed standard, is a different enquiry.” (1832, p. 157) The positivist thesis does not say that law's merits are unintelligible, unimportant, or peripheral to the philosophy of law. It says that they do not determine whether laws or legal systems exist . Whether a society has a legal system depends on the presence of certain structures of governance, not on the extent to which it satisfies ideals of justice, democracy, or the rule of law. What laws are in force in that

system depends on what social standards its officials recognize as authoritative; for example, legislative enactments, judicial decisions, or social customs. The fact that a policy would be just, wise, efficient, or prudent is never sufficient reason for thinking that it is actually the law, and the fact that it is unjust, unwise, inefficient or imprudent is never sufficient reason for doubting it. According to positivism, law is a matter of what has been posited (ordered, decided, practiced, tolerated, etc.); as we might say in a more modern idiom, positivism is the view that law is a social construction. Austin thought the thesis “simple and glaring.” While it is probably the dominant view among analytically inclined philosophers of law, it is also the subject of competing interpretations together with persistent criticisms and misunderstandings.
1. Development and Influence
Legal positivism has a long history and a broad influence. It has antecedents in ancient political philosophy and is discussed, and the term itself introduced, in mediaeval legal and political thought (see Finnis 1996). The modern doctrine, however, owes little to these forbears. Its most important roots lie in the conventionalist political philosophies of
Hobbes and Hume, and its first full elaboration is due to Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832) whose account Austin adopted, modified, and popularized. For much of the next century an amalgam of their views, according to which law is the command of a sovereign backed by force, dominated legal positivism and English philosophical reflection about law. By the mid-twentieth century, however, this account had lost its influence among working legal philosophers. Its emphasis on legislative institutions was replaced by a focus on law-applying institutions such as courts, and its insistence of the role of coercive force gave way to theories emphasizing the systematic and normative character of law.
The most important architects of this revised positivism are the Austrian jurist Hans
Kelsen (1881-1973) and the two dominating figures in the analytic philosophy of law,
H.L.A. Hart (1907-92) and Joseph Raz among whom there are clear lines of influence, but also important contrasts. Legal positivism's importance, however, is not confined to the philosophy of law. It can be seen throughout social theory, particularly in the works of Marx, Weber, and Durkheim, and also (though here unwittingly) among many lawyers, including the American “legal realists” and most contemporary feminist

scholars. Although they disagree on many other points, these writers all acknowledge that law is essentially a matter of social fact. Some of them are, it is true, uncomfortable with the label “legal positivism” and therefore hope to escape it. Their discomfort is sometimes the product of confusion. Lawyers often use “positivist” abusively, to condemn a formalistic doctrine according to which law is always clear and, however pointless or wrong, is to be rigorously applied by officials and obeyed by subjects. It is doubtful that anyone ever held this view; but it is in any case false, it has nothing to do with legal positivism, and it is expressly rejected by all leading positivists. Among the philosophically literate another, more intelligible, misunderstanding may interfere. Legal positivism is here sometimes associated with the homonymic but independent doctrines of logical positivism (the meaning of a sentence is its mode of verification) or sociological positivism (social phenomena can be studied only through the methods of natural science). While there are historical connections, and also commonalities of temper, among these ideas, they are essentially different. The view that the existence of law depends on social facts does not rest on a particular semantic thesis, and it is compatible with a range of theories about how one investigates social facts, including non-naturalistic accounts. To say that the existence of law depends on facts and not on its merits is a thesis about the relation among laws, facts, and merits, and not otherwise a thesis about the individual relata. Hence, most traditional “natural law” moral doctrines-including the belief in a universal, objective morality grounded in human nature--do not contradict legal positivism. The only influential positivist moral theories are the views that moral norms are valid only if they have a source in divine commands or in social conventions. Such theists and relativists apply to morality the constraints that legal positivists think hold for law.
2. The Existence and Sources of Law
Every human society has some form of social order, some way of marking and encouraging approved behavior, deterring disapproved behavior, and resolving disputes.
What then is distinctive of societies with legal systems and, within those societies, of their law? Before exploring some positivist answers, it bears emphasizing that these are not the only questions worth asking. While an understanding of the nature of law requires

an account of what makes law distinctive, it also requires an understanding of what it has in common with other forms of social control. Some Marxists are positivists about the nature of law while insisting that its distinguishing characteristics matter less than its role in replicating and facilitating other forms of domination. (Though other Marxists disagree: see Pashukanis). They think that the specific nature of law casts little light on their primary concerns. But one can hardly know that in advance; it depends on what the nature of law actually is.
According to Bentham and Austin, law is a phenomenon of large societies with a sovereign : a determinate person or group who have supreme and absolute de facto power
-- they are obeyed by all or most others but do not themselves similarly obey anyone else.
The laws in that society are a subset of the sovereign's commands : general orders that apply to classes of actions and people and that are backed up by threat of force or
“sanction.” This imperatival theory is positivist, for it identifies the existence of legal systems with patterns of command and obedience that can be ascertained without considering whether the sovereign has a moral right to rule or whether his commands are meritorious. It has two other distinctive features. The theory is monistic : it represents all laws as having a single form, imposing obligations on their subjects, though not on the sovereign himself. The imperativalist acknowledges that ultimate legislative power may be self-limiting, or limited externally by what public opinion will tolerate, and also that legal systems contain provisions that are not imperatives (for example, permissions, definitions, and so on). But they regard these as part of the non-legal material that is necessary for, and part of, every legal system. (Austin is a bit more liberal on this point).
The theory is also reductivist , for it maintains that the normative language used in describing and stating the law -- talk of authority, rights, obligations, and so on -- can all be analyzed without remainder in non-normative terms, ultimately as concatenations of statements about power and obedience.
Imperatival theories are now without influence in legal philosophy (but see Ladenson and
Morison). What survives of their outlook is the idea that legal theory must ultimately be rooted in some account of the political system, an insight that came to be shared by all major positivists save Kelsen. Their particular conception of a society under a sovereign

commander, however, is friendless (except among Foucauldians, who strangely take this relic as the ideal-type of what they call “juridical” power). It is clear that in complex societies there may be no one who has all the attributes of sovereignty, for ultimate authority may be divided among organs and may itself be limited by law. Moreover, even when “sovereignty” is not being used in its legal sense it is nonetheless a normative concept. A legislator is one who has authority to make laws, and not merely someone with great social power, and it is doubtful that “habits of obedience” is a candidate reduction for explaining authority. Obedience is a normative concept. To distinguish it from coincidental compliance we need something like the idea of subjects being oriented to, or guided by, the commands. Explicating this will carry us far from the power-based notions with which classical positivism hoped to work. The imperativalists' account of obligation is also subject to decisive objections (Hart, 1994, pp. 26-78; and Hacker).
Treating all laws as commands conceals important differences in their social functions, in the ways they operate in practical reasoning, and in the sort of justifications to which they are liable. For instance, laws conferring the power to marry command nothing; they do not obligate people to marry, or even to marry according to the prescribed formalities.
Nor is reductivism any more plausible here: we speak of legal obligations when there is no probability of sanctions being applied and when there is no provision for sanctions (as in the duty of the highest courts to apply the law). Moreover, we take the existence of legal obligations to be a reason for imposing sanctions, not merely a consequence of it.
Hans Kelsen retains the imperativalists' monism but abandons their reductivism. On his view, law is characterized by a basic form and basic norm . The form of every law is that of a conditional order, directed at the courts, to apply sanctions if a certain behavior (the
“delict”) is performed. On this view, law is an indirect system of guidance: it does not tell subjects what to do; it tells officials what to do to its subjects under certain conditions.
Thus, what we ordinarily regard as the legal duty not to steal is for Kelsen merely a logical correlate of the primary norm which stipulates a sanction for stealing (1945, p.
61). The objections to imperatival monism apply also to this more sophisticated version: the reduction misses important facts, such as the point of having a prohibition on theft.
(The courts are not indifferent between, on the one hand, people not stealing and, on the other, stealing and suffering the sanctions.) But in one respect the conditional sanction

theory is in worse shape than is imperativalism, for it has no principled way to fix on the delict as the duty-defining condition of the sanction -- that is but one of a large number of relevant antecedent conditions, including the legal capacity of the offender, the jurisdiction of the judge, the constitutionality of the offense, and so forth. Which among all these is the content of a legal duty?
Kelsen's most important contribution lies in his attack on reductivism and his doctrine of the “basic norm.” He maintains that law is normative and must understood as such. Might does not make right -- not even legal right -- so the philosophy of law must explain the fact that law is taken to impose obligations on its subjects. Moreover, law is a normative system
: “Law is not, as it is sometimes said, a rule. It is a set of rules having the kind of unity we understand by a system” (1945, p. 3). For the imperativalists, the unity of a legal system consists in the fact that all its laws are commanded by one sovereign. For Kelsen, it consists in the fact that they are all links in one chain of authority. For example, a bylaw is legally valid because it is created by a corporation lawfully exercising the powers conferred on it by the legislature, which confers those powers in a manner provided by the constitution, which was itself created in a way provided by an earlier constitution. But what about the very first constitution, historically speaking? Its authority, says Kelsen, is
“presupposed.” The condition for interpreting any legal norm as binding is that the first constitution is validated by the following “basic norm:” “ the original constitution is to be obeyed
.” Now, the basic norm cannot be a legal norm -- we cannot fully explain the bindingness of law by reference to more law. Nor can it be a social fact, for Kelsen maintains that the reason for the validity of a norm must always be another norm -- no ought from is. It follows, then, that a legal system must consist of norms all the way down. It bottoms in a hypothetical, transcendental norm that is the condition of the intelligibility of any (and all) other norms as binding. To “presuppose” this basic norm is not to endorse it as good or just -- resupposition is a cognitive stance only -- but it is,
Kelsen thinks, the necessary precondition for a non-reductivist account of law as a normative system.
There are many difficulties with this, not least of which is the fact that if we are willing to tolerate the basic norm as a solution it is not clear why we thought there was a problem in

the first place. One cannot say both that the basic norm is the norm presupposing which validates all inferior norms and also that an inferior norm is part of the legal system only if it is connected by a chain of validity to the basic norm. We need a way into the circle.
Moreover, it draws the boundaries of legal systems incorrectly. The Canadian
Constitution of 1982 was lawfully created by an Act of the U.K. Parliament, and on that basis Canadian law and English law should be parts of a single legal system, rooted in one basic norm: ‘The (first) U.K. constitution is to be obeyed.’ Yet no English law is binding in Canada, and a purported repeal of the Constitution Act by the U.K. would be without legal effect in Canada.
If law cannot ultimately be grounded in force, or in law, or in a presupposed norm, on what does its authority rest? The most influential solution is now H.L.A. Hart's. His solution resembles Kelsen's in its emphasis on the normative foundations of legal systems, but Hart rejects Kelsen's transcendentalist, Kantian view of authority in favour of an empirical, Weberian one. For Hart, the authority of law is social. The ultimate criterion of validity in a legal system is neither a legal norm nor a presupposed norm, but a social rule that exists only because it is actually practiced . Law ultimately rests on custom: customs about who shall have the authority to decide disputes, what they shall treat as binding reasons for decision, i.e. as sources of law, and how customs may be changed. Of these three “secondary rules,” as Hart calls them, the source-determining rule of recognition is most important, for it specifies the ultimate criteria of validity in the legal system. It exists only because it is practiced by officials, and it is not only the recognition rule (or rules) that best explains their practice, it is rule to which they actually appeal in arguments about what standards they are bound to apply. Hart's account is therefore conventionalist (see Marmor, and Coleman, 2001): ultimate legal rules are social norms, although they are neither the product of express agreement nor even conventions in the Schelling-Lewis sense (see Green 1999). Thus for Hart too the legal system is norms all the way down, but at its root is a social norm that has the kind of normative force that customs have. It is a regularity of behavior towards which officials take “the internal point of view:” they use it as a standard for guiding and evaluating their own and others' behavior, and this use is displayed in their conduct and speech, including

the resort to various forms of social pressure to support the rule and the ready application of normative terms such as “duty” and “obligation” when invoking it.
It is an important feature of Hart's account that the rule of recognition is an official custom, and not a standard necessarily shared by the broader community. If the imperativalists' picture of the political system was pyramidal power, Hart's is more like
Weber's rational bureaucracy. Law is normally a technical enterprise, characterized by a division of labour. Ordinary subjects' contribution to the existence of law may therefore amount to no more than passive compliance. Thus, Hart's necessary and sufficient conditions for the existence of a legal system are that “those rules of behavior which are valid according to the system's ultimate criteria of validity must be generally obeyed, and
... its rules of recognition specifying the criteria of legal validity and its rules of change and adjudication must be effectively accepted as common public standards of official behavior by its officials” (1994, p. 116). And this division of labour is not a normatively neutral fact about law; it is politically charged, for it sets up the possibility of law becoming remote from the life of a society, a hazard to which Hart is acutely alert (1994, p. 117; cf. Waldron).
Although Hart introduces the rule of recognition through a speculative anthropology of how it might emerge in response to certain deficiencies in a customary social order, he is not committed to the view that law is a cultural achievement. To the contrary, the idea that legal order is always a good thing, and that societies without it are deficient, is a familiar element of many anti -positivist views, beginning with Henry Maine's criticism of Austin on the ground that his theory would not apply to certain Indian villages. The objection embraces the error it seeks to avoid. It imperialistically assumes that it is always a bad thing to lack law, and then makes a dazzling inference from ought to is: if it is good to have law, then each society must have it, and the concept of law must be adjusted to show that it does. If one thinks that law is a many splendored thing, one will be tempted by a very wide concept of law, for it would seem improper to charge others with missing out. Positivism simply releases the harness. Law is a distinctive form of political order, not a moral achievement, and whether it is necessary or even useful

depends entirely on its content and context. Societies without law may be perfectly adapted to their environments, missing nothing.
A positivist account of the existence and content of law, along any of the above lines, offers a theory of the validity of law in one of the two main senses of that term (see
Harris, pp. 107-111). Kelsen says that validity is the specific mode of existence of a norm. An invalid marriage is not a special kind of marriage having the property of invalidity; it is not a marriage at all. In this sense a valid law one that is systemically valid in the jurisdiction -- it is part of the legal system. This is the question that positivists answer by reference to social sources. It is distinct from the idea of validity as moral propriety, i.e. a sound justification for respecting the norm. For the positivist, this depends on its merits. One indication that these senses differ is that one may know that a society has a legal system, and know what its laws are, without having any idea whether they are morally justified. For example, one may know that the law of ancient Athens included the punishment of ostracism without knowing whether it was justified, because one does not know enough about its effects, about the social context, and so forth.
No legal positivist argues that the systemic validity of law establishes its moral validity , i.e. that it should be obeyed by subjects or applied by judges. Even Hobbes, to whom this view is sometimes ascribed, required that law actually be able to keep the peace, failing which we owe it nothing. Bentham and Austin, as utilitarians, hold that such questions always turn on the consequences and both acknowledge that disobedience is therefore sometimes fully justified. Kelsen insists that “The science of law does not prescribe that one ought to obey the commands of the creator of the constitution” (1967, p. 204). Hart thinks that there is only a prima facie duty to obey, grounded in and thus limited by fairness -- so there is no obligation to unfair or pointless laws (Hart 1955). Raz goes further still, arguing that there isn't even a prima facie duty to obey the law, not even in a just state (Raz 1979, pp. 233-49). The peculiar accusation that positivists believe the law is always to be obeyed is without foundation. Hart's own view is that an overweening deference to law consorts more easily with theories that imbue it with moral ideals, permitting “an enormous overvaluation of the importance of the bare fact that a rule may

be said to be a valid rule of law, as if this, once declared, was conclusive of the final moral question: ‘Ought this law to be obeyed?” (Hart 1958, p. 75).
3. Moral Principles and the Boundaries of Law
The most influential criticisms of legal positivism all flow, in one way or another, from the suspicion that it fails to give morality its due. A theory that insists on the facticity of law seems to contribute little to our understanding that law has important functions in making human life go well, that the rule of law is a prized ideal, and that the language and practice of law is highly moralized. Accordingly, positivism's critics maintain that the most important features of law are not to be found in its source-based character, but in law's capacity to advance the common good, to secure human rights, or to govern with integrity. (It is a curious fact about anti-positivist theories that, while they all insist on the moral nature of law, without exception they take its moral nature to be something good .
The idea that law might of its very nature be morally problematic does not seem to have occurred to them.)
It is beyond doubt that moral and political considerations bear on legal philosophy. As
Finnis says, the reasons we have for establishing, maintaining or reforming law include moral reasons, and these reasons therefore shape our legal concepts (p. 204). But which concepts? Once one concedes, as Finnis does, that the existence and content of law can be identified without recourse to moral argument, and that “human law is artefact and artifice; and not a conclusion from moral premises,” (p. 205) the Thomistic apparatus he tries to resuscitate is largely irrelevant to the truth of legal positivism. This vitiates also
Lon Fuller's criticisms of Hart (Fuller, 1958 and 1969). Apart from some confused claims about adjudication, Fuller has two main points. First, he thinks that it isn't enough for a legal system to rest on customary social rules, since law could not guide behavior without also being at least minimally clear, consistent, public, prospective and so on -- that is, without exhibiting to some degree those virtues collectively called “the rule of law.” It suffices to note that this is perfectly consistent with law being source-based. Even if moral properties were identical with, or supervened upon, these rule-of-law properties, they do so in virtue of their rule-like character, and not their law-like character. Whatever virtues inhere in or follow from clear, consistent, prospective, and open practices can be

found not only in law but in all other social practices with those features, including custom and positive morality. And these virtues are minor: there is little to be said in favour of a clear, consistent, prospective, public and impartially administered system of racial segregation, for example. Fuller's second worry is that if law is a matter of fact, then we are without an explanation of the duty to obey. He gloatingly asks how “an amoral datum called law could have the peculiar quality of creating an obligation to obey it” (Fuller, 1958). One possibility he neglects is that it doesn't. The fact that law claims to obligate is, of course, a different matter and is susceptible to other explanations (Green
2001). But even if Fuller is right in his unargued assumption, the “peculiar quality” whose existence he doubts is a familiar feature of many moral practices. Compare promises: whether a society has a practice of promising, and what someone has promised to do, are matters of social fact. Yet promising creates moral obligations of performance or compensation. An “amoral datum” may indeed figure, together with other premises, in a sound argument to moral conclusions.
While Finnis and Fuller's views are thus compatible with the positivist thesis, the same cannot be said of Ronald Dworkin's important works (Dworkin 1978 and 1986).
Positivism's most significant critic rejects the theory on every conceivable level. He denies that there can be any general theory of the existence and content of law; he denies that local theories of particular legal systems can identify law without recourse to its merits, and he rejects the whole institutional focus of positivism. A theory of law is for
Dworkin a theory of how cases ought to be decided and it begins, not with an account of political organization, but with an abstract ideal regulating the conditions under which governments may use coercive force over their subjects. Force must only be deployed, he claims, in accordance with principles laid down in advance . A society has a legal system only when, and to the extent that, it honors this ideal, and its law is the set of all considerations that the courts of such a society would be morally justified in applying, whether or not those considerations are determined by any source. To identify the law of a given society we must engage in moral and political argument, for the law is whatever requirements are consistent with an interpretation of its legal practices (subject to a threshold condition of fit) that shows them to be best justified in light of the animating ideal. In addition to those philosophical considerations, Dworkin invokes two features of

the phenomenology of judging, as he sees it. He finds deep controversy among lawyers and judges about how important cases should be decided, and he finds diversity in the considerations that they hold relevant to deciding them. The controversy suggests to him that law cannot rest on an official consensus, and the diversity suggests that there is no single social rule that validates all relevant reasons, moral and non-moral, for judicial decisions.
Dworkin's rich and complex arguments have attracted various lines of reply from positivists. One response denies the relevance of the phenomenological claims.
Controversy is a matter of degree, and a consensus-defeating amount of it is not proved by the existence of adversarial argument in the high courts, or indeed in any courts. As important is the broad range of settled law that gives rise to few doubts and which guides social life outside the courtroom. As for the diversity argument, so far from being a refutation of positivism, this is an entailment of it. Positivism identifies law, not with all valid reasons for decision, but only with the source-based subset of them. It is no part of the positivist claim that the rule of recognition tells us how to decide cases, or even tells us all the relevant reasons for decision. Positivists accept that moral, political or economic considerations are properly operative in some legal decisions, just as linguistic or logical ones are. Modus ponens holds in court as much as outside, but not because it was enacted by the legislature or decided by the judges, and the fact that there is no social rule that validates both modus ponens and also the Municipalities Act is true but irrelevant. The authority of principles of logic (or morality) is not something to be explained by legal philosophy; the authority of acts of Parliament must be; and accounting for the difference is a central task of the philosophy of law.
Other positivists respond differently to Dworkin's phenomenological points, accepting their relevance but modifying the theory to accommodate them. So-called “inclusive positivists” (e.g., Waluchow (to whom the term is due), Coleman, Soper and Lyons) argue that the merit-based considerations may indeed be part of the law, if they are explicitly or implicitly made so by source-based considerations. For example, Canada's constitution explicitly authorizes for breach of Charter rights, “such remedy as the court considers appropriate and just in the circumstances.” In determining which remedies

might be legally valid, judges are thus expressly told to take into account their morality.
And judges may develop a settled practice of doing this whether or not it is required by any enactment; it may become customary practice in certain types of cases. Reference to moral principles may also be implicit in the web of judge-made law, for instance in the common law principle that no one should profit from his own wrongdoing. Such moral considerations, inclusivists claim, are part of the law because the sources make it so , and thus Dworkin is right that the existence and content of law turns on its merits, and wrong only in his explanation of this fact. Legal validity depends on morality, not because of the interpretative consequences of some ideal about how the government may use force, but because that is one of the things that may be customarily recognized as an ultimate determinant of legal validity. It is the sources that make the merits relevant.
To understand and assess this response, some preliminary clarifications are needed. First, it is not plausible to hold that the merits are relevant to a judicial decision only when the sources make it so. It would be odd to think that justice is a reason for decision only because some source directs an official to decide justly. It is of the nature of justice that it properly bears on certain controversies. In legal decisions, especially important ones, moral and political considerations are present of their own authority; they do not need sources to propel them into action. On the contrary, we expect to see a sourceÑa statute, a decision, or a conventionÑwhen judges are constrained not to appeal directly to the merits. Second, the fact that there is moral language in judicial decisions does not establish the presence of moral tests for law, for sources come in various guises. What sounds like moral reasoning in the courts is sometimes really source-based reasoning. For example, when the Supreme Court of Canada says that a publication is criminally
“obscene” only if it is harmful, it is not applying J.S. Mill's harm principle, for what that court means by “harmful” is that it is regarded by the community as degrading or intolerable. Those are source-based matters, not moral ones. This is just one of many appeals to positive morality, i.e. to the moral customs actually practiced by a given society, and no one denies that positive morality may be a source of law. Moreover, it is important to remember that law is dynamic and that even a decision that does apply morality itself becomes a source of law, in the first instance for the parties and possibly for others as well. Over time, by the doctrine of precedent where it exists or through the

gradual emergence of an interpretative convention where it does not, this gives a factual edge to normative terms. Thus, if a court decides that money damages are in some instances not a “just remedy” then this fact will join with others in fixing what “justice” means for these purposes. This process may ultimately detach legal concepts from their moral analogs (thus, legal “murder” may require no intention to kill, legal “fault” no moral blameworthiness, an “equitable” remedy may be manifestly unfair, etc.)
Bearing in mind these complications, however, there undeniably remains a great deal of moral reasoning in adjudication. Courts are often called on to decide what would reasonable, fair, just, cruel, etc. by explicit or implicit requirement of statute or common law, or because this is the only proper or intelligible way to decide. Hart sees this as happening pre-eminently in hard cases in which, owing to the indeterminacy of legal rules or conflicts among them, judges are left with the discretion to make new law.
“Discretion,” however, may be a potentially misleading term here. First, discretionary judgments are not arbitrary: they are guided by merit-based considerations, and they may also be guided by law even though not fully determined by it -- judges may be empowered to make certain decisions and yet under a legal duty to make them in a particular way, say, in conformity with the spirit of preexisting law or with certain moral principles (Raz 1994, pp. 238-53). Second, Hart's account might wrongly be taken to suggest that there are fundamentally two kinds of cases , easy ones and hard ones, distinguished by the sorts of reasoning appropriate to each. A more perspicuous way of putting it would be to say that there are two kinds of reasons that are operative in every case: source-based reasons and non-source-based reasons. Law application and law creation are continuous activities for, as Kelsen correctly argued, every legal decision is partly determined by law and partly underdetermined: “The higher norm cannot bind in every direction the act by which it is applied. There must always be more or less room for discretion, so that the higher norm in relation to the lower one can only have the character of a frame to be filled by this act” (1967, p. 349). This is a general truth about norms.
There are infinitely many ways of complying with a command to “close the door”
(quickly or slowly, with one's right hand or left, etc.) Thus, even an “easy case” will contain discretionary elements. Sometimes such residual discretion is of little importance; sometimes it is central; and a shift from marginal to major can happen in a flash with

changes in social or technological circumstances. That is one of the reasons for rejecting a strict doctrine of separation of powers -- Austin called it a “childish fiction” -- according to which judges only apply and never make the law, and with it any literal interpretation of Dworkin's ideal that coercion be deployed only according to principles laid down in advance.
It has to be said, however, that Hart himself does not consistently view legal references to morality as marking a zone of discretion. In a passing remark in the first edition of The
Concept of Law , he writes, “In some legal systems, as in the United States, the ultimate criteria of legal validity explicitly incorporate principles of justice or substantive moral values …” (1994, p. 204). This thought sits uneasily with other doctrines of importance to his theory. For Hart also says that when judges exercise moral judgment in the penumbra of legal rules to suppose that their results were already part of existing law is
“in effect, an invitation to revise our concept of what a legal rule is …” (1958, p. 72). The concept of a legal rule, that is, does not include all correctly reasoned elaborations or determinations of that rule. Later, however, Hart comes to see his remark about the U.S. constitution as foreshadowing inclusive positivism (“soft positivism,” as he calls it).
Hart's reasons for this shift are obscure (Green 1996). He remained clear about how we should understand ordinary statutory interpretation, for instance, where the legislature has directed that an applicant should have a “reasonable time” or that a regulator may permit only a “fair price:” these grant a bounded discretion to decide the cases on their merits.
Why then does Hart -- and even more insistently, Waluchow and Coleman -- come to regard constitutional adjudication differently? Is there any reason to think that a constitution permitting only a “just remedy” requires a different analysis than a statute permitting only a “fair rate?”
One might hazard the following guess. Some of these philosophers think that constitutional law expresses the ultimate criteria of legal validity: because unjust remedies are constitutionally invalid and void ab initio , legally speaking they never existed (Waluchow). That being so, morality sometimes determines the existence or content of law. If this is the underlying intuition, it is misleading, for the rule of recognition is not to be found in constitutions. The rule of recognition is the ultimate

criterion (or set of criteria) of legal validity. If one knows what the constitution of a country is, one knows some of its law; but one may know what the rule of recognition is without knowing any of its laws. You may know that acts of the Bundestag are a source of law in Germany but not be able to name or interpret a single one of them. And constitutional law is itself subject to the ultimate criteria of systemic validity. Whether a statute, decision or convention is part of a country's constitution can only be determined by applying the rule of recognition. The provisions of the 14 th Amendment to the U.S. constitution, for example, are not the rule of recognition in the U.S., for there is an intrasystemic answer to the question why that Amendment is valid law. The U.S. constitution, like that of all other countries, is law only because it was created in ways provided by law
(through amendment or court decision) or in ways that came to be accepted as creating law (by constitutional convention and custom). Constitutional cases thus raise no philosophical issue not already present in ordinary statutory interpretation, where inclusive positivists seem content with the theory of judicial discretion. It is, of course, open to them to adopt a unified view and treat every explicit or implicit legal reference to morality -- in cases, statutes, constitutions, and customs -- as establishing moral tests for the existence of law. (Although at that point it is unclear how their view would differ from Dworkin's.) So we should consider the wider question: why not regard as law everything referred to by law?
Exclusive positivists offer three main arguments for stopping at social sources. The first and most important is that it captures and systematizes distinctions we regularly make and that we have good reason to continue to make. We assign blame and responsibility differently when we think that a bad decision was mandated by the sources than we do when we think that it flowed from a judge's exercise of moral or political judgement.
When considering who should be appointed to the judiciary, we are concerned not only with their acumen as jurists, but also with their morality and politics--and we take different things as evidence of these traits. These are deeply entrenched distinctions, and there is no reason to abandon them.
The second reason for stopping at sources is that this is demonstrably consistent with key features of law's role in practical reasoning. The most important argument to this

conclusion is due to Raz (1994, pp. 210-37). For a related argument see Shapiro. For criticism see Perry, Waluchow, Coleman 2001, and Himma.) Although law does not necessarily have legitimate authority, it lays claim to it, and can intelligibly do so only if it is the kind of thing that could have legitimate authority. It may fail, therefore, in certain ways only, for example, by being unjust, pointless, or ineffective. But law cannot fail to be a candidate authority, for it is constituted in that role by our political practices.
According to Raz, practical authorities mediate between subjects and the ultimate reasons for which they should act. Authorities' directives should be based on such reasons, and they are justified only when compliance with the directives makes it more likely that people will comply with the underlying reasons that apply to them. But they can do that only if is possible to know what the directives require independent of appeal to those underlying reasons. Consider an example. Suppose we agree to resolve a dispute by consensus, but that after much discussion find ourselves in disagreement about whether some point is in fact part of the consensus view. It will do nothing to say that we should adopt it if it is indeed properly part of the consensus. On the other hand, we could agree to adopt it if it were endorsed by a majority vote, for we could determine the outcome of a vote without appeal to our ideas about what the consensus should be. Social sources can play this mediating role between persons and ultimate reasons, and because the nature of law is partly determined by its role in giving practical guidance, there is a theoretical reason for stopping at source-based considerations.
The third argument challenges an underlying idea of inclusive positivism, what we might call the Midas Principle. “Just as everything King Midas touched turned into gold, everything to which law refers becomes law … ” (Kelsen 1967, p. 161). Kelsen thought that it followed from this principle that “It is … possible for the legal order, by obliging the law-creating organs to respect or apply certain moral norms or political principles or opinions of experts to transform these norms, principles, or opinions into legal norms, and thus into sources of law” (Kelsen 1945, p. 132). (Though he regarded this transformation as effected by a sort of tacit legislation.) If sound, the Midas Principle holds in general and not only with respect to morality, as Kelsen makes clear. Suppose then that the Income Tax Act penalizes overdue accounts at 8% per annum. In a relevant case, an official can determine the content of a legal obligation only by calculating

compound interest. Does this make mathematics part of the law? A contrary indication is that it is not subject to the rules of change in a legal system -- neither courts nor legislators can repeal or amend the law of commutativity. The same holds of other social norms, including the norms of foreign legal systems. A conflict-of-laws rule may direct a
Canadian judge to apply Mexican law in a Canadian case. The conflicts rule is obviously part of the Canadian legal system. But the rule of Mexican law is not, for although
Canadian officials can decide whether or not to apply it, they can neither change it nor repeal it, and best explanation for its existence and content makes no reference to
Canadian society or its political system. In like manner, moral standards, logic, mathematics, principles of statistical inference, or English grammar, though all properly applied in cases, are not themselves the law, for legal organs have applicative but not creative power over them. The inclusivist thesis is actually groping towards an important, but different, truth. Law is an open normative system (Raz 1975, pp. 152-54): it adopts and enforces many other standards, including moral norms and the rules of social groups.
There is no warrant for adopting the Midas Principle to explain how or why it does this.
4. Law and Its Merits
It may clarify the philosophical stakes in legal positivism by comparing it to a number of other theses with which it is sometimes wrongly identified, and not only by its opponents.
(See also Hart, 1958, Fuesser, and Schauer.)
4.1 The Fallibility Thesis
Law does not necessarily satisfy the conditions by which it is appropriately assessed
(Lyons 1984, p. 63, Hart 1994, pp. 185-6). Law should be just, but it may not be; it should promote the common good, but sometimes it doesn't; it should protect moral rights, but it may fail miserably. This we may call the moral fallibility thesis. The thesis is correct, but it is not the exclusive property of positivism. Aquinas accepts it, Fuller accepts it, Finnis accepts it, and Dworkin accepts it. Only a crude misunderstanding of ideas like Aquinas's claim that “an unjust law seems to be no law at all” might suggest the contrary. Law may have an essentially moral character and yet be morally deficient.
Even if every law always does one kind of justice (formal justice; justice according to

law), this does not entail that it does every kind of justice. Even if every law has a prima facie claim to be applied or obeyed, it does not follow that it has such a claim all things considered. The gap between these partial and conclusive judgments is all a natural law theory needs to accommodate the fallibility thesis. It is sometimes said that positivism gives a more secure grasp on the fallibility of law, for once we see that it is a social construction we will be less likely to accord it inappropriate deference and better prepared to engage in a clear-headed moral appraisal of the law. This claim has appealed to several positivists, including Bentham and Hart. But while this might follow from the truth of positivism, it cannot provide an argument for it. If law has an essentially moral character then it is obfuscating, not clarifying, to describe it as a source-based structure of governance.
4.2 The Separability Thesis
At one point, Hart identifies legal positivism with “the simple contention that it is no sense a necessary truth that laws reproduce or satisfy certain demands of morality, though in fact they have often done so” (1994, pp. 185-86). Many other philosophers, encouraged also by the title of Hart's famous essay, “Positivism and the Separation of
Law and Morals,” (1958) treat the theory as the denial that there is a necessary connection between law and morality -- they must be in some sense “separable” even if not in fact separate (Coleman, 1982). The separability thesis is generally construed so as to tolerate any contingent connection between morality and law, provided only that it is conceivable that the connection might fail. Thus, the separability thesis is consistent with all of the following: (i) moral principles are part of the law; (ii) law is usually, or even always in fact, valuable; (iii) the best explanation for the content of a society's laws includes reference to the moral ideals current in that society; and (iv) a legal system cannot survive unless it is seen to be, and thus in some measure actually is, just. All four claims are counted by the separability thesis as contingent connections only; they do not hold of all possible legal systems -- they probably don't even hold of all historical legal systems. As merely contingent truths, it is imagined that they do not affect the concept of law itself. (This is a defective view of concept-formation, but we may ignore that for these purposes.) If we think of the positivist thesis this way, we might interpret the

difference between exclusive and inclusive positivism in terms of the scope of the modal operator:
(EP) It is necessarily the case that there is no connection between law and morality.
(IP) It is not necessarily the case that there is a connection between law and morality.
In reality, however, legal positivism is not to be identified with either thesis and each of them is false. There are many necessary “connections,” trivial and non-trivial, between law and morality. As John Gardner notes, legal positivism takes a position only one of them, it rejects any dependence of the existence of law on its merits (Gardner 2001). And with respect to this dependency relation, legal positivists are concerned with much more than the relationship between law and morality , for in the only sense in which they insist on a separation of law and morals they must insist also--and for the same reasons--on a separation of law and economics.
To exclude this dependency relation, however, is to leave intact many other interesting possibilities. For instance, it is possible that moral value derives from the sheer existence of law (Raz 1990, 165-70) If Hobbes is right, any order is better than chaos and in some circumstances order may be achievable only through positive law. Or perhaps in a
Hegelian way every existing legal system expresses deliberate governance in a world otherwise dominated by chance; law is the spirit of the community come to selfconsciousness. Notice that these claims are consistent with the fallibility thesis, for they do not deny that these supposedly good things might also bring evils, such as too much order or the will to power. Perhaps such derivative connections between law and morality are thought innocuous on the ground that they show more about human nature than they do about the nature of law. The same cannot be said of the following necessary connections between law and morality, each of which goes right to the heart of our concept of law:
(1) Necessarily, law deals with moral matters.

Kelsen writes, “Just as natural and positive law govern the same subject-matter, and relate, therefore, to the same norm-object, namely the mutual relationships of men -- so both also have in common the universal form of this governance, namely obligation
.”
(Kelsen 1928, p. 34) This is a matter of the content of all legal systems. Where there is law there is also morality, and they regulate the same matters by analogous techniques.
Of course to say that law deals with morality's subject matter is not to say that it does so well, and to say that all legal systems create obligations is not to endorse the duties so created. This is broader than Hart's “minimum content” thesis according to which there are basic rules governing violence, property, fidelity, and kinship that any legal system must encompass if it aims at the survival of social creatures like ourselves (Hart 1994, pp.
193-200). Hart regards this as a matter of “natural necessity” and in that measure is willing to qualify his endorsement of the separability thesis. But even a society that prefers national glory or the worship of gods to survival will charge its legal system with the same tasks its morality pursues, so the necessary content of law is not dependent, as
Hart thinks it is, on assuming certain facts about human nature and certain aims of social existence. He fails to notice that if human nature and life were different, then morality would be too and if law had any role in that society, it would inevitably deal with morality's subject matter. Unlike the rules of a health club, law has broad scope and reaches to the most important things in any society, whatever they may be. Indeed, our most urgent political worries about law and its claims flow from just this capacity to regulate our most vital interests, and law's wide reach must figure in any argument about its legitimacy and its claim to obedience.
(2) Necessarily, law makes moral claims on its subjects.
The law tells us what we must do, not merely what it would be virtuous or advantageous to do, and it requires us to act without regard to our individual self-interest but in the interests of other individuals, or in the public interest more generally (except when law itself permits otherwise). That is to say, law purports to obligate us. But to make categorical demands that people should act in the interests of others is to make moral demands on them. These demands may be misguided or unjustified for law is fallible; they may be made in a spirit that is cynical or half-hearted; but they must be the kind of

thing that can be offered as, and possibly taken as, obligation-imposing requirements. For this reason neither a regime of “stark imperatives” (see Kramer, pp. 83-9) nor a price system would be a system of law, for neither could even lay claim to obligate its subjects.
As with many other social institutions, what law, though its officials, claims determines its character independent of the truth or validity of those claims. Popes, for example, claim apostolic succession from St. Peter. The fact that they claim this partly determines what it is to be a Pope, even if it is a fiction, and even the Pope himself doubts its truth.
The nature of law is similarly shaped by the self-image it adopts and projects to its subjects. To make moral demands on their compliance is to stake out a certain territory, to invite certain kinds of support and, possibly, opposition. It is precisely because law makes these claims that doctrines of legitimacy and political obligation take the shape and importance that they do.
(3) Necessarily, law is justice-apt.
In view of the normative function of law in creating and enforcing obligations and rights, it always makes sense to ask whether law is just, and where it is found deficient to demand reform. Legal systems are therefore the kind of thing that is apt for appraisal as just or unjust. This is a very significant feature of law. Not all human practices are justice-apt. It makes no sense to ask whether a certain fugue is just or to demand that it become so. The musical standards of fugal excellence are preeminently internal -- a good fugue is a good example of its genre; it should be melodic, interesting, inventive etc. -- and the further we get from these internal standards the less secure evaluative judgments about it become. While some formalists flirt with similar ideas about law, this is in fact inconsistent with law's place amongst human practices. Even if law has internal standards of merit -- virtues uniquely its own that inhere in its law-like character -- these cannot preclude or displace its assessment on independent criteria of justice. A fugue may be at its best when it has all the virtues of fugacity; but law is not best when it excels in legality; law must also be just. A society may therefore suffer not only from too little of the rule of law, but also from too much of it. This does not presuppose that justice is the only, or even the first, virtue of a legal system. It means that our concern for its justice as one of its virtues cannot be sidelined by any claim of the sort that law's purpose is to be

law, to its most excellent degree. Law stands continuously exposed to demands for justification, and that too shapes its nature and role in our lives and culture.
These three theses establish connections between law and morality that are both necessary and highly significant. Each of them is consistent with the positivist thesis that the existence and content of law depends on social facts, not on its merits. Each of them contributes to an understanding of the nature of law. The familiar idea that legal positivism insists on the separability of law and morality is therefore significantly mistaken.
4.3 The Neutrality Thesis
The necessary content thesis and the justice-aptitude thesis together establish that law is not value-neutral. Although some lawyers regard this idea as a revelation (and others as provocation) it is in fact banal. The thought that law could be value neutral does not even rise to falsity -- it is simply incoherent. Law is a normative system, promoting certain values and repressing others. Law is not neutral between victim and murderer or between owner and thief. When people complain of the law's lack of neutrality, they are in fact voicing very different aspirations, such as the demand that it be fair, just, impartial, and so forth. A condition of law's achieving any of these ideals is that it is not neutral in either its aims or its effects.
Positivism is however sometimes more credibly associated with the idea that legal philosophy is or should be value-neutral. Kelsen, for example, says, “the function of the science of law is not the evaluation of its subject, but its value-free description” (1967, p.
68) and Hart at one point described his work as “descriptive sociology” (1994, p. v).
Since it is well known that there are convincing arguments for the ineliminability of values in the social sciences, those who have taken on board Quinian holisms, Kuhnian paradigms, or Foucauldian espistemes, may suppose that positivism should be rejected a priori , as promising something that no theory can deliver.
There are complex questions here, but some advance may be made by noticing that
Kelsen's alternatives are a false dichotomy. Legal positivism is indeed not an “evaluation of its subject”, i.e., an evaluation of the law . And to say that the existence of law depends

on social facts does not commit one to thinking that it is a good thing that this is so. (Nor does it preclude it: see MacCormick and Campbell) Thus far Kelsen is on secure ground.
But it does not follow that legal philosophy therefore offers a “value-free description” of its subject. There can be no such thing. Whatever the relation between facts and values, there is no doubt about the relationship between descriptions and values. Every description is value-laden. It selects and systematizes only a subset of the infinite number of facts about its subject. To describe law as resting on customary social rules is to omit many other truths about it including, for example, truths about its connection to the demand for paper or silk. Our warrant for doing this must rest on the view that the former facts are more important than the latter. In this way, all descriptions express choices about what is salient or significant, and these in turn cannot be understood without reference to values. So legal philosophy, even if not directly an evaluation of its subject is nonetheless “indirectly evaluative” (Dickson, 2001). Moreover, “law” itself is an anthropocentric subject, dependent not merely on our sensory embodiment but also, as its necessary connections to morality show, on our moral sense and capacities. Legal kinds such as courts, decisions, and rules will not appear in a purely physical description of the universe and may not even appear in every social description. (This may limit the prospects for a “naturalized” jurisprudence; though for a spirited defense of the contrary view, see Leiter)
It may seem, however, that legal positivism at least requires a stand on the so-called
“fact-value” problem. There is no doubt that certain positivists, especially Kelsen, believe this to be so. In reality, positivism may cohabit with a range of views here -- value statements may be entailed by factual statements; values may supervene on facts; values may be kind of fact. Legal positivism requires only that it be in virtue of its facticity rather than its meritoriousness that something is law, and that we can describe that facticity without assessing its merits. In this regard, it is important to bear in mind that not every kind of evaluative statement would count among the merits of a given rule; its merits are only those values that could bear on its justification.
Evaluative argument is, of course, central to the philosophy of law more generally. No legal philosopher can be only a legal positivist. A complete theory of law requires also an

account of what kinds of things could possibly count as merits of law (must law be efficient or elegant as well as just?); of what role law should play in adjudication (should valid law always be applied?); of what claim law has on our obedience (is there a duty to obey?); and also of the pivotal questions of what laws we should have and whether we should have law at all. Legal positivism does not aspire to answer these questions, though its claim that the existence and content of law depends only on social facts does give them shape.
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Copyright © 2003
Leslie Green lgreen@mail.law.utexa
s.edu

West Africa Review (2001)
ISSN: 1525-4488
CHOOSING A LEGAL THEORY ON CULTURAL GROUNDS: AN AFRICAN
CASE FOR LEGAL POSITIVISM
Jare Oladosu
Introduction
If there are two or more legal theories or philosophies to choose from, what sort of considerations might induce one to prefer one to the other(s)? The standard answer to this question is that for the choice to be a reasonable one, it must be based on an estimate of theoretical advantage or moral benefits or both. In other words, the choice must be based on the judgment that one of the theories is superior to the other(s), in the way in which it would advance and clarify our theoretical inquiries on the nature of law, or in the way in which it would advance and clarify our moral deliberations about the law, or, in the way in which it would do both.
1
Neither of these two considerations is peculiar to the domain of legal theory. The adoption or rejection of theories on conceptual and\or on pragmatic grounds is an integral part of the enterprise of theory construction in all aspects of science; moral consideration is the essence of practical reasoning; legal theory is just an aspect of practical reasoning.
In the mainstream Anglo-Saxon legal theory, the debate on the choice of a legal theory has revolved largely around these two broad considerations – theoretical or moral advantage or both.
2
While this debate rages on, some African writers on legal theory have

introduced a new and potentially interesting dimension to the discourse. These writers claim to have based their preference for one legal theory, and their opposition to another, on what we may simply refer to as cultural grounds. Without exception, these African commentators claim to have reached the conclusion that the positivist legal theory is unsuitable for the African (especially the Nigerian) legal system, and they have subsequently proceeded to advocate the adoption of the natural law theory.
3
To the extent that legal positivism claims to be a universally valid and applicable theory, no doubt, its credibility would be substantially diminished, if it can be shown to be either incapable of providing an adequate description of, or of responding adequately to, the peculiar jurisprudential experiences and needs of certain cultures, or, to be peculiarly susceptible to morally undesirable consequences, when put into practice in certain cultural milieu. That legal positivism is defective in both of these ways, when applied in the African sociopolitical environment, is precisely what these writers are individually out to demonstrate.
In this paper, I propose to examine the arguments variously advanced by these African writers to support their culture-based rejection of the positivist creed in legal theory. I will argue that creative and interesting as these criticisms of the positivist theory may be, they are philosophically unacceptable. As against the near universal advocacy in favour of the natural law doctrine (legal positivism’s conceptual archrival) by the Nigerian writers, I shall sketch the outlines of a positive case for the adoption of legal positivism by the legal systems of modern African states.
In the remainder of this paper, I proceed as follows. I will undertake some conceptual clarifications in section one. Here, I analyze what is involved in the choice or adoption of a legal theory. How might a

legal system be said to have adopted a legal theory? In section two, I will explicate the salient tenets of the positivist legal theory. What major changes have taken place in the development of the theory, from its classic statements in the writings of Jeremy Bentham and his disciple, John Austin, in the first half of the nineteenth century? How have the African commentators tended to interpret the theory? I will subject the arguments adduced by these writers for the rejection of legal positivism to critical examination in part three. My conclusion will be that most of these arguments are either incomplete, irrelevant, or otherwise philosophically unsound. Finally, in the constructive part four, I present the outlines of an argument for the adoption of the positivist theory by our legal systems in modern day Africa.
Conceptual Clarification
There are two distinct (possibly complementary) ways in which a legal theory could be said to have been adopted by a legal system. In the first sense – say, with particular reference to legal positivism – a situation could prevail in which the positivist philosophy exerts an indirect, although possibly profound or even dominant intellectual influence on the practices and discourse in a legal system, through the works of leading jurists and legal scholars. In other words, influential jurists and scholars operating in a legal system might consider legal positivism the soundest theory of law. Such jurists and scholars may then reflect the positivist principles and teachings in their works, either as practicing lawyers, judges, or legal theoreticians. A situation might develop where jurists and legal scholars of positivist persuasion constitute a significant majority or, otherwise wield significant influence on the system’s institutions and practices. This may be due to the strategic importance of the positions they occupy in the scheme of things (e.g., offices that attract high visibility, like a Supreme Court justiceship, a justice

ministership, or even deans or prominent professors of pace-setting law schools). The general orientation of the legal system in which they operate might then become identifiably positivistic. When that happens, I would consider legal positivism to have been indirectly adopted by the legal system in question.
4
The second sense in which a legal theory – again, say, legal positivism – could be said to have been adopted by a legal system is, paradoxically, more and less direct than the case in the first sense. It might come about in the following way. If a legal system’s rule of recognition
5 does not contain any provision, either expressly stated or implied, making the satisfaction of some moral standard or another a requirement for the legal validity of individual rules of law, such that a legal rule properly enacted, i.e., enacted in accordance with the system’s norms and regulations for law-making, but which is morally deficient one way or the other, would still be considered a valid law of the system, then I would consider legal positivism to have been adopted by the legal system in question.
6
This way of adopting legal positivism would be more direct than the first in the sense that the criteria of legal validity as contained in the system’s rule of recognition would be binding on all judges and other officials in the system, whose business it is to interpret and apply the laws, irrespective of their personal views on the appropriate relationship between the twin social institutions of law and morality.
On the other hand, this manner of adopting legal positivism would be less direct than the first mode of adoption, to the extent that adopting legal positivism in this way need not be the product of an internalised intellectual deliberation, or conscious philosophical commitment by any of the system’s officials, or norm-subjects. In other words, a legal system could adopt legal positivism in this second sense, even where no jurist or scholar in it could be said to be a legal positivist in

the first sense. The adoption of legal positivism in the second sense might be based on no more than the pragmatic consideration that the theory augurs well for the efficient administration of the law.
It is only in this second sense of adoption that the Nigerian writers could plausibly consider legal positivism to have been adopted by the legal systems of modern African states, when they report that legal positivism is the dominant legal theory in contemporary Africa.
7
Taken in the first sense of the indirect but dominant influence of philosophically committed jurists and scholars, I should doubt whether there is enough exposure to the legal positivist philosophy or any other philosophical creed for that matter by African jurists and practicing lawyers, to leave such deep intellectual impression on their thought processes as would enable them to consciously reflect the tenets of such a theory in their work.
The curricula in African law schools and faculties usually consist almost exclusively of what Karl Lewellyn once described as breadand-butter courses
8
. Given this common emphasis on technical legal training, often considered to be of immediate practical utility to a developing society, it is only to be expected that there would be but the barest degree of exposure for lawyers in training, to the tenets of the philosophies and fundamental assumptions which underlie the practical matters that constitute the contents of law school instruction.
I hasten to note here however, that this practicing lawyer’s attitude to philosophical questions is by no means peculiar to African legal practitioners; philosophically sophisticated lawyers tend to be the exceptions even in the so-called highly developed legal systems. The typical lawyer’s cynicism about “deep theory” is captured eloquently by Dicey.

Jurisprudence” [Dicey observes] is a word which stinks in the nostrils of a practising barrister. A jurist is, they constantly find, a professor whose claim to dogmatize on law in general lies in the fact that he has made himself master of no one legal system in particular, whilst his boasted science consists in the enunciation of platitudes which, if they ought, as he insists, to be law everywhere, cannot in fact be shown to be law anywhere.
9
Stig Stromholm’s observations on the respective jurisprudential traditions of ancient Greece, and the Roman Empire are rather apt here. According to Stromholm, if what prevailed in ancient Greece could be described as philosophy without law, i.e., all theory no technique, then what prevailed in the Roman Empire should be described as law without philosophy, i.e., all technique no theory.
10
My contention is that in many African legal systems too, what we have is law without philosophy; as it was in the Roman Empire, all technique, little or no basic theory.
Legal Positivism
The positivist theory of law has had a checkered career. In almost two centuries of its modern development, it has metamorphosed through different phases of changes, refinements, and creative modifications. I shall state, in very broad outlines, the salient elements of three of the more prominent versions of the theory. The goal of this exposition is to enable us isolate the common elements in all of these versions, and to get to the irreducible minimum properties of a positivist conception of law. Against this common core of the positivist doctrine, I shall compare the interpretations of it to be found in the works of its African critics.

Imperativist Positivism
The classic statement of a positivist account of the nature of law is to be found in John Austin’s much analysed imperativist theory – the notorious command theory of law. Positive law which, in Austin’s view, is law properly and strictly so called (and which is the only appropriate matter of scientific jurisprudence), is the command of a sovereign.
11 A sovereign, says Austin, is a determinate person or group of persons 12 who is rendered habitual obedience - but who does not render any such obedience to any one - by the bulk of the population of a politically independent society.
13
As for the notion of a command, Austin analysed it into three elements:
14
1.
a wish conceived by a rational being that another rational being shall do or forebear from doing;
2.
an evil, or, in current parlance, a sanction, to proceed from the commander and to be incurred by the commanded party, in case the latter fails to comply with the wish expressed by the former;
3.
intimation of the wish, by words or other signs.
On Austin’s model of legal positivism, law is made when a sovereign issues a command.
In summary, the principal features of Austin’s theory are these.
1.
The source of the law is in social fact.
2.
Law derives from the sovereign’s express or tacit commands.
3.
Sanction is an indispensable aspect of the law. In other words, it is Austin’s view that a sanctionless law is something of a contradiction in terms. This has to be so, given the centrality

of the element of sanction in Austin’s analysis of the notion of command.
4.
There is no necessary connection between law and morality.
Or, to express the idea in a more positive form, law and morality are conceptually separable. This separability thesis would prove to be the most enduring element of Austinian positivism. Austin himself was uncompromising on the validity of the separability thesis. His famous battle cry is the ringing maxim:
The existence of a law is one thing, its [moral] merit or demerit is another. Whether it be or be not is one enquiry; whether it be or be not conformable to an assumed [moral] standard, is a different enquiry. A law, which actually exists, is a law, though we happen to dislike it, or though it vary from the text, by which we regulate our approbation and disapprobation.
15
Legal Realism
The realist version of legal positivism is the product of the American realist movement of the 1920s and 1930s. The movement was so named because most of its leading exponents were legal scholars and jurists based in North America, specifically in the United States.
16
The realists conceive the law as consisting in the predictions of the decisions (and sundry pronouncements) of law courts, in cases brought before them for adjudication. As Justice Holmes famously put it, “the prophecies of what the courts will do indeed, and nothing more pretentious, are what I mean by the law”.
17 Individual members of the realist movement qualify this basic proposition in different ways. But these three features of the theory are fairly constant.

1.
Law is a social fact; the law, as the realists are wont to say, is not a brooding omnipresent in the sky.
2.
The source of the law is judicial decision. Law, in other words, is the end product of the process of adjudication.
3.
Law and morality are conceptually separable – the separability thesis.
Normative Legal Positivism
The most current version of the positivist theory is the normative positivist analysis of the nature of law. This version of legal positivism has its best expositions in the respective writings of
Herbert Hart,
18
and Hans Kelsen.
19
The normative positivist analysis of the concept of law was developed in reaction to the unsatisfactory state of the debate in jurisprudence at about the middle of this century. Having apprehended the unproductive reductionist tendencies in classical legal positivism of the Austinian kind and theological natural law of the Thomist and Blackstonian variety respectively, the normative positivist seeks to forge a middle path between the two extreme positions. The goal of normative positivism is to construct a legal theory that is basically positivistic in conception, but which would be sufficiently flexible conceptually to also account for the normativity of the law.
20
For my purposes here, I state the outlines of H.L.A. Hart’s version of normative positivism. According to Hart, the beginning of wisdom in the effort to develop an adequate theory of law is to learn to conceive the law as a form of social rules 21 . Hart’s theory of law could be summarized in the following three propositions.
1.
Law is a social fact.

2.
The paradigm exemplification of the law consists in the union of primary and secondary “social rules.” 22
3.
Law and morality are conceptually separable.
Professor Hart’s articulation of the substance of the separability thesis is very instructive. According to
Hart, the import of the separability thesis is, “the simple contention that it is in no sense a necessary truth that laws reproduce or satisfy certain demands of morality, though in fact they have often done so.”
23
Elsewhere Hart analyses the content of the separability thesis into two disarmingly simple claims:
First, in the absence of an expressed constitutional or legal provision, it could not follow from the mere fact that a rule violated standards of morality that it was not a rule of law; and [second] conversely, it could not follow from the mere fact that a rule was morally desirable that it was a rule of law.
24
A quick review of the three versions of the positivist theory stated thus far shows that only two theses seem to be common to all of them, namely, the social fact thesis, and the separability thesis. The import of the social fact thesis is the claim that the existence of the law is purely a matter of social fact. The sources of the law are invariably to be sought in the inner workings of concrete social institutions. The variations between the different versions of the theory are explainable in terms of the differences in the specific social institutions each identifies as the source of the law, i.e., whether it be in the expression of the will of a monarch, or in the enactment of a modern parliament, or in the decisions of a law court, or in the complex interplay of social rules of some form.

Most self-confessed positivists and sympathetic commentators would most probably agree that these two theses constitute the irreducible core of the positivist creed. There may, however, be slight disagreements on which of the two theses to accord logical priority.
Kent Greenawalt, for example, is of the opinion that the social fact thesis is logically prior to the separability thesis. In his view: if one had to settle on a central aspect of legal positivism, as a general approach to legal theory that has existed over time, one would focus on the premise that law is in some important sense a social fact or set of social facts. Suppositions about the connections between law and morality and about the nature of judicial decisions follow from that .
25
Similarly, in his topical essay, “Classical Legal Positivism at
Nuremberg”, 26
Stanley L. Paulson claims that “classical legal positivism rests on two fundamental doctrines, the command doctrine and the doctrine of absolute sovereignty.” 27
This means, again, that the separability thesis is a derivative of those “two fundamental doctrines”.
These observations about the logical priority of the social fact thesis are most likely correct. But for analytical purposes it may be more helpful to reverse the order of things, since all legal positivists are equally committed to the separability thesis, and since there are important disagreements among positivists in regard to the determination of the content of the social fact thesis.
Let us take the separability thesis as a “negative” principle, it asserts what the law need not be. I suggest that we make this “negative” principle serve as the indispensable stump of the positivist account of the nature of law. Different versions of the theory may then be

obtained by grafting onto this conceptual stump a variety of different
“positive” theses. Austin’s imperativist brand of legal positivism,
Hart’s normative positivist analysis of the concept of law, and the predictivist account developed by the American realists, are three of the well-known examples of such derivable versions of legal positivism. In the first, the “positive” thesis that law is the command of a habitually obeyed, legally illimitable sovereign is grafted onto the separability thesis. In the second, the “positive” thesis that law is invariably to be conceived as the union of some form of social rules is grafted onto the separability thesis. In the third, the “positive” thesis that law is to be distilled from the decisions reached by courts in matters brought before them is grafted onto the separability thesis.
A rich possibility exists for theorists to graft other logically compatible “positive” theses onto the separability thesis, to derive yet other versions of legal positivism.
The African Critics’ Understanding of Legal Positivism
Against this background of a theory that has undergone profound changes in the course of its checkered evolution, and the rich possibility which, as I have suggested, exists even now to construct new variations of it, the understanding of the tenets of legal positivism displayed by many of its African critics is grossly inadequate. For many of these commentators
28
, it is as if the development of the positivist theory had remained frozen at the point of Austin’s expositions, in 1832.
29
For example, F. U. Okafor, a leading Nigerian critic of the theory, claims to understand legal positivism as “a theory which recognizes as valid laws only such enforceable norms as are enacted or established by the instrument of the state.” 30 The consequence of this conception of law, Okafor claims, is that for the positivist, “only statute laws are laws indeed, by the mere fact that they have been

posited by an appropriate political authority.” 31
In the face of these conceptual restrictions, Okafor contends, the legal positivist is led to exclude from the province of jurisprudence, “such fundamental questions as,’ what are the essence of law?’, ‘why is the citizen obliged to obey the law?’, ’what is the nature of a just and unjust law?’, ‘is what is legally wrong also morally wrong?’.” 32
In the same vein, Justice Akinola Aguda, easily one of Africa’s leading jurists, conceives the various versions of legal positivism as
“theories of the omnipotence of the sovereign.” 33
The Rev. Dr. N. S.
S. Iwe has a similar understanding of the tenets of the positivist theory of law:
By legal positivism, [Iwe writes,] we mean essentially that attitude of mind and spirit which regards as valid laws only such enforceable norms formally enacted or established by the appropriate official political organ.
Here only Municipal laws (or Statute Laws) are laws for they have been formally so posited by the authority. Once a given norm or proposal has formally and successfully gone through the technical procedures, of legislation, it automatically acquires the force of law, independently of all other considerations moral, teleological and practical. This is the stand of legal positivism and its school of supporters.
34
The sole concern of legal positivism, Iwe continues: is with the law as ‘it is’ and as ‘laid down’ not with what it ought to be. The separation of ethics and jurisprudence is complete in legal positivism. The legal ’is’ is all that counts. The legal ‘ought’ is of no

consequence and relevance in positivist jurisprudence.
The formal stamp of technical legality on a given norm – not its ethical contents and qualification – is the criterion of legal validity.
35
Taken in its current stage of development and sophistication – and this is the sense in which any serious-minded contemporary commentator ought to take it- the interpretations of the positivist doctrine that we have been quoting from the African writers are grotesque caricatures. But it is these caricatures that many of these writers claim to be theoretically inadequate and practically harmful to the peculiar circumstances of African legal systems. In the next section, I will examine, under two broad headings, some of the arguments that these critics adduce in support of their negative conclusions on legal positivism.
THE ONTOLOGICAL ARGUMENT AGAINST LEGAL
POSITIVISM
Although one finds passing allusions to this line of thinking in the works of other African critics of legal positivism, the clearest articulation of the ontological argument for the rejection of legal positivism was developed by Dr. F.U. Okafor.
36
The argument is based on what he considers to be the unique characteristics of
African ontology and, by extension, the unique characteristics of the social institutions that evolved from that ontology. In order to understand the traditional jurisprudence of Africa, Okafor claims, we must first understand the salient features of African ontology. As he puts it, “the African legal tradition is a direct outcome of African ontology.” 37 By “African ontology”, Okafor seems to mean nothing more than the African folk cosmology – the traditional African view

of the universal order, and man’s place in it. As Okafor understands it, “the morphology of African ‘reality’, their concept of ‘existence’, shows that there is an intimate ontological relationship between beings.” 38
In other words, African traditional worldview recognizes that there is “active interaction.a kind of intersubjective communion”, among the various entities that constitute the universe.
The hierarchy of beings, or as he would prefer to label these entities,
“forces”, range, in a descending order of might and importance, from the divine force, to terrestrial and celestial forces, to human forces, terminating with vegetable and mineral forces.
39
The place of man is right at the vortex of this cosmic order; to survive, man must harmonise his own being (or force) with the reality of the other forces that engulf him.
40
From this “ontological” base, there developed, according to Okafor, unique social and political ideas and institutions in Africa. As regards the evolution of the institution of law in Africa, with which we are here primarily concerned, Okafor submits that: “From the ontological relationship among forces, divine and human, animate and inanimate, and from the fact of the interaction of these forces arise a practical recognition of two main sources of law – divine and human.”
41
On this model of the traditional African legal system, there is only one vital criterion of legal validity, namely, that the purported law be intended by its maker (whether the lawmaker be God or man) to contribute to the maintenance of the harmony among the various ontological forces. Hence, “the province of African jurisprudence is
.large enough to include divine laws, positive laws, customary laws, and any other kinds of laws, provided such laws are intended for the promotion and preservation of the vital force.” 42
From this conception of the nature of law, certain cardinal features of traditional African legal system are said to emerge. The first is that

African laws are not the commands of any sovereign. In the traditional African political system, Okafor had earlier reported, there would have been no sovereigns to issue such commands in the first place. “The African political culture”, he claims, “recognises only leaders and not rulers, seniors but not superiors.” 43
The second characteristic of the traditional African legal system is the conspicuous lack of emphasis on enforceability. This is due, again, to the absence of centralised authorities – symbolized, for example, by the Austinian sovereign – to supervise the enforcement of the laws of traditional African society. In view of the absence of a law-enforcing central authority, the African (in traditional times) endeavoured to observe law and order because of his ontological and moral conviction that a breach of the law would upset the ontological order
44
. And, it was the general belief of course, that to upset the ontological order was to provoke calamitous reprisals to fall, not only upon one’s own head, but also upon the whole community of which one is a member.
The third salient characteristic of the traditional African legal system is the belief in the existence of a necessary connection between law and morality. Or, as Okafor puts it, there was the belief “[that] there cannot be any separation of morality and legality in the African legal experience.” 45
Again, the explanation for this belief in the conceptual union of law and morality goes back, ultimately, to the ontological undercurrent of the jurisprudence of traditional Africa. “It is because
African positive laws have ontological foundations that they have ipso facto a moral foundation, for in African ethical thought, what is considered ontologically good will therefore be accounted ethically good; and at length be assessed as juridically just.” 46
In view of this jurisprudential heritage, Okafor’s conclusion is that the African legal system must reject legal positivism in all its ramifications. This, as he

says, is because, “the legal positivists tenets and their corollaries are in complete opposition to the African ontology and African jurisprudence that depends on it.” 47
The opposition of the positivist philosophy to African jurisprudence is manifested in several ways. First, legal positivism, says Okafor, conceives law as the commands of a sovereign ruler, issued to his obedient subjects. This is clearly opposed to the tenets of African jurisprudence, by the terms of which the existence of such a sovereign ruler is denied, and where laws are reportedly conceived as the ordinances of reason. Second, legal positivism is said to posit enforceability as a necessary condition for the existence of law. But
African jurisprudence denies the necessity of enforceability. Third, and most important, legal positivism denies that there is a necessary connection between the validity of a rule of positive law and the satisfaction of some presumed standards of morality. On the contrary, African jurisprudence is said to affirm that there is a necessary connection between morality and the validity of positive law.
It is easy to guess Okafor’s conclusion from all this: there can be no room for the positivist creed, as far as the development of the African legal system is concerned. Okafor counsels that “in the African world serious efforts must be made to ensure that our laws, statutory or customary, take due cognizance of African ontology. Only a law with such ontological foundation would be a law of the people for the people.” 48
Okafor’s submission is very interesting, at times even fascinating.
Surely he has taken the discourse to hitherto unsuspected realms. I should doubt, however, whether what is left of Okafor’s case against legal positivism would stand up to critical scrutiny, once the argument is stripped of the exotic but largely illusory garb of

“African ontology”. Indeed, I will argue that Okafor’s argument against legal positivism is flawed on all counts: his description of the traditional jurisprudence of Africa does not correspond to anything in reality; his interpretation of the legal positivist doctrine – which he sets the so called African jurisprudence up against – is clearly out of vogue, outdated perhaps by more than one and a half centuries. I start with Okafor’s exposition of legal positivism.
Okafor’s understanding of legal positivism goes no further than the account developed in John Austin’s
The Province of Jurisprudence
Determined , a monograph, as we have established above, first published in 1832. The positivist movement in legal theory has, of course, undergone major transformations since Austin’s time. The transformations have been especially profound in the works of modern normative positivists. As a result of these transformations, it is no longer true – assuming that it once ever was true – that the positivist theory offers a model on which only duly enacted statutes may qualify as valid laws. On the model of modern legal positivism, customary laws, positive international laws, and conventional constitutional law – whatever that may mean – may now qualify as valid laws of a municipal legal system, i.e., provided that such norms are so identified by the system’s rule of recognition.
By the same token, all those questions which Okafor considers to be fundamental,
“’what are the essence of law?’, ‘why is the citizen obliged to obey the law?’, ‘what is the nature of a just and unjust law?’, ‘is what is legally wrong also morally wrong?’”, now fall squarely within the province of positivist jurisprudence. In fact, neither Austin nor
Bentham, nor any other positivist of note has ever canvassed the exclusion of these questions from the province of jurisprudence. By limiting the survey of what he touts as “the genesis and development of legal positivism” 49
to its most reductionistic form in the writings of John Austin, Okafor’s exposition can be said to exhibit what

Olufemi Taiwo has described as “a serious deficiency in scholarship.” 50
Let us turn our critical attention to Okafor’s description of the traditional jurisprudence of Africa. My contention is that there is no one such thing; there has never been one such thing. Here again,
Taiwo has said much that needs to be said about the fictional character of Okafor’s portrayal of a philosophy of law indigenous to the whole of Africa, quite eloquently. Simply put, the African continent has always been too culturally diverse and heterogeneous for anything remotely approximating to a dominant legal philosophy, identifiable with the whole continent, to have emerged. As Taiwo rightly observed, “to collapse all of Africa’s diverse socio-political and legal traditions into one, which prevailed over all the areas, is to mistake the common occupation of a geographical continuum for social consensus.” 51
There is a second and equally significant sense in which Okafor’s descriptions fail to capture the current realities of African sociopolitical ideas and institutions: it ignores the fact of centuries of exposure by African societies to profound cultural influences from other lands. Surely it would be difficult to ascertain what remains as the culturally pure and unadulterated African in a social or political idea or institution in a typical modern African society, once we reckon with how such an idea or institution must have been shaped in some way, by the “corrupting” influences of European colonialism, and before European colonialism, by the “corrupting” influences of
Arabo- Islamic cultures.
Of course no one wants to suggest that these cultural influences have been mono- directional, Arab to Africa, or, Europe to Africa. What we here refute is the suggestion by Okafor and the other purveyors of this naïve cultural irredentism, that if we can only search long

enough in our cultural archives we will somehow uncover some elements of our cultural past that have been left pure and untainted by alien influences.
Okafor’s mistake, in the first instance, is to have generalized from the socio- political set up of his own native Igbo society, in Eastern
Nigeria, to the whole of Africa. But whereas ethnographic accounts confirm that the social and political arrangement of traditional Igbo society was based on the age-grade system, thus indicating that the
Igbo society of old might indeed have recognized “only leaders and not rulers, seniors but not superiors”, there are likewise conclusive historical records to confirm that in other parts of the continent, kings and emperors reigned, whose law-making powers and competence rivaled those of any monarch in Medieval Europe.
Also to be noted, on a second count, is the historical fact that the social and political structure of indigenous Igbo society has since been profoundly altered, thanks to the activities of the colonizing
British authorities, who created the institution of paramount rulers— the so called Warrant Chiefs—in Igboland. The purpose then was to replicate the economic successes and administrative efficiency of indirect rule , which the British had employed in Northern and
Western Nigeria, societies where large kingdoms and empires had long evolved, complete with sophisticated political systems. As a result of that (entirely self-serving) innovation by the British, Eastern
Nigeria of today can boast of a whole range of paramount rulers.
Okafor’s description is, therefore, not only a monument to hasty generalisation, it is also anachronistic, that is, even if we restrict its scope to Igbo society.
For our purposes here, there would seem to be no use in subjecting this argument to further scrutiny. Its defects are obvious. To set up what must amount to a caricature of legal positivism – as the doctrine

has been developed in recent decades – against the model of some mythical African jurisprudence, has as much credibility as the activities of an agent, who, having first toiled very hard to erect a strawman proceeds at once to attack it vigorously.
But before I conclude this examination of Okafor’s ontological argument for the rejection of legal positivism, there is one important though unstated assumption in the argument that deserves to be closely examined. That assumption would be philosophically significant – if it turns out to be true – even if the objections that I have been raising against the other premises of the argument are sound and conclusive. The assumption is that the African ontology and the traditional African legal philosophy that is based on it describe the model of a world that is worth “returning” to. We shall notice that the mere fact—assuming it is a fact—that the legal positivist creed is in “complete opposition” to the tenets of African jurisprudence would not, in itself, constitute a sufficient reason for rejecting legal positivism. What would amount to a sufficient reason for that purpose is a conjunction of that supposed fact with the truth of another proposition, namely, that the African conception of law is a better theory of the nature of law. Supposedly, in Okafor’s view, that would be because African jurisprudence is predicated on the soundest ontological theory, or an ontological theory that is, at least, superior to its presumed counterpart from the western world.
Let us look then more closely into the structure and contents of the
“traditional African world”, which in my view, would seem to correspond to Okafor’s description of the African ontology. For even if it is the case, as I have argued, that the portrait fails to capture anything real, and even if it is the case, as I have argued, that
Okafor’s interpretation of legal positivism is an outdated caricature, his description of the African ontology and the resultant African

jurisprudence may yet present the picture of an ideal condition which is superior to what would amount to a true representation of legal positivism. And in that case, of course, that ideal condition would be worth striving to attain.
The picture that seems, in my view, to emerge from Okafor’s descriptions is that of a very simple social order, with all but the barest rudiments of political organization. Scientifically, this has to be an utterly simple world: chances are that in that world, explanations, no matter how mundane or common-place the phenomenon being explained, would invariably implicate the personal dispositions of some god, ancestral spirit, or one of a myriad of other supernatural agents.
In such a world and given its aboriginal conception of law, it should not surprise us if we are told that the law of gravity readily qualifies for inclusion in the province of jurisprudence (surely the law of gravity contributes to the maintenance of harmony among the various life forces), whereas many a law that we may design to regulate modern commerce might fail to make it into the province of jurisprudence. This is, after all, a world in which morality and religion are conceived to be inseparable, and where no law is to be considered valid unless religion and morality sanction it. It would be a world, in short, in which as far as legal conceptions go, the institutions of morality, religion, and law are conceived as woven into an inseparable, tangled mesh. Even Austin’s crude imperativism would be far superior to that jurisprudence.
Clearly, an ontology like that and the social and political ideas and institutions that might sprout from it do not present the modern
African, or, for that matter, any one from any part of the modern world, with the model of an ideal world worth striving to attain. Nor should we be surprised at our abhorrence at what we conjecture

might be the state of that world. To the extent that the portrait corresponds to any reality at all, it can only correspond to a state of the rudimentary social order in which humanity once existed, not only on the continent of Africa but in all parts of the globe, when earthly civilization was at its earliest infancy. Having transcended that condition for millennia, for the vast majority of human communities in all parts of the contemporary world, the only surviving evidences of such a past are marks on the walls of ancient caves. This is no less the case for African societies. Indeed, had someone, not “a native son” like Okafor or myself, but say, a foreign social scientist, presented us with that picture of an Africa in some immediate past (say, a hundred or two hundred years before the onset of colonialism), we would all, quite rightfully, have protested vigorously. We would have countered his descriptions with overwhelming historical evidence, confirming that great empires had existed and flourished all over the continent, for thousands of years before the advent of colonialism. Now suppose that not content with presenting his unflattery descriptions as mere conjectural reconstruction, our foreign social scientist informs us that he had also reached the normative conclusion that it would be better for the modern African to organize his society on the model of that simple past. Smelling the dirty hands of racism at work, and feeling gravely insulted, we Africans would, no doubt, have called for his head.
Okafor’s idea of “the African ontology” belongs, I suppose, within the genre of ethno-philosophy. In general the ethno-philosophy project has not done too well; some would rate it an outright conceptual flop. Ethno-legal-philosophy is not likely to fare any better. This pessimistic conclusion on the viability of ethnophilosophy as a general methodology, and ethno-legal-philosophy in particular should, however, not be misconstrued as indicating a wholesale rejection of all attempts to probe into, and as far as

possible, to reconstruct the past. My position is not borne out of any form of naïve triumphalist modernism. By no means do I advocate an unqualified celebration of everything new and modern, nor do I want to suggest that Africa should ignore her past. Quite apart from the fact that history will not be so wantonly ignored for long, I do strongly believe that there may be a lot of valuable socio- political ideas from Africa’s past, which when carefully extricated from the debris of ancient superstitions, can profitably be appropriated for modern use.
To take a concrete example, Dr. T. O. Elias has shown, quite persuasively, why a preoccupation with imprisonment as a way of dispensing criminal justice may not sit well with African customary legal practice. Elias points out that to the extent that “punishment of the offender and a corresponding satisfaction of the offended are two distinct questions that must be faced if real justice is to be achieved,” 52
then pre-colonial African customary legal practices may have struck a more useful balance between these two requirements of justice.
While viewing the matter of punishment of offenders with grim seriousness, African customary legal practices have tended to put an equal or greater emphasis on the side of the need for restitution.
From the point of view of the kinsmen of a victim of manslaughter, it is equally, if not more important, that the murderer be made to pay them “blood- money”, before he is sent to jail or executed. Hence the
African under the colonial legal system was understandably appalled when offenders were “merely” imprisoned by the colonial authorities, without anything said or done about the need to make restitution to victims or to a victim’s family:
When a person has been found guilty of, for example, manslaughter of another and is thrown into gaol

without at the same time being made to pay the bloodmoney to his victim’s surviving relations as required by customary law, not only such deprived relatives but also the general public are infuriated by the procedure. Imprisonment benefits the British
Government by thus providing it with another servant, while it does nothing to assuage the personal grief or satisfy the legal expectations of the bereaved family.
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This perceived need to take the matter of restitution as seriously as we take society’s need for punishment suggests, in my view, that there is an urgent need to take a closer look at the procedures for the administration of criminal justice as presently constituted in the legal systems of modern African states. In view of the apparent lack of sufficient awareness of the requirements of the different forms of laws under which an injured party may seek remedy by the majority of the citizens of African states, it may be desirable to mitigate the rigid distinction, inherited from colonial legal systems, between civil and criminal procedures.
We must, however, append a couple of caveats to all of this. The validity of Dr. Elias’s observations concerning the customary emphasis on some form of restitution, e.g., payment of blood-money, is most likely limited to certain regions of the African continent, and even in those regions, true only of certain historical points in time.
This takes nothing away from Elias’s otherwise excellent, pioneering study of African customary law. He cannot have claimed, without concrete empirical evidence, that payment of blood-money (or any other form of restitution for that matter) was a practice universally engaged in by all traditional African societies. Nor can he claim, in the face of what seem to be strong evidence to the contrary, that the average Yoruba man at the commencement of the twenty-first

century nurses a sense of loss at not being paid blood-money, as vividly as his ancestors might once have done.
Second, there is all the evidence to show that Africans under colonial rule were not alone in been “piqued”, as Dr. Elias put it, by the relative indifference of the British criminal justice system at that time, to the need to extract restitution from offenders in addition to, or, as a way of punishing them. Reform-minded philosophers and social critics, led by Jeremy Bentham 54 had directed critical attention to this unsatisfactory aspect of the British legal system, as early as the beginning of the nineteenth century, or earlier.
If a man were to willfully set fire to his neighbour’s house or farm, the penalty under British colonial law would be a term of imprisonment. Partly this would be retribution; partly it would be imposed to serve as deterrence to other potential arsonists. Bentham is however of the view that justice would be better served if the offender was fined a certain sum, to be paid over to his victim. In
Bentham’s view, “the best fund whence satisfaction can be drawn is the property of the delinquent, since it then performs with superior convenience the functions both of satisfaction and punishment.”
55
On this view, it would be “juster and simpler” to auction off an arsonist’s house, farm or automobile, and remedy the victim’s distress and loss from the proceeds.
Bentham is willing to go several steps further by way of securing just restitution. For instance, in the case of an impecunious offender,
Bentham proposes that funds should be drawn from the public treasury to make good the victim’s loss: “But if the offender is without property, ought the injured party to remain without satisfaction? No, for satisfaction is almost as necessary as punishment . It ought to be furnished out of the public treasury,

because it is an object of public good, and the security of all is interested in it.” 56
I have entered these caveats at length to caution us on the ever present dangers of cross- cultural and cross-epochal generalisations, as well as to counter the dubious suggestion which some cultural romantics promote, that we shortchange our ancestors if we do not claim some items of wisdom and insights into the dynamics of social organizations, as their exclusive preserve. African peoples, in the past and at present, are not different from the rest of humanity in the possession and exercise of innate powers of philosophical reflection, and in being endowed with a healthy dose of common sense. But then what sane person has ever denied that?
I conclude this section by noting that in the effort to see what can be salvaged from the legal systems and practices of indigenous African societies, legal philosophers in particular and jurists in general will do well to consult the various writings of cultural anthropologists who studied those aspects of our cultural past. The excellent bibliographical references at the end of Dr. Elias’s equally excellent monograph on The Nature of African Customary Law , is a good place to start.
The Moral Argument
The next line of objection to legal positivism is not one distinct argument as such. It is a cluster of overlapping complaints about some alleged pernicious effects of the positivist doctrine, when observed in practice. Among the morally undesirable results that critics have claimed to notice when they observe the positivist doctrine in practice are the following:
1.
that it encourages tyranny by allowing undue and excessive powers to government officials. As J.M. Elegido put it,

“.positivist approaches in law tend to do great harm, especially in so far as of themselves they tend to legitimate the actions of whoever finds himself in power;” 57
2.
that it is a bad theory of legislation;
58
3.
that it is a bad theory of adjudication.
59
4.
The cumulative effect of (i), (ii), and (iii), critics have concluded, is that when the positivist doctrine is put into practice, it helps to create a social and political environment that is hostile to the exercise and defense of human rights.
Now, anyone with a passing acquaintance with the literature on legal philosophy would readily see that these are fairly standard objections to the positivist theory. One is therefore tempted to dispose of them by drawing from the stock of standard positivist rejoinders, which, in my opinion, are quite adequate. We must resist that temptation. First, we have to find out what else the African critics of the positivist creed have in mind by raising these well-worn allegations anew.
The idea seems to be that there are some uniquely African reasons for recycling these objections at this time. Justice Akinola Aguda provided the clearest statement of such a reason. I quote him in full:
What has become of grave importance to us in Africa
– but here I shall confine myself to Nigeria – is that the emergence of military and dictatorial governments in this continent has brought the positivist theories into focus, and caused alarm not only in the minds of progressive jurists but also in the minds of the general public. England and some other European countries at least since after the Second World War have been able to contain the positivist concept of law, thanks to

inbuilt and highly developed democratic practices.
Here in Nigeria no such practices have ever been permitted to germinate, not to talk of grow; hence we have not been able to curtail the evils of positivist thinking on law which most lawyers – in this I include judges of all grades – have imbibed from the commencement of their training in the law Faculties.
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The import of Justice Aguda’s submission is clear enough: what makes legal positivism so morally harmful when put into practice in an African society – like Nigeria – is the absence, in the African socio-political environment, of inbuilt and highly developed democratic institutions and practices. It is as if legal positivism were a variety of plant, to draw an analogy with botanical processes, nurtured in the democratically fertile climates of Western Europe, and North America, this plant is thoroughly domesticated; it bears succulent fruits. Transplanted onto the harsh and rocky terrain of political dictatorship and tyranny in Africa, it becomes a man-eating weed. Now, what are we to make of this argument?
To begin with, we should note that to date, critics have not come up with any independent argument to show that legal positivism is a bad theory in itself. Often, critics have had to concede, as we find Justice
Aguda conceding in the passage quoted above, that the positivist philosophy does not produce the morally objectionable consequences that they claim to result from its application in African legal systems elsewhere.
Perhaps the critics’ point is not that legal positivism is a morally evil doctrine in itself; the allegation may be that the evils that the critics complain about result when subscription to the positivist creed is combined with the absence of sufficiently developed democratic institutions and practices. That much is clear from the line of

reasoning quoted from Justice Aguda above, when he contrasts what he takes to be the morally pernicious effects of legal positivism in
Africa to its benign effects in the operations of the legal systems of the industrialised democracies of Western Europe. The next step in this anti- positivist position is usually the suggestion that the moral evils complained about would not result if , instead of the positivist creed, the legal systems of African states under one form of dictatorship or another had subscribed to the alternative natural law philosophy.
The problem with the first part of this argument is that it may have put the blame where it does not belong. It seems most likely that the critic here confuses the breakdown of the political process for a failure of legal theory. I would have thought that it is more reasonable to blame the dictatorial tendencies in African governments and the resultant evils of political corruption and human rights abuses, on the frequent disruptions of the political process— usually, through military incursion into civil governance—which has so far prevented democracy from flourishing, and not on the positivist creed in legal theory. Surely, no one would suggest, with any degree of seriousness, that the positivist conception of law is to be held causally responsible for the absence of “inbuilt and highly developed” democratic institutions and practices in post independence African states.
For parallel reasons, I should doubt whether subscription to the natural law philosophy would be sufficient in itself, to curtail the occurrences of the moral evils of gross abuses of political offices, misuse of power, and violation of human rights, in a fundamentally undemocratic polity. Indeed, the natural law doctrine is the most vulnerable to use and abuse by just about anyone with a political agenda. Anarchists, reactionaries, liberal democrats, as well as

libertarian minimalists, have all been known to invoke the principles of natural law to justify their respective causes.
Professor Alf Ross likened the natural law doctrine to a conceptual harlot, whose services are readily available to all manners of political ideologies. Hence, as Ross put it, “from a practical-political point of view.naturalistic theories have been conservative as well as evolutionary and revolutionary. In the province of political philosophy all the political systems from extreme absolutism to direct democracy have been vindicated by natural law philosophies.” 61
It does seem, therefore, that to base the hope for democracy and the aspirations of human rights on the natural law philosophy is like building a magnificent castle on a pile of shifting sand.
Often in their haste to condemn legal positivism, critics tend to confuse a number of issues that should be separated and carefully analysed. They have thus been led through such series of conceptual muddles to proclaim what, under closer analysis, turn out to be patently false allegations against the theory. For example, the impression is sometimes created that the legal positivist does not have the resources within the framework of his theory to draw the vital distinction between a lawful order and a regime of mere brute force. The imputation of such a crude theory of legal validity, according to which positivists are held to equate a regime of law to the gunman situation writ-large, is exemplified by the passage quoted from Dr. Elegido above, where he asserts that one major way in which positivist approaches in legal theory do great harm is
“.especially in so far as of themselves they tend to legitimate the actions of whoever finds himself in power.” 62
It takes only one moment for us to realise that if this allegation were true, it would be especially damaging to the credibility of the

positivist theory in the African context. Most of the moral atrocities that people complain about were committed under undemocratic, dictatorial governments. In almost all the cases, those governments were military dictatorships; the regimes were often led by bands of military officers, who, after violently overthrowing a lawful government would proclaim the suspension of the legal basis of the democratic constitution, and subsequently proceed to govern by issuing decrees. The pertinent question is whether such military decrees qualify as valid laws.
The critic seems to suppose that the legal positivist would, willynilly, and without any further explanation or argument, return an affirmative answer to that question. Of course that supposition is wrong. It is in fact contradicted by overwhelming textual evidence from contemporary positivist writings. Since this crude conception of legal validity is an account which most modern legal positivists expressly reject, even if the account may, with some argument, be attributed to old-style reductionist legal positivism, it cannot be attributed to the positivist creed as a whole. Modern normative positivists in particular reject that gunman situation writ-large view of legal validity, along with other indefensible elements of Austinian positivism. According to H. L. A. Hart:
The root cause of the failure of [Austinian legal positivism] is that the elements out of which the theory was constructed, viz. The ideas of orders, obedience, habits, and threats, do not include, and cannot by their combination yield, the idea of a rule, without which we cannot hope to elucidate even the most elementary forms of laws.
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I can see no basis for attributing to a theorist, who proposes that the concept of law be elucidated in terms of social rules, the simple

imperativist model, according to which there may be nothing more to a regime of law than the gunman situation writ-large. In the same vein, I can see no justification at all for the critic’s supposition that legal positivists would, without any further ado, accept the decrees issuing from the headquarters of a military junta as valid laws.
The critic might point out that Hart equivocates a lot on the concept of a social rule. As many commentators have pointed out, it is clear that by the time Hart developed his account of the existence of a legal system (as distinct from the validity of individual rules within a legal system), i.e., Hart’s two minimum necessary and sufficient conditions for the existence of a legal system, the notion of social rules that goes into the analysis is radically different from the idea of customary social rules, introduced in the early chapters of The
Concept of Law , which owe their existence to wide-spread acceptance in the relevant society. Given this equivocation, the critic might press on, Hart’s normative legal positivism can offer no theory of legal validity that is qualitatively different from what is contained in John Austin’s imperativist model.
This is no doubt a very strong objection against Hart’s positivist theory of law. But, as I have argued elsewhere,
64
the objection does not hold against all Hartian positivist theories. In any case, my view is that legal positivists need to be more explicit in their explanation of the moral legitimacy of the foundation of a legal system.
Observing that while Hart’s minimum requirements may be necessary, they would not be sufficient to constitute the foundation of a legal system, I have proposed that: “In order for the enactment by officials to amount to valid laws (given that a valid rule of law has the inherent potential to generate the moral obligation to comply with its requirement) the process whereby persons get to become lawgivers and remain lawgivers, must be a morally legitimate one.” 65

The critic’s response might be to welcome this proposal, and then to gleefully proclaim that the underlying theory can no longer be a true variant of legal positivism. As usual, the critic would have been celebrating a bit too soon; his observation is wrong. While my proposal addresses the issue of the moral foundation of a legal system as a whole, it says nothing yet about the moral content of individual rules of law to be made by officials with the requisite moral authority, subsequent to the constitution of a morally legitimate legal system. On that latter question, I firmly uphold the separability thesis .
Going back then to the question we posed above: are the decrees issued by military regimes valid laws? My inclination is to return a negative answer. For how can anything lawful result from such fundamental illegality that military regimes often represent? But this answer would have to be further supported by arguments, for it clearly runs up against the received opinion on the matter. The received opinion is backed by much of existing international law, according to which the foundations of a legal system—the Kelsenian grundnorm
—is deemed to be changeable by the incidence of a
“revolution”.
In the Cold War decades, during which time, coincidentally, military juntas were running amok all over Africa and in other parts of the developing world, public international law treated military coups d’etat as satisfying the definition of grundnorm - changing
“revolution”. Therefore, the recognition accorded to successive military regimes in Nigeria and elsewhere in Africa, both by the municipal courts and the international community, was not necessitated by our legal systems’ subscription to the positivist creed in legal theory; it was facilitated by the exigencies of international politics.

Other than this crucial distinction between the existence conditions of a legal system and the criteria of validity of individual rules of law, another important distinction which critics of legal positivism often fail to draw is that between the determination of the validity of a rule of law and the determination of its moral bindingness, i.e., determining whether or not a norm- subject lies under a moral obligation to comply with the provisions of the (valid) rule.
Positivists are often treated as if they hold the view that the process of ascertaining the validity of a law is identical to the process of ascertaining whether or not there arises a moral obligation to obey it.
But unless a positivist fails to pay attention to what he is doing, he cannot fall into that error.
Acutely aware of their endorsement of the separability thesis, modern positivists have often made it clear that the mere fact that a rule is legally valid does not, by any means, automatically translate to the generation of a moral obligation on the citizen to comply with it.
Legal positivists know all too well that a law may be valid but too unjust or otherwise too immoral for there to be a moral obligation to obey it. Bentham’s teaching is for a clear boundary to be drawn between “expository” jurisprudence and “censorial” jurisprudence.
His admonition to the norm-subject is to obey promptly but to criticize freely. That Benthamite dichotomy still animates much of modern positivist writing, perhaps with the enlightened modification shifting the emphasis from prompt obedience to free censoring.
Leading legal positivists are at the forefront of the enlightened liberalism of our age, just as Bentham and his disciples were the apostles of liberal reforms in their time.
The allegation was once made that the vulgarized reformulation of the separability thesis, “law is law” (
Gesetz als Gesetz ) may have served as the doctrinal shroud that blocked the moral vision of the

courts in Nazi Germany. Professor Hart’s response is that that attitude toward the law is not dictated by the logic of the positivist doctrine. Thus, next time someone comes around to recite that piece of platitude, “law is law”, the correct response is to remind him that his platitude tells only half of the story: “the truly liberal answer to any sinister use of the slogan “law is law” or the distinction between law and morals is, “very well, but that does not conclude the question. Law is not morality; do not let it supplant morality.” 66
Some critics would insist that even if legal positivism may not be directly implicated in the enthronement of a dictatorial regime, it nonetheless help such regimes to consolidate and to go about executing their immoral objectives with relative ease, using the instrumentality of the judiciary. Olufemi Taiwo, for example, alluded to “.how legal positivism might have made it easier for judges to escape censure for their roles under, say Idi Amin in Uganda or Ian
Smith in Zimbabwe (then Rhodesia).”
67
Taiwo’s further allusion to
“unimaginative squirming judges [wanting] to hide under the veneer of having no control of their pronouncements”, suggests that what he implies here is that a courageous, morally upright and resourceful judge operating under such a fascist regime should be able to ensure that his judicial decisions do not result in blatant injustice or undeserved human suffering. Taiwo seems to believe that a judge with these qualities would be able to frustrate the evil designs and programmes of tyrants like Idi Ami, Ian Smith, Sani Abacha, Mobutu
Sese Seko, etc., to the extent that the tyrant attempts to accomplish his evil ends through the legal process (or what at the point in time passes as the legal process). The unstated assumption in Taiwo’s argument and other versions of the objection by opponents of legal positivism, is that subscription to the positivist philosophy rubs a judge of the virtues of courage, moral uprightness, and resourcefulness.

It is of course difficult to see how this might be so; and Taiwo fails to provide any detailed explanation of the presumed process whereby the positivist philosophy turns judges—who are otherwise virtuous men and women—into moral cretins. In my view, subscription to the positivist doctrine should not in itself prevent a judge from attempting to rig the outcome of a judicial decision to suit his own moral convictions. Legal positivism is not antithetical to judicial activism. Judicial activism is, however, a double- edged sword, it can cut both ways. Just as a judge whose morality we agree with might
(under the banner of judicial activism) manipulate the interpretation of a legal provision, to obtain a morally agreeable result, so too might another judge, whose moral standards we disagree with, manipulate the interpretations of a rule to arrive at a morally disagreeable verdict.
Our experience in the recent past would indicate that the two kinds of judges are easy to find in the Nigerian judiciary. In the system where we had a high court judge with enough courage and moral rectitude to declare the so called Interim National Government (ING)—set up after the annulment of the June 1993 presidential elections—illegal, we also had another high court judge, who, under the cover of darkness at night, rendered the momentous verdict upholding the lawfulness of the so called Association for Better Nigeria’s (ABN) prayer to have the presidential elections of June 12, 1993 stopped. I doubt whether Justice (Mrs.) Akinsanya, the judge at the Lagos high court was any less a legal positivist’ or, positivist-inspired than
Justice (Mrs.) Ikpeme, who gave the infamous ABN ruling at the
Abuja high court.
In extreme cases, the professionally proper thing for a judge to do may be to resign his appointment, i.e., instead of returning a morally unjust verdict, or trying to tinker with the clear meanings of the law.

The morally proper thing for any person to do is to join in the campaign against an evil regime. Depending on the severity of the atrocities being committed by the regime, and an overall estimate of the circumstance, such campaigns may range from peaceful civil protests to a resort to armed confrontation.
In the years immediately preceding the end of the Second World
War, some suggestions were heard from certain scholarly circles to the effect that legal positivism may have contributed to paving the way for the enthronement and sustenance of the Nazi ideology in
Germany – suggestions quite similar to the accusations now been leveled against the positivist creed by its African critics. Professor
Hart’s rejoinder to those allegations of possible positivist complicity in Nazis’ reign of terror is most instructive. It is that rather than blaming the alleged “insensitiveness to the demands of morality and subservience to state power in a people like the Germans” on the positivist creed in legal theory, attempts should be made to discover the origins of such beliefs and dispositions in the German society. As
Hart put it:
There is an extraordinary naivete in the view that insensitiveness to the demands of morality and subservience to state power in a people like the
Germans should have arisen from the belief that law might be law though it failed to conform with the minimum requirement of morality. Rather this terrible history of insensitiveness to the demands of morality and subservience to state power prompts inquiry into why emphasis on the slogan “law is law:, and the distinction between law and morals, acquired a sinister character in Germany, but elsewhere, as with

the utilitarians themselves, went along with the most enlightened liberal attitudes.
68
Borrowing a leaf from Hart, I would admonish the African critics of legal positivism to commence inquiries into why democratic institutions and practices “have never been permitted to germinate, not to talk of grow”, as Justice Aguda put it, in these African societies, instead of laying the responsibility for the social and moral evils of political dictatorship at the door step of the positivist theory.
An African Case For Legal Positivism
Philip Soper
69
has argued that the choice of a legal theory cannot be based on moral considerations. In other words, Soper is of the view that it would make no moral difference at all, whether one chooses legal positivism or its rival, the natural law theory. I doubt whether this is indeed the case, although I have no intention of defending a substantive position here. But even if one may not choose a legal theory for moral reasons, it would not follow that we may not prefer one legal theory to another, for reasons that are not any less compelling. Presently, I shall argue for the position that there are compelling pragmatic reasons for the legal systems of modern
African states to choose the positivist theory of law, in preference to the natural law theory.
For our purposes here, we shall take the core element of a positivist conception of law as consisting in the affirmation of the separability thesis. On the other hand, we take the core element of a natural law theory to be the denial of the separability thesis. My contention is that faced with the choice between legal positivism on one hand and natural law theory on the other, there are strong historical and pragmatic reasons for the legal systems of modern nation states in
Africa to choose the positivist doctrine.

Earlier on, in section IV.1 of the essay, I criticized Okafor’s characterisation of what he calls African traditional society on the grounds, inter alia, that the account fails to take due cognizance of the enormous cultural diversity that was the hallmark of the African continent, even in traditional times. My case for the adoption of legal positivism by modern African states tracks on these facts of cultural diversity in traditional (or pre-colonial) Africa, conjoined with the unique colonial experiences, and the resultant post- independence ethnic and ethical composition of many African nation states at present.
It is a fact that many of the entities that pass for sovereign nation states in present day Africa are conglomerations of many different ethnic nationalities, who were arbitrarily lumped together by the colonial powers. The colonialists had magnified, or underplayed the differences between these ethno-national groups, as it suited colonial administrative convenience. Upon the departure of the colonial powers, leaders of the various ethno-national groups thus “united” for colonial administration had proclaimed the geographical areas covered by the territories of their different groups as independent sovereign states. But the elements of cultural diversity that characterized pre-colonial African societies have survived in the new nation states. The cultural differences are manifested in the various aspects of life, in different institutional structures and social practices, ranging from the most sacred—religious beliefs—to the most mundane, say, attitude toward commerce.
Nigeria, where many of these African critics of legal positivism and I come from, offers a particularly rich example of such a great diversity of ethno-national groups arbitrarily lumped together by the colonial rulers, and in which the constituent ethnic groups have retained (indeed have been jealously guiding) their respective

cultural identities, after the whole territory was declared an independent nation state in 1960.
There are close to three hundred natural languages in Nigeria – and that is not counting the many dialects of each. The majority of the population is unable to communicate in English, the language of the departed colonial power and the country’s official language at present. Talking of religious creeds, Islam is the religion of the
North, the Roman Catholic church is dominant in the East, Islam and
Protestant Christianity co-exist in the West. There are, of course pockets of believers in various indigenous African religions in all the regions. Each of the major religious sects boasts of a dizzying array of sub-sects, ranging from extreme orthodoxy or fundamentalism to permissive liberalism, analogous, one might say, to the varied dialects of the natural languages. Added to these are a host of other cultural differences which, as I remarked above, are reflected in matters ranging from beliefs about matrimony and paternal obligations, to beliefs about the appropriate relationship between rulers and their subjects, to the morality of interest-charging. Nigeria, one can only conclude, is one spectacular geographical artefact.
Now consider the conception of law according to the critic’s idea of what African jurisprudence should be. On that model of jurisprudence, which they claim to be in accord with the natural law doctrine, no positive enactment would be considered a valid law if it were in any way contrary to some assumed moral principle. We shall recall, for example, how Okafor had insisted that law, morality, and religion are to be held inseparable on the model of traditional African worldview, and how he had insisted that all efforts must be made by modern African legal systems to ensure that the laws faithfully reflect that worldview. If we adopt this natural- law-inspired constraint on the possible contents of positive laws, we would have

to insert a provision in the Nigerian Constitution, to the effect that no law is to be deemed valid if it is contrary to moral, and perhaps also religious, standards. The question then would be, to which or whose moral or religious creed would the law have to conform? In other words, whose call is the lawmaker to heed, given the multitude of moral and religious voices presently coexisting within the Nigerian geo-political space?
In my view, the surest way to frustrate lawmaking, and consequently to court the perils of anarchy and the disintegration of the nation, is to impose this kind of constraints on the possible contents of our positive laws. Therefore, the separability thesis, according to which it would not be a necessary truth, hence not a necessary requirement, that our positive laws reproduce or satisfy certain moral or religious principles, will serve us better. Of course, our lawmakers would be encouraged to ensure that the laws they enact conform to as much of morality and, wherever possible, as much of religion, as possible.
Somewhere in his paper, Okafor had issued the warning that
“African positive laws must not be confused with some past atrocious practices and acts occasioned by past ignorance of the course of nature and executed with great religious dexterity.” 70
I consider this a most sensible admonition. It has a corollary: atrocities committed in the name of the law should not be blamed on religion or morality. Atrocities committed in the name of the law should be carefully investigated, to determine what “wrong beliefs” motivated them, and to determine where precisely to put the blame.
Unfortunately, there can be no way to mark the distinction which
Okafor here considers desirable, that is, if we follow him and his fellow natural law theorists in weaving the different institutions of law, morality, and religion into one tangled, inseparable (and of course inoperable) body of dogmas. On the other hand, one of the

guiding aims of legal positivism, cashed out most forcefully in the separability thesis, is to enable us draw this kind of crucial distinctions. Standing firmly on the moral pedestal, we can keep a watchful eye on the operations of the positive law.
The objection could be raised that I have over-emphasized the issue of cultural diversity of the different ethnic nationalities that compose a typical nation state in post-colonial Africa; and that I underplayed the elements of cultural uniformity that are always on display in these societies. Is it not the case, as P.C. Nwakeze has observed, that
“in the midst of the diversity of African cultures, there is striking cultural uniformity which allows us to talk of ‘African culture’”?
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In any case, as rational agents, do citizens of modern African states not agree on many important points of moral values? I suppose we can grant that both of these questions could be answered in the affirmative. However, I do not see how that would in any way undermine my conclusion that to impose the kind of moral or religious constraints on the possible contents of positive law, such as the critics of legal positivism advocate, would effectively paralyse the making and or the administration of laws in a country such as ours.
To grant that there are elements of cultural uniformity is not in any way to retreat from the observation that there are also elements of cultural diversity among the various ethno- national groups in modern African states. To concede that citizens of African states would agree on many important points of moral values is, likewise, compatible with the rival observation that those same citizens, informed by different religious and ethical beliefs, might disagree on many important points of moral and religious values. My contention is that where such areas of moral and religious differences are sufficiently fundamental, as I think they would be in any society as

culturally diverse as a typical modern African nation state, they will frustrate efforts at making and administering laws, should there be moral or religious constraints on the possible contents of the law, such as the natural-law-inspired writers would propose.
It will not help much either, to say that the positive laws be required to conform only to the standards of critical morality. That suggestion presupposes that there is always agreement as to what these standards are. That presupposition is wrong. It is easy enough, I suppose, to expressly incorporate into the letters and principles of our positive laws, moral or religious values about which there is widespread agreement in the society.
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Paulson, Stanley L. and Paulson Bonnie Litschewski (ed.),
Normativity and Norms: Critical Perspectives on Kelsenian
Themes . Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998.
Raz, Joseph. The Authority of Law . Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979.
Robert P. George, (ed.), The Autonomy of Law: Essays on Legal
Positivism . Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996.
Sebok, Anthony J. Legal Positivism in American Jurisprudence .
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998.
Shapiro, Ian and DeCew, Judith Wagner (ed.), Theory and Practice .
New York: New York University Press, 1995.
Simpson, A. W. B. (ed.), Oxford Essays in Jurisprudence , (second series). Oxford; Clarendon Press, 1973.

Soper, Philip. A Theory of Law . Cambridge, Mas: Harvard
University Press, 1984.
Waluchow, W. J. Inclusive Positivism . Oxford; Clarendon Press,
1994.
Wiredu, Kwasi. Philosophy and an African Culture . Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1980.
Endnotes
1.
H.L.A. Hart, The Concept of Law, (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1961). Pp. 204 – 205.
2.
For more on this debate, see the following works; H.L.A. Hart,
The Concept of Law, ibid.; H.L.A. Hart, “Positivism and the
Separation of Law and Morals”, Harvard Law Review, vol. 71, no.4
(Feb. 1958). Pp.593 – 629; compare Lon L. Fuller’s rejoinder to
Hart, “Positivism and Fidelity to Law – A Reply to Professor Hart”, in the same issue of Harvard Law Review, pp. 630 – 672; Joseph
Raz, The Authority of Law, ( Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), especially chapter 3; Neil MacCormick, H.L.A. Hart, (London,
1981); Neil MacCormick, “A Moralistic Case for a Moralistic Law”,
20 Valparaiso Law Review (1986); Philip Soper, “Choosing a Legal
Theory on Moral Grounds”, Social Philosophy and Policy, (1987);
Deryck Beyleveld and Roger Brownsword, “ The Practical
Differences Between Natural Law Theory and Legal Positivism”,
Oxford Journal of Legal Studies, vol.5 (1985); pp. 1 – 32.
3.
The African – mostly Nigerian – writers under reference here include the following. F.U. Okafor, “Legal Positivism and the
African Legal Tradition”, International Philosophical Quarterly, vol.
Xxiv, no.2, issue 94 (June 1984); pp.157 – 164; see also Okafor’s
Igbo Philosophy of Law , (Enugu: Fourth Dimension Publishing Co.
Ltd., 1992), especially the closing remarks entitled “A Challenge to

Legal Positivism”; Rev. Dr. N.S.S. Iwe, “The Dangers of Legal
Positivism to Our Indigenous Values and Remedy”, in T.O. Elias,
S.N. Awabara, and C.O. Akpamgbo (eds.), African Indigenous Law
(proceedings of workshop held between 7-9 August, 1974, at the
University of Nigeria, Nsukka), published by the Institute of African
Studies, University of Nigeria, Nsukka; pp.232 – 250; Aguda
Akinola, The Judicial Process and the Third Republic, (Lagos: F&A
Publishers Ltd., 1992), especially chapter 5; see also Justice Aguda’s two-part opinion page publications entitled “Back to Illegal ‘Laws’
1”, in the Guardian newspaper of Monday, May 16, 1994, and “Back to Illegal ‘Laws’ 2”, in the guardian newspaper of Tuesday, may 17,
1994; Adetokunbo Okeaya-Inneh, “Why the Law Must Possess an
Inner Morality”, in the Guardian newspaper of Wednesday, August
4, 1993; A.O. Obilade, “The Decline of Legal Positivism: A Critique of Two Tenets”, The University of Ife Law Journal (1986), vol. 1&2, pp.94 – 111; J.M. Elegido, Jurisprudence, (Ibadan: Spectrum Law
Publishing, 1994), see especially the authors introductory remarks on p. x.
4.
In concrete historical terms, instances of this mode of adoption of a legal theory by a legal system are hard to find. It is conceivable that there was a period, in the 1920s and 1930s, when the Realist
“predictivist” theory of law could be said to have been adopted in this sense, by the American legal system. This was the period when influential realists occupied strategic positions in and out the judiciary: from supreme court justices like Oliver Wendel Holmes jr., to deans and professors at leading American law schools. In this regard, no one can read Karl Llewelyn’s classic general introduction to law, The Bramble Bush (first published in 1930), and not be struck by the pervasive commitment to the predictivist conception of law.
Llewelyn’s objective was to train lawyer - he was professor of law at

Columbia – who would be good forecasters of the future course of judicial behaviour.
5.
The concept of the rule of recognition was introduced by H.L.A.
Hart. See The Concept of Law, chapter 6. The rule of recognition is the ultimate rule in a legal system, it specifies the criteria for the identification (recognition) of every other rule in the system. In other words, the rule of recognition contains the criteria of legal validity in a legal system.
6.
In this respect, Professor Hart’s analysis of the positivist separability thesis, both in The concept of Law , and in the Harvard
Law Review article, cited above, is very instructive. I say more on this later in the text.
7.
Virtually, all the Nigerian writers listed in note (3) above, make this claim.
8.
Courses such as Commercial law, Land law, Tort, Criminal law,
Law of evidence, e.t.c., that would make graduates of the law schools readily employable - by governments or in private chambers – thus furnishing them with a secure source of livelihood, enabling them, as
Llewelyn used to put it, “to butter [their] bread, or to give them bread to butter”.
9.
A.V. Dicey was quoted to have made this observation in an article in Law, Mag. & Rev., vol.5 . The quotation is from John C. Gray,
“Some Definitions & Questions in Jurisprudence”, Harvard Law
Review, vol. Vi (1892/93), p.23. Happily, neither Gray nor Dicey seems to endorse this “practising barrister’s” opinion on jurisprudence.
10.
Stromholm, Stig. A Short History of Legal Thinking in the West,
(Stockholm, Sweden: Norstedts Forlag AB, 1985).

11.
Austin, John. The Province of Jurisprudence Determined, edited with an introduction by H.L.A. Hart, (London: Weidenfeld and
Nicolson, 3rd impression, 1968); lecture v, esp. p135ff.
12.
Ibid. p.145.
13.
ibid. Austin explains this at great length in lecture vi, pp.193 ff.
14.
Ibid. pp. 13 – 14.
15.
Ibid. p. 184.
16.
A concise survey of the realist movement is offered by Brian
Leiter , in his article, “Legal Realism”, in Dennis Patterson (ed.), A
Companion to Philosophy of Law and Legal Theory, (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1996); pp. 261 – 279.
17.
Holmes, O. W. (jnr.). “The Path of the Law”, Harvard Law
Review, vol. 10 (1897); pp.457 – 478.
18.
Hart, H.L.A. The Concept of Law, op. Cit. Hart’s work has attracted a great deal of interest and critical comments. For a sympathetic exposition of Hart’s philosophy of law, see
MacCormick, H.L.A. Hart, op.cit. Two collections of essays in honour of Hart are particularly useful: Joseph Raz and P.M.S. Hacker
(eds.), Law and Morality: Essays in Honour of H.L.A. Hart, (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1977); Ruth Gavison (ed.), Issues in Contemporary
Legal Philosophy: The Influence of H.L.A. Hart, (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1987).
19.
Kelsen, Hans. The Pure Theory of Law, translated by Max
Knight, (Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press,
1967). For a major collection of critical essays on Kelsen’s work, see
Stanley L. Paulson and Bonnie Litschewski Paulson (eds.),

Normativity and Norms:Critical Perspectives on Kelsenian Themes
(Oxford: ClarendonPress, 1998).
20.
For more on this, see my “Normative Positivism and Its Modern
Critics”, in Legal Systems & Legal Science; Proceedings of the 17th
World Congress of the International Association for Philosophy of
Law and Social Philosophy (IVR) Bologna, June 16 – 21, 1995; (
ARSP – Beiheft 70: vol. Iv), edited by Marijan Pavcnick and
Gianfrancesco Zanetti. Pp. 49 – 57.
21.
Hart, H.L.A. The Concept of Law, op. Cit. P. 78.
22.
Ibid. p. 95.
23.
Ibid. pp. 181 – 182.
24.
Hart, H.L.A. “Positivism and the Separation of Law and Morals”,
Harvard Law Review, op. Cit. P.
25.
Greenawalt, Kent. “Too Thin and Too Rich: Distinguishing
Features of Legal Positivism”, in Robert P. George (ed.), The
Anatomy of Law: Essays on Legal Positivism, (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1996). Pp. 1 – 29, at p.19. I added the emphasis.
26.
Paulson, Stanley L. “ Classical Legal Positivism at Nuremberg”,
Philosophy and Public Affairs, vol. 4, no. 2 (Winter, 1975); p.134.
27.
ibid. p. 136.
28.
A notable exception is Elegido, Jurisprudence, op. Cit.
29.
John Austin’s classic, The Province of Jurisprudence
Determined, was first published in 1832. Austin’s widow, Sarah
Austin published a second edition, with additional materials on the uses of the study of Jurisprudence,, in 1861. Austin’s statement of the positivist theory has since then been subjected to such intense critical

scrutiny and attack prompting a modern American commentator to remark that Austin has been shot at so frequently for so long, that all that is left of his theory are holes, no substance. The reception of classical legal positivism has fluctuated from unreserved acclaim, to the most contemptuous rejection. For example, John C. Gray records that Austin’s theory was “considerably in vogue” from about 1861
(when the book was re- issued by Sarah Austin) to about 1874. In
1874 “Sir Henry Maine dealt it a severe blow in his last two lectures on the ‘Early History of Institutions’, since which time its credit has been sensibly shaken” (John C. Gray, “Some Definitions and
Questions in Jurisprudence”, Harvard Law Review, vol. Vi
(1892/93), p.22.). The profile of Austinian positivism would thereafter rise and fall again . W.W. Buckland’s observations seem to capture very aptly, the viscitude of the rising and declining fortunes of classical legal positivism, especially Austin’s account of it: “The analysis of legal concepts is what jurisprudence meant for the students in the days of my youth. In fact it meant Austin. He was a religion; today he seems to be regarded as a disease. “ (W.W.
Buckland, Some Reflections on Jurisprudence, (Cambridge, 1949), this passage was quoted by R.H.S. Tur, “What is Jurisprudence?’,
The Philosophical Quarterly, vol. 28, no iii (April 1978), p. 152). In what is generally regarded as the most comprehensive and careful survey of Austin’s legal theory, professor Hart devoted the first three chapters of his own classic, The Concept of Law, to a detailed critique of Austin’s ideas. His verdict after the painstaking study seems to have put the final nail on the coffin of reductivist positivism. The survey carried out in the last three chapters is, in
Hart’s words, “a record of failure.” P.78. Hart is, nonetheless, persuaded that a more adequate account of the nature of law can be constructed from the ruins of Austin’s theory.

38.
ibid.
39.
ibid.
40.
ibid. 163.
41.
Ibid. 162
42.
ibid. 163.
43.
Ibid.
44.
ibid. 160.
45.
Ibid.
46.
ibid.
47.
ibid. 162.
48.
Ibid. 163.
49.
Ibid. 159.
30.
Okafor, “Positivism and the African Legal Tradition”, op.cit.p.157.
31.
ibid.
32.
ibid. p. 163.
33.
Aguda, Akinola. The Judicial Process and the Third Republic, op.
Cit. P.81.
34.
Iwe, N.S.S. “The Dangers of Legal Positivism”, op. Cit.p.233.
35.
ibid. p. 236.
36.
Okafor, F.U. op. Cit. P.
37.
ibid. 161

50.
Taiwo, Olufemi. “Legal Positivism and the African Legal
Tradition: A Reply”, op. Cit. P. 200.
51.
Ibid. 198.
52.
Elias, T.O. The Nature of African Customary Law, (Manchester:
Manchester University Press, 1956); p. 287.
53.
Ibid. 286.
54.
It is instructive that Bentham and his fellow utilitarians combined a strong endorsement of the positivist doctrine with highly enlightened liberal attitudes toward legal and other aspects of social reforms.
55.
Bentham, Jeremy. Theory of Legislation, edited by Ogden, p.
317; quoted on p.286 of Elias.
56.
Ibid. The emphasis is mine.
57.
Elegido, J. M. Jurisprudence, p. x.
58.
Okafor, F. U. “Legal Positivism and African Legal Tradition”, p.
164.
59.
Taiwo, Olufemi. “ Legal Positivism and African Legal Tradition:
A Reply”, p.199.
60.
Aguda, Akinola. The Judicial Process and the Third Republic, pp.
82 – 83.
61.
Ross, Alf. “ Validity and the Conflict Between Legal Positivism and Natural Law”, Revista Juridica de Buenos Aires, (1961), vol. 4, p. 56.
62.
Elegido, J.M. see note (57) above.
63.
Hart, H.L.A. The Concept of Law, p. 78.

64.
See my “Normative Legal Positivism and Its Modern Critics”, note (20) above.
65.
Ibid. p. 56.
66.
Hart, H.L.A. “ Positivism and the Separation of Law and
Morals”, p. 618.
67.
Taiwo. Olufemi. “Legal Positivism and African Legal Tradition:
A Reply”, p199.
68.
Hart, H.L.A. “ Positivism and the Separation of Law and
Morals”, p.618.It is encouraging to note that the kind of enquiries that Hart suggested are now been undertaken by serious scholars.
The findings thus far confirm what the defenders of the positivist creed in legal theory have always insisted on. In an important recent study , Paulson has shown , convincingly, that not only did legal positivism not serve in any form to underwrite the atrocities committed by officials and private individuals in Nazi Germany, but that the German positivists were in fact among the most visible opponents of Nazism; an ideological stance for which the legal positivists were routinely victimized (Paulson, Stanley L. “Lon L.
Fuller; Gustav Radbruch, and the ‘Positivist’ Theses”, Law and
Philosophy, vol. 13, (1994). Pp. 313 – 359).
69.
Soper, Philip. “Choosing a Legal Theory on Moral Grounds”, 44,
Social Philosophy and Policy, vol. 4, issue 1, (1987); pp. 33 – 48.
70.
Okafor, F. U. “ Legal Positivism and African Legal Tradition”, p.
164.
71.
Nwakeze, P. C. “ A Critique of Olufemi Taiwo’s Criticism of
Legal Positivism and African Legal Tradition”, International
Philosophical Quarterly, vol.xxvii, no.1, issue 105, (March 1987); pp. 101 – 105.

Copyright 2001 Africa Resource Center, Inc.
Citation Format
Oladosu, Jare (2001). CHOOSING A LEGAL THEORY ON
CULTURAL GROUNDS: AN AFRICAN CASE FOR LEGAL
POSITIVISM . West Africa Review : 2, 2 [iuicode: http://www.icaap.org/iuicode?101.2.2.2
]
H.L.A. Hart, "Legal Positivism" from Positivism and the Separation of Law and Morals
71 HARV. L. REV. 593, 594-606 (1958
SOURCED http://www.kentlaw.edu/classes/rwarner/justice/syllabus/hpositiv.html
FROM :
Editor's Note: H.L.A. Hart was Professor of Jurisprudence in Oxford University from
1952 until 1968. He lectured and taught on many occasions in the United States, and his writings in legal philosophy have been extraordinarily influential.]
At the close of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth the most earnest thinkers in England about legal and social problems and the architects of great reforms were the great Utilitarians. Two of them, Bentham and Austin, constantly insisted on the need to distinguish, firmly and with the maximum of clarity, law as it is

from law as it ought to be. This theme haunts their work, and they condemned the natural-law thinkers precisely because they had blurred this apparently simple but vital distinction. By contrast, at the present time in this country and to a lesser extent in
England, this separation between law and morals is held to be superficial and wrong.
Some critics have thought that it blinds men to the true nature of law and its roots in social life.(4) Others have thought it not only intellectually misleading but corrupting in practice, at its worst apt to weaken resistance to state tyranny or absolutism,(5) and at
[23]its best apt to bring law into disrespect. The nonpejorative name "Legal Positivism," like most terms which are used as missiles in intellectual battles, has come to stand for a baffling multitude of different sins. One of them is the sin, real or alleged, of insisting, as
Austin and Bentham did, on the separation of law as it is and law as it ought to be.
How then has this reversal of the wheel come about? What are the theoretical errors in this distinction? Have the practical consequences of stressing the distinction as Bentham and Austin did been bad? Should we now reject it or keep it? In considering these questions we should recall the social philosophy which went along with the Utilitarians' insistence on this distinction. They stood firmly but on their own utilitarian ground for all the principles of liberalism in law and government. No one has ever combined, with such even-minded sanity as the Utilitarians, the passion for reform with respect for law together with a due recognition of the need to control the abuse of power even when power is in the hands of reformers. One by one in Bentham's works you can identify the elements of the Rechtstaat and all the principles for the defense of which the terminology of natural law has in our day been revived. Here are liberty of speech, and of press, the right of association, the need that laws should be published and made widely known before they are enforced, the need to control administrative agencies, the insistence that there should be no criminal liability without fault, and the importance of the principle of legality, nulla poena sine lege.(*) Some, I know, find the political and moral insight of the Utilitarians a very simple one, but we should not mistake this simplicity for superficiality nor forget how favorably their simplicities compare with the profundities of other thinkers. Take only one example: Bentham on slavery. He says the question at issue is not whether those who are held as slaves can reason, but simply whether they suffer.(11) Does this not compare well with the discussion of the question in terms of

whether or not there are some men whom Nature has fitted only to be the living instruments of others? We owe it to Bentham more than anyone else that we have stopped discussing this and similar questions of social policy in that form.
So Bentham and Austin were not dry analysts fiddling with verbal distinctions while cities burned, but were the vanguard of a movement which laboured with passionate intensity and much success to bring about a better society and better laws. Why then did they insist on the separation of law as it is and law as it ought to be? What did they mean?
Let us first see what they said. Austin formulated the doctrine:
The existence of law is one thing; its merit or demerit is another. Whether it be or be not is one enquiry; whether it be or be not conformable to an assumed standard, is a different enquiry. A law, which actually exists, is a law, though we happen to dislike it, or though it vary from the text, by which we regulate our approbation and disapprobation. This truth, when formally announced as an abstract proposition, is so simple and glaring that it seems idle to insist upon it. But simple and glaring as it is, when enunciated in abstract expressions, the enumeration of the instances in which it has been forgotten would fill a volume.
[24]
Sir William Blackstone, for example, says in his "Commentaries," that the laws of God are superior in obligation to all other laws; that no human laws should be suffered to contradict them; that human laws are of no validity if contrary to them; and that all valid laws derive their force from that Divine original.
Now, he may mean that all human laws ought to conform to the Divine laws. If this be his meaning, I assent to it without hesitation....Perhaps, again, he means that human lawgivers are themselves obliged by the Divine laws to fashion the laws which they impose by that ultimate standard, because if they do not, God will punish then. To this also I entirely assent....
But the meaning of this passage of Blackstone, if it has a meaning, seems rather to be this: that no human law which conflicts with the Divine law is obligatory or binding; in other words, that no human law which conflicts with the Divine law is a law....(12)
Austin's protest against blurring the distinction between what law is and what it ought to

be is quite general: it is a mistake, whatever our standard of what ought to be, whatever
"the text by which we regulate our approbation or disapprobation." His examples, however, are always a confusion between law as it is and law as morality would require it to be. For him, it must be remembered, the fundamental principles of morality were God's commands, to which utility was an "index": besides this there was the actual accepted morality of a social group or "positive" morality.
Bentham insisted on this distinction without characterizing morality by reference to God but only, of course, by reference to the principles of utility. Both thinkers' prime reason for this insistence was to enable men to see steadily the precise issues posed by the existence of morally bad laws, and to understand the specific character of the authority of a legal order. Bentham's general recipe for life under the government of laws was simple: it was "to obey punctually; to censure freely."(13) But Bentham was especially aware, as an anxious spectator of the French revolution, that this was not enough: the time might come in any society when the law's commands were so evil that the question of resistance had to be faced, and it was then essential that the issues at stake at this point should neither be oversimplified nor obscured.(14) Yet, this was precisely what the confusion between law and morals had done and Bentham found that the confusion had spread symmetrically in two different directions. On the one hand Bentham had in mind the anarchist who argues thus: "This ought not to be the law, therefore it is not and I am free not merely to censure but to disregard it." On the other hand he thought of the reactionary who argues: "This is the law, therefore it is [25]what it ought to be," and thus stifles criticism at its birth. Both errors, Bentham thought, were to be found in Blackstone: there was his incautious statement that human laws were invalid if contrary to the law of
God,(15) and "that spirit of obsequious quietism that seems constitutional in our Author" which "will scarce ever let him recognise a difference" between what is and what ought to be.(16) This indeed was for Bentham the occupational disease of lawyers: "[I]n the eyes of lawyersnot to speak of their dupesthat is to say, as yet, the generality of nonlawyersthe is and ought to be...were one and indivisible."(17) There are therefore two dangers between which insistence on this distinction will help us to steer: the danger that law and its authority may be dissolved in man's conceptions of what law ought to be and

the danger that the existing law may supplant morality as a final test of conduct and so escape criticism.
In view of criticisms it is also important to distinguish several things that the Utilitarians did not mean by insisting on their separation of law and morals. They certainly accepted many of the things that might be called "the intersection of law and morals." First, they never denied that, as a matter of historical fact, the development of legal systems had been powerfully influenced by moral opinion, and, conversely, that moral standards had been profoundly influenced by law, so that the content of many legal rules mirrored moral rules or principles. It is not in fact always easy to trace this historical causal connection, but Bentham was certainly ready to admit its existence; so too Austin spoke of the "frequent coincidence"(18) of positive law and morality and attributed the confusion of what law is with what law ought to be to this very fact.
Secondly, neither Bentham nor his followers denied that by explicit legal provisions moral principles might at different points be brought into a legal system and form part of its rules, or that courts might be legally bound to decide in accordance with what they thought just or best. Bentham indeed recognized, as Austin did not, that even the supreme legislative power might be subjected to legal restraints by a constitution(19) and would not have denied that moral principles, like those of the fifth amendment, might form the content of such legal constitutional restraints. Austin differed in thinking that restraints on the supreme legislative power could not have the force of law, but would remain merely political or moral checks;(20) but of course he would have recognized that a statute, for example, might confer a delegated legislative power and restrict the area of its exercise by reference to moral principles.
[26]
What both Bentham and Austin were anxious to assert were the following two simple things: first, in the absence of an expressed constitutional or legal provision, it could not follow from the mere fact that a rule violated standards of morality that it was not a rule of law; and, conversely, it could not follow from the mere fact that a rule was morally desirable that it was a rule of law.

The history of this simple doctrine in the nineteenth century is too long and too intricate to trace here. Let me summarize it by saying that after it was propounded to the world by
Austin it dominated English jurisprudence and constitutes part of the framework of most of those curiously English and perhaps unsatisfactory productionsthe omnibus surveys of the whole field of jurisprudence. A succession of these were published after a full text of
Austin's lectures finally appeared in 1861. In each of them the utilitarian separation of law and morals is treated as something that enables lawyers to attain a new clarity. Austin was said by one of his English successors, Amos, "to have delivered the law from the dead body of morality that still clung to it";(21) and even Maine, who was critical of
Austin at many points, did not question this part of his doctrine. In the United States men like N. St. John Green,(22) Gray, and Holmes considered that insistence on this distinction had enabled the understanding of law as a means of social control to get off to a fruitful new start; they welcomed it both as self-evident and as illuminatingas a revealing tautology. This distinction is, of course, one of the main themes of Holmes' most famous essay "The Path of the Law,"(23) but the place it had in the estimation of these American writers is best seen in what Gray wrote at the turn of the century in The
Nature and Sources of the Law. He said:
The great gain in its fundamental conceptions which Jurisprudence made during the last century was the recognition of the truth that the Law of a State...is not an ideal, but something which actually exists....[I]t is not that which ought to be, but that which is. To fix this definitely in the Jurisprudence of the Common Law, is the feat that Austin accomplished.(24)
II.
So much for the doctrine in the heyday of its success. Let us turn now to some of the criticisms. * * *
There is, however, one major initial complexity by which criticism has been much confused. We must remember that the Utilitarians combined with their insistence on the separation of law and morals two other equally famous but dis-[27]tinct doctrines. One was the important truth that a purely analytical study of legal concepts, a study of the

meaning of the distinctive vocabulary of the law, was as vital to our understanding of the nature of law as historical or sociological studies, though of course it could not supplant them. The other doctrine was the famous imperative theory of lawthat law is essentially a command.
These three doctrines constitute the utilitarian tradition in jurisprudence; yet they are distinct doctrines. It is possible to endorse the separation between law and morals and to value analytical inquiries into the meaning of legal concepts and yet think it wrong to conceive of law as essentially a command. One source of great confusion in the criticism of the separation of law and morals was the belief that the falsity of any one of these three doctrines in the utilitarian tradition showed the other two to be false; what was worse was the failure to see that there were three quite separate doctrines in this tradition. The indiscriminate use of the label "positivism" to designate ambiguously each of these three separate doctrines (together with some others which the Utilitarians never professed) has perhaps confused the issue more than any other single factor.(25) Some of the early
American critics of the Austinian doctrine were, however, admirably clear on just this matter. Gray, for example, added at the end of the tribute to Austin, which I have already quoted, the words, "He may have been wrong in treating the Law of the State as being the command of the sovereign"(26) and he touched shrewdly on many points where the command theory is defective. But other critics have been less clearheaded and have thought that the inadequacies of the command theory which gradually came to light were sufficient to demonstrate the falsity of the separation of law and morals.
This was a mistake, but a natural one. To see how natural it was we must look a little more closely at the command idea. The famous theory that law is a command was a part of a wider and more ambitious claim. Austin said that the notion of a command was "the key to the sciences of jurisprudence and morals,"(27) and contemporary attempts to elucidate moral judgments in terms of [28]"imperative" or "prescriptive" utterances echo this ambitious claim. But the command theory, viewed as an effort to identify even the quintessence of law, let alone the quintessence of morals, seems breathtaking in its

simplicity and quite inadequate. There is much, even in the simplest legal system, that is distorted if presented as a command. Yet the Utilitarians thought that the essence of a legal system could be conveyed if the notion of a command were supplemented by that of a habit of obedience. The simple scheme was this: What is a command? It is simply an expression by one person of the desire that another person should do or abstain from some action, accompanied by a threat of punishment which is likely to follow disobedience. Commands are laws if two conditions are satisfied: first, they must be general; second, they must be commanded by what (as both Bentham and Austin claimed) exists in every political society whatever its constitutional form, namely, a person or a group of persons who are in receipt of habitual obedience from most of the society but pay no such obedience to others. These persons are its sovereign. Thus law is the command of the uncommanded commanders of societythe creation of the legally untrammelled will of the sovereign who is by definition outside the law.
It is easy to see that this account of a legal system is threadbare. One can also see why it might seem that its inadequacy is due to the omission of some essential connection with morality. The situation which the simple trilogy of command, sanction, and sovereign avails to describe, if you take these notions at all precisely, is like that of a gunman saying to his victim, "Give me your money or your life." The only difference is that in the case of a legal system the gunman says it to a large number of people who are accustomed to the racket and habitually surrender to it. Law surely is not the gunman situation writ large, and legal order is surely not to be thus simply identified with compulsion.
This scheme, despite the points of obvious analogy between a statute and a command, omits some of the most characteristic elements of law. Let me cite a few. It is wrong to think of a legislature (and a fortiori an electorate) with a changing membership, as a group of persons habitually obeyed: this simple idea is suited only to a monarch sufficiently long-lived for a "habit" to grow up. Even if we waive this point, nothing which legislators do makes law unless they comply with fundamental accepted rules

specifying the essential lawmaking procedures. This is true even in a system having a simple unitary constitution like the British. These fundamental accepted rules specifying what the legislature must do to legislate are not commands habitually obeyed, nor can they be expressed as habits of obedience to persons. They lie at the root of a legal system, and what is most missing in the utilitarian scheme is an analysis of what it is for a social group and its officials to accept such rules. This notion, not that of a command as Austin claimed, is the "key to the science of jurisprudence," or at least one of the keys.
Again, Austin, in the case of the democracy, looked past the legislators to the electorate as "the sovereign" (or in England as part of it). He thought that in the United States the mass of the electors to the state and federal legislatures were the sovereign whose commands, given by their "agent" in the legislatures, were law. But on this footing the whole notion of the sovereign outside the law being "habitually obeyed" by the "bulk" of the population must go: for in this case the "bulk" obeys the bulk, that is, it obeys itself.
Plainly the general acceptance of the authority of a lawmaking procedure, irrespective of the changing individuals [29]who operate it from time to time, can be only distorted by an analysis in terms of mass habitual obedience to certain persons who are by definition outside the law, just as the cognate but much simpler phenomenon of the general social acceptance of a rule, say of taking off the hat when entering a church, would be distorted if represented as habitual obedience by the mass to specific persons.
Other critics dimly sensed a further and more important defect in the command theory, yet blurred the edge of an important criticism by assuming that the defect was due to the failure to insist upon some important connection between law and morals. This more radical defect is as follows. The picture that the command theory draws of life under law is essentially a simple relationship of the commander to the commanded, of superior to inferior, of top to bottom; the relationship is vertical between the commanders or authors of the law conceived of as essentially outside the law and those who are commanded and subject to the law. In this picture no place, or only an accidental or subordinate place, is afforded for a distinction between types of legal rules which are in fact radically different. Some laws require men to act in certain ways or to abstain from acting whether they wish to or not. The criminal law consists largely of rules of this sort: like commands

they are simply "obeyed" or "disobeyed." But other legal rules are presented to society in quite different ways and have quite different functions. They provide facilities more or less elaborate for individuals to create structures of rights and duties for the conduct of life within the coercive framework of the law. Such are the rules enabling individuals to make contracts, wills, and trusts, and generally to mould their legal relations with others.
Such rules, unlike the criminal law, are not factors designed to obstruct wishes and choices of an antisocial sort. On the contrary, these rules provide facilities for the realization of wishes and choices. They do not say (like commands) "do this whether you wish it or not," but rather "if you wish to do this, here is the way to do it." Under these rules we exercise powers, make claims, and assert rights. These phrases mark off characteristic features of laws that confer rights and powers; they are laws which are, so to speak, put at the disposition of individuals in a way in which the criminal law is not.
Much ingenuity has gone into the task of "reducing" laws of this second sort to some complex variant of laws of the first sort. The effort to show that laws conferring rights are
"really" only conditional stipulations of sanctions to be exacted from the person ultimately under a legal duty characterizes much of Kelsen's work.(28) Yet to urge this is really just to exhibit dogmatic determination to suppress one aspect of the legal system in order to maintain the theory that stipulation of a sanction, like Austin's command, represents the quintessence of law. One might as well urge that the rules of baseball were
"really" only complex conditional directions to the scorer and that this showed their real or "essential" nature. * * *
* * * Rules that confer rights, though distinct from commands, need not be moral rules or coincide with them. Rights, after all, exist under the rules of cere-[30]monies, games, and in many other spheres regulated by rules which are irrelevant to the question of justice or what the law ought to be. Nor need rules which confer rights be just or morally good rules. The rights of a master over his slaves show us that. "Their merit or demerit," as
Austin termed it, depends on how rights are distributed in society and over whom or what they are exercised. These critics indeed revealed the inadequacy of the simple notions of command and habit for the analysis of law; at many points it is apparent that the social acceptance of a rule or standard of authority (even if it is motivated only by fear or

superstition or rests on inertia) must be brought into the analysis and cannot itself be reduced to the two simple terms. Yet nothing in this showed the utilitarian insistence on the distinction between the existence of law and its "merits" to be wrong.
Notes
1. Hart's critique of the command theory of Austin, and the related theory of Hans
Kelsen, focuses on the functional character of a command and its relation to the notion of a sovereign, rather than on the coercive power of the state that, according to the earlier theorists, was a crucial part of what made such commands law and distinguished them from other non-law directives. Why might the earlier positivists have cared so much about defining law so as to emphasize its coercive character? Does the use of state coercion raise special moral considerations? Does defining the law in terms of state coercion serve to isolate those considerations? See Dale Nance, Legal Theory and the
Pivotal Role of the Concept of Coercion, 57 U. COLO. L. REV. 1 (1985).
2. If one concedes that the law as it is may diverge from law as it ought to be, then one needs terminology for referring to each idea. When we say, "The law requires X," we are ordinarily making a reference to the law "as it is." In these materials, we will generally have this reference in mind when using the word "law" without more. Yet it is frequently useful to refer to the other idea, the "law as it ought to be." The ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle seems to have used the term "justice" for this idea, meaning that aspect of morality (or what Aristotle would call virtue) which ought to be reflected in the law. Yet it is arguable that, all things considered, the law should not always satisfy or enforce the demands of justice (Can you think of examples?), so the identification seems imprecise. The eighteenth century German philosopher Immanuel Kant seems to have used the term "right" to refer to that part of morality which should be reflected in the law.
But similar problems arise, since one can imagine moral rights that ought not to be made legal rights. (Again, can you think of examples?) In order to avoid linguistic disputes, perhaps we should be content with a term like "ideal law" to refer to the law as it ought to be, recognizing that what is ideal may not be the same for all societies at all times; indeed, there may be no unique ideal law for any given society at any given time. In

subsequent Parts of these materials, we will examine some of what can be said in characterizing ideal law, at least in American society.
3. Professor Hart clearly distinguishes between utilitarianism and legal positivism, even though these views were both held by people like Austin and Bentham. Whereas positivism is a theory about the nature of law, that is a legal theory, utilitarianism is one form of moral theory. As Hart notes, utilitarian arguments can be used, and have been used, to criticize existing law, to indicate in what respects extant law differs from the ideal. But utilitarianism is not [31]the only such form of moral theory. In particular, it has been challenged as giving too little weight to the notion of individual rights.
To generalize, three types of moral argument can be identified. First, there are consequentialist (also called teleological) modes of argument, such as utilitarianism, in which moral duty is derived entirely from the goodness or badness of the consequences of action. Second, there are nonconsequentialist (also called deontological) modes, such as some arguments from "natural rights," in which moral duty is derived in some way that does not depend on the appraisal of the material consequences of accepting the argument, but rather on the inherent rightness or wrongness of the conduct in question. ("One ought to honor one's promise, even if that doesn't produce the best possible consequences.")
Much modern philosophical debate has addressed the question of the priority of these two modes of moral thought. Especially prominent have been hypotheticals specifically designed to generate a conflict in the prescriptions that may be derived from utilitarian and rights-based approaches. They are usually some variation on the theme of what to do when you are faced with a situation in which intentionally killing an innocent person will result in the saving of many others. For example:
Suppose you are the driver of a trolley. The trolley rounds a bend, and there come into view ahead five track workmen, who have been repairing the track. The track goes through a bit of a valley at that point, and the sides are steep, so you must stop the trolley if you are to avoid running the five men down. You step on the brakes, but alas they don't work. Now you suddenly see a spur of track leading off to the right. You can turn the trolley onto it, and thus save the five men on the straight track ahead.
Unfortunately,...there is one track workman on that spur of track. He can no more get off

the track in time than the five can, so you will kill him if you turn the trolley onto him. Is it morally permissible [or required] for you to turn the trolley?
Judith Jarvis Thomson, The Trolley Problem, 94 YALE L.J. 1395 (1985).
Finally, there are what may be called "mixed" or "hybrid" modes of argument which try to combine the strengths of both consequentialist and nonconsequentialist analyses, allowing a place for each. For example, it has been suggested that the different modes of argument can be seen as different but complementary ways of checking and testing our moral intuitions against historically observed practices and conventions? See Randy
Barnett, Foreword: Of Chickens and EggsThe Compatibility of Moral Rights and
Consequentialist Analyses, 12 HARV. J.L. & PUB. POL'Y 611 (1989).
Which mode of argument do you find most acceptable, the consequentialist, the nonconsequentialist, or a mixture? It is all too easy to opt for the mixed mode; bear in mind that many philosophers have found consequentialism and deontology to be fundamentally incompatible. You will have many occasions to think about these issues in the following materials.
4. What does it mean for a judge to accept positivism? How might a judge reason about his or her responsibilities in deciding a case if the judge accepts positivism? How does
Justice Story's opinion in Prigg illustrate the issues? Did Story employ any moral theory in deciding the case? If so, was it utilitarian, or deontological, or mixed?
HANS KELSEN
The Pure Theory of Law
SOURCED FROM : http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/legal-positivism/

The idea of a Pure Theory of Law was propounded by the formidable Austrian jurist and philosopher Hans Kelsen (1881-1973). (See bibliographical note) Kelsen began his long career as a legal theorist at the beginning of the 20 th
century. The traditional legal philosophies at the time, were, Kelsen claimed, hopelessly contaminated with political ideology and moralizing on the one hand, or with attempts to reduce the law to natural or social sciences, on the other hand. He found both of these reductionist endeavors seriously flawed. Instead, Kelsen suggested a ‘pure’ theory of law which would avoid reductionism of any kind. The jurisprudence Kelsen propounded “characterizes itself as a
‘pure’ theory of law because it aims at cognition focused on the law alone” and this purity serves as its “basic methodological principle.” [PT1, 7] Note that this antireductionism is both methodological and substantive. Kelsen firmly believed that if the law is to be considered as a unique normative practice, methodological reductionism should be avoided entirely. But this approach is not only a matter of method.
Reductionism should be avoided because the law is a unique phenomenon, quite separate from morality and nature.
1. The Basic Norm
The law, according to Kelsen, is a system of norms. Norms are ‘ought’ statements, prescribing certain modes of conduct. Unlike moral norms, however, Kelsen maintained that legal norms are created by acts of will. They are products of deliberate human action.
For instance, some people gather in a hall, speak, raise their hands, count them, and promulgate a string of words. These are actions and events taking place at a specific time and space. To say that what we have described here is the enactment of a law , is to interpret these actions and events by ascribing a normative significance to them. Kelsen, however, firmly believed in Hume's distinction between ‘is’ and ‘ought’, and in the impossibility of deriving ‘ought’ conclusions from factual premises alone. Thus Kelsen believed that the law, which is comprised of norms or ‘ought’ statements, cannot be reduced to those natural actions and events which give rise to it. The gathering, speaking and raising of hands, in itself, is not the law; legal norms are essentially ‘ought’ statements, and as such, they cannot be deduced from factual premises alone.

How is it possible, then, to ascribe an ‘ought’ to those actions and events which purport to create legal norms? Kelsen's reply is enchantingly simple: we ascribe a legal ought to such norm-creating acts by, ultimately, presupposing it. Since ‘ought’ cannot be derived from ‘is’, and since legal norms are essentially ‘ought’ statements, there must be some kind of an ‘ought’ presupposition at the background, rendering the normativity of law intelligible.
As opposed to moral norms which, according to Kelsen, are typically deduced from other moral norms by syllogism (e.g., from general principles to more particular ones), legal norms are always created by acts of will. Such an act can only create law, however, if it is in accord with another ‘higher’ legal norm that authorizes its creation in that way. And the ‘higher’ legal norm, in turn, is valid only if it has been created in accordance with yet another, even ‘higher’ legal norm that authorizes its enactment. Ultimately, Kelsen argued, one must reach a point where the authorizing norm is no longer the product of an act of will, but is simply presupposed, and this is, what Kelsen called, the Basic Norm.
More concretely, Kelsen maintained that in tracing back such a ‘chain of validity’ (to use
Raz's terminology), one would reach a point where a ‘first’ historical constitution is the basic authorizing norm of the rest of the legal system, and the Basic Norm is the presupposition of the validity of that first constitution.
Kelsen attributed two main explanatory functions to the Basic Norm: it explains both the unity of a legal system and the reasons for the legal validity of norms. [PT2, 193]
Apparently, Kelsen believed that these two ideas are very closely related, since he seems to have maintained that the legal validity of a norm and its membership in a given legal system are basically the same thing. Furthermore, Kelsen argued that every two norms which derive their validity from a single Basic Norm necessarily belong to the same legal system and, vice versa , so that all legal norms of a given legal system derive their validity from one Basic Norm. It is widely acknowledged that Kelsen erred in these assumptions about the unity of legal systems. Generally speaking, in spite of the considerable interest in Kelsen's theory of legal systems and their unity that derives from a single Basic Norm, critics have shown that this aspect of Kelsen's theory is refutable. Although it is certainly true that the law always comes in systems, the unity of the system and its separation from

other systems is almost never as neat as Kelsen assumed. [see Raz, ‘Kelsen's Theory of the Basic Norm’.]
However, the role of the Basic Norm in explaining the normativity of law is crucially important. The presupposition of the Basic Norm as the condition of validity of legal norms marks Kelsen's theory as ‘pure’, and distinguishes it from other theories in the
Legal Positivist tradition. Contemporary legal positivists have traditionally accounted for the normativity of law in terms of social facts: people tend to perceive of the legal norms in their community as valid because, ultimately, there are certain social conventions, or
Rules of Recognition in H.L.A. Hart's terminology, that determine who is authorized to make law and how law making is to be done. But this is precisely the kind of reductionism that the Pure Theory strives to deny. Kelsen was convinced that any attempt to ground the law's normativity, namely, its ‘ought’ aspect, is doomed to failure if it is only based on facts, whether those facts are natural or social. Once again, to account for an ‘ought’ conclusion, one needs some ‘ought’ in the premises. Therefore, Kelsen thought, the normativity of law, as a genuine ‘ought’, must, ultimately, be presupposed.
Common wisdom has it that in this kind of reasoning Kelsen self-consciously employs a
Kantian Transcendental argument to establish the necessary presupposition of the Basic
Norm. Thus the argument takes the following form:
1.
P .
2.
P is possible only if Q .
3.
Therefore, Q .
In Kelsen's case, P stands for the fact that legal norms are ‘ought’ statements, and Q is the presupposition of the Basic Norm. [PT2, 202]. Furthermore, commentators have pointed out that just as Kant's epistemology is an attempt to find the middle way between dogmatic Rationalism and skeptical Empiricism, Kelsen's pure theory of law is an attempt to find a middle way between Natural Law's dogmatism, and Positivism's reduction of law to the social sciences. [See Paulson, Introduction] But it is worth keeping in mind that Kelsen's argument about the Basic Norm is an explicitly shallow

form of Kantian epistemology. The Kantian categories and modes of perception are not optional; they form a deep, universal, and necessary feature of rational cognition. One should recall that it is Humean skepticism that Kant strove to answer. Kelsen, however, remains Humean through and through, Kantian influences notwithstanding. First, Kelsen was very skeptical about any objectivist moral theory, Kant's included. [PT1, 16; PT2,
63-65] Second, Kelsen does not claim that the presupposition of the Basic Norm is a necessary feature, or category, of rational cognition. The Basic Norm is an ‘ought’ presumption and, as such, optional. It is not necessary for anyone to accept the Basic
Norm. The Basic Norm is necessarily presupposed only by those who accept the ‘ought’, namely, the normativity, of the law. Likewise, those who believe in the normativity of a religious order must presuppose a Basic Norm that ‘one ought to obey God's commands’.
But in both cases, there is nothing in the nature of things which would compel any particular person to adopt such a normative perspective. Kelsen's argument does not rule out atheism or anarchism. However, even the anarchist, Kelsen maintained, must presuppose the Basic Norm if she is to account for the normativity of law. But again, this presupposition is only an intellectual tool, not a normative commitment, and as the latter, it is entirely optional.
2. The Normativity of Law
This analogy between law and religion, on which Kelsen often dwells, is more limited than it first appears, however. The normativity of religion, like that of morality, does not depend on the actual obedience of their respective subjects. For those, for example, who presuppose the basic norm of Christianity, the latter would be valid even if there are no other Christians around. But this, as Kelsen explicitly admits, is not the case with law.
The validity of a legal system partly, but crucially, depends on its actual practice: “A legal order is regarded as valid, if its norms are by and large effective (that is, actually applied and obeyed).” [PT2, 212] Furthermore, the actual content of the Basic Norm depends on its ‘effectiveness’. As Kelsen repeatedly argued, a successful revolution brings about a radical change in the content of the Basic Norm. Suppose, for example, that in a given legal system the Basic Norm is that the constitution enacted by Rex One is binding. At a certain point, a coup d'etat takes place and a republican government is

successfully installed. At this point, Kelsen admits, “one presupposes a new basic norm, no longer the basic norm delegating law making authority to the monarch, but a basic norm delegating authority to the revolutionary government.” [PT1, 59].
This is very problematic, however, since it raises the suspicion that Kelsen has violated his own categorical injunction against deriving ‘ought’ from ‘is’. Kelsen was not unaware of the difficulty. In the first edition of the Pure Theory of Law , he suggests the solution to this problem by introducing international law as the source of validity for changes in the basic norms of municipal legal systems. It follows from the basic norm of international law, Kelsen maintains, that state sovereignty is determined by successful control over a given territory. Therefore, the changes in the basic norm which stem from successful revolutions can be accounted for in legalistic terms, relying on the dogmas of international law. [PT1, 61-62] The price Kelsen had to pay for this solution, however, is rather high: he was compelled to claim that all municipal legal systems derive their validity from international law, and this entails that there is only one Basic Norm in the entire world, namely, the Basic Norm of public international law. Although this solution is repeated in the second edition of the Pure Theory of Law [214-215], Kelsen presented it there with much more hesitation, perhaps just as an option which would make sense. It is not quite clear whether Kelsen really adhered to it. The hesitation is understandable; after all, the idea that municipal legal systems derive their legal validity from international law would strike most jurists and legal historians as rather fanciful and anachronistic. (We should recall that the development of international law is a relatively recent phenomenon in the history of law.)
So we are back to the question of how ‘pure’ Kelsen's theory really is, if it is conceded that the content of the Basic Norm is basically determined by social practice. The answer depends on how we construe the explanatory function of the Basic Norm: Neither Kelsen nor his critics seem to have been careful to distinguish between the role of the Basic
Norm in answering the question of how we identify the law as such, and in answering the question of law's normativity . An answer to the question of what counts as law or as law creating acts in a given community cannot be detached from practice, namely, social conventions. The social conventions prevalent in any given community determine,

ultimately, what counts as law in that community. (See the Nature of Law) On the other hand, Kelsen is right to insist that social conventions, by themselves, could not explain the ‘ought’ which is inherent in law as a normative system. Such an ‘ought’ cannot be constituted by the conventions. Social conventions can only determine what the practice is, and how one would go about in engaging in it; conventions cannot determine that one ought to engage in the practice. [see Marmor, Positive Law & Objective Values , 25-33]
Consider, for example, the analogy of a structured game, like chess. What chess is, and how one should play the game, are determined by its constitutive rules or conventions.
Those rules which constitute the game of chess, however, cannot provide anyone with a complete reason to play the game. The normativity of the game is conditional; it depends on a prior reason, or commitment, to play the game. We cannot say, for example, that one
“ought to move the bishop diagonally” unless we assume that the agent wants to play chess. The fact that the rules of chess require the players to move the bishop diagonally is not, in itself, a reason for doing so, unless, again, it is assumed that it is chess that one wants to play. Now, it is precisely this kind of assumption that the Basic Norm is there to capture. Just as the normativity of chess could not be explained without presupposing, as it were, that the players want to engage in that particular game, so the normativity of law must be premised on the Basic Norm.
Thus, it would seem that Kelsen's anti-reductionism is only partly successful. The explanatory role of the Basic Norm must be confined to the normativity of law. But in order to explain what counts as law and how law is identified and distinguished from other normative practices, the Basic Norms is not sufficient; one must refer to the social conventions which prevail in the relevant community.
None of this means, however, that Kelsen's account of the normativity of law is unproblematic. There are two main problems that may be worth exploring. First, Kelsen has never made it quite clear whether he maintains that the ‘ought’ which is presupposed in the legal domain is the same kind of ‘ought’ which would be characteristic of morality or, indeed, any other normative domain. Kelsen seems to have faced a dilemma here which would not be easy to resolve. On the one hand, he wanted to avoid the mistake which he attributed to the Natural Law tradition of reducing the normativity of law to

moral ‘ought’. Kelsen has repeatedly argued that Natural Law, which would reduce the legal ‘ought’ to moral ‘ought’ fails because it can only achieve an account of the normativity of law at the expense of missing its target: If the only notion of validity is a moral one, we are left with no room for the concept of legal validity. Natural Law, as
Kelsen understood it, does not make any allowance for the possibility that a norm is legally valid but morally wrong. Would this imply, then, that the kind of ‘ought’ which is presupposed by the Basic Norm is somehow different from moral ‘ought’? And what would the difference consist in? One should bear in mind that Kelsen thought that the normativity of morality, like that of religion or any other normative domain, is also
‘presupposed’. So here is the dilemma: either Kelsen maintains that the legal ‘ought’ and moral ‘ought’ are two different kinds of ‘ought’ (which, I think, is the stance he adopted in his earlier writings), but then it would be very difficult to explain what the difference consists in, given that both kinds of ‘ought’ are simply presupposed; or else, Kelsen would have to maintain that the moral and legal ‘ought’ are basically the same, in which case, he would be hard pressed to explain how he avoids the same kind of mistake which he attributed to the Natural Law tradition.
Secondly, and perhaps this is part of the reason for the former confusion, Kelsen's account of the normativity of law is seriously impeded by his Humean skepticism about the objectivity of morality, justice, or any other evaluative scheme. The view one gets, especially from Kelsen's later writings, is that there are countless potential normative systems, like morality, law, religion, etc., that one can either accept or not just by presupposing their respective Basic Norms. But without any rational or objective grounding of such evaluative systems, the choice of any Basic Norm remains rather whimsical, devoid of any reason. It is difficult to understand how normativity can really be explained on the basis of such rationally groundless choices.
Bibliography
Note

Kelsen's academic publications span over almost seven decades in which he published dozens of books and hundreds of articles. Only about a third of this vast literature has been translated to English. Kelsen's two most important books on the pure theory of law are the first edition of his Reine Rechtslehre , published in 1934, and recently translated to
English under the title Introduction to the Problems of Legal Theory , (Paulson and
Paulson trans.) Oxford 2002, and the second edition which Kelsen published in 1960,
Pure Theory of Law , (Knight trans.), UC Berkeley press, 1967. The second edition is a considerably extended version of the first edition. These books are abbreviated in the test as PT1 and PT2 respectively. In addition, most of the themes in these two books also appear in Kelsen's General Theory of Law and State , (1945), (Wedberg trans.), Russell &
Russell, NY 1961 and What is Justice?
, UC Berkeley Press, 1957. Other relevant publications in English include ‘The Pure Theory of Law and Analytical Jurisprudence’,
55 Harvard L. Rev
. (1941), 44, ‘Professor Stone and the Pure Theory of Law: A Reply’,
(1965), 17 Stanford L. Rev . 1128, and ‘On the Pure Theory of Law’ (1966), 1 Israel L.
Rev . 1.
For a complete list of Kelsen's publications which have appeared in English see the
Appendix to H. Kelsen, General Theory of Norms (M. Hartney trans.) Oxford, 1991, pp.
440-454.
Other Sources
 Harris, J.W., Legal Philosophies , Butterworths, 1980, chapter 6.
 Hart, H.L.A., The Concept of Law , Oxford 1961, chapter 3.
 -----, ‘Kelsen's Doctrine of the Unity of Law’, in H.E. Kiefer and M.K. Munitz
(eds), Ethics and Social Justice , NY, 1970.
 Marmor, A., Objective Law and Positive Values , Oxford 2001, chapter 2.
 Paulson, S., Introduction to Kelsen's Introduction to the Problems of Legal
Theory , Clarendon 2002, xvii.
 Raz, J., The Concept of a Legal System , (2 nd ed.) Oxford 1980.

 -----, ‘Kelsen's Theory of the Basic Norm’ in Raz, The Authority of Law , Oxford
1979, 122.
Copyright © 2002
Andrei Marmor amarmor@law.us
c.edu
JOHN AUSTIN
SOURCED FORM : http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/austin-john/
John Austin is considered by many to be the creator of the school of analytical jurisprudence, as well as, more specifically, the approach to law known as "legal positivism." Austin's particular command theory of law has been subject to pervasive criticism, but its simplicity gives it an evocative power that cannot be ignored.
1. Life
John Austin's life (1790-1859) was filled with disappointment and unfulfilled expectations. His influential friends (who included Jeremy Bentham, James Mill, John
Stuart Mill and Thomas Carlyle) were impressed by his intellect and his conversation, and predicted he would go far. However, in public dealings, Austin's nervous disposition, shaky health, tendency towards melancholy, and perfectionism combined to end quickly careers at the Bar, in academia, and in government service. (Hamburger 1985, 1992)

Austin was born to a Suffolk merchant family, and served briefly in the military before beginning his legal training. He was called to the Bar in 1818, but he took on few cases, and quit the practice of law in 1825. Austin shortly thereafter obtained an appointment to the first Chair of Jurisprudence at the recently established University College London. He prepared for his lectures by study in Bonn, and evidence of the influence of continental legal and political ideas can be found scattered throughout Austin's writings.
Lectures from the course he gave were eventually published in 1832 as "Province of
Jurisprudence Determined." (Austin 1995) However, attendance at his courses was small and getting smaller, and he gave his last lecture in 1833. A short-lived effort to give a similar course of lectures at the Inner Temple met the same result. Austin resigned his
University College London Chair in 1835. He later briefly served on the Criminal Law
Commission, and as a Royal Commissioner to Malta, but he never found either success or contentment. He did some occasional writing on political themes, but his plans for longer works never came to anything during his lifetime, due apparently to some combination of perfectionism, melancholy, and writer's block. His changing views on moral, political, and legal matters also apparently hindered both the publication of a revised edition of
"Province of Jurisprudence Determined," and the completion of a longer project started when his views had been different.
Much of whatever success Austin found during his life, and after, must be attributed to his wife Sarah, for her tireless support, both moral and economic (during the later years of their marriage, they lived primarily off her efforts as a translator and reviewer), and her work to publicize his writings after his death (including the publication of a more complete set of his Lectures on Jurisprudence) (Austin 1873).
While Austin's work was influential in the decades after his death, its impact seemed to subside substantially by the beginning of the twentieth century. A significant portion of
Austin's current reputation derives from H.L.A. Hart's use (1958, 1994) of Austin's theory as a foil for the explanation of Hart's own, more nuanced approach to legal theory. In recent decades some theorists have revisited Austin's work, offering new characterizations and defenses of his ideas (e.g., Morison 1982, Rumble 1985).

2. Analytical Jurisprudence and Legal Positivism
Early in his career, Austin came under the influence of Jeremy Bentham, and Bentham's utilitarianism is evident (though with some differences) in the work for which Austin is best known today. On Austin's reading of utilitarianism, Divine will is equated with
Utilitarian principles: "utility is the index to the law of God ... . To make a promise which general utility condemns, is an offense against the law of God" (Austin 1873: Lecture VI, p. 307; see also Austin 1995: Lecture II, p. 41). This particular reading of utilitarianism, however, has had little long-term influence, though it seems to have been the part of his work that received the most attention in his own day (Rumble 1995: p. xx). Austin early on shared many of the ideas of the Benthamite philosophical radicals; he was "a strong proponent of modern political economy, a believer in Hartleian metaphysics, and a most enthusiastic Malthusian." (Rumble 1985: pp. 16-17)
Austin's importance to legal theory lies elsewhere -- his theorizing about law was novel at three different levels of generality. First, he was arguably the first writer to approach the theory of law analytically (as contrasted with approaches to law more grounded in history or sociology, or arguments about law which were secondary to more general moral and political theories). Analytical jurisprudence emphasizes the analysis of key concepts, including "law," "(legal) right," "(legal) duty," and "legal validity." Though analytical jurisprudence has been challenged by some in recent years (e.g., Leiter 1998), it remains the dominant approach to discussing the nature of law. Analytical jurisprudence, an approach to theorizing about law, has sometimes been confused with what the American legal realists (an influential group of theorists prominent in the early decades of the 20th century) called "legal formalism" -- a narrow approach to how judges should decide cases. The American legal realists saw Austin in particular, and analytical jurisprudence in general, as their opponents in their critical and reform-minded efforts. In this, the realists were simply mistaken; unfortunately, it is a mistake that can still be found in some contemporary legal commentators.
(There is some evidence that Austin's views later in his life may have moved away from analytical jurisprudence towards something more approximating the historical jurisprudence school. (Hamburger 1985: pp. 178-91))

Second, within analytical jurisprudence, Austin was the first systematic exponent of a view of law known as "legal positivism." Most of the important theoretical work on law prior to Austin had treated jurisprudence as though it were merely a branch of moral theory or political theory: asking how should the state govern? (and when were governments legitimate?), and under what circumstances did citizens have an obligation to obey the law? Austin specifically, and legal positivism generally, offered a quite different approach to law: as an object of "scientific" study, dominated neither by prescription nor by moral evaluation. Subtle jurisprudential questions aside, Austin's efforts to treat law systematically gained popularity in the late 19th century among
English lawyers who wanted to approach their profession, and their professional training, in a more serious and rigorous manner (Cotterrell 1989: pp. 79-81).
Legal positivism asserts (or assumes) that it is both possible and valuable to have a morally neutral descriptive (or "conceptual" -- though this is not a term Austin used) theory of law. (The main competitor to legal positivism, in Austin's day as in our own, has been natural law theory.) Legal positivism does not deny that moral and political criticism of legal systems are important, but insists that a descriptive or conceptual approach to law is valuable, both on its own terms and as a necessary prelude to criticism.
There were theorists prior to Austin who arguably offered views similar to legal positivism or who at least foreshadowed legal positivism in some way. Among these would be Thomas Hobbes, with his amoral view of laws as the product of Leviathan
(Hobbes 1996); David Hume, with his argument for separating "is" and "ought" (which worked as a sharp criticism for some forms of natural law theory, which purported to derive moral truths from statements about human nature) (Hume 2000); and Jeremy
Bentham, with his attacks on judicial lawmaking and on those, like Sir William
Blackstone, who justified such lawmaking with natural-law-like justifications (Bentham
1970, 1996).
Austin's famous formulation of what could be called the "dogma" of legal positivism is as follows:

The existence of law is one thing; its merit or demerit is another. Whether it be or be not is one enquiry; whether it be or be not conformable to an assumed standard, is a different enquiry. A law, which actually exists, is a law, though we happen to dislike it, or though it vary from the text, by which we regulate our approbation and disapprobation. (Austin 1995:
Lecture V, p. 157)
Third, Austin's version of legal positivism, a "command theory of law" (which will be detailed in the next section) has also been influential. Austin's theory had similarities with the views developed by Jeremy Bentham, whose theory could also be characterized as a
"command theory." However, Austen's work was more influential in this area, because
Bentham's jurisprudential writings did not appear in an even-roughly systematic form until well after Austin's work had already been published. (Bentham 1970, 1996;
Cotterrell 1989: pp. 52-53)
3. Austin's Views
Austin's basic approach was to ascertain what can be said generally, but still with interest, about all laws. Austin's analysis can be seen as either a paradigm of, or a caricature of, analytical philosophy, in that his discussions are dryly full of distinctions, but are thin in argument. The modern reader is forced to fill in much of the meta-theoretical, justificatory work, as it cannot be found in the text. Where Austin does articulate his methodology and objective, it is a fairly traditional one: he "endeavored to resolve a law
(taken with the largest signification which can be given to that term properly ) into the necessary and essential elements of which it is composed." (Austin 1995: Lecture V, p.
117)
As to what is the core nature of law, Austin's answer is that laws ("properly so called") are commands of a sovereign. He clarifies the concept of positive law (that is, man-made law) by analyzing the constituent concepts of his definition, and by distinguishing law from other concepts that are similar:
 "Commands" involve an expressed wish that something be done, and "an evil" to be imposed if that wish is not complied with.

 Rules are general commands (applying generally to a class), as contrasted with specific or individual commands ("drink wine today" or "John Major must drink wine").
 Positive law consisted of those commands laid down by a sovereign (or its agents), to be contrasted to other law- givers, like God's general commands, and the general commands of an employer.
 The "sovereign" was defined as a person (or collection of persons) who receives habitual obedience from the bulk of the population, but who does not habitually obey any other (earthly) person or institution. Austin thought that all independent political societies, by their nature, have a sovereign.
 Positive law should also be contrasted with "laws by a close analogy" (which includes positive morality, laws of honor, international law, customary law, and constitutional law) and "laws by remote analogy" (e.g., the laws of physics).
(Austin 1995: Lecture I).
Austin also wanted to include within "the province of jurisprudence" certain
"exceptions," items which did not fit his criteria but should nonetheless be studied with other "laws properly so called": repealing laws, declarative laws, and "imperfect laws" - laws prescribing action but without sanctions (a concept Austin ascribes to "Roman [law] jurists"). (Austin 1995: Lecture I, p. 36)
In the criteria set out above, Austin succeeded in delimiting law and legal rules from religion, morality, convention, and custom. However, also excluded from "the province of jurisprudence" were customary law (except to the extent that the sovereign had, directly or indirectly, adopted such customs as law), public international law, and parts of constitutional law. (These exclusions alone would make Austin's theory problematic for most modern readers.)
Within Austin's approach, whether something is or is not "law" depends on which people have done what: the question turns on an empirical investigation, and it is a matter mostly of power, not of morality. Of course, Austin is not arguing that law should not be moral,

nor is he implying that it rarely is. Austin is not playing the nihilist or the skeptic. He is merely pointing out that there is much that is law that is not moral, and what makes something law does nothing to guarantee its moral value. "The most pernicious laws, and therefore those which are most opposed to the will of God, have been and are continually enforced as laws by judicial tribunals." (Austin 1995: Lecture V, p. 158).
In contrast to his mentor Bentham, Austin had no objection to judicial lawmaking, which
Austin called "highly beneficial and even absolutely necessary." (Austin, 1995: Lecture
V, p. 163) Nor did Austin find any difficulty incorporating judicial lawmaking into his command theory: he characterized that form of lawmaking, along with the occasional legal/judicial recognition of customs by judges, as the "tacit commands" of the sovereign, the sovereign's affirming the "orders" by its acquiescence. (Austin 1995: Lecture 1, pp.
35-36).
4. Criticisms
As many readers come to Austin's theory mostly through its criticism by other writers
(prominently, that of H.L.A. Hart), the weaknesses of the theory are almost better known than the theory itself:
 In many societies, it is hard to identify a "sovereign" in Austin's sense of the word
(a difficulty Austin himself experienced, when he was forced to describe the
British "sovereign" awkwardly as the combination of the King, the House of
Lords, and all the electors of the House of Commons). Additionally, a focus on a
"sovereign" makes it difficult to explain the continuity of legal systems: a new ruler will not come in with the kind of "habit of obedience" that Austen sets as a criterion for a system's rule-maker. However, one could argue (see Harris 1977) that the sovereign is best understood as a constructive metaphor: that law should be viewed as if it reflected the view of a single will (a similar view, that law should be interpreted as if it derived from a single will, can be found in Ronald
Dworkin's work (1986)).
 A "command" model seems to fit some aspects of law poorly (e.g., rules which grant powers to officials and to private citizens - of the latter, the rules for making

wills, trusts, and contracts are examples), while excluding other matters (e.g., international law) which we are not inclined to exclude in the category "law."
 More generally, it seems more distorting than enlightening to reduce all law to one type. For example, rules that empower people to make wills and contracts perhaps can be re-characterized as part of a long chain of reasoning for eventually imposing a sanction (Austin spoke in this context of the sanction of "nullity") on those who fail to comply with the relevant provisions. However, such a recharacterization this misses the basic purpose of those sorts of laws - they are arguably about granting power and autonomy, not punishing wrongdoing.
 A theory which portrays law solely in terms of power fails to distinguish rules of terror from forms of governance sufficiently just that they are accepted as legitimate by their own citizens.
(Austin was aware of some of these lines of attack, and had responses ready; it is another matter whether his responses were adequate.) It should also be noted that Austin's work shows a silence on questions of methodology, though this may be forgivable, given the early stage of jurisprudence. As discussed in an earlier section, in many ways, Austin was blazing a new path.
When H.L.A. Hart revived legal positivism in the middle of the 20 th
century (Hart 1958,
1994), he did it by criticizing and building on Austin's theory: for example, Hart's theory did not try to reduce all laws to one kind of rule, but emphasized the varying types and functions of legal rules; and Hart's theory, grounded partly on the distinction between
"obligation" and "being obliged," was built around the fact that some participants within legal systems "accepted" the legal rules as reasons for action, above and beyond the fear of sanctions.
5. A Revisionist View?
Some modern commentators appreciate in Austin elements that were probably not foremost in his mind (or that of his contemporary readers). For example, one occasionally sees Austin portrayed as the first "realist": in contrast both to the theorists that came

before Austin and to some modern writers on law, Austin is seen as having a keener sense of the connection of law and power, and the importance of keeping that connection at the forefront of analysis. (cf. Cotterrell 1989: pp. 57-79) When circumstances seem to warrant a more critical, skeptical or cynical approach to law and government, Austin's equation of law and force will be attractive - however distant such a reading may be from
Austin's own liberal-utilitarian views at the time of his writing, and his even more conservative political views later in his life. (Hamburger, 1985)
Bibliography
Primary Sources
 Austin, John, The Province of Jurisprudence Determined , W. Rumble (ed.),
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995) (first published, 1832)
 -----, Lectures on Jurisprudence , or The Philosophy of Positive Law , two vols., R.
Campbell (ed.), 4th edition, London: John Murray, 1873
Natural Law
SOURCED ON 11 TH AUGUST 2004 BY JOSIAH M.N. FROM http://www.utm.edu/research/iep//n/natlaw.htm

The term 'natural law' is ambiguous. It refers to a type of moral theory, as well as to a type of legal theory, despite the fact that the core claims of the two kinds of theory are logically independent. According to natural law ethical theory, the moral standards that govern human behavior are, in some sense, objectively derived from the nature of human beings. According to natural law legal theory, the authority of at least some legal standards necessarily derives, at least in part, from considerations having to do with the moral merit of those standards. There are a number of different kinds of natural law theories of law, differing from each other with respect to the role that morality plays in determining the authority of legal norms.
Table of Contents
 I. Two Kinds of Natural Law Theory
 II. Conceptual Naturalism o II.1 The Project of Conceptual Jurisprudence o II.2 Classical Natural Law Theory
 III. The Substantive Neo-Naturalism of John Finnis
 IV. The Procedural Naturalism of Lon L. Fuller
 Ronald Dworkin's "Third Theory"
 Sources

I. Two Kinds of Natural Law Theory
At the outset, it is important to distinguish two kinds of theory that go by the name of natural law. The first is a theory of morality that is roughly characterized by the following theses. First, moral propositions have what is sometimes called objective standing in the sense that such propositions are the bearers of objective truth-value; that is, moral propositions can be objectively true or false. Though moral objectivism is sometimes equated with moral realism (see, e.g., Moore 1992, 190: "the truth of any moral proposition lies in its correspondence with a mind- and convention-independent moral reality"), the relationship between the two theories is controversial. Geoffrey Sayre-
McCord (1988), for example, views moral objectivism as one species of moral realism, but not the only form; on Sayre-McCord's view, moral subjectivism and moral intersubjectivism are also forms of moral realism. Strictly speaking, then, natural law moral theory is committed only to the objectivity of moral norms.
The second thesis constituting the core of natural law moral theory is the claim that standards of morality are in some sense derived from, or entailed by, the nature of the world and the nature of human beings. St. Thomas Aquinas, for example, identifies the rational nature of human beings as that which defines moral law: "the rule and measure of human acts is the reason, which is the first principle of human acts" (Aquinas, ST I-II,
Q.90, A.I). On this common view, since human beings are by nature rational beings, it is morally appropriate that they should behave in a way that conforms to their rational nature. Thus, Aquinas derives the moral law from the nature of human beings (thus,
"natural law").
But there is another kind of natural law theory having to do with the relationship of morality to law. According to natural law theory of law, there is no clean division between the notion of law and the notion of morality. Though there are different versions of natural law theory, all subscribe to the thesis that there are at least some laws that depend for their "authority" not on some pre-existing human convention, but on the logical relationship in which they stand to moral standards. Otherwise put, some norms are authoritative in virtue of their moral content, even when there is no convention that

makes moral merit a criterion of legal validity. The idea that the concepts of law and morality intersect in some way is called the Overlap Thesis.
As an empirical matter, many natural law moral theorists are also natural law legal theorists, but the two theories, strictly speaking, are logically independent. One can deny natural law theory of law but hold a natural law theory of morality. John Austin, the most influential of the early legal positivists, for example, denied the Overlap Thesis but held something that resembles a natural law ethical theory.
Indeed, Austin explicitly endorsed the view that it is not necessarily true that the legal validity of a norm depends on whether its content conforms to morality. But while Austin thus denied the Overlap Thesis, he accepted an objectivist moral theory; indeed, Austin inherited his utilitarianism almost wholesale from J.S. Mill and Jeremy Bentham. Here it is worth noting that utilitarians sometimes seem to suggest that they derive their utilitarianism from certain facts about human nature; as Bentham once wrote, "nature has placed mankind under the governance of two sovereign masters, pain and pleasure. It is for them alone to point out what we ought to do, as well as to determine what we shall do. On the one hand the standard of right and wrong, on the other the chain of causes and effects, are fastened to their throne" (Bentham 1948, 1). Thus, a commitment to natural law theory of morality is consistent with the denial of natural law theory of law.
Conversely, one could, though this would be unusual, accept a natural law theory of law without holding a natural law theory of morality. One could, for example, hold that the conceptual point of law is, in part, to reproduce the demands of morality, but also hold a form of ethical subjectivism (or relativism). On this peculiar view, the conceptual point of law would be to enforce those standards that are morally valid in virtue of cultural consensus. For this reason, natural law theory of law is logically independent of natural law theory of morality. The remainder of this essay will be exclusively concerned with natural law theories of law.
II. Conceptual Naturalism
II.1 The Project of Conceptual Jurisprudence

The principal objective of conceptual (or analytic) jurisprudence has traditionally been to provide an account of what distinguishes law as a system of norms from other systems of norms, such as ethical norms. As John Austin describes the project, conceptual jurisprudence seeks "the essence or nature which is common to all laws that are properly so called" (Austin 1995, 11). Accordingly, the task of conceptual jurisprudence is to provide a set of necessary and sufficient conditions for the existence of law that distinguishes law from non-law in every possible world.
While this task is usually interpreted as an attempt to analyze the concepts of law and legal system, there is some confusion as to both the value and character of conceptual analysis in philosophy of law. As Brian Leiter (1998) points out, philosophy of law is one of the few philosophical disciplines that takes conceptual analysis as its principal concern; most other areas in philosophy have taken a naturalistic turn, incorporating the tools and methods of the sciences. To clarify the role of conceptual analysis in law, Brian
Bix (1995) distinguishes a number of different purposes that can be served by conceptual claims: (1) to track linguistic usage; (2) to stipulate meanings; (3) to explain what is important or essential about a class of objects; and (4) to establish an evaluative test for the concept-word. Bix takes conceptual analysis in law to be primarily concerned with (3) and (4).
In any event, conceptual analysis of law remains an important, if controversial, project in contemporary legal theory. Conceptual theories of law have traditionally been characterized in terms of their posture towards the Overlap Thesis. Thus, conceptual theories of law have traditionally been divided into two main categories: those like natural law legal theory that affirm there is a conceptual relation between law and morality and those like legal positivism that deny such a relation.
II.2 Classical Natural Law Theory
All forms of natural law theory subscribe to the Overlap Thesis, which asserts that there is some kind of non-conventional relation between law and morality. According to this view, then, the notion of law cannot be fully articulated without some reference to moral

notions. Though the Overlap Thesis may seem unambiguous, there are a number of different ways in which it can be interpreted.
The strongest construction of the Overlap Thesis forms the foundation for the classical naturalism of Aquinas and Blackstone. Aquinas distinguishes four kinds of law: (1) eternal law; (2) natural law; (3) human law; and (4) divine law. Eternal law is comprised of those laws that govern the nature of an eternal universe; as Susan Dimock (1999, 22) puts it, one can "think of eternal law as comprising all those scientific (physical, chemical, biological, psychological, etc.) 'laws' by which the universe is ordered." Divine law is concerned with those standards that must be satisfied by a human being to achieve eternal salvation. One cannot discover divine law by natural reason alone; the precepts of divine law are disclosed only through divine revelation.
The natural law is comprised of those precepts of the eternal law that govern the behavior of beings possessing reason and free will. The first precept of the natural law, according to Aquinas, is the somewhat vacuous imperative to do good and avoid evil. Here it is worth noting that Aquinas holds a natural law theory of morality: what is good and evil, according to Aquinas, is derived from the rational nature of human beings. Good and evil are thus both objective and universal.
But Aquinas is also a natural law legal theorist. On his view, a human law (i.e., that which is promulgated by human beings) is valid only insofar as its content conforms to the content of the natural law; as Aquinas puts the point: "[E]very human law has just so much of the nature of law as is derived from the law of nature. But if in any point it deflects from the law of nature, it is no longer a law but a perversion of law" (ST I-II,
Q.95, A.II). To paraphrase Augustine's famous remark, an unjust law is really no law at all.
The idea that a norm that does not conform to the natural law cannot be legally valid is the defining thesis of conceptual naturalism. As William Blackstone describes the thesis,
"This law of nature, being co-eval with mankind and dictated by God himself, is of course superior in obligation to any other. It is binding over all the globe, in all countries, and at all times: no human laws are of any validity, if contrary to this; and such of them

as are valid derive all their force, and all their authority, mediately or immediately, from this original" (1979, 41). In this passage, Blackstone articulates the two claims that constitute the theoretical core of conceptual naturalism: 1) there can be no legally valid standards that conflict with the natural law; and 2) all valid laws derive what force and authority they have from the natural law.
It should be noted that classical naturalism is consistent with allowing a substantial role to human beings in the manufacture of law. While the classical naturalist seems committed to the claim that the law necessarily incorporates all moral principles, this claim does not imply that the law is exhausted by the set of moral principles. There will still be coordination problems (e.g., which side of the road to drive on) that can be resolved in any number of ways consistent with the set of moral principles. Thus, the classical naturalist does not deny that human beings have considerable discretion in creating natural law. Rather she claims only that such discretion is necessarily limited by moral norms: legal norms that are promulgated by human beings are valid only if they are consistent with morality.
Critics of conceptual naturalism have raised a number of objections to this view. First, it has often been pointed out that, contra Augustine, unjust laws are all-too- frequently enforced against persons. As Austin petulantly put the point:
Now, to say that human laws which conflict with the Divine law are not binding, that is to say, are not laws, is to talk stark nonsense. The most pernicious laws, and therefore those which are most opposed to the will of
God, have been and are continually enforced as laws by judicial tribunals.
Suppose an act innocuous, or positively beneficial, be prohibited by the sovereign under the penalty of death; if I commit this act, I shall be tried and condemned, and if I object to the sentence, that it is contrary to the law of God, who has commanded that human lawgivers shall not prohibit acts which have no evil consequences, the Court of Justice will demonstrate the inconclusiveness of my reasoning by hanging me up, in pursuance of the law of which I have impugned the validity (Austin 1995,
158).

Of course, as Brian Bix (1999) points out, the argument does little work for Austin because it is always possible for a court to enforce a law against a person that does not satisfy Austin's own theory of legal validity.
Another frequently expressed worry is that conceptual naturalism undermines the possibility of moral criticism of the law; inasmuch as conformity with natural law is a necessary condition for legal validity, all valid law is, by definition, morally just. Thus, on this line of reasoning, the legal validity of a norm necessarily entails its moral justice.
As Jules Coleman and Jeffrey Murphy (1990, 18) put the point:
The important things [conceptual naturalism] supposedly allows us to do
(e.g., morally evaluate the law and determine our moral obligations with respect to the law) are actually rendered more difficult by its collapse of the distinction between morality and law. If we really want to think about the law from the moral point of view, it may obscure the task if we see law and morality as essentially linked in some way. Moral criticism and reform of law may be aided by an initial moral skepticism about the law.
There are a couple of problems with this line of objection. First, conceptual naturalism does not foreclose criticism of those norms that are being enforced by a society as law.
Insofar as it can plausibly be claimed that the content of a norm being enforced by society as law does not conform to the natural law, this is a legitimate ground of moral criticism: given that the norm being enforced by law is unjust, it follows, according to conceptual naturalism, that it is not legally valid. Thus, the state commits wrong by enforcing that norm against private citizens.
Second, and more importantly, this line of objection seeks to criticize a conceptual theory of law by pointing to its practical implications ñ a strategy that seems to commit a category mistake. Conceptual jurisprudence assumes the existence of a core of social practices (constituting law) that requires a conceptual explanation. The project motivating conceptual jurisprudence, then, is to articulate the concept of law in a way that accounts for these pre-existing social practices. A conceptual theory of law can legitimately be criticized for its failure to adequately account for the pre-existing data, as it were; but it

cannot legitimately be criticized for either its normative quality or its practical implications.
A more interesting line of argument has recently been taken up by Brian Bix (1996).
Following John Finnis (1980), Bix rejects the interpretation of Aquinas and Blackstone as conceptual naturalists, arguing instead that the claim that an unjust law is not a law should not be taken literally:
A more reasonable interpretation of statements like "an unjust law is no law at all" is that unjust laws are not laws "in the fullest sense." As we might say of some professional, who had the necessary degrees and credentials, but seemed nonetheless to lack the necessary ability or judgment: "she's no lawyer" or "he's no doctor." This only indicates that we do not think that the title in this case carries with it all the implications it usually does. Similarly, to say that an unjust law is "not really law" may only be to point out that it does not carry the same moral force or offer the same reasons for action as laws consistent with "higher law" (Bix 1996,
226).
Thus, Bix construes Aquinas and Blackstone as having views more similar to the neo- naturalism of John Finnis discussed below in Section III. Nevertheless, while a plausible case can be made in favor of Bix's view, the long history of construing Aquinas and
Blackstone as conceptual naturalists, along with its pedagogical value in developing other theories of law, ensures that this practice is likely, for better or worse, to continue indefinitely.
III. The Substantive Neo-Naturalism of John Finnis
John Finnis takes himself to be explicating and developing the views of Aquinas and
Blackstone. Like Bix, Finnis believes that the naturalism of Aquinas and Blackstone should not be construed as a conceptual account of the existence conditions for law.
According to Finnis, the classical naturalists were not concerned with giving a conceptual account of legal validity; rather they were concerned with explaining the moral force of

law: "the principles of natural law explain the obligatory force (in the fullest sense of
'obligation') of positive laws, even when those laws cannot be deduced from those principles" (Finnis 1980, 23-24). On Finnis's view of the Overlap Thesis, the essential function of law is to provide a justification for state coercion (a view he shares with
Ronald Dworkin). Accordingly, an unjust law can be legally valid, but it cannot provide an adequate justification for use of the state coercive power and is hence not obligatory in the fullest sense; thus, an unjust law fails to realize the moral ideals implicit in the concept of law. An unjust law, on this view, is legally binding, but is not fully law.
Like classical naturalism, Finnis's naturalism is both an ethical theory and a theory of law. Finnis distinguishes a number of equally valuable basic goods: life, health, knowledge, play, friendship, religion, and aesthetic experience. Each of these goods, according to Finnis, has intrinsic value in the sense that it should, given human nature, be valued for its own sake and not merely for the sake of some other good it can assist in bringing about. Moreover, each of these goods is universal in the sense that it governs all human cultures at all times. The point of moral principles, on this view, is to give ethical structure to the pursuit of these basic goods; moral principles enable us to select among competing goods and to define what a human being can permissibly do in pursuit of a basic good.
On Finnis's view, the conceptual point of law is to facilitate the common good by providing authoritative rules that solve coordination problems that arise in connection with the common pursuit of these basic goods. Thus, Finnis sums up his theory of law as follows:
[T]he term 'law' ... refer[s] primarily to rules made, in accordance with regulative legal rules, by a determinate and effective authority (itself identified and, standardly, constituted as an institution by legal rules) for a
'complete' community, and buttressed by sanctions in accordance with the rule-guided stipulations of adjudicative institutions, this ensemble of rules and institutions being directed to reasonably resolving any of the community's co-ordination problems (and to ratifying, tolerating, regulating, or overriding co-ordination solutions from any other

institutions or sources of norms) for the common good of that community
(Finnis 1980, 276).
Again, it bears emphasizing that Finnis takes care to deny that there is any necessary moral test for legal validity: "one would simply be misunderstanding my conception of the nature and purpose of explanatory definitions of theoretical concepts if one supposed that my definition 'ruled out as non-laws' laws which failed to meet, or meet fully, one or other of the elements of the definition" (Finnis 1980, 278).
Nevertheless, Finnis believes that to the extent that a norm fails to satisfy these conditions, it likewise fails to fully manifest the nature of law and thereby fails to fully obligate the citizen-subject of the law. Unjust laws may obligate in a technical legal sense, on Finnis's view, but they may fail to provide moral reasons for action of the sort that it is the point of legal authority to provide. Thus, Finnis argues that "a ruler's use of authority is radically defective if he exploits his opportunities by making stipulations intended by him not for the common good but for his own or his friends' or party's or faction's advantage, or out of malice against some person or group" (Finnis 1980, 352).
For the ultimate basis of a ruler's moral authority, on this view, "is the fact that he has the opportunity, and thus the responsibility, of furthering the common good by stipulating solutions to a community's co- ordination problems" (Finnis 1980, 351).
Finnis's theory is certainly more plausible as a theory of law than the traditional interpretation of classical naturalism, but such plausibility comes, for better or worse, at the expense of naturalism's identity as a distinct theory of law. Indeed, it appears that
Finnis's natural law theory is compatible with naturalism's historical adversary, legal positivism, inasmuch as Finnis's view is compatible with a source-based theory of legal validity; laws that are technically valid in virtue of source but unjust do not, according to
Finnis, fully obligate the citizen. Indeed, Finnis (1996) believes that Aquinas's classical naturalism fully affirms the notion that human laws are "posited."
Back to Table of Contents
IV. The Procedural Naturalism of Lon L. Fuller

Like Finnis, Lon Fuller (1964) rejects the conceptual naturalist idea that there are necessary substantive moral constraints on the content of law. But Fuller, unlike Finnis, believes that law is necessarily subject to a procedural morality. On Fuller's view, human activity is necessarily goal-oriented or purposive in the sense that people engage in a particular activity because it helps them to achieve some end. Insofar as human activity is essentially purposive, according to Fuller, particular human activities can be understood only in terms that make reference to their purposes and ends. Thus, since lawmaking is essentially purposive activity, it can be understood only in terms that explicitly acknowledge its essential values and purposes:
The only formula that might be called a definition of law offered in these writings is by now thoroughly familiar: law is the enterprise of subjecting human conduct to the governance of rules. Unlike most modern theories of law, this view treats law as an activity and regards a legal system as the product of a sustained purposive effort (Fuller 1964, 106).
To the extent that a definition of law can be given, then, it must include the idea that law's essential function is to "achiev[e] Ö [social] order Ö through subjecting people's conduct to the guidance of general rules by which they may themselves orient their behavior" (Fuller 1965, 657).
Fuller's functionalist conception of law implies that nothing can count as law unless it is capable of performing law's essential function of guiding behavior. And to be capable of performing this function, a system of rules must satisfy the following principles: (P1) the rules must be expressed in general terms; (P2) the rules must be publicly promulgated;
(P3) the rules must be prospective in effect; (P4) the rules must be expressed in understandable terms; (P5) the rules must be consistent with one another; (P6) the rules must not require conduct beyond the powers of the affected parties; (P7) the rules must not be changed so frequently that the subject cannot rely on them; and (P8) the rules must be administered in a manner consistent with their wording.
On Fuller's view, no system of rules that fails minimally to satisfy these principles of legality can achieve law's essential purpose of achieving social order through the use of

rules that guide behavior. A system of rules that fails to satisfy (P2) or (P4), for example, cannot guide behavior because people will not be able to determine what the rules require. Accordingly, Fuller concludes that his eight principles are "internal" to law in the sense that they are built into the existence conditions for law.
These internal principles constitute a morality, according to Fuller, because law necessarily has positive moral value in two respects: (1) law conduces to a state of social order and (2) does so by respecting human autonomy because rules guide behavior. Since no system of rules can achieve these morally valuable objectives without minimally complying with the principles of legality, it follows, on Fuller's view, that they constitute a morality. Since these moral principles are built into the existence conditions for law, they are internal and hence represent a conceptual connection between law and morality.
Thus, like the classical naturalists and unlike Finnis, Fuller subscribes to the strongest form of the Overlap Thesis, which makes him a conceptual naturalist.
Nevertheless, Fuller's conceptual naturalism is fundamentally different from that of classical naturalism. First, Fuller rejects the classical naturalist view that there are necessary moral constraints on the content of law, holding instead that there are necessary moral constraints on the procedural mechanisms by which law is made and administered:
"What I have called the internal morality of law is ... a procedural version of natural law
... [in the sense that it is] concerned, not with the substantive aims of legal rules, but with the ways in which a system of rules for governing human conduct must be constructed and administered if it is to be efficacious and at the same time remain what it purports to be" (Fuller 1964, 96- 97).
Second, Fuller identifies the conceptual connection between law and morality at a higher level of abstraction than the classical naturalists. The classical naturalists view morality as providing substantive constraints on the content of individual laws; an unjust norm, on this view, is conceptually disqualified from being legally valid. In contrast, Fuller views morality as providing a constraint on the existence of a legal system: "A total failure in any one of these eight directions does not simply result in a bad system of law; it results in something that is not properly called a legal system at all" (Fuller 1964, 39).

Fuller's procedural naturalism is vulnerable to a number of objections. H.L.A. Hart, for example, denies Fuller's claim that the principles of legality constitute an internal morality; according to Hart, Fuller confuses the notions of morality and efficacy:
[T]he author's insistence on classifying these principles of legality as a
"morality" is a source of confusion both for him and his readers.... [T]he crucial objection to the designation of these principles of good legal craftsmanship as morality, in spite of the qualification "inner," is that it perpetrates a confusion between two notions that it is vital to hold apart: the notions of purposive activity and morality. Poisoning is no doubt a purposive activity, and reflections on its purpose may show that it has its internal principles. ("Avoid poisons however lethal if they cause the victim to vomit"....) But to call these principles of the poisoner's art "the morality of poisoning" would simply blur the distinction between the notion of efficiency for a purpose and those final judgments about activities and purposes with which morality in its various forms is concerned (Hart 1965, 1285-86).
On Hart's view, all actions, including virtuous acts like lawmaking and impermissible acts like poisoning, have their own internal standards of efficacy. But insofar as such standards of efficacy conflict with morality, as they do in the case of poisoning, it follows that they are distinct from moral standards. Thus, while Hart concedes that something like Fuller's eight principles are built into the existence conditions for law, he concludes they do not constitute a conceptual connection between law and morality.
Unfortunately, Hart overlooks the fact that most of Fuller's eight principles double as moral ideals of fairness. For example, public promulgation in understandable terms may be a necessary condition for efficacy, but it is also a moral ideal; it is morally objectionable for a state to enforce rules that have not been publicly promulgated in terms reasonably calculated to give notice of what is required. Similarly, we take it for granted that it is wrong for a state to enact retroactive rules, inconsistent rules, and rules that require what is impossible. Poisoning may have its internal standards of efficacy, but

such standards are distinguishable from the principles of legality in that they conflict with moral ideals.
Nevertheless, Fuller's principles operate internally, not as moral ideals, but merely as principles of efficacy. As Fuller would likely acknowledge, the existence of a legal system is consistent with considerable divergence from the principles of legality. Legal standards, for example, are necessarily promulgated in general terms that inevitably give rise to problems of vagueness. And officials all too often fail to administer the laws in a fair and even-handed manneróeven in the best of legal systems. These divergences may always be prima facie objectionable, but they are inconsistent with a legal system only when they render a legal system incapable of performing its essential function of guiding behavior. Insofar as these principles are built into the existence conditions for law, it is because they operate as efficacy conditionsóand not because they function as moral ideals.
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Ronald Dworkin's "Third Theory"
Ronald Dworkin's so-called third theory of law is best understood as a response to legal positivism, which is essentially constituted by three theoretical commitments: the Social
Fact Thesis, the Conventionality Thesis, and the Separability Thesis. The Social Fact
Thesis asserts it is a necessary truth that legal validity is ultimately a function of certain kinds of social facts; the idea here is that what ultimately explains the validity of a law is the presence of certain social facts, especially formal promulgation by a legislature.
The Conventionality Thesis emphasizes law's conventional nature, claiming that the social facts giving rise to legal validity are authoritative in virtue of a social convention.
On this view, the criteria that determine whether or not any given norm counts as a legal norm are binding because of an implicit or explicit agreement among officials. Thus, for example, the U.S. Constitution is authoritative in virtue of the conventional fact that it was formally ratified by all fifty states.
The Separability Thesis, at the most general level, simply denies naturalism's Overlap
Thesis; according to the Separability Thesis, there is no conceptual overlap between the

notions of law and morality. As Hart more narrowly construes it, the Separability Thesis is "just the simple contention that it is in no sense a necessary truth that laws reproduce or satisfy certain demands of morality, though in fact they have often done so" (Hart 1994,
185-186).
Dworkin rejects positivism's Social Fact Thesis on the ground that there are some legal standards the authority of which cannot be explained in terms of social facts. In deciding hard cases, for example, judges often invoke moral principles that Dworkin believes do not derive their legal authority from the social criteria of legality contained in a rule of recognition (Dworkin 1977, p. 40).
In Riggs v. Palmer , for example, the court considered the question of whether a murderer could take under the will of his victim. At the time the case was decided, neither the statutes nor the case law governing wills expressly prohibited a murderer from taking under his victim's will. Despite this, the court declined to award the defendant his gift under the will on the ground that it would be wrong to allow him to profit from such a grievous wrong. On Dworkin's view, the court decided the case by citing "the principle that no man may profit from his own wrong as a background standard against which to read the statute of wills and in this way justified a new interpretation of that statute"
(Dworkin 1977, 29).
On Dworkin's view, the Riggs court was not just reaching beyond the law to extralegal standards when it considered this principle. For the Riggs judges would "rightfully" have been criticized had they failed to consider this principle; if it were merely an extralegal standard, there would be no rightful grounds to criticize a failure to consider it (Dworkin
1977, 35). Accordingly, Dworkin concludes that the best explanation for the propriety of such criticism is that principles are part of the law.
Further, Dworkin maintains that the legal authority of standards like the Riggs principle cannot derive from promulgation in accordance with purely formal requirements: "[e]ven though principles draw support from the official acts of legal institutions, they do not have a simple or direct enough connection with these acts to frame that connection in

terms of criteria specified by some ultimate master rule of recognition" (Dworkin 1977,
41).
On Dworkin's view, the legal authority of the Riggs principle can be explained wholly in terms of its content. The Riggs principle was binding, in part, because it is a requirement of fundamental fairness that figures into the best moral justification for a society's legal practices considered as a whole. A moral principle is legally authoritative, according to
Dworkin, insofar as it maximally conduces to the best moral justification for a society's legal practices considered as a whole.
Dworkin believes that a legal principle maximally contributes to such a justification if and only if it satisfies two conditions: (1) the principle coheres with existing legal materials; and (2) the principle is the most morally attractive standard that satisfies (1).
The correct legal principle is the one that makes the law the moral best it can be.
Accordingly, on Dworkin's view, adjudication is and should be interpretive:
[J]udges should decide hard cases by interpreting the political structure of their community in the following, perhaps special way: by trying to find the best justification they can find, in principles of political morality, for the structure as a whole, from the most profound constitutional rules and arrangements to the details of, for example, the private law of tort or contract (Dworkin 1982, 165).
There are, thus, two elements of a successful interpretation. First, since an interpretation is successful insofar as it justifies the particular practices of a particular society, the interpretation must fit with those practices in the sense that it coheres with existing legal materials defining the practices. Second, since an interpretation provides a moral justification for those practices, it must present them in the best possible moral light.
For this reason, Dworkin argues that a judge should strive to interpret a case in roughly the following way:
A thoughtful judge might establish for himself, for example, a rough
"threshold" of fit which any interpretation of data must meet in order to be

"acceptable" on the dimension of fit, and then suppose that if more than one interpretation of some part of the law meets this threshold, the choice among these should be made, not through further and more precise comparisons between the two along that dimension, but by choosing the interpretation which is "substantively" better, that is, which better promotes the political ideals he thinks correct (Dworkin 1982, 171).
As Dworkin conceives it, then, the judge must approach judicial decision-making as something that resembles an exercise in moral philosophy. Thus, for example, the judge must decide cases on the basis of those moral principles that "figure[] in the soundest theory of law that can be provided as a justification for the explicit substantive and institutional rules of the jurisdiction in question" (Dworkin 1977, 66).
And this is a process, according to Dworkin, that "must carry the lawyer very deep into political and moral theory." Indeed, in later writings, Dworkin goes so far as to claim, somewhat implausibly, that "any judge's opinion is itself a piece of legal philosophy, even when the philosophy is hidden and the visible argument is dominated by citation and lists of facts" (Dworkin 1986, 90).
Dworkin believes his theory of judicial obligation is a consequence of what he calls the
Rights Thesis, according to which judicial decisions always enforce pre-existing rights:
"even when no settled rule disposes of the case, one party may nevertheless have a right to win. It remains the judge's duty, even in hard cases, to discover what the rights of the parties are, not to invent new rights retrospectively" (Dworkin 1977, 81).
In "Hard Cases," Dworkin distinguishes between two kinds of legal argument.
Arguments of policy "justify a political decision by showing that the decision advances or protects some collective goal of the community as a whole" (Dworkin 1977, 82). In contrast, arguments of principle "justify a political decision by showing that the decision respects or secures some individual or group right" (Dworkin 1977, 82).
On Dworkin's view, while the legislature may legitimately enact laws that are justified by arguments of policy, courts may not pursue such arguments in deciding cases. For a consequentialist argument of policy can never provide an adequate justification for

deciding in favor of one party's claim of right and against another party's claim of right.
An appeal to a pre-existing right, according to Dworkin, can ultimately be justified only by an argument of principle. Thus, insofar as judicial decisions necessarily adjudicate claims of right, they must ultimately be based on the moral principles that figure into the best justification of the legal practices considered as a whole.
Notice that Dworkin's views on legal principles and judicial obligation are inconsistent with all three of legal positivism's core commitments. Each contradicts the
Conventionality Thesis insofar as judges are bound to interpret posited law in light of unposited moral principles. Each contradicts the Social Fact Thesis because these moral principles count as part of a community's law regardless of whether they have been formally promulgated. Most importantly, Dworkin's view contradicts the Separability
Thesis in that it seems to imply that some norms are necessarily valid in virtue of their moral content. It is his denial of the Separability Thesis that places Dworkin in the naturalist camp.
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Sources
Thomas Aquinas, On Law, Morality and Politics (Indianapolis: Hackett
Publishing Co., 1988)
John Austin, Lectures on Jurisprudence and the Philosophy of Positive
Law (St. Clair Shores, MI: Scholarly Press, 1977)
------The Province of Jurisprudence Determined (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1995)
Jeremy Bentham, A Fragment of Government (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1988)
------Of Laws In General (London: Athlone Press, 1970)

------The Principles of Morals and Legislation (New York: Hafner Press,
1948)
Brian Bix, "On Description and Legal Reasoning," in Linda Meyer (ed.),
Rules and Reasoning (Oxford: Hart Publishing, 1999)
------Jurisprudence: Theory and Context (Boulder, CO: Westview Press,
1996)
------"Natural Law Theory," in Dennis M. Patterson (ed.), A Companion to
Philosophy of Law and Legal Theory (Cambridge: Blackwell Publishing
Co., 1996)
William Blackstone, Commentaries on the Law of England (Chicago: The
University of Chicago Press, 1979)
Jules L. Coleman, "On the Relationship Between Law and Morality,"
Ratio Juris , vol. 2, no. 1 (1989), 66-78
------"Negative and Positive Positivism," 11 Journal of Legal Studies 139
(1982)
Jules L. Coleman and Jeffrie Murphy, Philosophy of Law (Boulder, CO:
Westview Press, 1990)
Ronald M. Dworkin, Law's Empire (Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 1986)
------Taking Rights Seriously (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1977)
John Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Rights (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1980)
------"The Truth in Legal Positivism," in Robert P. George, The Autonomy of Law (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 195-214

Lon L. Fuller, The Morality of Law, Revised Edition (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1964)
------"A Reply to Professors Cohen and Dworkin", 10 Villanova Law
Review 655 (1965), 657.
------"Positivism and Fidelity to Law--A Reply to Professor Hart," 71
Harvard Law Review 630 (1958)
Klaus F¸þer, "Farewell to 'Legal Positivism': The Separation Thesis
Unravelling," in George, The Autonomy of Law, 119-162
Robert P. George, "Natural Law and Positive Law," in George, The
Autonomy of Law, 321-334
------Natural Law Theory: Contemporary Essays (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1992)
H.L.A. Hart, The Concept of Law, Second Edition (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1994)
------"Book Review of The Morality of Law" 78 Harvard Law Review
1281 (1965)
------Essays on Bentham (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982)
------"Positivism and the Separation of Law and Morals," 71 Harvard Law
Review 593 (1958)
Kenneth Einar Himma, "Positivism, Naturalism, and the Obligation to
Obey Law," Southern Journal of Philosophy , vol. 36, no. 2 (Summer
1999)
------"Functionalism and Legal Theory: The Hart/Fuller Debate
Revisited," De Philosophia , vol. 14, no. 2 (Fall/Winter 1998)

J.L. Mackie, "The Third Theory of Law," Philosophy & Public Affairs ,
Vol. 7, No. 1 (Fall 1977)
Michael Moore, "Law as a Functional Kind," in George, Natural Law
Theory, 188- 242
Joseph Raz, The Authority of Law: Essays on Law and Morality (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1979)
------"Authority, Law and Morality," The Monist , vol. 68, 295-324
------"Legal Principles and the Limits of Law," 81 Yale Law Review 823
(1972)
Geoffrey Sayre-McCord, "The Many Moral Realisms," in Sayre-McCord
(ed.), Essays on Moral Realism (Ithica: Cornell University Press, 1988)
Author Information:
Kenneth Einar Himma
Email: himma@u.washington.edu
University of Washington
HomePage: http://faculty.washington.edu/himma
An Overview of Natural Law Theory by Jonathan Dolhenty, Ph.D.
Natural law theory is one of the most important theories in the philosophy of Classical
Realism. It is also widely misunderstood by many who have either not taken the time to study it or have heard of it and dismissed it as a "medieval" relic. What I want to do here

is merely sketch out a general presentation of natural law theory, with the hope that the reader will become interested enough to pursue further study of it. I will provide a link to more in-depth resources at the end of this essay.
Before we get into an overview of the nature of natural law theory itself, let's take a brief look at some history.
The concept of natural law has taken several forms. The idea began with the ancient
Greeks' conception of a universe governed in every particular by an eternal, immutable law and in their distinction between what is just by nature and just by convention.
Stoicism provided the most complete classical formulation of natural law. The Stoics argued that the universe is governed by reason, or rational principle; they further argued that all humans have reason within them and can therefore know and obey its law.
Because human beings have the faculty of choice (a free will), they will not necessarily obey the law; if they act in accordance with reason, however, they will be "following nature."
Christian philosophers readily adapted Stoic natural law theory, identifying natural law with the law of God. For Thomas Aquinas, natural law is that part of the eternal law of
God ("the reason of divine wisdom") which is knowable by human beings by means of their powers of reason. Human, or positive, law is the application of natural law to particular social circumstances. Like the Stoics, Aquinas believed that a positive law that violates natural law is not true law.
With the secularization of society resulting from the Renaissance and Reformation, natural law theory found a new basis in human reason. The 17th-century Dutch jurist
Hugo Grotius believed that humans by nature are not only reasonable but social. Thus the rules that are "natural" to them -- those dictated by reason alone -- are those which enable them to live in harmony with one another. From this argument, by the way, Grotius developed the first comprehensive theory of international law.
Natural law theory eventually gave rise to a concept of "natural rights." John Locke argued that human beings in the state of nature are free and equal, yet insecure in their freedom. When they enter society they surrender only such rights as are necessary for

their security and for the common good. Each individual retains fundamental prerogatives drawn from natural law relating to the integrity of person and property (natural rights).
This natural rights theory provided a philosophical basis for both the American and
French revolutions. Thomas Jefferson used the natural law theory to justify his trinity of
"inalienable rights" which were stated in the United States Declaration of Independence.
During the 19th century natural law theory lost influence as utilitarianism and
Benthamism, positivism, materialism, and the historical school of jurisprudence became dominant. In the 20th century, however, natural law theory has received new attention, partly in reaction to the rise of totalitarianism and an increased interest in human rights throughout the world. With this contemporary interest in mind, let's now turn to our attention to the natural law theory as understood by the tradition of Classical Realism.
What do we mean by "natural law"? In its simplest definition, natural law is that
"unwritten law" that is more or less the same for everyone everywhere. To be more exact, natural law is the concept of a body of moral principles that is common to all humankind and, as generally posited, is recognizable by human reason alone. Natural law is therefore distinguished from -- and provides a standard for -- positive law, the formal legal enactments of a particular society.
Since law must always be some dictate of reason, natural law also will be some dictate of reason. In fact, it is law discovered by human reason. Our normal and natural grasp of the natural law is effected by reason, that is, by the thinking mind, and in this service reason is sometimes called "conscience." We, in all our human acts, inevitably see them in their relation to the natural law, and we mentally pronounce upon their agreement or disagreement with the natural law. Such a pronouncement may be called a "judgment of conscience." The "norm" of morality is the natural law as applied by conscience. Lastly, we can say that the natural law is the disposition of things as known by our human reason and to which we must conform ourselves if we are to realize our proper end or "good" as human beings.
To sum it up, then, we can say that the natural law:
 is not made by human beings;

 is based on the structure of reality itself;
 is the same for all human beings and at all times;
 is an unchanging rule or pattern which is there for human beings to discover;
 is the naturally knowable moral law;
 is a means by which human beings can rationally guide themselves to their good.
It is interesting to note that virtually everyone seems to have some knowledge of natural law even before such knowledge is codified and formalized. Even young children make an appeal to "fair play," demand that things be "fair and square," and older children and adults often apply the "golden rule." When doing so, they are spontaneously invoking the natural law. This is why many proponents of the natural law theory say it is the law which is "written upon the hearts of men." These are examples of what is called
"connatural knowledge," that is, a knowledge which:
 follows on the "lived experience" of the truth;
 is the living contact of the intellect with reality itself;
 is not always given expression in concepts;
 may be obscure to the knower;
 is overlaid with elements from the affective or feeling side of man's nature.
Now, our reflection on our own conduct gives rise to the explicit formulation of the precepts of the natural law. We as human beings put our "commonsense" notions of natural law under "critical examination." In other words, our natural impulses toward
"fair play," justice, and so on are subject to a rigorous investigation and rationalization.
And our understanding of natural law becomes more precise as we consider and codify the principles or precepts of natural law. The primary precept of natural law will be the most basic principle about human action that can be formulated.

Those readers familiar with Classical Realism will recall that there is an absolutely first and indemonstrable principle in the speculative order of things. That is, there is an absolutely basic, self-evident truth of reality upon which we build our entire metaphysics which serves as the foundation for our view of the ultimate structure of reality. This is the
Principle of Contradiction, from which we derive other basic principles such as Identity and Excluded Middle. Strictly speaking, the Principle of Contradiction cannot be
"proved." It must be accepted as an absolute "intuitive" or self-evident truth, the truth of which is shown by an analysis of the terms of the Principle and the impossibility of thinking the opposite.
Natural law theory is of the "practical order" of things and the first principle of the practical order is a principle that directs human acts in all their operations, and it will be concerned with the "good," since we act in terms of what a least seems good to us.
Therefore, the primary principle of the practical order -- the first precept of natural law -- is a formulation based upon the notion of the good and is stated in the following way:
The "good" (according to reason) must be done, and evil (what is contrary to reason) must be avoided. The simplest statement of this precept is, of course, "Do good and avoid evil."
Although we rarely express the precept of "Do good and avoid evil" explicitly (just as we rarely state the Principle of Contradiction explicitly in daily life), nevertheless we always act in terms of such a precept. This fact points to the fundamental truth of such a precept, and indicates how it expresses something "natural" to human beings. A human being naturally inclines to seek what appears good to reason, and naturally shrinks from what appears to be evil. Hence, the justification of speaking of this basic moral law as "natural" law.
Upon further reflection, we can distinguish, within natural law, primary and secondary precepts. The primary precepts will correspond to the order of natural inclinations in human beings. The most fundamental inclination of all, "Do good and avoid evil," will give rise to other primary precepts such as the natural inclination to self-preservation, to live in society, to avoid harm to others, and to know truths about the reality we live in and

our own human nature. These primary precepts are unchangeable to the extent they concern the primary ends of the natural inclinations inherent in all human beings.
The primary precepts are very general in their formulation. The secondary precepts, on the other hand, are more particular or specific and are concerned with things to which we are not inclined so immediately. Among these are such precepts as those regarding the education of children, and the stability of family life, and the demands of hospitality. On the negative side, we also have secondary precepts regarding the neglect of children, deliberate injury to others, and so on.
Do we know everything about the natural law? This is a common question asked and a good one. The answer is a simple "No." The discovery of the natural law is a continuously unfolding enterprise. Just as it took human beings a long time to separate out and clarify the laws of physical nature, so too for the laws of moral nature. The passage of time and additional philosophical reflection always raises new issues in natural law theory. For instance, slavery was once accepted as normal and natural even by many who subscribed to natural law theory. We now know that slavery violates the natural law. Society once accepted judicial torture as being normal and natural. We now know that judicial slavery violates the natural law. And, personally, I am convinced that one day our society will "discover" that capital punishment violates natural law and we will abolish it.
The obvious conclusion here is that our knowledge of natural law, particularly regarding its secondary precepts, is incomplete, and probably will always be incomplete. We, as civilized and rational human beings, will always be involved in a "critical examination" of our actions in the practical order. Out of this reflection will come new and refined
"truths" regarding ethics and moral philosophy. In fact, I suspect that we are now in a time when the most important decisions we make as a society will be those in ethics and moral philosophy (think "bioethics" and "weapons of mass destruction"). This is one reason why I have no reservations about suggesting that all students in our institutions of higher education need a good dose of philosophical studies, especially, of course, in the tradition of Classical Realism.

I hope you have some general knowledge of natural law theory as a result of this brief overview. Moreover, I hope I have interested you to seek more knowledge about this fascinating theory.
If you want to learn more, I have suggested some resources which should help you in your investigation. See: Dr. Dolhenty's Recommended Bookshelf For Natural Law
Theory .
NATURAL LAW
In jurisprudence and political philosophy , a system of right or justice common to all humankind and derived from nature rather than from the rules of society, or positive law.
The concept can be traced to Aristotle
, who held that what was “just by nature” was not always the same as what was “just by law.” In one form or another, the existence of natural law was asserted by the Stoics ( see Stoicism ), Cicero , the Roman jurists, St. Paul ,
St. Augustine , Gratian , St. Thomas Aquinas , John Duns Scotus , William of Ockham , and
Francisco Suárez
. In the modern period, Hugo Grotius insisted on the validity of natural law even on the assumption that God does not exist, and Thomas Hobbes defined a law of nature as “a precept of general rule found out by reason, by which a man is forbidden to do that which is destructive of his life.” Hobbes attempted to construct an edifice of law by rational deduction from a hypothetical “state of nature” and a social contract of consent between rulers and subjects. John Locke departed from Hobbes in describing the state of nature as an early society in which free and equal men observe the natural law.
Jean-Jacques Rousseau postulated a savage who was virtuous in isolation and actuated by two principles “prior to reason”: self-preservation and compassion. The authors of the
U.S. Declaration of Independence refer only briefly to “the Laws of Nature” before citing equality and other “unalienable” rights as “self-evident.” The French
Declaration of the
Rights of Man and of the Citizen asserts liberty, property, security, and resistance to oppression as “imprescriptible natural rights.” Interest in the concept of natural law declined dramatically in the 19th century, partly as a result of skeptical attacks by Jeremy
Bentham and other proponents of utilitarianism ; it was revived in the mid-20th century in light of the crimes committed by the Nazi regime during World War II. Skepticism of

natural law and natural rights remained strong, however, and later writers almost invariably talked of human rights rather than natural rights.
STOICISM
School of philosophy in Greco-Roman antiquity.
Inspired by the teaching of Socrates and Diogenes of Sinope , Stoicism was founded at
Athens by Zeno of Citium c.
300 BC and was influential throughout the Greco-Roman world until at least AD 200. It stressed duty and held that, through reason, mankind can come to regard the universe as governed by fate and, despite appearances, as fundamentally rational, and that, in regulating one's life, one can emulate the grandeur of the calm and order of the universe by learning to accept events with a stern and tranquil mind and to achieve a lofty moral worth. Its teachings have been transmitted to later generations largely through the surviving books of Cicero and the Roman Stoics Seneca ,
Epictetus , and Marcus Aurelius .
Jurisprudence may be divided into three branches: analytical, sociological, and theoretical. The analytical branch articulates axioms, defines terms, and prescribes the methods that best enable one to view the legal order as an internally consistent, logical system. The sociological branch examines the actual effects of the law within society and the influence of social phenomena on the substantive and procedural aspects of law. The theoretical branch evaluates and criticizes law in terms of the ideals or goals postulated for it.
Thomas Hobbes

Born April 5, 1588, Westport, Wiltshire, Eng.
died Dec. 4, 1679, Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire
English philosopher and political theorist.
The son of a vicar who abandoned his family, Hobbes was raised by his uncle. After graduating from the University of Oxford he became a tutor and traveled with his pupil in
Europe, where he engaged Galileo in philosophical discussions on the nature of motion.
He later turned to political theory, but his support for absolutism put him
SOCIAL CONTRACT
Actual or hypothetical compact between the ruled and their rulers.
The original inspiration for the notion may derive from the biblical covenant between
God and Abraham , but it is most closely associated with the writings of Thomas Hobbes ,
John Locke , and Jean-Jacques Rousseau . Hobbes argued that the absolute power of the sovereign is justified by a hypothetical social contract in which the people agree to obey him in all matters in return for a guarantee of peace and security, which they lack in the warlike “state of nature” posited to exist before the contract is made. Locke believed that rulers also were obliged to protect private property and the right to freedom of thought, speech, and worship. Rousseau held that in the state of nature people are unwarlike but also undeveloped in reasoning and morality; in surrendering their individual freedom, they acquire political liberty and civil rights within a system of laws based on the
“general will” of the governed. The idea of the social contract influenced the shapers of the American Revolution and the French Revolution and the constitution s that followed them.
Thomas Hobbes and John Locke
Thomas Hobbes and John Locke, where they agreed and disagreed concerning nature, natural law, and the nature of man in a state of war.

Thomas Hobbes and John Locke were two main political philosophers during the seventeenth century. Hobbes is the well known author of Leviathan, and Locke is the author of An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. In their essays, both men address the characteristics of man, natural law, and the purpose and structure of government. The two men have very different opinions of the characteristics of man. Hobbes sees man as being evil, whereas Locke views man in a much more optimistic light. They both agree that all men are equal according to natural law. However, their ideas of natural law differ greatly. Hobbes sees natural law as a state of war in which every man is a enemy to every man. Locke on the other hand, sees natural law as a state of equality and freedom. Locke therefore believes that government is necessary in order to preserve natural law, and on the contrary, Hobbes sees government as necessary in order to control natural law.
Hobbes and Locke see mankinds natural characteristics in two very different ways.
Hobbes describes the life of man as solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. He obviously does not think very highly man. He also says that it is hard for men to believe there be many so wise as themselves, expressing his discontent with how selfish men are.
Conversely, Locke views mankinds natural characteristics much more optimistically.
Locke sees men as being governed according to reason. He perceives men to be thinking, capable individuals that can coexist peacefully. Hobbes and Locke disagree on mankinds natural characteristics, but the degree of their disagreement grows much larger with respect to natural law.
The main thing that Hobbes and Locke can seem to agree on, with respect to natural law, is that all men are equal in nature. For Hobbes, this equality exists in a state of war, in which every man has a right to every thing. He terms this state of war, a state of equality, because even the weakest has strength enough to kill the strongest. In Hobbess opinion, no one is superior, because they are all equal in their level of rottenness. Locke agrees that in natural law, no one is superior. However he writes, the state all men are naturally inis a state of perfect freedom equality and liberty, displaying his belief that men are sensible by nature, and can exist happily according to natural law, without the need for constant war.
Locke does admit that war is sometimes necessary, but that one may only destroy a man who makes war upon him. In general, he believes that it is beneficial for humans to follow

natural law.
Since natural law is good, and not evil for Locke, it is therefore the role of government to preserve natural law. For Hobbes on the other hand, government must exist in order to control natural law. Hobbes reasons that people will abide by the laws the government sets, for fear of some evil consequence. Hobbes points out the selfish reasons for why man will follow government in order to explain how government is able to work, with men being so naturally evil. Locke sees government, as merely a preservation of that which is already good. Locke believes that people are willing to unite under a form of government so as to preserve their lives, liberties and estates, or in other words, their property. Since natural law is already good, government not only preserves natural law, but also works to enhance it.
The ideas presented by Hobbes and Locke are often in opposition. Hobbes tends to take a much more pessimistic stance; viewing men as evil, natural law as a state of war, and government as something that can wipe out natural law. Locke takes a much more optimistic stance; viewing men as free and equal and seeing government as only a preservation of the state they are naturally in. Despite the difference in their arguments, their ideas were revolutionary for their time. The interest they took in mans natural characteristics, natural law, and the role of government, provided inspiration for, and was the focus of many literary works throughout the Enlightenment.
M
ARXIST
J
URISPRUDENCE
T
UTOR
: C
HRIS
B
EHRENS
S
TUDENT
: D
AVID
R
ISSTROM
: 9106105
In the social production of their existence, men inevitably enter into definite relations, which are independent of their will, namely relations of production

appropriate to a given stage in the development of their material forces of production. The totality of these relations constitute the economic structure of society, the real foundation, on which arises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness.
Karl Marx, Preface to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy , 521.1
Marxist jurisprudence posits that legal relations are determined by the economic base of particular kinds of society and modes of production.2 Marxist thought’s primary focus rests on political economy and the corresponding power relations within society, providing the most extensive critique to date of liberal tradition on which many of our legal presuppositions are founded. To this end, this essay examines law, its structure, motivation and consequences for justice and rights from a Marxian jurisprudential perspective.
M
ARXISM AND
L
AW
Your ideas are but the outgrowth of the conditions of your bourgeois production and bourgeois property, just as your jurisprudence is but the will of your class made into a law for all, a will, whose essential character and direction are determined by the economical conditions of existence in your class.
Karl Marx, The Communist Manifesto , 24.
1 Marx, K., ‘Preface to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy’ in Karl Marx
and Frederick Engels Selected Works, Moscow: Progress Press, 1989 521.
2 Balbus, I., ‘Commodity Form and Legal Form’ in Reasons, C., The Sociology of Law,
Toronto: Butterworths, 1978 83 .

Law is not of central concern to Marxists jurisprudentialists, as law in the capitalist mode of production is seen as an instrument of class oppression perpetuated as a consequence of its particular historical, social and economic structures. Indeed, wishing to avoid liberal predisposition towards legal fetishism, Marxists deny the degree of importance jurisprudence typically affords law in analyses of the composition and determination of social formations.3
W HAT IS M ARXISM ?
Marxist theories of political economy, expounded upon the notions of Karl Marx (1818-
83) and Friedrich Engels (1820-95), consider law an instrument of class oppression that benefits the ruling class through oppression of the proletariat. The common law system of criminal and civil law, which protects personal and private property rights, as well as facilitating predicability in social life, is regarded as “no more than a system of coercion designed to protect bourgeois ownership of the means of production”.4
Yet, despite Marx and Engels’ failure to develop a systematic approach to law5, and claims of failure in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, Marxism’s materialist emphasis, particularly concerning the notion of alienation and its consequences as outlined by Ollman6, assists its contemporary paucity.7
H
ISTORICAL
M
ATERIALISM
3 Collins, H., Marxism and Law, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987 98.
4 Barry, N., An Introduction to Modern Political Theory, London: Macmillan, 1989 53.
5 Cain, M., and Hunt, A., 1979, Marx and Engels on Law, London: Academic Press.
6 Ollman, B.,1976, Alienation; Marx’s Conception of Man in Capitalist Society, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
7 Collins, H., op cit., 10 .

Men have history because they must produce their life, and because they must produce it moreover in a certain way: this is determined by their physical organisation; their consciousness is determined in just the same way.
Marx, The German Ideology , 49.
The determinist relationship between the economic base and social superstructure, known as Historical Materialism, is first described in The German Ideology .8 Historic materialism contends that the catalyst behind societal evolution is materially determined, being predicated on contradictions between the forces and means of production. As “it is not consciousness that determines life, but life that determines consciousness”9, law is a reflection of the economic base, rather than the reserve as liberals such as Dworkin would propose.
Under increasing industrialisation Marx foresaw crystallisation of society into two classes; bourgeoisie and proletariat. These relations of production developed due to particular forces of production under the capitalist mode of production that coerced the bourgeoisie to extract surplus value as profit from the proletariat. Laws, as Marx detailed in Capital , as one element of the social superstructure, assisted in forcing down wages.10
Collins characterises two Marxist approaches; crude materialism, in which law is simply a reflection of the economic base; and secondly, class instrumentalism; in which rules emerge because the ruling class want them to.11 This distinction continues as an area of debate, as demonstrated by O'Malley’s attacks of Quinney and Chambliss’ crude materialist claim that law is a direct tool of powerful classes or groups, favouring the
8 Marx, K., and Engels, F., 1976, The German Ideology, Moscow: Progress Press.
9 Marx, K., The German Ideology, Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1976 42.
10 Marx, K., ‘Bloody Legislation against the Expropriated, from the end of the 15th. century: Forcing Down Wages by Acts of Parliament’ in Capital, 1986 686.
11 Collins, H., Marxism and Law, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987 24.

more interactionist, and less conflict premised theory of legislative change.12 The
Relative Autonomy Thesis is such a theory. Contemporary Marxists such as Marcuse, suggest mechanisms analogous to the Factory Acts and Vagrancy Acts remain instruments of the ruling class perpetuating conditions reinforcing this arrangement, especially in relation to the alienating nature of modern technological rationality.13
B
ASE AND
S
UPERSTRUCTURE IN THE
C
APITALIST
M
ODE OF
P
RODUCTION
Much of our law, such as Contract, Property and Commercial Law, is predicated on the existence of the capitalist mode of production. As Marx’s major project was the critique of capitalism, irrespective of a belief in revolution, Marxism has a great deal to notify us of in our contemporary jurisprudence. Marxism postulates that in the social production of their existence, people, independent of their will, enter into definite relations of production appropriate to a given stage in the development of the materials forces of production.14 Consequently the societal superstructure, including but not dominated by law, amongst other hegemonic devices, is determined by the economic base and the organisation of power in society.15 Marxist jurisprudence concentrates on the relationship between law and particular historical, social and economic structures, seeing law, unlike liberal theory, as having no legitimate primacy. Frequently encountered legal rules and doctrine, argue Gramsci16 and Althusser17, establish modern liberal jurisprudential hegemony.18
S
CIENTIFIC
S
OCIALISM
12 O’Malley, P., ‘Theories on Structure Versus Causal Determination’ in Tomasic (ed.)
Legislation and Society in Australia, Allen and Unwin, 1980 140.
13 Marcuse, H., One-Dimensional Man, Boston: Beacon Press, 1968 xv.
14 Marx. K., Preface To ‘A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy’ in Karl Marx
and Friedrich Engels Selected Works, 1989 521.
15 Collins, H., op cit., 9.
16 Gramsci, A., Selections from the Prison Notebooks, London: Lawrence and Wishart. 1971 195.
17 Althusser, L., For Marx, London: New Left Books, 1977 114.
18 Collins, H., Marxism and Law, Oxford University Press, 1982 50.

Marxist epistemology, with dialectic materialism as the centrepiece of Marxism’s scientific claim, proclaims in real life, where speculation ends, positive science; the representation of the practical activity, of the practical progress of development of men, begins.19 Whilst Marx’s materialism does not refer to the assumption of a logically argued ontological position, Marx adopts an undoubtedly Realist position, in which ideas are the product of the human brain in sensory transaction with a knowable material world.20
These claims contrast with those of natural lawyers such as Aquinas who believe religion should normatively guide law; those desiring utilitarian tendencies such as Austin and
Bentham; or objective consistency as some positivists such as Hart, or perhaps integrity, as perhaps only Dworkin can fully endorse. Nevertheless, whilst debate as to the scientific credentials of Marxism continue, Collins claims Marxism’s desire for class reductionism to explain the dynamic interaction between man and nature risks misconstruing the diversity of social phenomena in order to confirm the ‘rigid systemic framework of historical materialism’.21
L AW AND THE D ICTATORSHIP OF THE P ROLETARIAT
Law, morality, religion, are to him so many bourgeois prejudices, behind which lurk in ambush as many bourgeois interests.
Karl Marx, The Communist Manifesto , 18
19 Marx, K., The German Ideology, Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1976 38.
20 Giddens, A., Capitalism and Modern Social Theory: An Analysis of the writings of Marx,
Durkheim and Weber, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971 21.
21 Collins, H., op cit., 45.

Marxism saw development of the relations of production dialectically, as both inevitable, and creating hostility. Accelerated by increased class consciousness, as the contradictions of capitalism perforate the bourgeois hegemony, inevitable revolution and a dictatorship of the proletariat would facilitate “socialised production upon a predetermined plan.”22 Given the scientific nature of Historic Materialism, and upon recognising the role the state and its laws supply, the proletariat will seize political power and turn the means of production into state property23, then according to Marxist jurisprudence, “As soon as there is no longer any class to be held in subjection; as soon as class rule and the individual struggle for existence … are removed, nothing more remains to be repressed.”24
C
OMMUNISM AND THE
E
ND OF
L
AW
The meaning of history, that man’s destiny lies in creation of a Communist society where
“law will wither away”25 , as men experience a higher stage of being amounting to the realisation of true freedom, will after transition through Socialism, be achieved.
J
USTICE AND
R
IGHTS
Communism abolishes eternal truths, it abolishes all religion, and all morality, instead of constituting them on a new basis.
Karl Marx, The Communist Manifesto , 24
Marxism argues there is no absolute concept of justice, justice being dependent on the requirements of a given mode of production.26 Lukes claims Marx believes justice,
22 Engels, F., Socialism: Utopian and Scientific, Moscow: Progress Publishers: 1954 79.
23 Ibid., 73.
24 Ibid., 73.
25 Marx, K., The German Ideology, Moscow Progress Press, 1976 51.
26 Wacks, R., Jurisprudence, London: Blackstone Press, 1987 175.

“Does not provide a set of independent rational standards by which to measure social relations, but must itself always in turn be explained as arising from and controlling those relations”.27
Marxism believes that rights are simply a bourgeois creation, and that justice is something only the rich can achieve in capitalist modes of production. Anatole France
(1894) encapsulated this distinction between formal and substantive justice as entitlement, drawing attention to “the majestic egalitarianism of the law, which forbids rich and poor alike to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets and to steal bread.”28
Formal justice as entitlement therefore allows equal opportunity to the individual without any reference to the unequal ability to use it, with rights only being anti-socialist if individuals are taken to be “inherently and irredeemably self-interested.”29
Marxist dispute over how rights and justice will operate in practice are answered by the materialist proposition that the “distribution of burdens and benefits should not be taken in accordance with a book of rules, but in the light of the objectives of social policy.”30
Campbell distinguishes between Socialist and Bourgeois Rights, arguing that an interest based theory of rights, rather than the contract based notions such as Pashukanis’ incorporated in his commodity exchange theory of law31, allow protection of the individual32, thereby negating the logical connection between rights and justice.33
I
N
S
UMMARY
27 Lukes, S., Marxism, Morality and Justice’ in Parkinson, G., Marx and Marxisms,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982 197.
28 Gamble, A., An Introduction to Modern Political and Social Thought, Hampshire: Macmillan,
1987 101.
29 Campbell, T., Justice, London: Macmillan, 1988 189.
30 Campbell, T., The Left and Rights, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1983 33.
31 Warrington, R., ‘Pashukanis and the commodity form theory’ in Sugarman, D., Legality,
Ideology and the State, London: Academic Press, 1983 43.
32 Campbell, T. 1983, op cit., 123.
33 Ibid., 124.

Marxist jurisprudence and Marxist critiques of law provide invaluable challenges to our thinking as people under law in a liberal democratic society. This essay is only the briefest of introductions in a field rich with reflections concerning the assumptions we construct into our law. Whether you accept the claims of its doctrine, its influence on shaping the society we live in is more significant than most of us realise.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Althusser, L., 1977, For Marx , London: New Left Books.
Balbus, I., 1978, ‘Commodity Form and Legal Form’ in Reasons, C.,
The Sociology of
Law , Toronto: Butterworths.
Baradat, L., 1991, Political Ideologies: Their Origins and Impact , 4th Edn., New Jersey:
Prentice Hall.
Barbalet, J., 1983, Marx's Construction of Social Theory , London: Routledge and Kegan
Paul.
Barry, N., 1989, An Introduction to Modern Political Theory , 2nd Edn., London:
Macmillan.
Berger, P. and Luckmann, T., 1975, The Social Construction of Reality , Harmondsworth:
Penguin.
Blackburn, R., (Ed.), 1991, After the Fall: The Failure of Communism , London: Verso.
Cain, M., and Hunt, A., 1979, Marx and Engels on Law , London: Academic Press.

Campbell, T., 1988, Justice , London: Macmillan.
Campbell, T., 1981, Seven Theories of Human Nature , Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Campbell, T., 1983, The Left and Rights , London: Routledge and Kegan Paul.
Collins, H., 1982, Marxism and Law , Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Connell, R., 1977, Ruling Class, Ruling Culture , London: Cambridge University Press.
Cotterrell, R., 1989, The Politics of Jurisprudence: A Critical Introduction to Legal
Philosophy , London: Butterworths.
Easton, L and K, Guddat (Eds.), 1967, Writings of the Young Marx on Philosophy and
Society , New York: Anchor.
Engels, F., 1954, Socialism: Scientific and Utopian , Moscow: Progress Press.
Foucault, M., 1979, Discipline and Punish-The Birth of the Prison , Middlesex: Penguin.
Frankel, B., 1983, Beyond the State?; Dominant Theories and Socialist Strategies ,
London: MacMillan.
Frolov, I. (ed.), 1980, Dictionary of Philosophy , Moscow: Progress Publishers.
Fromm, E., 1973, Marx's Concept of Man, New York: Frederick Ungar Publishing.
Gamble, A., 1987, An Introduction To Modern Social And Political Thought , Hampshire:
Macmillan.

Giddens, A., 1981, Capitalism and Modern Social Theory; An analysis of the writings of
Marx, Durkheim and Weber , Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Gramsci, A., 1971, Selections from the Prison Notebooks , London: Lawrence and
Wishart.
Habermas, J., 1970, Toward a Rational Society , London: Heinemann.
Harris, J., 1980, Legal Philosophies , London: Butterworths.
Kellner, D., 1984, Herbert Marcuse and the Crisis of Marxism , London: Macmillan.
Luhmann, N., 1982, The Differentiation of Society , New York: Colombia University
Press.
Lukes, S., 1986, Power: A Radical View , London: Oxford University Press.
Marcuse, H., 1975, One-Dimensional Man , Boston: Beacon Press.
Marx, K., 1986, ‘Bloody Legislation against the Expropriated, from the end of the 15th.
Century: Forcing Down Wages by Acts of Parliament’ in
Capital , Moscow: Progress
Press.
Marx, K., 1986, Capital; A Critique of political Economy, Vol 1; The Process of
Production of Capital , Moscow: Progress Publishers.
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Publishers.
Marx, K.,1975, Early Writings, London: Penguin.

Marx K. and Engels F., 1848, Manifesto of the Communist Party; authorised English translation from the Marx-Engels Institute , Melbourne: International Bookshop.
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Karl
Marx and Frederick Engels Selected Works , Moscow: Progress Press.
Marx, K., and Engels, F., 1965, The German Ideology , Moscow: Progress Publishers.
Marx, K., and Engels, F., 1989, Selected Works , Moscow: Progress Publishers.
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Company.
McLellan, D.,1971,
Marx’s Grundisse
, London: Macmillan.
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The Structure of Marx’s World View
, New Jersey: Princeton
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Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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Warrington, R., 1983, ‘Pashukanis and the commodity form theory’ in Sugarman, D.,
Legality, Ideology and the State , London: Academic Press.
22.6 Rights Without Duties
Hohfeld, a legal philosopher, emphasised the relationship between rights and duties and also the difference between right and privilege. Hohfeld emphasised that there cannot be a right without a duty. Right in one person presupposes a duty in another. The concept of a right without a duty is meaningless. Likewise he also distinguished between rights and privileges. A privilege is available on sufferance. It is a discretion vested in the person granting it. A right is an entitlement. On this analysis what are commonly called rights to employment, welfare, etc, are not rights. A right to employment is meaningless because there is no person who is under a duty to employ. Welfare is not a right. It is a privilege which is given to certain persons.
Whether one agrees with this analysis or not, it is undeniable that at the commonsense level a right involves a duty in another person or institution. As an essential commonsense corollary, it must also involve an acceptance of that duty by the person who is subject to it. It is ironic in society today that while more and more people are demanding rights, fewer and fewer people are concerned about duties, least of all those who are most vocal in the assertion of rights. Governments, the Human Rights
Commission and many other government agencies provide doubtful leadership in this regard. They are educating people about their rights and are attempting to make more and more rights available with no reference to logic and commonsense. But they seem unconcerned about the need to educate people about duties and the importance of a sense of responsibility.
A dangerous byproduct of the welfare state and the growth of government is a profound attitudinal change in society which makes people demand more and more and contribute less and less. This transformation of the social psyche has taken place imperceptibly to the point that it unconsciously pervades the entire society. The preoccupation with rights

(particularly state created social and economic rights) has become an obsession. Although this is not an intrinsic evil, the pursuit of rights becomes self defeating when it is unaccompanied by the commitment to duties. The pressures exercised by interest groups have become the dominant feature of the modern era. These demands come not only from the poor and the underprivileged, but also from privileged academic, bureaucratic, social and business groups. At the same time there is a deafening silence on the question of individual responsibility.
The interventionist welfare state has become a super patriarchal entity from which individual members have come to expect solutions to all problems. Rights are being demanded and duties forgotten.
The Bible emphasises duties and responsibilities (not rights). The Ten Commandments are duties. Duties have been more important than rights in the Australian Achievement.
The emphasis on rights to the near exclusion of duties and responsibilities in modern society is a challenge. There is a grave danger in the push towards legislative recognition of subjective (so-called) rights in response to the demands of politically influential pressure groups.
A duty-centred society is preferable to a right-centred society. If individuals are concerned about their duties, responsibilities and obligations, they cannot but be concerned about the rights and freedoms of others. A right-centred society is one in which individuals assert their rights. They are encouraged by the Human Rights
Commission and like Commonwealth and State bodies, to demand rights, with no consideration for the effect of those demands on other people, eg the right to protest and demonstrate conflicts with the right of pedestrians and motorists to use the public roads for the purpose for which roads are built.
Governments and pressure groups which focus on rights, give no thought to how rights can operate in the absence of a climate in which the importance of duties is emphasised.
There is no end to the so-called rights which can be demanded. A right-conscious society, in effect, recognises a few rights and neglects many others. The rights that are recognised are those which are demanded by the powerful, the aggressive and the nasty.

There cannot be a right without a duty. An endless cacophony of demands by interest groups for rights has become a dominant feature of the modern Australian State (fed by legislation which encourages these demands). At the same time there is a deafening silence on the question of individual responsibility. The time has come to realise and to emphasise that rights, whether material or political, depend on the discharge of duties.
Wealth and prosperity are created by effort. Only continuing effort can sustain them.
Western societies through effort have achieved a level of prosperity unparalleled in history.
History has continually demonstrated that the greatest of civilisations decline and fall when they succumb to indulgence at the expense of discipline and endeavour. The fate of
Egyptian and Roman civilisations are prime examples. It is not too early for Western
Civilization to heed the supreme lesson of human experience.
Analysis of Hohfeldian Conception of Liberty
LI Jian
The conception of right is fundamental in realms of political, moral and legal philosophy.
Although it is widely used, what is a right or what is the meaning of right is a problem which needs to be carefully dealt with. There is no doubt that an appropriate starting point to talk about rights is the remarkable analysis of legal rights in Wesley Newcomb
Hohfeld¡¯s Fundamental Legal Conceptions. Hohfeld distinguished the conception of right into four sub-conceptions (which are right or claim, privilege or liberty, power and immunity), and defined them through their correlatives (i.e. duty, no-right or no-claim, liability, disability or no-power). In this way, he provided a useful method to turn the general, ambiguous notion of right into several distinctive, well-defined ideas. Many authors are inclined to reformulate Hohfeld¡¯s definitions and take them as their basis to investigate theories of rights.
The subject of the essay will be focused on the Hohfeldian conception of liberty-right (or

privilege, in his own terminology). Liberty is very important and essential among various types of rights. It can hardly be imagined that we could have any rights if we were deprived of our liberty. Hohfeld¡¯s analysis of liberty could be seen as a theory of the definition of liberty, which is put forward to clarify the inner structure of liberty. That is, a liberty is defined by, or is equivalent to a no-right that has an opposite content. As duty also has certain logical relation to liberty, the other way to put the definition is that a liberty is merely the negation of the duty with opposite content. I would like to show that this definition is not manifestly true as it seems to be at the first sight. Hohfeld does not justify it. Some philosophers adopt this definition and develop a concept of half-liberty on the basis of it. Many philosophers take this definition as the only possible explanation of liberty in the Hohfeldian conceptual structure. I don¡¯t think there is sufficient reason to do so. In fact, there is a different analysis of liberty that well conform to our intuition of liberty as free choice without contradiction to the specified logical relations between
Hohfeld¡¯s conceptions of rights and their correlatives. And it at least shows that the
Hohfeldian definition is unfounded and by no means exclusive one. But before I defend the intuitive notion of liberty, it would be better to discuss and make clear the scheme of correlatives and opposites which gives us almost all the analytic instruments to clarify the
¡°fundamental legal conceptions¡±.
Scheme of Correlatives and Opposites
The main achievement of Hohfeld¡¯s exploration to the nature of rights is his scheme of
¡°jural correlatives¡± and ¡°jural opposites¡±.34[1] For him, all the essence and interrelations of fundamental legal conceptions consist in the scheme. In consideration of the liberty-debate, I would confine myself to the part containing only first-order conceptions.35[2] As indicated in the scheme, a claim is the invariable correlative of a
34[1] Hohfeld, 1923, p. 36, p. 65.
35[2] See Rowan, 1999, p. 23-24; Sumner, 1987, p. 29. Rowan writes: ¡°¡second order relations describe the ways in which the first-order relations may be facilitated. In other words, they provide the rules for manipulating the first-order relations.¡± This must be an imprecise or loose explanation of conceptions other than first-order ones. Powers and immunities can also stipulate and extinguish legal relations with the contents of other

duty and the invariable opposite of a no-claim; a liberty is the correlative of a no-claim and the opposite of a duty. What does Hohfeld mean by terms like ¡°correlative¡± and
¡°opposite¡±? He says,
If X has a right against Y that he shall stay off the former¡¯s land, the correlative (and equivalent) is that Y is under a duty toward X to stay off the place.36[3]
Right (or claim) and duty both indicate relations between two definite persons. A right can be said to represent a relation between X and Y that Y should stay off X¡¯s land. And a duty also represents a relation that Y should stay off X¡¯s land. The relations represented by a right and by its correlative duty are the same. That¡¯s the reason why
Hohfeld takes one conception and its correlative as logically equivalent to each other. As he claims, when talking about John Austin¡¯s particular use of the term ¡°right¡±, that
Such a delimitation of ¡°right¡± clearly excludes ¡°legal privilege¡±; for the correlative of the latter, or ¡°the same notion¡± from a ¡°different aspect¡±, is, of course, ¡°noright¡± or ¡°no-claim¡±.37[4]
Like John Austin, Hohfeld believes that all fundamental conceptions indicate nothing but certain jural relations.38[5] And from different point of views, one relation could always be regarded as two different conceptions. From X¡¯s point of view, the relation that Y shall stay off X¡¯s land is a right residing in X; from Y¡¯s point of view, the same relation is a duty on Y. A relation connects a right on one person and a duty on another.
Thus a right implies a duty representing the same certain relation, and vice versa.
Thereby these two conceptions are correlative or logically equivalent to each other. But a powers and immunities. It would be more precise for the analysis of Hohfeldian scheme to characterize these two conceptions as higher-order conceptions.
36[3] Hohfeld, 1923, p. 38.
37[4] Ibid., p. 99.
38[5] Rowan says, ¡°privileges also differs from claims in that they are not relational in nature¡±, because a privilege is not correlative to a duty. (1999, p. 23) This is obviously wrong, for a no-right indicates the same relation as the liberty does.

right is not by all means correlative to any duty. X¡¯s right that Y shall not enter on X¡¯s land unquestionably is not correlative to Y¡¯s duty that he shall not cause harm to X. The right and duty that correlative to each other must be representing the relation constitute by them. Hohfeld calls his scheme of conceptions as scheme of relations. A right always relates to a duty, a liberty to a no-right, etc. I think this is the only foundation that a right can be taken as equivalent to a duty. Besides this, how could Hohfeld find any reason to justify the idea of ¡°invariable correlative¡± or logical equivalent? It could not be justified just by observing the way people use the terms right and duty, especially when there are many cases of confused or loose or even proliferated use of these terms. If this is true, it is essential to all analyses of Hohfeldian conceptions, because it is on the idea of relation that all the logical connections of Hohfeldian conceptions are founded. Opposites are conceptions representing two relations that negate each other. That is why the opposite of a right is a no-right; and the opposite of a liberty is of course duty, since liberty is equivalent to no-right and duty equivalent to right.
Although many commentators agree that Hohfeldian conceptions are relational, it is not very clear what relational means. L. W. Sumner holds that ¡°all of Hohfeld¡¯s conceptions are relations between two distinct parties.¡±39[6] For Hohfeld, two parties are two determinate persons in whom the right and the duty reside. But relation is also construed as between ¡°a person and an object¡±, as Joseph Raz maintains.40[7] What he has in mind is rights in rem. He stresses that a holder of the right of that kind certainly has a relation to an object. I think the point is that relation does not mean any kind of connection. If someone has a right to a tangible property, it does not follow that he has a legal relation in the Hohfeldian sense. This is just because a property cannot be the holder of rights or bearer of duties. For instance, I have a right to my computer, but it doesn¡¯t mean that my computer has a duty to me to be used by me. If someone else shall not dominate the use of my computer, it doesn¡¯t imply that my computer has any liberty or immunity to other people. The bearer of rights or their correlatives can only be entities that can perform or refrain actions. Ultimately, the relation means a relation between a
39[6] Sumner, 1987, p. 24.

right and a duty, not necessarily requiring two distinctive parties. If I have a right to myself that I shall live a virtuous life, then I myself have a duty to live such a life. I don¡¯t see any reason that one particular party cannot be the right-holder and duty-bearer at the same time.
Hohfeld makes two assertions with respect to the relation thought of conceptions. One is that the relations are between a right-holder and a duty-bearer. Another is that only particular or definite person can be right-holder or duty-bearer. These two assertions are quite distinct from each other that one can accept the first and reject the second.
Communities constituted by people, countries and some other organizations can also be holders of rights and bearers of duties. When we say that one country should not invade another country, no doubt that we are taking countries as duty-bears and right-holders.
And there is no problem that one party would be collective and the other single person.
All these entities as parties in which rights or duties reside won¡¯t affect the whole scheme of Hohfeldian conceptions and its inner structure. Concerning the first assertion, counterexamples can also be proposed. For example, a right in rem or a right to an object is non-relational. That means a right to an object has no correlative duty on any other parties, though other peripheral rights against other parties may always protect it.41[8] It seems that the first assertion should be rejected too. But if we confine our debate to relational right-conceptions, then the Hohfeldian scheme and Hohfeldian analysis are still very useful. No doubt many rights and liberties are relational, and for these rights and liberties, Hohfeld reveals the correlatives to them. Although his believe that every conception is relational in nature is not correct, his scheme might be well applicable to every relational conceptions. In fact, I think the relational view is the foundation upon which the whole Hohfeldian conceptual structure is established. And I would like to regard the scheme of conceptions as the background to discuss in which way the
40[7] Raz, 1980, p. 180.
41[8] Sumner proposes that a liberty to do something with respect to everyone is nonrelational, for the reason that in this case ¡°I have no duty to anyone not to do it.¡± (1987,
P. 26.) But if someone else imposes his claim on me that I shall not do it, then he certainly violates my liberty to do that. Equivalently, I do not have a duty to him not to do that. Thus it is clear that I do have a liberty/no-claim relation to everyone.

relational liberty shall be defined.
How to define liberty
Among the first-order conceptions, the pair of right and duty has comparatively clear meaning. There are positive rights, i.e. rights with positive content, such as an employer¡¯s right against his employee that the latter should work for him. There are also negative rights, rights with negative content, such as one person¡¯s right that another one should not enter on his land. In any of these cases, the content of a duty is the same with that of a right. But when analyzing the notion of liberty, there is some distinctive difference in Hohfeld¡¯s mind. He says,
¡whereas X has a right or claim that Y, the other man, should stay off the land, he himself has the privilege of entering on the land; or, in equivalent words, X does not have a duty to stay off. The privilege of entering is the negation of a duty to stay off.
Thus, the correlative of X¡¯s right that Y shall not enter on the land is Y¡¯s duty not to enter; but the correlative of X¡¯s privilege of entering himself is manifestly Y¡¯s ¡°noright¡± that X shall not enter.42[9]
The biggest difference between definitions of right and liberty seems to be that the content of a liberty is exactly opposite to that of its correlative. But what exactly is the content or tenor of a liberty? Since liberty is a relational conception, its content must mean a relation¡¯s content, and this relation is represented by the liberty. As has been shown, one relation is designated both by one conception and by its correlative.
Therefore the correlative to the liberty, i.e. no-right, also takes the content of the relation to be its own content. That is to say, the content of a liberty must be the same as the content of a no-right. But why does Hohfeld regulate that the content of a no-right is contrary to that of a liberty? Hohfeld himself does not define liberty through its correlative as he does with regard to right. He gives the definition as ¡°¡the mere negation

of a duty¡having a content of tenor precisely opposite to that of the privilege in question.¡±43[10] It seems to be his strong intuition that a liberty to do something is undoubtedly equivalent to a duty not to do that. But intuition is just intuition. How could his definition be justified without resorting to the relational essence of conceptions? If he does so, how could he demonstrate that a liberty to do and a no-right not to do represent and constitute the same relation? And what is the content of the relation£¿I don¡¯t think these are questions that can be slightly overlooked. For a liberty to do defined as the negation of a duty not to do is, in Hohfeld¡¯s view, consistent with a duty to do. That means one may have a liberty and a duty at the same time.
Thus, if, for some special reason, X has contracted with Y to go on the former¡¯s own land, it is obvious that X has, as regards Y, both the privilege of entering and the duty of entering.44[11]
One can be both at liberty to do something and obligated to do that. This is rather contrary to our normal intuition that liberty is free choice without any restriction. So, an intuition seems to be reasonable leads to a conclusion contradictory to our more common intuition.
Since liberty and duty are opposites, i.e. logical contradictories, the former could be defined by the negation of the latter. This seems to be out of question, and being at liberty normally refers to the state lacking duty. But the way that Hohfeld uses the negation of duty to define liberty is not unquestionable. If the right/duty relation and the relation represented by liberty negate each other, then liberty could be well defined just by the negation of duty, or by the lacking of duty. Why should we define liberty as negation of duty with opposite content? In order to define liberty, the negation of duty is adequate; but Hohfeld also negates the content of the duty, therefore he actually negates the duty twice. I call it double negation. If we only negate once, all the logical connections
42[9] Hohfeld, 1923, p. 39.
43[10] Ibid., p. 39.
44[11] Ibid., p. 39.

between Hohfeldian conceptions still remain. There is no need to negate a given duty twice.
The content of right or duty is directional.45[12] The content is either to do something or not to do something; that is the quality of restriction, whereas the content of liberty could be construed as negation of the directionality of a given duty. Negation of directionality means free choice between two opposite directional actions, and that is the essence of liberty. In which sense a liberty/no-right relation negates a right/duty relation?
I think it is the annulment of the directionality of the latter. In this way, liberty is in essence non-directionality, opposite to duty or right, no matter what specific direction the duty or right has. Such a liberty is a liberty to do or not to do something. But ordinarily, we would often say a liberty to do something or a liberty not to do something. That may represent certain action that we prefer to choose, not necessarily the real logical quality of the liberty. Given a liberty to do something, if I choose not to do that, it would not violate anyone¡¯s right, since no one has a right that I shall do that. The liberty to do something implies the liberty not to do it, and vice versa. The content of a liberty could also be said to be certain action, just like the content of duty or right. But liberty ensures the free option on the subject; whether he chooses to do or forbears to do, there is no restriction on his choice. In other words, there is no directionality upon this certain action.
Sumner displays ¡°the logical connections among first-order Hohfeldian normative relations. Where X and Y are persons and V is some act, the rows in the following matrix give correlatives and the columns (and diagonals) give opposites.
X has a liberty with Y has no claim against X respect to Y to V that X not V
X has a duty to Y Y has a claim against X
45[12] Sumner, 1987, p. 25.

not to V that X not V¡±46[13]
It is possible for a liberty defined as free choice to be accommodated in such a diagram, and all logical connections of correlatives and opposites are unchanged. The alternative diagram is as follows,
X has a liberty with respect Y has no claim against X to Y V or not V that X V or not V
X has a duty to Y V or Y has a claim against X that X V or
X has a duty to Y not to V Y has a claim against X that X not V
Where X has a liberty to V or not to V, Y has neither a claim that X V nor a claim that X not V. Here a no-claim that X V plus a no-claim that X not V is abbreviated to a no-claim that X V or not V. X¡¯s liberty to or not to V indicates his control over this action, whether he V or not V is independent of Y¡¯s control or claim. The opposite to X¡¯s liberty could be either X¡¯s duty to V or X¡¯s duty not to V. Where X has liberty with regard to V, he has no duty at all. A duty with any kind of content, negative or positive, would be contradictory to a liberty. In this table, the conception of liberty is still correlative to no-claim and opposite of duty. In spite of the new characterization of liberty, the connections and relational qualities of first-order conceptions are retained. It at least shows that Hohfeld¡¯s definition of liberty can be separated from his scheme of logical connections of conceptions. We can apply this scheme to right-analysis and insist a different notion of liberty at the same time. I have argued that Hohfeld¡¯s definition is unfounded or unjustified; even if there is adequate reason to accept his view, I hold that an alternative definition is feasible as well.
Why Hohfeld advocates liberty as being compatible with duty? When he takes liberty into consideration, it seems that he has been influenced by the directionality of right and duty. Duty and right must be directional; to say a duty to do or not to do something is nothing but nonsense. It may appear to him that liberty should be directional too.
46[13] Sumner, 1987, p. 27.

Manifestly a liberty to do is contradictory to a duty not to do; this ostensible connection might be taken as definition of liberty. Besides, if liberty were construed as free choice, then not only a duty not to do, but also a duty to do would be contradictories to such a liberty. Then the single connection between liberty and duty might be lost. Perhaps this definition of liberty on the basis of duty comes from Hohfeld¡¯s view that right/duty relation is the strictest one among all fundamental relations.47[14] Therefore, when analyzing liberty, the contents that right and duty have and the way in which they are defined might affect Hohfeld. He defines liberty through a directional duty and then makes liberty directional too. The problem is why right/duty should be regarded as the relation in the strictest sense, why right or claim is stricter than liberty and other rightconceptions. Hohfeld himself doesn¡¯t provide any reason. The truth is that liberty is not less important than claim from both legal and moral point of view. We would say that one is deprived of his basic right if he could not enjoy unencumbered choice or act freely.
For claim-right describes the way that other people should or should not do, it alone cannot capture the core notion of legal and moral rights. Only liberty ensures one¡¯s control over his action. The idea of personal control over one¡¯s action is the main idea belonging to liberty. Generally it runs counter to control or claim from others, which is equivalent to the person¡¯s duty. To take liberty as strict and fundamental as claim-right, first we would confirm the common idea of liberty as free choice. And it¡¯s correlative is other person¡¯s no-claim that the liberty-holder shall V or not V. Secondly, the opposite relation, i.e. right/duty relation would be defined on the basis of this idea of liberty. The lacking of liberty or the negation of liberty is of course duty to others, no matter what content the duty has. Both a duty V and a duty not V are opposite to a liberty V or not V.
Thus, upon this idea of liberty, a whole scheme of first-order conceptions can also be developed. There is nothing lost, but the general idea captured. Maybe Hohfeld values symmetries of the scheme, and to some extent, a liberty opposite to both positive and negative duties may seem to lack symmetry. Even if it is true, it cannot deny the legitimate analysis and definition of liberty as free choice.
¢óFallacy of half liberty
47[14] Right or claim is ¡°a right in the strictest sense¡±. See Hohfeld, p. 36.

Sumner accepts Hohfeld¡¯s definition of liberty and calls it half liberty. He writes,
Suppose that I have no duty either to attend the meeting or not to do so. I thus have two logically distinct Hohfeldian liberties. Call each of these a half liberty and their conjunction a full liberty. Then I have a half liberty to attend the meeting, a half liberty not to attend it, and a full liberty to attend it or not. In general I have a full liberty with respect to anything which I am neither obligated to do nor obligated not to do. Unlike half liberties, full liberties ensure a normatively unencumbered choice between options.48[15]
A liberty to do is merely equivalent to the negation of the duty not to do. Such a liberty just ensures the liberty-holder¡¯s doing something; do not ensure his not doing something. If I haven¡¯t a duty not to do, I may just have a liberty to do, not a liberty to do or not to do. That¡¯s why Sumner calls it half liberty, for a liberty to do and a liberty not to do may not exist at the same time. And he regards these two half liberties as conjuncts of a full liberty. Then a full liberty is equivalent to the negation of the duty to do plus the negation of the duty not to do. But the fact is that we don¡¯t need to negate two duties to have a full liberty. In order to enjoy a full liberty, to negate one duty is enough. If I have a duty to do, then I don¡¯t have a duty not to do. It is impossible to be obligated to do and not to do the same thing. These two duties, therefore, cannot exist at the same time. Then if my duty not to do is negated or removed, then I must have a liberty to do; but as I still do not have a duty to do, I also have a liberty not to do. Thus I get a full liberty through the negation of a duty not to do. This shows that a full liberty is opposite to one determinate duty; the equivalent to the negation of such a duty is not a half liberty, but a full liberty. The logical connections between liberty and duty are not what Sumner thinks.
Let us suppose that the conception of half liberty is feasible. In the case that I have a duty to do, negation of the duty leads to a full liberty. That demonstrates that the negation

of a duty to do, is not in fact equivalent to a half liberty not to do. A similar conclusion can be drawn in the case of a negative duty. The conception full liberty is certainly the opposite of a duty. If it is reasonable that full liberty and half liberty are distinctive from each other, then both of them are all opposites of a certain duty. Some philosophers accept the equivalence of the negation of duty and half liberty. As Rowan gives us,
¡°Specifically, X is said to have a privilege to perform a certain act if and only if X has no duty to refrain from performing that act.¡±49[16]
The same thing is expressed in another way by John Finnis,
¡°B has a liberty (relative to A) to ¦Õ, if and only if A has no-claim-right (¡®a noright¡¯) that B should not¦Õ.¡±50[17]
It seems that the regulation of liberty as half liberty at least needs to be modified because of the connection between full liberty and duty. The point is, if full liberty is also opposite of a certain duty, positive or negative, and if we give up the above definition of half liberty, then in which way we can define half liberty and how to show the logical distinctiveness of this concept. As full liberty can be well justified to be equivalent to the negation of a certain duty, there is no need and no sufficient reason to hold the idea of half liberty. In fact, such an idea is not only groundless but also redundant. Besides, as has been shown above, a duty to do implies a liberty to do, because a duty to do implies the lack of a duty not to do and the latter means a liberty to do. If this is true, under any circumstances people will always hold liberty. One will be at liberty to do what he is obligated to; and of course he will also be at liberty if he is not under obligation. It seems to be absurd that liberty exists everywhere. In general, we take liberty as an advantage, as an opposite of obligation that is disadvantage. But the idea of half liberty implied by duty destroys the
48[15] Sumner, 1987, p. 27.
49[16] Rowan, 1999, p. 22.
50[17] Finnis, 1980, p. 199
.

distinction between liberty and obligation. And how could we make clear the notion of obligation? If we negate a half liberty to do, we will get a half liberty not to do, and vice versa; if we negate a full liberty, we will get a disjunction of two half liberties. Generally speaking, we will not be able to negate liberty.
Sumner thinks that ¡° this feature of liberties follows from the fact that they are simply deontic permissions¡±, I am at liberty to do whatever the rules permit me to do.51[18]
But if I am permitted both to do and not to do a thing, I still do not have liberty in the sense that I myself have control over my action. Full liberty cannot be identified with liberty in common sense as free choice. It seems to him that one of the main reasons to maintain the conception of half liberty is that there are mandatory rights, which are burdens as well as benefits.52[19] He gives the instance of children¡¯s right and duty to attend school. Such right may be regarded as claim-right, not liberty-right. As a claim, it is certainly compatible with duty. For only a no-claim can be the opposite of the same subject¡¯s claim-right. Similarly, my right to chair the meeting may co-exist with my duty to do so, if the right is regarded as a power to chair the meeting. Because I may have a power and a duty at the same time, these two relations do not contradict each other. In all these cases, the so-called mandatory rights are not liberty-rights. We should be careful to deal with such rights. As Hohfeld endeavors to distinguish different conceptions of rights, it is of course necessary to make clear which right can be taken as liberty in the
Hohfeldian sense. And even if a few instances of mandatory liberty can be found, I doubt whether they can support the reasonability of this concept. Since so many liberties are treasured as free choice and so many burdens cannot be looked upon as benefits, libertyright as relational conception in Hohfeldian scheme should be construed as free choice.
The definition Hohfeld himself gives concerning this concept may be just an arbitrary thesis that he has made.
Bibliography
51[18] S umner, 1987, p. 26.

Carter, Alan. (1989) The Philosophical Foundations of Property Rights.
Harvester Wheatsheaf.
Feinberg, Joel. (1973) Social Philosophy. Prentice-Hall, Inc.
Finnis, John. (1980) Natural Law and Natural Rights. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Gewirth, Alan. (1978) Reason and Morality. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Hart, H. L. A. (1982) Essays on Bentham: Studies in Jurisprudence and Political Theory.
Oxford: Clarendon Press.
©¤ (1983) Essays in Jurisprudence and Philosophy. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Hohfeld, Wesley Newcomb. (1923) Fundamental Legal Conceptions As Applied in
Judicial Reasoning (Walter Wheeler Cook, ed.) New Haven: Yale University Press.
Lyons, David. (1994) Rights, Welfare and Mill¡¯s Moral Theory. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Raz, Joseph. (1980) The Concept of A Legal System: An Introduction to the Theory of
Legal System. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Rowan, John R. (1999) Conflicts of Rights: Moral Theory and Social Policy
Implications. Westview Press.
Simmons, A. John. (1992) The Lockean Theory of Rights. Princeton: Princeton
University Press.
52[19] Ibid
.
, p. 34.

Sumner, L. W. (1987) The Moral Foundation of Rights. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Tapper, C. F. H. (1973) ¡°Powers and Secondary Rules of Change,¡± in Oxford Essays in
Jurisprudence (second series), A. W. B. Simpson, ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Balancing Rights, Duties, and Underlying Values
In their reluctance to unconditionally embrace rights language and logic, some participants turned to the concepts of duty and responsibility, which are commonly believed to be deeply embedded in East Asian cultures. In the case of the antinuclear movement in Taiwan, the right to a clean environment might be redefined as a duty to protect land from those claiming a right to do what they want with it. In relation to the issue of justice between generations, Emmerson raised doubts over "imputing an abstract right of our devising to individuals who do not yet exist, instead of assuming responsibility today for future generations." Likewise, the relationship of rights to duties came up in the paper on Thai prostitution. Again, Emmerson asked whether "alongside the sex worker's rights, her and her clients responsibilities, to each other and to themselves, should also be taken into account."
Individual rights and collective duties are often di-chotomized and manipulated in the discourse on human rights in the region. But, there can be no viable notion of a right without a corresponding notion of responsibility and vice versa. Yasuaki Onuma of the
University of Tokyo criticized the simplistic abandonment of rights and resort to the
"opposite" notion of duty. Onuma argued that in both Eastern and Western traditions the concept of an individual exists, but "not in an isolated manner." Rather, the individual
"coexists with a concept of collectivity." Arguing that "dichotomized rights and duties as well as individuals and collectives are the same modern construct," he maintained that the exclusive emphasis placed on responsibility and duty by many Asian or African leaders is wrong-headed.

In his paper on the right to political participation in China Xia Yong of the Chinese
Academy of Social Sciences portrays rights and duties in a different light, as fluid concepts and part of a continuum. Describing the transformation of the traditional notion of "sacred duty" into individual right, Xia Yong writes that in ancient China, there was not any legitimacy for seeking individual interests and advantage by taking part in public affairs.... Political participation was a sacred individual duty to be fulfilled for the people, for the country, and for self-realization, rather than a right.
Until the introduction of rights language from the West, "the idea of collective rights overshadowed and, in many cases, replaced individual rights, creating a correlative individual duty." Duty-bearers were regarded as shareholders of collective rights. This concept of a sacred duty has since been used to legitimize the contemporary Chinese regime. As a result, "participation has become a no-choice-duty rather than a chosen duty."
Daniel Bell of the University of Hong Kong warned that given present realities in China, the writings of ancient Confucian sages may have little bearing on con-temporary
Chinese attitudes toward political partici-pation. Bell added that an interest in public affairs, with a certain degree of commitment to the common good, will evolve once ordinary Chinese "feel they can make a difference." Whether this interest will manifest itself as a right to democratic participation or as a duty within an increasingly democratic society has yet to be seen.
Participants suggested moving beyond the binary concept of rights and duties to examine the values that sustain and give them meaning in a given society. Onuma suggested a reconsideration of "notions of virtue, prudence, consideration, and thoughtfulness," while
Chandra Muzzafar of Just World Trust in Malaysia emphasized the values of "justice, compassion, restraint, and spiritual balance." The pursuit of individual rights, said
Muzzafar, will "erode the very values needed to sustain them in the long run." The human righs discourse may need to develop a holistic understanding of the individual, the family, and the community, and the explicit values that can invigorate not only rights and responsibilities, but also roles and relationships.

© 2004 Carnegie Council on Ethics and International Affairs. No material on this site may be used in part or in whole by any other publication or website without the written permission of the Carnegie Council.
HANS KELSEN’S LEGAL THEORY
Faculty of Law, University of Nairobi Jurisprudence .
Начало
>
Оригинали
Ян Стюард - "Критичната правна наука на Ханс Келзен"
(1990) 17(3) Journal of Law and Society 273-308
(http://www.law.mq.edu.au/HTML/staff/istewart/JLSKelsen.doc)
The Critical Legal Science of Hans Kelsen
IAIN STEWART
Fearing the outcome if the secret police found it in his house, the sacked law professor wrapped his old service revolver in a banana skin and plopped it into the Rhine. He escaped with his family to Prague,

where, at his first lecture, fascists packed the hall and shouted: ‘Everybody except Jews and communists, out!’ Those students who remained were beaten up. He continued to teach, under police protection. Plans of a plot to assassinate him were discovered by a lecture theatre cleaner. He brought his family out, to the
USA, where he was allowed a chair of political science but not of law.i
Hans Kelsen, advisor to the Austro-Hungarian Emperor, author of the Austrian Constitution, and having experienced many kinds of academic and political victimisation—of all major legal theorists the most bitterly acquainted with political realities—is an implausible perpetrator of ‘formalism’.ii Yet his main creation, the ‘pure theory of law’, is both recognised world-wide as a major theory of lawiii and placed in the ‘born so beautiful’ basket as the paradigm case of formalistic irrelevanceiv. As Gurvitch formulates the charge:
According to this doctrine, law, being nothing but a pure norm, admits only a normative and formalistic method of study, every other method being destructive of the very object of research. That is why sociology cannot study law and the ‘science of law’ cannot take account of social reality.v
Even for so analytical a mind as Hart, the pure theory pays far too little attention to the circumstances under which laws are created and ‘whether they are recognised as authoritative and by whom’.vi Yet, to
Kelsen, of all charges levelled against the pure theory, that of formalism was the ‘stupidest’.vii I will argue that, when Kelsen’s philosophical standpoint is understood, the question of formalism emerges on several levels. First, in relation to its subject matter the theory is intended to be anti-[274]formalistic.
Second, within the chosen kind of philosophical framework a general theory is necessarily formalistic.
Third, arguably the philosophical framework itself is formalistic and communicates this formalism to the theory.
While recent interest in the pure theory is found mainly among analytical philosophersviii, as an attempt to bring the study of law to the level of a critical legal science—a project, moreover, that fell apart in
Kelsen’s own hands—the pure theory’s aims and fate are very relevant to attempts to construct a critical legal science today.
Yet there is no survey of Kelsen’s work as a whole, in any language.ix The task of survey is daunting.

Kelsen wrote over 300 books and articles, in three languages.x Most that are not in English have not been translated and the existing translations vary in reliability (although their formulaic style is not due to the translators).xi Writings about Kelsen’s work form an equally long list and are in several languages.xii
Attention here will focus on Kelsen’s writings on legal theory, leaving aside his many works on justice, public international lawxiii or Austrian law. Nor will the work of other members of the ‘Vienna School’ be considered on its own account.xiv
No single work of Kelsen’s contains a final overall statement of the pure theory. The last overall statement is the second edition, 1960, of Reine Rechtslehre, translated as Pure Theory of Law. By 1962, however, the theory’s keystone, the concept of a ‘basic norm’, had fallen apart in Kelsen’s hands. Rather than restate the theory accordingly, he tried to save the concept in weakened form. Then he moved up a level, to general theory of norms. He died in Berkeley, California, on 19 April 1973, leaving a rambling text published posthumously as Allgemeine Theorie der Normen (General Theory of Norms). Although this book reformulates many of the arguments of Reine Rechtslehre, embracing the new version of the ‘basic norm’ concept, it neither offers a completed general theory of norms nor locates the pure theory of law within such a theory. Nevertheless, it comes close enough to doing these things for an article such as this to outline Kelsen’s theoretical work according to such a pattern. In doing so, I will avoid questions of the development of the pure theory except so far as they impinge on understanding its final form.
KELSEN’S BACKGROUND
Hans Kelsen was born in Prague on 11 October 1881 and raised in Vienna. His parents were Jews of the
German-speaking working class. The boy dreamed of taking a degree in philosophy, mathematics and physics. The combination of his social background with such a degree, however, pointed to a career in schoolteaching and, without enthusiasm, he enrolled at the University of Vienna in law. That he could not become a philosopher, he regretted for the rest of his life. After obtaining his doctorate, Kelsen became interested in the nature of legal norms and wrote a higher doctorate on this and other major issues in legal theoryxv, then began to teach at the University.
Cosmopolitan, bureaucratic and rich as its cream cakes, dual-imperial [275] Vienna bestrode Central
Europe with a web of laws that a medley of class and ethnic conflicts within and the Great War without

would shred. Political thought rang the changes from feudalism through constitutional monarchy and liberalism to socialism; fascism would follow. In religion, catholicism dominated protestantism and judaism. This unstable social variety pressured liberal high culture toward relativism: into neo-
Kantianism, logical positivism, empiriocriticism, physical relativity theory, psychoanalysis, tonal music and satire.
Relativism encouraged abstraction: to cope with the variety, theory needed to rise beyond it. At the same time, the relativity was far from static: the deep historical consciousness that through the nineteenth century had expressed German plans for unity bled over into disintegrating Austria-Hungary. Having found Hegel both too feudal and too vulnerable to Marx’s inversion, German-speaking liberals went back to Kant. Yet the return could not be simple. Kant’s sense of historicity, as Hegel had pointed out, was too weak for an age needing to understand deep transformations of social structures. A first problem, then, was the relation between historicity and ‘science’ (Wissenschaft—the German word refers to any kind of systematic enquiry).
Linked with this was a further problem, concerning ‘is’ and ‘ought’. Kant maintained the distinction between theoretical reason, which states what is, and practical reason, which states what ought to be.
Feudal and especially catholic idealism had preached their unity, so that whatever exists is presumably good. A key principle of the Enlightenment, from Hume’s Scotland into the German-speaking lands, was to divide them, so that statements of what is and of what ought to be are different kinds of statement, and accordingly neither can follow from the other. A strong sense of historicity, on the other hand, includes a stress on practice, hence on the coexistence of fact and value, fact and meaning—which is next to reasserting their unity.
The problem of reconciling historism with the is/ought dichotomy produced a powerful debate on the identities of the sciences. The neo-Kantians, as they came to be called, distinguished between two kinds of science: the natural sciences (Naturwissenschaften) and the sciences of mind (Geisteswissenschaften) or culture (Kulturwissenschaften). In terms of the relation between reason and history, the former were to be concerned with material facts, the latter with meanings; or the former with regularities, the latter with individual events. In terms of separating ‘is’ and ‘ought’, the former were to be concerned with material facts, the latter with values.
Each way of making the distinction also had two versions: whether the difference lay in the perspectives

through which the sciences approached their subject matter or in the subject matter itself. Kelsen took the latter view, holding that law is evidently one of the ‘social orders’, i.e. systems of ‘oughts’, and that therefore its study cannot be a natural science.xvi It might then be a science of mind or culture. But, in that case, if the aim is to describe the ‘oughts’ of law, can there be such an ‘is’ of ‘oughts’ without infringing the rule against mixing ‘is’ statements and ‘ought’ statements?
[276] This problem was either abolished or made worse by logical positivism, which denied the very existence of practical reason. It held that only factual statements could be rational; value statements were merely emotive. This left no room for a science of ‘oughts’, hence apparently for a science of law. Or, if a science of law was possible in these terms, could it be fully compatible with the other sciences within the logical-positivist doctrine of ‘unified science’?
Such debates challenged the discipline of law to reforge its identity as a science. Kelsen was outstanding among those who took on the challenge.
KANT AND THE PURITY OF IS FROM OUGHT
In constructing his legal theory and even when attempting a general theory of norms, Kelsen is concerned less to philosophise than to clothe his theory in elements of philosophy bought off the peg. Such an attitude is neither wrong nor even inferior; enquiry has to stop somewhere in the refinement of premisses as well as in the search for evidence, if it is to bring the two into relation.xvii All the same, the cryptic nature of many of Kelsen’s indications of his philosophical debts makes it hard to ascertain whether the clothes he bought fit well or even match.
A starting point is that Kelsen many times classifies himself as an heir of Kant. The first edition, 1934, of
Reine Rechtslehre begins:
It is more than two decades since I undertook the development of a pure theory of law, that is, a theory of law purified of all political ideology and all natural-scientific elements and conscious of its particular character because conscious of the particular laws governing its object. Right from the start, therefore, my aim was to raise jurisprudence, which openly or covertly was almost completely wrapped up in legalpolitical argumentation [Raisonnement], to the level of a genuine science, a science of mind [Geistes-
Wissenschaft].xviii

In the passage out of ‘na?ve, prescientific thinking’xix, Kelsen finds Kant only half-heartedly criticalxx and tests the capacity of a range of neo-Kantian and related philosophical tendencies—principally the ideas of Rickert, Hermann Cohen and Husserl.xxi Yet he declines to get closely involved in these debates, preferring to count it undeniable that the reality of law is not simply natural but also involves meanings, all or most of which are oughts, and then to go his own way.xxii The area in which he draws the border is indicated by his view that the idea of legal science as a science of mind does not suppose complete free will, since the idea of responsibility presupposes causal constraint.xxiii
Nonetheless, Kelsen appears to adopt two key Kantian conceptions: ‘critique’ and ‘purity’.
Kant’s main books offer ‘critiques’, as he terms them, of modes of thought. He understands ‘critique’ not as a merely negative exercise but as a process in which a mode of thought is to be made as coherent as possible. The focus is on the mode of thought as such. There is no appeal below thought to experience, nor above thought to religion. Critique is reflection on the very forms of a mode of thought, with the aim of maximising the mode’s capacities. [277] Kelsen embarks on a critique, in this sense, of existing legal theory, later of existing general theory of norms.
Kant’s idea of purity follows from his firm adherence to the logical law of identity, that each thing is what it is and not something else. Any statement of something, therefore, must state it as what it is and without admixture. Such a statement will be ‘pure’. Kelsen is concerned with such purity in two major directions: the first is purity of description (the realm of ‘is’) from prescription (the realm of ‘ought’).
Following Humexxiv, then Kant, but with still greater emphasis, Kelsen insists that statements of what is and of what ought to be must not be mixed.xxv For Kelsen, the difference between ‘is’ and ‘ought’ is simply obvious and cannot be explained. One and the same entity may be considered now in terms of ‘is’, that it exists or does not exist, and now in terms of ‘ought’, that it ought or ought not to be; but the two
‘modes’ must not be mixed together. The entity that may be considered in terms of either mode is a
‘modally indifferent substratum’ underlying the two modes. To say that an ‘is’ corresponds to an
‘ought’—for example, that a person’s behaviour conforms to a norm—is to state a correspondence not between the behaviour and the ‘ought’ form but between the behaviour as content of an ‘is’ and as content of an ‘ought’. Neither mode however has any necessary content: e.g. a legal ‘ought’ does not necessarily

contain any moral ‘ought’.xxvi
One of the grounds on which Kelsen takes this strong view is that he makes a major departure from Kant, in the direction of logical positivism. Kant gives reason two roles: theoretical reason concerns description
(‘is’) and is a function of thought, while practical reason concerns prescription (‘ought’) and is a function of will. Kelsen, however, denies the existence of practical reason.xxvii Thought and will are ‘two quite different mental functions’. There are ‘acts of thought’, whose meaning is a descriptive statement, and
‘acts of will’, whose meaning is an ought. Although the two kinds of meaning are bound up with each other, in that a statement is usually made with a purpose and an ought contains a conceptualisation of the behaviour to which it may apply.xxviii The meanings may be expressed in various ways—as written or spoken words, or as a gesture (e.g. hands raised in voting, a police officer directing traffic) or other nonverbal kind of symbol (e.g. a traffic light); or even as being ‘tacitly presupposed’, such as the norm of derogation that a later norm derogates from an earlier.xxix Kelsen’s meaning of ‘ought’ is broad: he specifies that it shall include not only commands or orders, but also authorisation, permission and derogation.xxx Considered grammatically, words expressing an ought will often be in the imperative mood. But no particular verbal formula is necessary and sometimes the verbal form can mislead: especially, an ought may be expressed in the indicative mood—for example, ‘Theft will be punished with imprisonment’.xxxi Yet the fact that is the act of thought or will is not the same as the fact that is the mode of expression: e.g. an act of will, whose meaning is an ought, is not the same as a speech act expressing that meaning.xxxii
[278] All the same, the difference between ‘is’ and ‘ought’ is not between two modes of reason but between reason itself (corresponding to Kant’s theoretical reason, or theoretical aspect of reason) and emotion. This strong version of the ‘is/ought’ division particularly affects what is admissible as ‘science
(Wissenschaft)’. If science is already defined as a rational enterprise, questions of what is, being rational, can be discussed in science while questions of what ought to be, since they are irrational, cannot. Indeed, to allow discussion of ‘ought’ to affect discussion of ‘is’ would be not science but ‘ideology’. Science must be kept pure of ideology.xxxiii
A first task is to fence legal science against other sciences dealing with connected subject matters— psychology, sociology, ethics and political theory. The pure theory of law undertakes to delimit the cognition of law against these disciplines, not because it ignores or denies the connection, but because it

wishes to avoid the uncritical mixture of methodologically different disciplines (methodological syncretism) which obscures the essence of the science of law and obliterates the limits imposed upon it by the nature of its subject matter.xxxiv
SCIENCE OF OUGHT
At this point it will be helpful to make explicit a concept that in Kelsen is only implicit: the concept of a science of ought. This makes it possible to identify in Kelsen’s perspective the following hierarchy of sciences. First, science in general divides into sciences of nature and sciences of mind. Second, sciences of mind—the neo-Kantian concept being modified to accommodate the logical-positivist denial that the practical can be rational—divide into sciences of is and sciences of ought. Third, since only some oughts are valid (see below), hence are norms, sciences of ought divide into sciences of norms, which Kelsen calls ‘normative sciences’, and sciences of other kinds of ought. The normative sciences are ‘pure’ in the sense that they describe oughts without subscribing to or evaluating them. Fourth, normative sciences divide into legal science, the study of legal norms, and ethics, the study of moral norms. Thus the pure theory of law is normative science of law.xxxv
Kelsen’s greatest difficulty is: how, in these terms, can there be a science (a rational description) of
‘oughts’? A strong version of the is/ought division implies that there cannot: that either (as Stammler had concluded) science of ought must be confined to practical reason, as systematic evaluation of oughtsxxxvi, or (as in logical positivism), if reason is only cognitive, any science of mind can describe acts of will but not their meanings, can only be psychology.xxxvii Yet Kelsen is unwilling to go all the way with logical positivism and reduce ought to is.xxxviii For him, oughts may be irrational but they are not illusory. In neo-Kantianism he found another resource.
In Kant’s view, we know things not as they may be ‘in themselves’, independently of knowledge, but only as they appear to us. (The question of how we can then be sure there is any reality at all ‘out there’, independently of [279] our knowledge, plagued the neo-Kantians.) Things’ appearance to us is as material provided by the senses that is moulded under forms of thought: material as so moulded is a ‘concept’.
Most of the forms (moulds) are constructed by us. But the most universal forms, which Kant calls
‘categories’, are innate.

One of Kant’s ‘categories’ is that of ‘is (Sein)’, under which descriptions are constructed. How is it possible to state the is of an ought? Now, Kant had declared that his list of ‘categories’ was not closed.
Very well, said the neo-Kantian sociologist Simmel, in working out how there could be description of social values: let us add a new category, ‘ought (Sollen)’, under which it will be possible to describe oughts.xxxix Kelsen adopts Simmel’s new category.xl
Since, in Kant, the operation of a category is mediated through a ‘schema (Schema)’, Kelsen has the category of ought operate partly through the ‘schema’ of ‘norm’.xli The new category and schema permit a kind of science in which norms may be described without any admixture of evaluation. Kelsen calls this
‘normative science’.xlii Sociology, as well as psychology, ethnologyxliii and history, are to concern themselves with understanding behaviour in terms of causality, including motivation. Where behaviour is related to meanings that are norms, those meanings are to be understood by the normative sciences of law and ethics.xliv
The word ‘norm’ (from Latin, norma) often means descriptive regularity, as when one says that a type of behaviour ‘is the norm’ (cp. ‘is normal’). Kelsen does not use this sense. A second sense is prescriptive: when one speaks of ‘social norms’, one means by a ‘norm’ any kind of prescription. For this concept,
Kelsen prefers to speak of an ‘ought’.
Kelsen then speaks of both ‘ought’ and ‘norm’ in two senses: as subject matter of science and as descriptive construct in science. In the first sense, he refers simply to an ought or a norm. In the second sense, he speaks of a ‘proposition (Satz)’. Thus an ‘ought (Sollen)’ is described in an ‘ought proposition
(Sollsatz)’, a ‘legal norm (Rechtsnorm)’ in a ‘legal proposition (Rechtssatz)’ and a ‘moral norm
(Moralnorm)’ in an ‘ethical proposition (Satz der Ethik)’.xlv This is Kelsen’s formal terminology, but, since in Kantian terms a subject matter is known only as it appears, he usually speaks of an ‘ought’ or a
‘norm’ when he means the ought or norm as it appears in a proposition. This double usage is confusing, but Kelsen defends it as a widely established practice: ‘logic (Logik)’, for example, is both the operation of a kind of norm and the study of their operationxlvi (cp., in English, ‘law’).
With the word ‘normative’, however, Kelsen is more selective. While its usual meaning is prescriptive, corresponding to his sense of ‘norm’ as subject matter, he uses it in a sense corresponding to his sense of

‘norm’ as description. Normative science, under the category of ought, constructs norms in the second sense as descriptions of norms in the first sense.xlvii
Next, Kelsen stresses that, since natural science describes facts while normative science describes norms, the two forms of science must operate according to different principles. Natural science operates according to the principle of causality. By analogy, Kelsen maintains, normative science can [280] operate according to a principle of ‘imputation (Zurechnung)’. A cause is conditionally related to an effect as its consequence—if A (cause) is, then B (effect) will be; B is caused by A. Thus: if (A) a brick hits Jane’s head, then (B) Jane will be injured. Likewise, a delictxlviii can be conditionally related to a sanction as its consequence—if A (delict) is, then B (sanction) ought to be; B is ‘imputed’ to A. Thus: if (A) John threw the brick, then (B) John ought to be imprisoned. To speak of ‘imputation’ here is similar to speaking of responsibility—here, that John is responsible for the damage to Jane.xlix The legal scientist makes the imputation, just as the natural scientist understands a physical connection as causal. Imputation means
‘every connection of a human behaviour with the condition under which it is commanded or prohibited in a norm’.l In the case of morality, however, imputation is a two-stage affair: while a legal norm is attached directly to a negative, coercive sanction (such as imprisonment), a moral norm is attached directly to a positive, noncoercive sanction (such as the expression of approval) and indirectly to the negative form of that sanction (such as the expression of disapproval); imputation, concerning a moral norm, has to reach to the negative form.
Pursuing the analogy, Kelsen holds that, as in natural science causal relations may be stated in a ‘law of nature (Naturgesetz)’, so in normative science relations of imputation may be stated in a ‘law of law
(Rechtsgesetz)’ or ‘law of morality (Moralgesetz)’; the legal or moral form, like the natural, being formulated probabilistically.li However, the analogy is only partial: while the law of nature refers to unending chains of causation, the law of law or of morality refers to isolated relations.lii The law of law or of morality is the form taken by the legal or moral proposition.liii
The distinction between causal sciences, grounded in the principle of causality, and normative sciences, grounded in the principle of imputation, cuts across the other distinctions between sciences. Accordingly,
Kelsen can divide the social sciences into causal social sciences, such as sociology, and the normative social sciences, such as legal science and ethics.liv In relation to law, if social sciences follow the principle of causality alone, they will fail to take account of norms; if they also follow the principle of imputation, they will to that extent be legal science or ethics.lv

Other norms and their study belong to logic and technology (Technik). Since ‘ought’ is not a relation, a norm is not a relation between a means and an end. A relation between a means and an end is causal. An act of will, which is a psychological fact, may be a means, but the meaning of that act, which is an ‘ought’ or norm, cannot be a means or an end. The question ‘What ought I to do?’ belongs to legal science or ethics; the question ‘What must I do, to realise a particular end?’ belongs to technology.lvi
Now, it is far from clear in what sense the ‘proposition’ is descriptive. For, in addition to saying that the difference between norm and proposition is that the latter describes the former, Kelsen gives as examples the difference ‘between a law published in the official legal gazette and a scientific commentary on that law’ or ‘between the Criminal Code and a textbook on criminal law’.lvii The [281] examples state a difference without really defining it. Kelsen also says that the description might be called ‘interpretation’, but maintains that this ‘non-authentic’, merely descriptive interpretation by the legal scientist is quite different in principle from the legal organ’s ‘authentic’, law-creating interpretation.lviii If the proposition is formulated as a ‘law’, then
It is the task of the science of law to represent the law of a community, i.e. the material produced by the legal authority in the law-making procedure, in the form of statements to the effect that ‘if such and such conditions are fulfilled, then such and such a sanction shall follow’.lix
The spirit appears to be that legal science, constructing legal propositions not legal norms, ‘has to know the law—as it were from the outside—and to describe it’lx. Legal science ‘endeavours to comprehend its object “legally”, namely from the standpoint of the law’—that is, as a legal norm or as content of a legal norm.lxi
‘Imputation’ is equally ambiguous. Up to the 1930s, Kelsen understands it as a category in the Kantian sense, on analogy with Kant’s category of causality. Under Kantian categories, reality is constructed: the categories are not generalisations from experience. In Hume, however, causality is a generalisation from experience. And Kelsen moves toward a Humean understanding of causality, at the same time as denying that knowledge of oughts is experiential: the analogue loses its parent.lxii
It appears that, in Kelsen’s conception of science, more than one idea of description is involved. At least

three ideas of description were available to him: they may be distinguished, if rather metaphorically, as
‘refractive’, ‘reflective’ and ‘interpretive’. In objective-idealist philosophy, such as Christianity, it is believed that the basis of reality is ideal forms existing prior to knowledge. The particular entities in the world are only refractions of the ideal forms, e.g. a particular man exists only as a refraction of the ideal man. To describe a particular entity is to reproduce the refraction, as e.g. a biblical scholar may refract a meaning in the Bible. The method is exegesis. In materialist philosophy, the basis of reality is physical things. To describe them is to have a reflection of them in the mind. The method is observation. In both refractive and reflective description, the construction of reality is supposedly determined by the form of the original.
One can observe both inanimate and animate objects, such as human beings in their behaviour. But a science of mind is not concerned solely with behaviour, understood causally. The neo-Kantian sociology of Max Weber, for example, insists that one must first observe the behaviour and then understand it according to the meanings that the actors attach to it, which Weber terms the ‘subjective meaning’ of the behaviour—distinct from the ‘objective’ meaning constructed in science.lxiii The method is interpretive understanding. This differs from exegesis in that, although in both cases the subject matter is meanings, in interpretive understanding the actor’s frame of reference need not be adopted by the observer, who may reconstruct the actor’s meanings in any of a theoretically infinite number of alternative frames.
[282] Now, if the difference between norm and proposition is only that the norm is created by legal authority while the proposition is not, the proposition reproducing the norm will remain within the legal authority’s frame of reference; the description will be refractive. If however the difference between norm and law (law of law or of morality) involves reconstruction of the norm in another frame of reference, the description will be interpretive. Yet we shall see in a while that Kelsen’s way of combining the two modes of description is curious.lxiv
A ‘PURE PART’ OF LEGAL SCIENCE
The second type of purity with which Kelsen is concerned is purity of the form of knowledge from empirical content.
Since, for Kant, the ‘categories’ and not any supposedly given ‘facts’ are the foundations of thought, any

mode of enquiry can be systematic—i.e. can be a science—only if its systematic character is established in advance of empirical investigation. It is therefore necessary, in beginning to construct a particular science, to establish a set of basic forms that the science will apply. This set Kant calls the ‘metaphysical bases’ of the science.lxv Their formulation, he calls (speaking of natural science) the ‘pure part’ of the science—
‘pure’ in the sense that it does not yet have any sensuous admixture, any empirical content. This should be stated separately from the later, ‘empirical’ part of the science, in which the forms established in the pure part are applied to empirical material so as to compose concepts.lxvi Thus the purpose of constructing a pure part of a science, far from being to evade empirical considerations, is precisely to make empirical enquiry possible.lxvii
Kelsen states that the pure theory provides ‘the fundamental principles by means of which any legal order can be comprehended’lxviii and that it is a ‘general jurisprudence’ furnishing ‘the basic conceptions that enable us to master any law’ and accordingly serving as ‘the theoretical basis for all other branches of jurisprudence’ such as ‘dogmatic’ (i.e. doctrinalist), historical or comparative jurisprudencelxix, and even sociology of lawlxx. The theory has—and by its very nature must have—a formalistic character. This does not mean—as it is sometimes misunderstood—that the Pure Theory of Law considers the contents of the legal norms as irrelevant. It means only that the concepts defined by the theory must hold what is common to all positive legal orders, not what separates them from each other. ‘Formalism’ can be no objection to a general theory of law [...]lxxi
Precisely in this indispensable ‘formalism’, the pure theory states the common features of all species of law without supposing an eternal essence of law, as do theories of natural law.lxxii
The pure theory is therefore ‘pure’ in two senses. Normative science as such is ‘pure’ in the first sense, of being free from considerations of evaluation. Each normative science then divides, in Kantian terms, into a
‘pure part’ and an ‘empirical part’. The pure theory of law is offered as the pure part of a normative science of law. It is, Kelsen insists, a pure theory of law, not a theory [283] of pure law.lxxiii Causal analysis belongs to the empirical part: it is not to be substituted for but added to normative interpretation.lxxiv The causal element in the test of effectiveness (below) is not itself causal analysis but an envisaging of a respect in which causal analysis will be required. The answer to Hart’s criticism is that the pure part of the science identifies law and the empirical part can then trace the connections of origin and effect.lxxv

Such is Kelsen’s intention. So far as he envisages reflective or interpretive description, the pure part may remain independent of the material to be described. Yet, so far as he retains refractive description, the bases of the science remain within the terms of the subject matter and a division between pure and empirical parts of the science is not feasible.
THE NORM AS ‘OBJECTIVE MEANING’
Kelsen’s second departure from Weber concerns objectivity of meanings. Kelsen defines an ought as ‘the meaning of an act of will’. Presumably, this will be a ‘subjective meaning’ in Weber’s sense. Thus, Kelsen supposes, one might observe that people in a room periodically raise their hands and one could record the statistical regularities of the hand-raising. But one will understand the hand-raising as voting only if one also, through interpretive understanding, examines the meanings that the actors attach to their behaviour.
So far, Kelsen is with Weber.lxxvi
Weber would then have said that these subjective meaning might include the actors’ belief that the meaning is obligatory upon them. Science should record that belief—but in Weber’s view science has no business deciding whether that belief is true. Weber firmly declines to suppose ‘an objectively `correct’ meaning or one which is ‘true’ in some metaphysical sense’.lxxvii For him, science may be ‘objective’ through excluding ideology, yet not even science can claim absolute objectivity.
But Kelsen asserts that the voting can be understood as legislation only when the subjective meaning of the hand-raising is also understood as ‘its objective meaning, that is, the meaning the act has according to the law’.lxxviii Now, Kelsen might be taking law here as his frame of reference, just as Weber takes the frame of reference of his sociology. But that would be to think within the law, not to think in terms of a legal science. Rather, it seems, Kelsen is supposing within his legal science that legal meanings are
‘objective’ on their own account. Why should he suppose that?
Two reasons may be found. First, that it seemed obvious. In constructing a general theory of law, Kelsen’s principal concern is with the Romanist tradition, in which most Western legal systems are found. In that tradition, ‘law (German, Recht)’ in a general sense is readily characterised as ‘objective (objektives
Recht)’, as distinct from a ‘subjective’ category (subjektives Recht) corresponding to ‘rights’. In English

translation, ‘law’ no longer appears in association with an explicit claim of objectivity and the contrast between objective and subjective is lost.
[284] Secondly, however, Kelsen offers an argument: the ‘objective character’ of a norm is manifest in the fact that the norm not only binds the addressee even if the addressee does not know or think about it but also continues to exist even after the will whose subjective meaning it is has ceased. What matters is the view of an observer to whom the norm is not addressed, such as a legal scientist.lxxix Otherwise, Kelsen argues against Weber, a delict committed when the actor did not know of the legal norm characterising such behaviour as delictual would fall outside the legal-scientific definition of law.lxxx Likewise, it seems, Kelsen worries that bindingness would cease as soon as the legislator’s mind turned to another topic. But that is a political consideration—unless the legal scientist’s concern is with the legislator’s view of the consequences of the temporariness of an act of will. Even so, the legal scientist ordinarily will be an addressee of any general legal norm.
It is helpful to see how Kelsen first came to the issue. Historically, he finds, one way to conceive of a norm as objective has been to attribute it to some kind of suprahuman subject as its author. This could be
‘God’, or personifications of ‘Nature’, ‘Reason’ or ‘the State’. Most of these are obviously excluded by
Kant’s ban on transcendence. In his first major work, however, Kelsen still argues that the ‘modern state’ is ‘an entirely extra-individual authority’ which ‘fulfils its obligating function independently of the will of the individual’, so that the positive law of which it is the author is ‘objective’ in existing ‘over and above human beings, independent of the subjective feelings of the individual’. Consequently that law can be represented in legal science only by an objectivistic method that will present it as ‘objective’ and entirely
‘heteronomous’. It cannot be represented accurately by a subjectivistic method, which would make legal norms appear, like moral norms, as ‘subjective’ and ‘autonomous’, deriving their bindingness merely from the individual’s ‘recognition’ of them as obligating. Indeed, from a subjectivistic standpoint the apparent objectivity of legal norms appears as nothing but a product of ‘projection’ or ‘objectivation’; that being false, the way law appears from a subjectivistic standpoint is ‘fiction’.lxxxi
Kelsen was soon unhappy with this: personification of the state still smacked of transcendence. He leapt to a reviewer’s mention of the philosophy of Hermann Cohen, where the state appears not as actually personified but as an explicitly fictional personification of the legal order.lxxxii The state would appear, to

be precise, as a ‘point of imputation’; from the standpoint of normative science, state and law are the same thing.lxxxiii The identity of state and law will concern us later. What is important here is that, although the state is reduced to a point of imputation, it remains the author of ‘objective’ norms. Moreover—just as when it was suprahuman—as a point of imputation, it does not appear as an actor. Consequently the meanings of its acts of will, which are legal norms, are not available for interpretive understanding. I will return to this.
[285] THE LEGAL ORDER
1. Orders of norms
An ought is a ‘norm’ if it is valid. Norms in this sense may be followed, violated or applied.lxxxiv To speak of validity here is to say that the ought occurs not singly but in some kind of order.lxxxv Kelsen distinguishes two possible types of order, which he calls ‘static’ and ‘dynamic’.lxxxvi In ‘static’ order, norms are hierarchised in a relation of general to particular. Thus, from the relatively general moral norm
‘Love your neighbour’ may be deduced the relatively particular norm ‘John ought to love his neighbour
Jane’. Each new norm is derived from the one ‘above’ it by a purely intellectual operation. The relation between the norms is one of logical validity—or would be, were there such a thing as practical reason.lxxxvii
Many have believed that positive legal norms are ordered statically. But the idea of simple logical deduction could not have convinced someone so well acquainted with bureaucracy as Kelsen. Nor was the idea of simple deduction from a norm made in Vienna to a norm applicable to provincial peasants convincing Ehrlich, whose ‘free law theory (Freirechtslehre)’ of judicial decisionlxxxviii paralleled the attention to judicial policy developed by G?ny in France and in American ‘legal realism’ and ‘sociological jurisprudence’.
Kelsen’s Viennese colleague Merkl developed, and Kelsen adopted, a model of legal order as dynamic hierarchy, or ‘steps and stairs (Stufenbau)’. In this model, a positive legal order is conceived as a chain of authorisations addressed to organs of the state. The ‘higher’ organ cannot foresee all circumstances requiring regulation and must delegate power, with discretion, to a ‘lower’ organ. The higher organ creates

a ‘higher’ norm authorising the lower organ to create not a particular ‘lower’ norm (in which case there would be no point in the delegating) but a lower norm of a certain kind and perhaps also through a certain procedure. Thus, in the most familiar case, the constitution authorises the legislature to create statutes, which authorise the higher executive organs to create regulations, which authorise lower executive organs to create lesser regulations. Expressed more precisely: each higher norm recognises the act of will of the lower organ—or recognises custom—as a ‘law-creating fact’. Since there is a reference to acts, at no stage is law-creation a matter simply of logical deduction. The new norm is not a product of logic, nor even a product of knowledge—since knowledge of the earlier law, however ambiguous, does not produce a new norm. The organ’s act of will draws on both the authorising norm and other sources, including norms drawn from morality and politics; however, the moral and political norms do not thereby become part of the legal order.
The higher and lower legal norms stand in a relation of ‘validity’ in the sense that the higher norm authorised the creation of the lower norm. In dynamic order a norm ‘is not valid because it has a certain content’ but ‘because it is created in a certain way’; in principle, it may have any content at all, although sometimes a higher norm prescribes that lower norms must or must not have certain contents.lxxxix The legal order contains both general and individual [286] norms: Kelsen rejects both the European doctrine that only general norms are law, which implies that judges do not make law but only apply it, as well as the extreme American legal-realist doctrine that only the courts create law, statute being merely a source; there is no line to be drawn between law-creation and law-application.xc For this reason, a norm considered void—for example, because unconstitutional—is void only when declared so by a court of final jurisdiction.xci ‘The doctrine of the hierarchy of the legal order’, in short, ‘comprehends the law in motion, in its perpetually renewed process of self-regeneration.’xcii
The model for ‘validity’ in this ‘dynamic’ sense is the sense of ‘validity’ familiar from constitutional and administrative law: one can readily see how the idea of a dynamic legal order expresses, from the standpoint of legal normative science, the form of the modern, bureaucratic state. However, the model is intended to be applicable to any ‘form of state’: democracy or autocracy, republic or monarchy.xciii
Custom does not fit readily into Kelsen’s picture. He supposes that regular behaviour can give rise to a collective will that it is right, although the subjective meaning of that act of will can become its objective

meaning only if a higher norm institutes custom as a law-creating fact, possibly as the fundamental lawcreating fact.xciv This way of incorporating customary law into the picture of dynamic order avoids supposing a romantic ‘national spirit’ that recognises customary behaviourxcv, yet it fails to address the problems that all philosophical positivists have with the idea of customary law: of how an ought can arise in the first place from an is; and of how, even then, that ought could be binding.
Although Kelsen long supposed that dynamic order could contain static elementsxcvi, he moved toward denying the possibility of static order even for a moral order, with three arguments. First: that the concept of static order supposes the existence of practical reason; thus he implies that no such order can exist.xcvii
The second and third arguments rest on the distinction between general and individual norms. A norms is
‘individual’ if it is directed toward a particular person in respect of a particular act; otherwise, it is
‘general’.xcviii Kelsen insists that dynamic legal orders contain individual as well as general norms. The second argument is that what appears to be a deduced norm is not actually a new normxcix—so that no question of ordering arises. The third argument is that, since the author of a general norm cannot completely foresee the behaviour to which the norm may be applicable, the norm must always be subject to ‘individualisation’, in which, out of the abstract, general norm, a concrete, individual norm will be created to apply in the particular case. Accordingly, when a general norm is created it is then only partially valid; it becomes wholly valid only when it has been individualised: thus the validity of a general norm is necessarily a dynamic process.c
Drawing a distinction common in German theory, Kelsen specifies that he means ‘constitution’ in the
‘material’ sense, i.e. ‘the positive norm or norms which regulate the creation of general legal norms’, which may be wholly or partly unwritten—as distinct from a constitution in the ‘formal’ [287] sense, which is a document and might contain other kinds of norm as well.ci (Thus, he might have said, there is a
‘British Constitution’ in the material sense only.) Later he relativises the meaning of (material)
‘constitution’ by noting that, in the dynamic chain of validity, each higher norm is a ‘constitution’ in relation to each lower norm.cii Except for the final act executing a sanction, law-application is also lawcreation.ciii
The concept of dynamic legal order, Kelsen thought, marked the pure theory as anti-formalistic; he believed that it achieved with more rigour the anti-formalistic aims of the ‘free law’ theory and American

‘legal realism’. In fact it denies that law can be seen as a logical whole and points juristic attention away from issues of contradiction and toward real social conflicts.civ
Kelsen distinguishes and emphatically rejects a third sense of ‘validity’, as meaning effectiveness.cv
Effectiveness, he insists, is not validity but a condition of validity. The validity of a positive moral or legal norm rests upon two conditions of is: that the norm shall have been posited (its positivity) and that it shall be ‘by and large effective’ (its effectiveness). To ask that a norm be totally effective would be absurd: a norm is posited precisely in order to regulate conduct contrary to it. Nor is a norm valid only when it is effective: it is valid when posited; only as valid could it become effective; but it loses its validity if it fails to become, or later ceases to be, by and large effective. Likewise a legal order is valid even though not all of its norms are effective, but loses its validity when it permanently ceases to be by and large effective.
Thus validity and effectiveness are not identical, although validity depends on effectiveness—or, in other language, law (or right) is not the same as power (or might), but is dependent on it: in this sense, ‘law is a particular order (or organisation) of power’.cvi Where ‘effectiveness’ means only conformity with norms, without considering the motive for the conformity, ‘effectiveness’ has ‘a normative, not a causal, meaning’.cvii
While a legal order is ordinarily treated as being composed of single norms, Kelsen holds that a general norm is actually two norms. A general norm, he says, is presented in the form: ‘People ought to refrain from stealing; if a court has established that a person has committed a theft, that judge ought to create an individual norm stating that that person ought to be put in jail’. The latter part, Kelsen holds, is a ‘primary’ norm, directed to an organ, stating that coercion ought to be applied; the former part is a ‘secondary’ norm, also directed to the organ, stating the reason for the primary norm.cviii
This seems strange: Austin, for one, follows the sequence of presentation.cix Kelsen, however, is starting not from the norm as written but from behaviour. Perhaps at no point is he more sociological. The primary norm is effective directly, the secondary norm only indirectly; the legal order is effective principally through its primary norms.cx What one observes is people being deprived of goods, imprisoned, executed
... As one asks for the meaning that the actors attribute to their behaviour, one comes first upon a norm authorising the organ to impose the sanction. Next one finds a norm giving the reason for that authorisation—although this norm is perhaps [288] superfluous and is often not stated distinctly but only implicit in the primary norm.cxi

2. Law and morality
For positive legal norms to compose a dynamic order is for them to ‘have the characteristic of regulating their own creation and application’cxii and occasionally Kelsen writes as if this is the distinguishing feature of law.cxiii Elsewhere however he holds that moral norms too may compose a dynamic order. The feature that distinguishes law from the other social orders, and particularly from morality, is rather its coerciveness—not only that it exercises ‘psychic coercion’, which other social orders also do, but that it prescribes specific coercive acts directly as sanctions for nonconformity with its norms.cxiv Moral norms, in contrast, are encountered as norms regulating particular behaviour rather than as norms prescribing a sanction—and then the sanction is first positive, as approval, and only subsequently negative, as disapproval—and often without any norm prescribing a sanction. The moral norm regulating behaviour is primary—the sanctioning moral norm, if any, secondary.cxv
Kelsen insists that morality is no part of law. Law has no moral content: there are no mala in se but only mala prohibita; a delict is not outside law or a rejection of law but is within law as the condition for imposing a sanction.cxvi Nor is law as such intrinsically good: to hold that it is, subjects the positive legal order to a new iusnaturalism and thereby provides an ‘uncritical legitimation’ of the order. Indeed, if one were to give up ‘the solidly fixed frontier over against the concepts of morality and politics’, and count moral and political principles and policies into law, one would have to count in every factor influencing the creation of law—including the interests of party and class.cxvii
This stance is starkly evident when Kelsen extends the concept of sanction beyond the concept of reaction to specific behaviour, to include reactions to circumstances that the state finds undesirable—arrest on suspicion, protective custody, internment, expropriation of property in the public interest. All these, even committal to an extermination camp, ‘cannot be considered as taking place outside the legal order’.cxviii
But the concept of a law of law is not extended likewise.
Here Kelsen is tense. Within his philosophical positivism, on one side his strong sense of morality and justice is subject to an insistence that justice be relative, a justice of tolerance which among other things is a social precondition for the practice of science.cxix Obversely, however, he identifies and subscribes to

the modern appearance of law as mere technique. He characterises law as ‘a specific social technique for the achievement of ends determined by politics’ and the legal scientist as a mere ‘technician’, not concerned with the political aims of the legal order being serviced.cxx This position is vulnerable to the
Frankfurt School’s critique of philosophical positivism’s privileging of technical or instrumental rationality. The ‘scientific’ approach is privileged as ‘objective’, while the practically rational reasons for adopting and pursuing it are always-already removed from [289] argument by characterising all evaluation as merely emotional.cxxi In this perspective, Kelsen privileges in the name of science the instrumentalism whose extreme consequences as law he abhors and of which he was nearly a victim.cxxii
LEGAL ORDER, JUDICIAL KNOWLEDGE AND LOGIC
1. Echoes of legal realism
In formulating a legal proposition describing a general norm, we have seen, Kelsen specifies: ‘if a court has established (festgestellt)’. Recalling the Kantian principle that there are no ‘things in themselves’,
Kelsen acknowledges that the delict to which a sanction is imputed is not a raw event but an event as constructed under the concept ‘delict’, or a concept of a particular kind of delict, by a court. Then, for example, the legal norm prohibiting theft says not ‘If someone has stolen, the court ought to order that they ought to be put in jail’ but ‘If the court hearing the case has established that someone has stolen, that court ought to order that that person ought to be put in jail’.cxxiii Under the secondary norm, it seems, the court constructs a fact-in-law as a condition for the application of the primary norm.
Such a view of the matter inserts a cognitive element in the heart of the dynamic order, threatening to blow apart the dichotomy between the categories of is and ought. On further reflection, Kelsen takes a distance from the specialised legal meaning of feststellen: ‘to declare’, as in a declaratory judgement.
What the court does is ‘not descriptive, i.e. declarative, but constitutive’. The establishing that a delict has been committed normally forms part of the primary norm.cxxiv
The further Kelsen goes toward characterising the secondary norm as ‘superfluous’—as either existing but unnecessary or existing only by implication—the closer he comes to the extreme American ‘legal realism’ of Gray, who maintained that law is only judicially created norms, for which legislation is but a sourcecxxv, and consequently also to abandoning the ‘separation of powers’ differentiation of judiciary

and legislaturecxxvi.
Kelsen does not, however, acknowledge courts to have unfettered discretion. Existing general norms require the courts to apply them, and courts can depart from them only within the discretion that those norms allow. This fettering is not set aside but only limited, in the extreme application of the ‘principle’ of res iudicata, that an individual norm may be legally valid even though it does not correspond to any valid general norm, either when there is no such norm or when such a norm prescribes differently (recall that, for Kelsen, a void norm is so only when declared so by a court of final instance). This view corresponds,
Kelsen believes, to the way that courts actually behave.cxxvii
[290] 2. Logic and norms
Kelsen insists that, if there is no practical reason, logic cannot apply to norms. Logic is applicable to legal propositions but not to legal norms. Norms cannot be true or false, only valid or invalid, in a non-logical sense, which is also their existence. The pure theory is not a ‘legal logic’.cxxviii Where logic is applied to legal propositions, still logical must not be confused with psychological or political questions.cxxix
Kelsen deals with logic only in the form of the syllogism. A premiss or conclusion of a syllogism may describe a norm in three ways. First, by ‘quoting’ the norm—e.g., ‘There is a valid general norm:
“Everyone ought to keep their promises to others”.’ Second, by establishing the existence of a norm, as an objective meaning—that the subjective meaning of an act of will is also its objective meaning because the act is authorised by a valid norm of a positive moral or legal order. Third: in logic of probability, there can be a syllogism concluding as to the probability that, in a particular case, the judge will create an individual norm that will correspond to a certain general norm.cxxx
Nonetheless, Kelsen holds, within an order norms themselves may conflict. Conflict may be two-sided, where to follow either norm would be to breach the other, or one-sided. It may be total or partial—partial when to follow one norm would be to breach the other where it applies conditionally—and either necessary or only possible. I will cite two of his examples. Between the norm ‘Bigamy ought to be punished’ and the norm ‘Bigamy ought not to be punished’ there is two-sided, total, necessary conflict.
Between the norm ‘Murder ought to be punished with death, if the murderer is more than twenty years

old’ and the norm ‘Murder ought to be punished with death, if the murderer is more than eighteen years old’ there is one-sided, partial and not necessary but only possible conflict.cxxxi Since legal norms can conflict, any legal norm might face its opposite: therefore the values embodied in any norm can only be relative.cxxxii
Kelsen’s idea of conflict looks very like contradiction, but he insists that a conflict of norms is not even comparable with contradiction. For conflict of norms can be resolved by derogation, which is the application of a further norm, not of a logical principle.cxxxiii
A legal order, Kelsen holds, has no gaps. He subscribes to the view that ‘whatever is not forbidden is permitted’. Whatever could have been forbidden yet is neither forbidden nor positively permitted—that is, permission expressly given—may be said to be negatively permitted; the individual is in that sense ‘free’.
For the situation where an organ is faced with a quite unforeseen case, the legal order contains, expressly or tacitly, a norm authorising the organ to create a new legal norm on the basis of moral and political principle; although there is no norm to apply to the case, the legal order as a whole is applicable.cxxxiv
[291] 3. Up the law
So far, Kelsen’s reasoning has been downward, in terms of the dynamic legal order’s chain of authorisation. But he also reasons upward.
He takes on board the view of both American ‘legal realists’ and Belgian theory of legal rhetoric that a court may first intuit an individual norm to apply and only afterwards elaborate ‘grounds’ for its application. In that situation, Kelsen holds, the syllogisms are still relevant, but they describe not the way in which the individual norm is created but the way in which its application is justified; the description is still, as intended, of an organ’s practice.cxxxv Again, the anti-formalist tendency of the concept of dynamic legal order appears.
In the same spirit Kelsen holds that, when a norm is obeyed, the person obeying it reproduces it, as meaning, in their mind. The addressor means, the addressee understands; through that understanding, the norm becomes a meaning for the addressee; the addressee thereby addresses it to him- or herself. Although this is not to say that the addressee always ‘recognises’—that is, accepts—the norm; the addressee might

not obey it, or might obey it only because of the threat of a sanction.cxxxvi
However, when an organ to which a general norm is addressed is thereby authorised to create a lower norm, it will do so only if it recognises the higher norm as suitable for application to the concrete case.
This will not be an exception to the dynamic order, but will be an authorised exercise of discretion. A
‘recognition’ theory is correct to this limited extent.cxxxvii
The salient feature of these arguments is that Kelsen is looking at the organ’s decision from the standpoint of the norm’s addressee.cxxxviii
LAW, STATE AND INDIVIDUAL
The pure theory ‘is objectivistic and universalistic’, aiming ‘to conceive in each part of the law the function of the total law’. Consequently it cannot view the legal order from the standpoint of the individual legal subject and its interests. Thinking in terms of rights must be reduced to thinking in terms of the whole legal order.cxxxix But this is to be done sociologically, for norms regulate not persons as such but their behaviour. Accordingly, a ‘legal relation’ lies not between persons as such but between ‘the behaviour of two individuals as defined by legal norms’, i.e. as content of legal norms.cxl
Kelsen speaks of ‘the state’ in a broad and a narrow sense.cxli The state in the broad sense is defined by territory and population. If one’s eye is on human behaviour, one finds a range of legal orders. In some, general legal norms are created by a central legislative organ, so that the legal order may be called
‘relatively centralised’. The idea of its centralisation refers only to its sphere of validity: for it may be valid over fragmented territory or differently for different sectors of the population (e.g. as to ‘language, religion, race, sex or profession’), or not effective uniformly. Such a legal order is a ‘state’. In ‘the primitive pre-state order and the super-state order of general inter-[292]national law’, however, general legal norms are created through custom. Thus these legal orders are ‘relatively decentralised’ and should not be called states. Here, Kelsen adopts the idea of ‘the state’ in international law.
The narrow sense is taken from state legal orders, as ‘the bureaucratic machinery of officials, headed by the government’ (i.e. the executive power). This may be seen as a ‘partial legal order’ within the total legal order. Thus one may speak of the total legal order exercising ‘direct state administration’, which is to say

jurisdiction, and the executive ‘indirect state administration’, which is essentially, as conformity with the former’s law, a mode of transaction. Here Kelsen acknowledges the interventions by the modern state (in the narrow sense) in the ‘private’ sphere, as well as the bureaucratisation of both public and private administration.
‘The state’ in either sense, however, must be seen as the behaviour of real individuals. Consequently, rights and duties ‘of the state’ are to be understood as rights and duties of officials. Since they are officials only as persons acting with legal authority, every state is by definition ‘governed by law’, i.e. is a
Rechtsstaat. Therefore the expression Rechtsstaat is better confined to those states that may be described as also committed to the ideas of democracy and legal security.
In traditional theory, just as the Christian religion presents ‘God’ as both creator-ruler and immanent in the world, the state has ‘two sides’ and is ‘self-obligating’: that is, it appears on one side as personified author of the legal order, on the other as a legal subject, obligated by the legal order. With the decline of ‘a religious-metaphysical justification of the state’, this theory, that of the Rechtsstaat, performs the inestimable ideological service of presenting the state’s self-justification through law. One of the pure theory’s main contributions, in Kelsen’s eyes, is to have unmasked this ideology.
One reason for Kelsen to understand ‘the state’ primarily under its international-law concept is that this permits him to identify the state with the legal order, independently of the concept of the state in the narrow sense, which attaches to the public-law aspect of the legal order. Indeed, it permits him radically to relativise the distinction between public and private law.
Traditional theory of the Romanist legal systems divides the legal order into ‘public’ and ‘private’ law’
(the Common Law systems too segregate ‘public’ law). Kelsen wants to relativise the distinction. At the least, he holds, it is made on different criteria for different purposes.cxlii However, he goes much further.
As with ‘the state’ in the narrow sense, a corporation may be seen a partial legal order within the total legal order.cxliii Indeed, all individuals appear as ‘organs’ within the total legal order, in that they are
‘authorised’ to create law, at least by making contracts. Traditional concepts such as ‘capacity’,
‘competence’ and ‘jurisdiction’ hamper one’s ability to see that the scope of authorisation includes not only legislation and adjudication but also the exercise of rights and the formation of contracts and treaties.

Whether an individual is to be characterised as a ‘legal organ’ in all law-creating activities or only, according to division of labour, in some (e.g. as an official) is [293] for Kelsen a moot point.cxliv The main thing is that all such law-creation falls within the legal order.
Thus the pure theory ‘relativises the contrast between private and public law, which traditional legal science absolutises—changes it from an extra-systemic difference, i.e. a difference between law and nonlaw, between law and state, to an intra-systemic one.’ And in this the pure theory shows itself once again to be ‘a true science’ by dissolving the ideology involved in the differentiation of public and private law, an ideology that serves either to release government from legal constraints or to create ‘the idea that the realm of political domination is restricted to public law, i.e. primarily to constitutional and administrative law, but entirely excluded from private law’. The latter view creates the illusion that private relations, in the capitalist market, have, in their autonomy, an intrinsic relation to democracy; whereas in capitalism not only norms of private relations but even general norms may be autocratic as easily as democratic.cxlv
As one would now expect, for Kelsen rights and duties derive exclusively from general norms and are themselves individual norms, considered in relation to the subject to whose behaviour the general and individual norms apply. Rights are ‘reflex rights’, i.e. correlative to an obligation (the idea that rights have priority over duties probably derives from the idea of natural rights): they are private rights as power, through lawsuit, to participate in the creation of an individual norm ordering the imposition of a sanction for nonfulfilment of an obligation; political rights as power to participate in law-creation, whether directly as member of a legislature or indirectly as voter, or in creation of a norm repealing an unconstitutional norm; or rights as power following permission from a governmental authority. Rights do not stem directly from individual interests, since the individual’s right is only to obtain fulfilment of a state organ’s duty to apply a sanction. Moreover, the provision of such rights is not an essential function of law but pertains only to parts of a capitalist legal order.cxlvi
In the spirit of limiting the ‘metaphysical bases’ to what is strictly fundamental to a universal concept of law, such concepts as ‘legal organ’ and ‘reflex right’ are characterised as not essential to the pure theory but ‘merely auxiliary’—to ‘facilitate the description’.cxlvii
Another of these is the concept ‘legal subject’. As distinct from the human being, who is a construction of the natural sciences, the person is a construction in legal science or ethics; if a human being has both a

legal and a moral personality, the human being as ‘biologico-physiological unit’ is their substratum. The legal person (or subject) may be a physical or ‘natural’ person, or a juristic or ‘artificial’ person (such as a corporation or the state). These are not physical realities, nor even creations of the law, but convenient personificatory metaphors through which legal science presents ‘the unity of a complex of legal obligations and legal rights’. The person is not different from that complex, any more than a tree differs in substance from the sum of its parts. The artificiality of the juristic person is well known: but the physical or ‘natural’ person is equally a construction of legal science as a component of the [294] legal order. It
‘has’ rights and obligations only figuratively: to present that image as real is an ideological move intended to privilege rights of private property.cxlviii
The whole legal order, as effective in terms of individual behaviour, constitutes a ‘legal community
(Rechtsgemeinschaft)’, to which in the last analysis authority is attributed and which is ‘the state’ in the broad sense. In this sense the legal order is a ‘state legal order (staatliche Rechtsordnung)’.cxlix Thus to place primary emphasis on the broad concept of the state may seem strange, even a device to deemphasise the narrow concept, until one remembers that through Kelsen’s lifetime international peace was not obviously the normal situation. He is surely justified in taking armies to be more significant than police.
Now, perhaps, the riddle of ‘objectivity’ can be solved. Kelsen’s primary focus is on human behaviour.
When, secondarily, he examines the meanings that human subjects attach to their behaviour, he finds that they understand their behaviour as contents of oughts, in particular of legal norms. These norms, taken as a legal order, are also ‘the state’ in the broad sense. Human subjects then appear as ‘organs’ of the state.
Thus, on one side human subjects are always-already organs of the state, in which case they cannot be the ultimate authors of legal norms; while, on the other, the state itself appears only as a point of imputation.
This point of imputation remains ‘objective’ in the sense of Kelsen’s first major work. Consequently, its organs are endowed with that objectivity and communicate it to the legal norms that they make. The authors of legal norms do not appear as subjects whose meanings can be criticised within normative science.
STATE AND INTERNATIONAL LAW

Public international law falls within Kelsen’s definition of law. It is an order of norms: a basic norm establishes the customary behaviour of states as a law-creating fact; from custom arise norms regulating the behaviour of states in general. One of these norms is pacta sunt servanda (agreements shall be kept to), according to which treaties are made. Some treaties set up international organisations, such as the
International Court, which issue further norms. Thus there is a hierarchy of norms. The norms are coercive, in that breach is by and large visited with a sanction, whether reprisal or war. Since the bellum iustum (just war) principle is universally accepted through treaty, war conforming to that principle is a sanction.cl
To say that international law authorises or obligates states means that it authorises or obligates individuals indirectly, through the state legal order—just as that order authorises or obligates individuals directly through the partial legal order which is a corporation. The international legal norm is however
‘incomplete’ in that it specifies only the authorisation or obligation, leaving to the state legal order identification of the individual to carry it out; that done, the individual’s behaviour is attributed to the state, as the state’s [295] behaviour. In the same way, a state commits an international delict when it authorises or obligates an individual to do something in contravention of international law. That sanctions are exerted against all members of the state, even if they were not involved in the delict, shows that state members are collectively and absolutely liable for international delicts. There is however a tendency for international law to obligate individuals directly, such as war criminals. In these exceptional cases, collective and absolute liability gives way to individual liability with fault.cli
Kelsen insists on ‘the epistemological postulate: to understand all law in one system—that is, from one and the same standpoint—as one closed whole’. This postulate excludes a dualist view of the relationship between state and international legal order. It permits only the two monist views: either that international law is ‘a legal order delegated by, and therefore included in, the state legal order’ or that it is ‘a total legal order comprising all state legal orders as partial orders, and superior to all of them’.clii As late as 1941,
Kelsen believed that this entailed the primacy of international law, to form with the state legal orders ‘one uniform, universal legal system’. ‘As it is the task of natural science to describe its object—reality—in one system of laws of nature, so it is the task of jurisprudence to comprehend all human law in one system of rules of law.’cliii He had not yet distinguished clearly between legal norm and legal proposition; if the legal proposition is formulated in terms independent of its subject matter, unity of theory does not entail

unity of subject matter.cliv However, international law has never been so effective and by the end of
World War II Kelsen preferred the more realistic position that the alternative monistic views are equal in the eyes of science. Yet, politically, he maintained the inter-war theme of ‘peace through law’ and a frank distaste for the state-centred outlook.clv
THE BASIC NORM
Whether norms are ordered through logical or legal validity, Kelsen believes, the order must have some
‘basis (Grund)’. If the separation of ‘is’ and ‘ought’ is to be maintained, that basis or ground can only be a norm, a ‘basic norm (Grundnorm)’.
Kelsen presents the basic norm of a positive legal order by contrasting two situations. In one situation, a robber demands money from me. If I ask why I ought to hand my money over, no further reason can be found. The meaning of the robber’s act of will is merely subjective. In the second situation, a tax official demands money from me. If I ask why I ought to hand my money over, the official refers to a regulation.
If I ask why I ought to obey the regulation, the official refers to a statute. If I ask why I ought to obey the statute, the (patient) official refers to the constitution. If I ask why I ought to obey the constitution, the official might be able to refer to an earlier constitution on whose authority the present constitution was created. Kelsen characterises that earlier constitution or, if none, the present constitution as the
‘historically first [296] constitution’, created by custom or revolution. The official’s resources end with the historically first constitution—but I can still ask why I ought to obey it.
Kelsen proposes that the jurist—the legal scientistclvi—should ‘presuppose’, as the meaning of a juristic act of thought, a norm prescribing that the historically first constitution ought to be obeyed: ‘One ought to obey the prescriptions of the historically first constitution’. Or, more fully: ‘Coercion ought to be exerted under the conditions and in the manner prescribed by the by and large effective constitution and by the by and large effective general and individual norms created according to the constitution’. That is: that constitution is to be understood in legal science as the objective meaning of the originating custom or act of will.
This ‘basic’ norm does not actually exist: it is only presupposed in juristic thinking as the ‘reason for the

validity’ of the order. Kelsen specifies it, in Kantian terms, as a transcendental-logical presupposition—or, a constitution ‘in a transcendental-logical sense’—that is, not a proposition describing law but a rational condition for constructing propositions describing law.clvii
Nonetheless, for the case of a particular legal order, the particular basic norm refers to a real constitution.
The acid test of the concept is a revolution: if the revolution succeeds, in the sense that the new constitution and the norms made or adopted under it are by and large effective, the jurist presupposes a new basic norm.
Nor does Kelsen claim that the concept is original: it ‘merely makes conscious what most legal scientists do, at least unconsciously’ (i.e. when they have not sufficiently clarified their premisses), when they are not being behaviourists or iusnaturalists.clviii However, the presupposition is not a moral recognition. The legal order, which is also a state, is differentiated thereby from a gang of robbers, but the criterion is legality—not justice, as with Augustine.clix
The presupposition of a basic norm plays a double role. On one hand, it is the condition upon which science can understand some oughts as constituting an order, hence as norms—whether legal or moral. On the other, it is the condition on which legal science can understand the meanings of some acts of will as objective, i.e. as legal norms.
It doesn’t work. Although a basic norm is a scientific construct, the meaning of an act of thought, the thought is of a norm. And one can still ask, in thought, what is the basis of that norm’s authority. If the answer is, a still more basic norm, the question can be asked of that norm too. Thus, presupposing a basic norm, which was intended to tie off the infinite regress of questions about authorisation, merely repeats the regress. Moreover, since even a hypothetical norm is conceived as the meaning of a hypothetical act of will, one finds oneself in a regress through ever less evidently human wills.
It took Kelsen half a century to realise this. When he did, he reached for a solution as bold as that of the category of ‘ought’ or the ‘basic norm’ concept itself. He declared that the basic norm is not a hypothesis but a ‘fiction’, though in a special sense. In everyday parlance, a fiction is a proposition that, although false, is useful. Vaihinger, however, had termed this a mere ‘semi-[297]fiction’. In Vaihinger’s
‘philosophy of ‘as if’’, a proposition is a ‘genuine fiction’ if it is not only false but also self-contradictory.
Kelsen held, in these terms, that the basic norm is a ‘genuine fiction’ because, in addition to being a

concept of something that does not in fact exist, it is self-contradictory in that it embodies an infinite regress.clx
This doesn’t work either. Vaihinger’s concept is incoherent: what is logically invalid cannot be either true or false, indeed is probably meaningless.
At one point, Kelsen held that a basic norm is presupposed by ‘the individual’ in that the general population presupposes a basic norm and that legal science only brings it ‘to consciousness’.clxi He swiftly resiled from that positionclxii and rightly so: it is an empirical assumption, not obviously true and
Kelsen produced no evidence for it.
If successful, the ‘basic norm’ concept is the keystone of Kelsen’s pure theory and hence of his normative science of law; otherwise, it is their Achilles’ heel.clxiii The heel has disintegrated of its own accord.
Kelsen’s theory of law is left without even a means to identify a norm as legal.
CONCLUSION
Surveying this wreckage, an initial question is whether it is worth continuing on the same philosophical basis. Although the charge of `formalism’ can be answered within Kelsen’s philosophical framework, that framework itself is shaky. One problem is that the construction of reality simultaneously in different
‘modes’, so that a thing or person appears through a cubist sort of combination of aspectsclxiv, contains no guarantee that a construction in one mode will have anything to do with a construction in another—the notion of a ‘modally indifferent substratum’ is obscure.clxv Other difficulties lie in the rejection of practical reason. First, the more one regards reality as constructed rather than given, the less ground there is for assuming that even the descriptive side of thought is rational. Second, there is much evidence for the existence of practical rationality; indeed, it is hard to see the point of the concept of legal order, even dynamic legal order, unless it is assumed that the creation of legal norms is rational to some extent. Third,
Kelsen provides himself with only two options—that practical reason exists and is absolute, and that the practical sphere is only emotional. It is hard to see why he could not take the Weberian option of relative practical reason, corresponding to the relative theoretical reason in which both thinkers’ conception of science is grounded. A descriptive science of law, even as Kelsen conceives it, can proceed whether or not

there is also a prescriptive science of law and whether or not the norms to be described have a relatively rational element.
Resolution of the philosophical difficulties might strengthen Kelsen’s enterprise or require its abandonment or transformation. Transformation would be a three-sided task: (1) to complete the theory’s stance of critical independence, (2) to reformulate the theory compatibly with that stance and (3), through the eyes of that reformulated version, to take the existing [298] version as a rigorous example of the internal structure of legal ideology.
The scope of enquiry would bring iusnaturalism back into the range of objects of study. Kelsen ‘kicks off his theoretical ball to see where it rolls and where it stops if it completes its course without hindrance’, which effects a reduction ad absurdum of legal positivismclxvi—especially in the collapse of the pure theory with the loss of the concept of a basic norm. Yet, since that concept was meant to replace the foundations of both legal positivism and (if natural law existed) iusnaturalism, Kelsen’s end point tends to reveal that legal ideology embraces both legal positivism and iusnaturalism.clxvii For a critical perspective should not simply dismiss erroneous beliefs as illusionsclxviii but study the fact that people hold those beliefs and act in terms of them.
Yet the pure theory excludes the very issue of ideology in the strong sense of a kind of misdescription.clxix First, Kelsen’s interpretive understanding is confined to the scientific construction of norms in their form as oughts. Save in the moment when he considered that a basic norm might be presupposed by the general population, Kelsen does not consider descriptive subjective meanings on their own account. Knowledge of law is understood not as existing in the consciousness of the general population but solely as a product of legal scientists, whose subjectivity is not clearly emancipated from the alleged objectivity of legal authority. And, although occasionally Kelsen acknowledges judicial cognition of norms, he is reluctant to consider how norms may be descriptive through their content—for example, in describing a social relation as ‘a contract’ or as ‘property’. Here, even to an extent in Kelsen’s own terms, normativism is guilty of formalism.clxx
All the same, Kelsen raises three issues of basic relevance to ideology-critique, which many `critical’ writers ignore: (1) how to describe an ought without at the same time deciding whether to recognise it as

to be followed, (2) how to describe a legal ought without necessarily doing so in legal terms and (3) what is the role in legal ideology of the concept of the natural legal person? The last, especially, requires further development in terms of class and gender, taking into account Kelsen’s own sociology from below.
A barrier to empirical enquiry, however, is Kelsen’s lack of attention to language.clxxi This inattention is permitted by his distinction between an act of will and its mode of expression, but that makes the nature of an act of will still more obscure. All the same, so far as claims that language is all are coupled with attention only to official texts or to the investigator’s ‘ordinary’ dialect and thus tend to service social control in the era of media saturationclxxii, this gap in Kelsen might not be damning. Not as much, at least, as the tendency of the exclusion of practical reason to preserve dominant values from rational criticism.
Accordingly, it seems worth pursuing Kelsen’s work on description—both in a neo-Kantian framework, such as Weber’s, and in other frameworks into which his ideas can be translated. The legal proposition needs to be translated from the refractive into the interpretive mode. The law of law does not fit all of
Kelsen’s kinds of legal norm in any case and appears to be a misguided attempt to find an analogy of the reflective mode, on the assumption that legal norms are as objective as physical things (‘social facts’,
Durkheim said). Whether anything like the law of law would be required if the legal proposition were to
[299] become interpretive may be doubted. And, with the passage from refraction to interpretation, it may no longer be necessary to seek a foundation such as a basic norm.
There remains Kelsen’s ‘will’ theory of norms. If one acknowledges as empirically weak Kelsen’s assertion that legal norms never occur singly and if one were then to misunderstand his ‘will’ theory in the politically absolutist terms of most legal science—which Kelsen more than anyone sought to combat—his concept of a legal norm would appear close to that in the Nazism of Schmitt.clxxiii But the pure theory comes close to being a set of independent statements about the nature of law, considered as a social belief.
If one describes that belief with such independence, one’s later valuations might have room to acknowledge that, although every kind of justice may have been accomplished through law, so has every type of atrocity. Seen from the banks of the Rhine, this bitter paradox might appear to lie not between the form and certain contents of law but within the form itself—to which Kelsen’s work is currently our principal guide.

NOTES AND REFERENCES
1 R.A. M?tall, Hans Kelsen: Leben und Werk [Hans Kelsen: Life and Work] (1969), hereafter ‘M?tall,
Kelsen’, pp. 62-3, 70-2. All information about Kelsen’s life is taken from this biography by a pupil and long-time assistant, with which Kelsen co-operated closely. It contains a full bibliography of works by and on Kelsen at pp. 122-216; supplemented in A.J. Merkl et al. (eds.), Festschrift f?r Hans Kelsen zum 90.
Geburtstag (1971), pp. 325-6. In 1933, because his French was better than his English, Kelsen preferred an invitation to work in Geneva to invitations from the London School of Economics (obtained by Laski and
Kelsen’s former pupil Lauterpacht) and the New School for Social Research, the ‘exile university’ in the
USA: M?tall, Kelsen, pp. 63-4.
1 C. Varga, The Place of Law in Luk?cs’ World Concept (1985), pp. 136-7.
1 See e.g. Hans Kelsen-Institut, Der Einfluss der Reinen Rechtslehre auf die Rechtstheorie in verschiendenen L?ndern [The Pure Theory’s Influence on Legal Theory in Various Countries] (1978).
1 E.g. by C. Norris, ‘Law, Deconstruction, and the Resistance to Theory’ (1988) 15 Journal of Law and
Society pp. 166-87 at 182. That Norris comes out of literary theory indicates how orthodox this impression has become.
1 G. Gurvitch, Sociology of Law (1947), p. 5.
1 H.L.A. Hart, ‘Kelsen’s Doctrine of the Unity of Law’ (1968) in his Essays in Jurisprudence and
Philosophy (1983), pp. 309-42 at 313. The charge was laid early: among Kelsen’s Austro-Marxist friends, by Max Adler and Karl Renner (the latter’s work can be seen as an alternative): T. Bottomore and P.
Goode (eds.), Austro-Marxism (1978), p. 18. Among the ‘legal realist’ tendency, Holmes was mightily impressed after meeting Kelsen and wrote so to Laski: O.W. Holmes Jr., Holmes-Laski Letters (1953), p.
1376. (Certainly Kelsen was a strong character, once responding so powerfully to a remark by Hart that the latter, on his own account, ‘fell over backwards in my chair’: H.L.A. Hart, ‘Kelsen Visited’ (1963) in his Essays in Jurisprudence and Philosophy, op. cit., pp. 286-308 at 287.) Yet Laski (echoing Holmes’ most famous phrase) was to call the pure theory ‘an exercise in logic and not in life’ and to pile Kelsen among ‘the veterans of an earlier age’ that knew not sociology: H.J. Laski, A Grammar of Politics (1925,
5th edn. 1948), p. vi. Pound similarly acknowledged Kelsen’s eminence, assisted him in exile and deplored his unreality: R. Pound, ‘Fifty Years of Jurisprudence’, part III, (1937-8) 51 Harvard Law Rev. pp. 444-72 at 449; cp. ‘Jurisprudence’ in the [300] Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences (1930-5), vol. 8,

pp. 477-92 at 484. To Pashukanis, who understood Kelsen’s philosophical standpoint better than most,
Kelsen’s theory of law ‘makes not the slightest attempt to analyse law, the legal form, as a historical form, for it has absolutely no intention of fathoming reality’ and is therefore ‘a waste of time’: E.B. Pashukanis,
Law and Marxism: a General Theory (1924; tr. B. Einhorn, 1978), pp. 52-3. Today, the accusation continues. Patrons of Twining’s ‘Great Juristic Bazaar’ find a large, empty, whitewashed space announced as ‘The One True Legal Science’, to which there is ‘No entry without Purification’: W. Twining, ‘The
Great Juristic Bazaar’ (1978) 14 Journal of the Society of Public Teachers of Law (n.s.) pp. 185-200 at
194. J.W. Harris accuses Kelsen of conceiving of a ‘pure norm’: Law and Legal Science (1979), pp. 34-5.
See also J. Stone, Legal System and Lawyers’ Reasonings (1964), ch. 3; Kelsen replied in ‘Professor
Stone and the Pure Theory of Law’ (1965) 17 Stanford Law Rev. pp. 1128-57. Kelsen’s replies to critics were often long.
1 ‘bl?deste’: reported by H. Klecatsky in Hans Kelsen-Institut, Hans Kelsen zum Gedenken
[Remembering Hans Kelsen] (1974), pp. 69-70.
1 (1981) 138 Revue Internationale de Philosophie (‘Kelsen et le Positivisme Juridique [Kelsen and Legal
Positivism]’); (1986) 9 Cahiers de Philosophie Politique et Juridique (‘La Philosophie du Droit de Hans
Kelsen [Hans Kelsen’s Philosophy of Law]’); R. Tur and W. Twining (eds.), Essays on Kelsen (1986).
The following have not been seen: (1984) Rechtstheorie, Beihefte 5 and 6; S.L. Paulson and R. Walter
(eds), Untersuchungnen zur Reinen Rechtslehre [Studies on the Pure Theory of Law] (1986); A. Carrino,
Kelsen e il Problema della Scienza Giuridica [Kelsen and the Problem of Legal Science] (1987); W.
Krawietz and O. Weinberger (eds), Reine Rechtslehre im Spiegel ihrer Fortsetzer und Kritiker [Pure
Theory of Law in the Mirror of its Continuators and Critics] (1988); L. Gianformaggio (ed.), Hans
Kelsen’s Theory: a Diachronic Point of View (forthcoming). I have had to neglect almost all of the large literature on Kelsen in Italian and Spanish.
1 Even its core, the pure theory, has been surveyed at book length in English only once: W. Ebenstein, The
Pure Theory of Law (1945, reissued 1969). This book contains many valuable reflections for which there is not space here. The only other book in English on Kelsen does not attempt a general exposition and as critique is very weak: R. Moore, Legal Norms and Legal Science: a Critical Study of Kelsen’s Pure
Theory of Law (1978); see my review, (1980) 43 Modern Law Rev. 727-9. Like Ebenstein’s book, the existing article-length surveys in English, though good in their time, are out of date: H. Lauterpacht,
‘Kelsen’s Pure Science of Law’ in W.I. Jennings (ed.), Modern Theories of Law (1933), pp. 105-38; C.H.
Wilson, ‘The Basis of Kelsen’s Theory of Law’ (1934) 1 Politica pp. 54-82. Kelsen himself provides a

good, though now dated, survey: ‘The Pure Theory of Law. Its Method and Fundamental Concepts’, tr.
C.H. Wilson, (1934) 50 Law Quarterly Rev. pp. 474-98; (1935) 51 Law Quarterly Rev. pp. 517-35; cp.
‘The Function of the Pure Theory of Law’ in A. Reppy (ed.), Law: a Century of Progress 1835-1935
(1937), vol. 2, pp. 231-41; ‘On the Pure Theory of Law’ (1966) 1 Israel Law Rev. pp. 1-7. Some aspects of the pure theory are discussed in J. Lenoble and F. Ost, Droit, Mythe et Raison [Law, Myth and Reason]
(1980), pp. 467-546; M. van de Kerchove and F. Ost, Le Systeme Juridique entre Ordre et Desordre
[Legal Systems—between Order and Disorder] (1988); D. Beyleveld and R. Brownsword, Law as a Moral
Judgment (1986), ch. 6; also `Normative Positivism: the Mirage of the Middle-Way’ (1989) 9 Oxford J. of
Legal Studies 463-512. The best textbook account is in Lord Lloyd of Hampstead and M.D.A. Freeman,
Introduction to Jurisprudence (5th edn. 1985), ch. 5.
1 In referring to Kelsen’s major works, the following abbreviations will be used:
ATN—Allgemeine Theorie der Normen [General Theory of Norms] (1979) - an index is available separately (1989); tr. M. Hartney, General Theory of Norms (forthcoming). A draft of the first chapter was published in 1965 and is translated by P. Heath as ‘On the Concept of Norm’ in Kelsen, Essays in Legal and Moral Philosophy, sel. O. Weinberger (1973), pp. 216-27.
CTL—The Communist Theory of Law (1955). Mostly a critique of the collection Soviet Legal
Philosophy, tr. H. Babb (1951).
FC—‘The Function of a Constitution’ (1964), tr. I. Stewart in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 109-19.
Also in Lloyd and Freeman, op. cit, n. 9, pp. 379-85; the text in the Tur and Twining volume will be cited here. This version of the translation supersedes that in [1980] [301] Juridical Rev. pp. 214-24, except that the latter has notes on variations between the two versions of the German text. Parts of the later German text are incorporated in ATN, pp. 205-8.
GTLS—General Theory of Law and State (tr. A. Wedberg 1945, reissued 1961). The original German text has not been published.
HPS—Hauptprobleme der Staatsrechtslehre entwickelt aus der Lehre vom Rechtssatze [Major Problems in
Theory of the Law of the State, Approached from Theory of the Legal Statement] (1911; 2nd edn. 1923, reissued 1960).
PTL—Pure Theory of Law (1967 - translation by M. Knight of RR2). The title is correct on the titlepage; the addition of ‘The’ on the cover of the paperback edition (1970) is unexplained.
RR1—Reine Rechtslehre: Einleitung in die Rechtswissenschaftliche Problematik [Pure Theory of Law:
Introduction to the Problematic of Legal Science] (1st edn. 1934); tr. B.L. and S.L. Paulson, Introduction

to the Problems of Legal Theory (forthcoming). The French translation, Th?orie Pure du Droit (1953), tr.
H. Th?venaz, is an amplified text, intermediate between RR1 and RR2; a second edition of the translation
(1988) distinguishes Kelsen’s amplifications and adds an essay by M. van de Kerchove on Kelsen’s influence in francophonic Europe and a bibliography of works in French on Kelsen.
RR2—Reine Rechtslehre (2nd edn. 1960—tr. as PTL).
WIJ—What is Justice? Justice, Law, and Politics in the Mirror of Science. Collected Essays (1957).
WRS—H. Kelsen, A. Merkl and A. Verdross, Die Wiener rechtstheoretische Schule [The Vienna School of Legal Theory], ed. H. Klecatsky et al. (1968, in 2 vols).
The Kelsen bibliographies in GTLS and WRS are superseded by that in M?tall, Kelsen and its supplement; then by that in (not seen) R. Walter, Hans Kelsen (1985). Of Kelsen’s main books, GTLS and RR2/PTL in particular tend to repeat each other: in referencing, preference will be given to ATN because it is a final statement, citing corresponding passages in FC since it is available in English; then to PTL as the last overall statement of the pure theory; and then to GTLS where it covers a point more fully than PTL. In no sense, however, are the references intended to be comprehensive. In quotations from American texts, spelling has been anglicised.
1 One inferior translation is that of RR2 as PTL, which, though the translator records that the translation was ‘carefully checked by the author’ (PTL, p. vi), flattens philosophical nuances and omits many footnotes helpful on points of detail and for locating the book in contemporary debate. Where translation and original differ, it is impossible to tell what Kelsen intended: e.g., the apparently handy definition of law in PTL (p. 320) does not clearly relate to the corresponding text in RR2 (p. 321).
1 See M?tall, Kelsen.
1 See P. de Visscher, ‘Observations sur la Contribution de Hans Kelsen au Droit International Positif
[Observations on Hans Kelsen’s Contribution to Positive International Law]’ (1981) 138 Revue
Internationale de Philosophie pp. 530-8.
1 Its membership is in any case contested—M?tall finds WRS unrepresentative and holds that the pure theory of law is quite different from the work of the School: R.A. M?tall, ‘Hans Kelsen und seine Wiener
Schule der Rechtstheorie [Hans Kelsen and his Vienna School of Legal Theory]’ in Hans Kelsen-Institut,
Hans Kelsen zum Gedenken (1974), pp. 15-25 at 15-16.
1 HPS. In the Germanic universities the higher doctorate, or Habilitation, qualifies for an academic career.
1 PTL, p. 1, cp. 30-3; Society and Nature (1943).
1 It suited Einstein, for one: P.A. Schilpp (ed.), Albert Einstein: Philosopher-Scientist (1949, 1969).

1 RR1, p. iii; reproduced in RR2, p. iii, but not in PTL. See also PTL, p. 72. See, further, H. Klenner,
‘Kelsens Kant [Kelsen’s Kant]’ (1981) 138 Revue Internationale de Philosophie pp. 539-46.
1 PTL, p. 113.
1 Kelsen, ‘Natural Law Doctrine and Legal Positivism’ (1929), tr. W.H. Kraus, in GTLS, pp. 389-446 at
444.
[302] 1 HPS, pp. v-xxiii (‘Vorrede zur zweiten Auflage [Preface to the Second Edition]’); ‘Die
Rechtswissenschaft als Norm- oder Kulturwissenschaft [Legal Science as Science of Norms or Culture]’
(1916) in WRS, pp. 37-93.
1 ‘The Pure Theory of Law’, op. cit., n. 9, p. 481.
1 PTL, p. 94.
1 D. Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature (1739, 1888), pp. 469-70; ATN, p. 222.
1 Following Herbart: Kelsen, ‘Die Rechtswissenschaft als Norm- oder Kulturwissenschaft’, op. cit., n. 21, p. 37. Kelsen believes that Kant confuses the distinction in his theologically grounded conception of
‘practical reason’ (ATN, pp. 62-5) and in this regard prefers Hume to Kant: ATN, p. 68-9.
1 PTL, pp. 5-7; ATN, pp. 44-8. The difference between ‘is’ and ‘ought’ parallels that between reality and value: what is understood in terms of ‘is’ is real, what is understood in terms of ‘ought’ is valuable if the
‘ought’ is a norm (then the norm is a value). To understand in terms of an ‘ought’ that is a norm is to make an ‘objective’ value judgement. To understand in terms of an ‘ought’ that is not a norm is to make a
‘subjective’ value judgement: but this is really to understand in terms of ‘is’—to describe a relation between two things, the object valued and one’s emotional state concerning it (ATN, p. 47). Existentialism is classified as merely an extension of iusnaturalism, as yet another mingling of ‘is’ and ‘ought’: PTL, pp.
253-4.
1 ATN, p. 6; PTL, p. 196, where the reference seems to refer to the essay ‘Das Problem der Gerechtigkeit
[The Problem of Justice]’, appended to RR2, pp. 355-44 at 415ff.
1 ATN, pp. 131-4; as here, arguments of ATN that refer to norms can often be taken to hold generally for oughts. Subsidiarily, Kelsen distinguishes between physiological will, e.g. by which one contracts an arm muscle, and mental will, e.g. by which one directs an arm movement; his is/ought division requires this distinction, but he accepts that it is difficult, perhaps uncompletable: ATN, p. 24. ‘Will’ here will mean mental will.
1 ATN, pp. 103, 119-20; PTL, pp. 2-7.
1 RR2, pp. 4-5; PTL, p. 5; ATN, pp. 76-92. The specification is less necessary for the English word

‘ought’ than for the German, ‘Sollen’, which is close to ‘must’. However, in this context ‘must’ is better reserved to translate Kelsen’s ‘M?ssen’, which he reserves for the necessities of causal connection.
‘Derogation’ occurs where one norm removes the validity of another: e.g., where a statute, or a section of a statute, is repealed. Strictly, a derogating norm is a ‘not-ought (Nicht-Sollen)’, but, since that is not feasible linguistically, one says e.g. ‘is hereby repealed’: ATN, pp. 85, 87. Derogation is distinct from desuetude or the replacement of one customary norm by another. Kelsen accepts the existence of selfreferring norms: ATN, p. 88.
1 ATN, pp. 119-20.
1 ATN, p. 131.
1 PTL, pp. 101-7.
1 PTL, p. 1. On the origins of the expression ‘methodological syncretism’, see S.L. Paulson, ‘Kelsen on
Legal Interpretation’ (1990) 10 Legal Studies 136-52 at 151. I am indebted to this article for some references to recent and forthcoming publications.
1 E.g. CTL, pp. 98-9, 143.
1 R. Stammler, The Theory of Justice (1902, tr. I. Husik 1925, 1969). Stammler argued, against Marxism, that law is the ‘form’ of society: Wirtschaft und Recht nach der materialistischen Geschichtsauffassung
[Economy and Law According to the Materialist Conception of History] (1896). The latter point is, of course, description of law, so that Stammler actually confuses description and prescription: M. Weber, ‘R.
Stammler’s `Surmounting’ of the Materialist Conception of History’ (1906), tr. M. Albrow (1975) 2
British Journal of Law and Society pp. 129-52; (1976) 3 British Journal of Law and Society pp. 17-43.
1 Cp. K. Olivecrona, Law as Fact (1939).
1 ATN, pp. 58-60.
1 G. Simmel, Einleitung in die Moralwissenschaft [Introduction to Moral Science] (1892-3), vol. 1, pp. 8-
9. Later, Simmel preferred a category of ‘value (Wert)’: The Philosophy of Money (1900, tr. T. Bottomore and D. Frisby 1978), p. 60. But Kelsen does not use this idea.
1 The adoption of an additional category has been obscured by Kelsen himself. Although he . [303] discusses the borrowing from Simmel in an early work (HPS, pp. 7-8), and alludes to it later on, so far as I am aware it is referred to explicitly again only in a work published after his death: ATN, p. 2 and n. 2 (on
221-2).
1 PTL, pp. 3-4 (where ‘Schema’ is rendered as ‘scheme’); RR2, pp. 3-4.
1 PTL, p. 86; cp. GTLS, pp. 162-4 (‘normative jurisprudence’).

1 I.e., in more modern language, social or cultural anthropology.
1 GTLS, pp. 175-8; cp. PTL, pp. 75-6, 85-9.
1 ATN, pp. 18-19, 121-5; RR2, pp. 73-7. The translation of Rechtssatz as ‘rule of law in a descriptive sense’ (GTLS, pp. 45ff; PTL, pp. 71ff) has misled. Translation of Solls?tze and Seins?tze as, respectively,
‘ought sentences’ (and perhaps ‘deontic sentences’) and ‘declarative sentences’ (O. Weinberger, ‘Logic and the Pure Theory of Law’, tr. A. Schramm, in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 187-99 at 189, 199) is very awkward: for one thing, these are not necessarily sentences. The distinction between norm and proposition is absent in early works, such as HPS, where Kelsen adheres to conventional usage, in which
‘Rechtssatz’ refers indeterminately to a legal norm and to the proposition describing it. Rather than speak, respectively, of ‘genuine’ and ‘nongenuine’ S?tze, he consciously turns to using ‘Rechtssatz’ to mean only the descriptive proposition: ATN, pp. 121, 124-5. According to Kelsen, the new distinction originates in
RR1 and is first stated clearly in RR2: RR2, p. 83n.
1 ATN, p. 1.
1 PTL, p. 58.
1 As a European, Kelsen uses the Romanist expression ‘delict (German, Unrecht or Delikt)’, which covers both criminal and civil wrongs.
1 My example. Part of Kelsen’s attack on iusnaturalism was to trace the development of the principle of causality and the idea of a causal law out of primitive ideas of retribution, imputation and law: e.g.
‘Causality and Retribution’ (1941) in WIJ, pp. 303-23; Society and Nature (1943); ‘Causality and
Imputation’ (1950) in WIJ, pp. 324-49. Kelsen investigated the idea of the soul as ground for ideas of retribution: ‘The Soul and the Law’ (1937) 1 Rev. of Religion pp. 337-60. Kelsen’s critiques of ancient philosophy may still be of interest; his anthropological ideas remain attached to the category of the
‘primitive’. See further, (not seen) Kelsen, Die Illusion der Gerechtigkeit. Eine Kritische Untersuchung der Sozialphilsophie Platons [The Illusion of Justice. A Critical Enquiry into Plato’s Social Philosophy], ed. K. Ringhofer and R. Walter (1985).
1 PTL, p. 92.
1 PTL, pp. 76-81, 87. While the translation of ‘Zurechnung’ as ‘imputation’ may be as good as any, rendering ‘Rechtsgesetz’ as ‘legal law’ (PTL, pp. 76ff) obscures the analogy with natural science. Kelsen makes the jump from causality to imputation seem more plausible by arguing that the principle of causality derives historically from that of imputation and its associate, the idea of retribution: PTL, pp. 82-
5.

1 ATN, p. 20.
1 ATN, p. 18.
1 ATN, p. 20; PTL, pp. 85-6.
1 GTLS, pp. 162-78; PTL, pp. 101-7. Kelsen insisted on this especially against Ehrlich’s conceptualisation of sociology of law: GTLS, pp. 24-8; see also H. Rottleuthner, ‘Rechtstheoretische Probleme der
Soziologie des Rechts. Die Kontroverse zwischen Hans Kelsen und Eugen Ehrlich (1915/1917) [Legaltheoretical Problems of Sociology of Law. The Controversy between Hans Kelsen and Eugen Ehrlich
(1915/1917)]’ in W. Krawietz and H. Schelsky (eds), Rechtssystem und gesellschaftliche Basis bei Hans
Kelsen (Rechtstheorie, Beiheft 5) (1984), pp. 521-51.
1 ATN, pp. 9, 145.
1 PTL, p. 73 (translation modified; cp. RR2, p. 75).
1 PTL, ch. 8. However, what is interpreted is not, as he says, a norm - for that would be to seek, absurdly, the meaning of a meaning - but the act of will whose meaning the norm is: M. Troper, ‘Kelsen, la Th?orie de l’Interpr?tation et la Structure de l’Ordre Juridique [Kelsen, Theory of Interpretation and the Structure of the Legal Order]’ (1981) 138 Revue Internationale de Philosophie pp. 518-29 at 520-1. The interpretation should, as Troper notes, be . [304] of a text (or other sign) - but Kelsen distinguishes the act of will from its mode of expression. See, further, Kelsen, ‘On the Theory of Interpretation’, tr. B.L. and
S.L. Paulson (1990) 10 Legal Studies 127-35; Paulson, op. cit., n. 34.
1 GTLS, p. 45.
1 PTL, p. 72.
1 PTL, p. 70 (translation modified; cp. RR2, p. 72). ‘This is the pure theory’s position as against the socalled `egological’ theory of law, which takes as the object of legal science not norms but human behaviour, and against the Marxist theory, which conceives law as an aggregate of economic relations.’
(RR2, p. 72n.). See also N. Duxbury, ‘Carlos Cossio and Egological Legal Philosophy’ (1989) 2 Ratio
Juris 274-82.
1 A. Wilson, ‘Is Kelsen Really a Kantian?’ in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 37-64.
1 Economy and Society (1922), tr. various (1968), pp. 4ff. Kelsen occasionally uses ‘objective’ in this sense, as meaning ‘politically unbiased’: e.g. CTL, pp. 96-7.
1 Differences in modes of description are ignored in Raz’s distinctions among types of ‘committed’ and
‘detached’ statements: J. Raz, ‘The Purity of the Pure Theory’ (1981) 138 Revue Internationale de
Philosophie pp. 441-59 at 453-5 (also in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 79-97 at 90-3); see also R.J.

Vernengo, ‘Kelsen’s Rechtss?tze as Detached Statements’ in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 99-108.
1 Kant usually speaks of ‘metaphysics’ as meaning erroneous belief in transcendence, but in this context he uses the word with reference to universal postulates.
1 I. Kant, Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science (1786, tr. J. Ellington 1970), pp. 5-6.
1 Cp. Weinberger, op. cit., n. 45, p. 188.
1 ‘The Pure Theory of Law and Analytical Jurisprudence’ (1941) in WIJ, pp. 266-87 at 266.
1 ‘The Function of the Pure Theory of Law’, op. cit., n. 9, pp. 231-2.
1 HPS, p. 92; ‘Zur Soziologie des Rechtes [On Sociology of Law]’ (1912) 34 Archiv f?r
Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik pp. 601-14; GTLS, pp. 175-7.
1 ‘On the Pure Theory of Law’, op. cit., n. 9, p. 4.
1 CTL, pp. 72-3. Although Kelsen might have been entitled to assume that the idea of ‘pure theory’ was familiar in his time, it was still necessary to state clearly his own understanding of the expression. Thus R.
Stammler wrote of ‘pure science or theory’ in a related but importantly different sense: The Theory of
Justice, op. cit., n. 36, p. 5.
1 ‘Was ist die Reine Rechtslehre? [What is the Pure Theory of Law?]’ (1953) in WRS, pp. 611-29 at 620.
1 CTL, p. 193.
1 Cp. G. Luk?cs, ‘Reification and the Consciousness of the Proletariat’ (1923) in his History and Class
Consciousness, tr. R. Livingstone (1971), pp. 83-222 at 108-9.
1 Kelsen, ‘Der Staatsbegriff der ‘verstehenden Soziologie’ [The Concept of the State in ‘Interpretive
Sociology’]’ (1921) 1 Zeitschrift fur Volkswirtschaft und Sozialpolitik pp. 104-19; ‘The Pure Theory of
Law’, op. cit., n. 9, pp. 477-8; GTLS, pp. 162-78; PTL, pp. 2-3, 85-9, 101-7. See, further, N. Bobbio,
‘Max Weber e Hans Kelsen [Max Weber and Hans Kelsen]’ (1981) 8 Sociologia del Diritto 135-54; A.
Carrino, ‘Weber e la Sociologia del Diritto nella Critica di Kelsen [Weber and Sociology of Law in
Kelsen’s Critique]’ (1987) 14 Sociologia del Diritto 17-32.
1 Economy and Society, op. cit., n. 63, p. 4.
1 PTL, p. 3.
1 PTL, pp. 7-8; RR2, p. 7. The argument is clumsily expressed in both texts.
1 GTLS, p. 178.
1 HPS, chs 1-2.
1 O. Ewald, ‘Die deutsche Philosophie im Jahre 1911 [German Philosophy in 1911]’ (1912) 17 Kant-
Studien pp. 382-433 at 397-8; M?tall, Kelsen, pp. 7, 8, 15; H. Cohen, Ethik des reinen Willens [Ethic of

Pure Will] (1904).
1 GTLS, pp. 99, 191-2.
1 ATN, pp. 1-3, 22.
1 PTL, p. 47.
1 GTLS, pp. 112-13; PTL, pp. 195-8. Kelsen does not confuse ‘legal order’ in this sense with the [306] orderliness in society that such an order might ensure when it is effective; nor does he assume that law always creates order (PTL, p. 38).
1 GTLS, p. 112. My example.
1 E.g. E. Ehrlich, ‘Judicial Freedom of Decision: its Principles and Objects’ (1903) in various authors,
Science of Legal Method, tr. E. Bruncken and L.B. Register (1917, 1969) 47-84; Fundamental Principles of the Sociology of Law (1913; tr. W.L. Moll, reissued 1975).
1 E.g. PTL, chs. 5 and 8. The behaviour in the particular case may be logically relatable to the behaviour envisaged generally in the norm - but that is a subsidiary issue in the realm of ‘is’, concerning the norm not as ‘ought’ but as to its ‘content’: ATN, pp. 26, 39. Logic does not apply even to imagined norms, since these are the imagined meaning of an imagined act of will: ATN, pp. 187-8. Kelsen might have added that norms are usually imagined before they are called into existence by a real act of will.
Strictly, however, there is not a norm that may or may not be legally valid: validity in this sense is the norm’s ‘specific intellectual (ideell) existence’; strictly, ‘valid norm’ is a pleonasm: ATN, pp. 22, 136-8.
Not to be confused with ideal (ideal) existence, in e.g. a Platonic sense, or with real, material existence:
Kelsen in discussion reported in F.-M. Schm?lz (ed.), Das Naturrecht in der politischen Theorie (1963), p.
124.
1 PTL, pp. 231, 234-5, 255.
1 PTL, pp. 267-78.
1 PTL, p. 279, cp. 70-1.
1 PTL, pp. 279-80; where ‘Rechtsform und Staatsform (Form of Law and Form of State)’ (RR2, p. 283), is rendered as ‘Creation of Law and Form of Government’.
1 PTL, pp. 9, 214, 226, 250. See also below, on ‘primitive’ law and international law.
1 PTL, p. 227.
1 PTL, pp. 197-8.
1 PTL, p. 196.
1 ATN, pp. 6-7.

1 ATN, pp 201-2.
1 ATN, pp. 33-40. In characterising even moral orders as dynamic, Kelsen supposes that, just as legal norms are applied by organs of the legal order, moral norms are applied by organs of the moral order:
ATN, p. 42. The meaning of ‘organ’ here is diffuse.
1 PTL, p. 222.
1 FC, p. 118. This sense of ‘constitution’ seems to be Kelsen’s scientifically acceptable substitute for
‘sources of law’ in the validation sense, after he rejected that expression because it could also refer to historical sources: PTL, p. 233.
1 PTL, pp. 234, 236.
1 Luk?cs, quoted in Varga, op. cit., n. 2, p. 148.
1 PTL, pp. 211-14. Here Kelsen takes as ‘typical’ opponent his former pupil the Scandinavian ‘legal realist’ Ross: RR2, p. 215n.
1 ATN, pp. 111-14; PTL, pp. 10-12, 211-14 (translation modified). PTL, p. 214, repetitively renders
‘Recht’ as both ‘law’ and ‘right’, and ‘Macht’ as both ‘power’ and ‘might’: cp. RR2, pp. 220-1. Kelsen has in mind the doctrine of desuetude (desuetudo), known in the Romanist legal systems but not in the
Common Law systems.
1 PTL, p. 27.
1 ATN, pp. 43, 108, 115-16; GTLS, pp. 60-1.
1 Criticised in GTLS, pp. 62-4. However, Austin’s Benthamite definition of the sovereign, as the person or body that is habitually obeyed and does not habitually obey any other, which is central to his definition of positive law, is also sociological. Kelsen sympathises with this side of Austin and only finds his way of using it contradictory.
1 ATN, p. 112.
1 Hart’s primary/secondary distinction is in the same direction as Kelsen’s, but on a different criterion:
H.L.A. Hart, The Concept of Law (1961), ch. 5. Hart’s ‘secondary rules’ fall into Kelsen’s class of
‘dependent norms’, which in their dependence on sanctioned norms are indirectly coercive: cp. PTL, pp.
54-8. For recent comparisons between Hart and Kelsen, see Beyleveld and Brownsword, `Normative
Positivism’, op. cit., n. 9; van de Kerchove and Ost, op. cit., n. 9 (relating the work of Hart and Kelsen to systems theory).
1 FC, p. 111.
1 E.g. PTL, pp. 221, 255.

1 PTL, pp. 33-42.
1 ATN, pp. 115-16; cp. FC, p. 112.
1 PTL, pp. 59-69, 111-14.
1 ATN, pp. 92-9, 265-6; PTL, pp. 68-9 (translation modified; RR2, p. 71). This holds even for the ‘general principles of law’ that the International Court of Justice is authorised by its Statute to apply: ATN, pp. 99,
266.
1 PTL, pp. 33-42. PTL appears later to deny this extension (p. 111), but the denial is not in RR2 (p. 117); cp. PTL, p. 114.
1 His retirement lecture was ‘What is Justice’ (1952) in WIJ, pp. 1-24. See also other essays in that book and ‘Das Problem der Gerechtigkeit’, op. cit., n. 27; J. Bjarup, ‘Kelsen’s Theory of Law and Philosophy of
Justice’ in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 273-303.
1 The Law of the United Nations (1950), p. xiii; cp. GTLS, p. 15; ‘The Law as a Specific Social
Technique’ (1941) in WIJ, pp. 231-56.
1 See e.g. D. Held, Introduction to Critical Theory (1980), ch. 5.
1 Cp. A. Renaut, ‘Kelsen et le Probl?me de l’Autonomie du Droit [Kelsen and the Problem of the
Autonomy of Law]’ (1986) 9 Cahiers de Philosophie Politique et Juridique pp. 7-21 at 21. Kelsen’s position is also vulnerable to Foucault’s critique of technical rationality as a form of power in which the subject is denied and reconstructed - although the pure theory may also be taken as useful to a Foucauldian perspective in identifying law as a technique of disciplinary power: see esp. CTL, pp. 102-5.
1 ATN, p. 105. This refinement appears to be new in ATN.
1 ATN, pp. 195-6. The earlier view reeks, to him, of the old theory of legislation as merely the finding and promulgation of natural laws (familiar in Common Law countries as the fiction that judges do not make law).
1 ATN, pp. 115, 349-50. Previously, Kelsen had rejected Gray’s approach as supposing that only individual norms exist: PTL, p. 255.
1 ATN, p. 196n.
1 ATN, pp. 199-200.
1 ‘Was ist die Reine Rechtslehre?’, op. cit., n. 73, at 616-18 (this passage tr. in Weinberger, op. cit., n. 45, pp. 189-90).
Thus legal norms do not ‘teach’, only legal propositions describing them: ATN, pp. 103-6. In Kelsen’s terms, the educative role of law, e.g. in anti-discrimination laws, would operate through description of

legal norms, mainly in the press.
1 ATN, p. 190. A reference to the basic norm as ‘the constitution in the legal-logical sense (die Verfassung im rechtslogischen Sinne)’ (RR2, p. 232; changed to ‘the “constitution” in the transcendental-logical sense’ in PTL, p. 226) might be understood to refer to the logicality of legal propositions, including a basic norm. The occasional references to ‘the logical relation of norms’ (PTL, p. 339) and ‘contradiction’ between norms (PTL, pp. 206, 350, 352) are harder to explain: since, however, they are made in passing, there is room to take them to refer infelicitously to the norm as presented in the legal proposition. The alternative, and of course defensible, view has produced the impression that Kelsen thought logic did apply to norms and, in the 1960s, changed his mind: e.g. Weinberger, op. cit., n. 45, pp. 192-4. R.J.
Vernengo valuably argues that Kelsen usually saw logic as having ‘an epistemological tinge according to the traditional Kantian heritage’ or later, ‘under the influence of phenomenology, an ontological foundation’ and became familiar with modern formal logic only ‘in his last years and then not without ambiguities’: ‘About an Empowerment Theory of Legal Norms and Some Related Problems’ (1989) 2
Ratio Juris 299-303 at 300.
1 ATN, pp. 203-5. The third case echoes Holmes’ definition of law as the ‘prophecies of what the courts will do in fact’: O.W. Holmes, ‘The Path of the Law’ (1897) 10 Harvard Law Rev. pp. 457-78 at 461. But the echo is distorted: these prophecies would be expressed in laws of law, not legal norms themselves; yet in any case such prophecy belongs to the realm of legal advice, not scientific description: PTL, pp. 87-9;
GTLS, pp. 165-8.
[307] 1 ATN, pp. 99-101.
1 PTL, p. 18.
1 ATN, pp. 101-3. See also papers by Harris, Paulson and Weyland in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8.
1 ATN, pp. 81, 106-7; PTL, p. 245-50.
1 ATN, pp. 351-2.
1 ATN, pp. 25ff. Kelsen awkwardly conceives self-addressing as a relation between oneself as ‘ego’ and as ‘alter ego’: ATN, pp. 23-4.
1 ATN, pp. 39-43, 191-3.
1 Cp. ATN, p. 37.
1 PTL, pp. 191-2.
1 ATN, p. 7; PTL, pp. 165-6 (translation modified: RR2, pp. 169-70), 169.
1 PTL, chs. 6 and 7; GTLS, pt. 2.

1 PTL, pp. 280-4; GTLS, pp. 201-7.
1 PTL, p. 177.
1 PTL, pp. 145-68, 256-62.
1 PTL, pp. 280-4 (translation modified: RR2, pp. 284-7). Kelsen actually writes ‘systematic’ where he clearly means ‘systemic’.
1 ATN, pp. 108-11; PTL, pp. 114-17, 125-45.
1 PTL, p. 169.
1 PTL, pp. 117, 168-91; GTLS, pp. 93-109, 377.
1 PTL, pp. 32, 35ff, 266-7, 284-319. Throughout PTL, ‘staatliche Rechtsordnung’ is rendered as ‘national legal order’—which both dilutes the key thesis of the identity of (total) legal order and state, and implies that Kelsen na?vely assumes that ‘state’ and ‘nation’ always coincide.
1 PTL, pp. 320-4.
1 PTL, pp. 324-8.
1 PTL, pp. 328-33; reading ‘state’ instead of ‘national’.
1 ‘The Pure Theory of Law and Analytical Jurisprudence’, op. cit., n. 68, p. 287.
1 As Hart says, ‘we might as well attempt to deduce from the existence of the history of warfare or the science of strategy that all wars are one or all armies are one’: ‘Kelsen’s Doctrine of the Unity of Law’, op. cit., n. 6, p. 322.
1 PTL, pp. 328-47. Cp. GTLS, esp. p. 388; Peace Through Law (1944). The issue, of course, affects questions of federalism.
1 The expression of the distinction here depends on the distinction between legal norm and legal proposition.
1 Kelsen’s fairly early characterisation of the basic norm as a ‘minimum’ of natural law (‘Natural Law
Doctrine and Legal Positivism’, op. cit., n. 20, p. 437) cannot survive his later distinguishing between legal norm and legal proposition. What applies to the distinction between international and local law also applies to issues of federalism.
1 Esp. FC; PTL, pp. 193-211 (translation modified), 223. When Kelsen expresses the difference between the two situations by saying that in the robber’s case ‘an evil will be inflicted’ whereas in that of the tax official ‘an evil ought to be inflicted’ (PTL, p. 45), he anticipates Hart’s ‘gunman situation’ distinction between being obliged and having an obligation: Hart, op. cit., n. 111, pp. 19ff, 80ff.
1 PTL, pp. 44-50; cp. Augustine, City of God, bk. 4, ch. 4. Hart appears to begin from a Weberian

standpoint, yet Hart’s ‘external point of view’ applies only to values and not to description of what is to be valued, and from Kelsen’s standpoint Hart’s ‘recognition’ theory is vulnerable to Kelsen’s much earlier criticisms of Bierling: Hart, The Concept of Law, op. cit., n. 111, passim; PTL, p. 218n.; J. Raz, op. cit., n.
64.
1 FC, p. 117; ATN, pp. 206-7; cp. H. Vaihinger, The Philosophy of ‘As If’ (1911; tr. C.K. Ogden, 2nd edn. 1935), pp. 97-100. Kelsen had been aware of Vaihinger’s book and its conceptualisation of fictions since at least 1919: ‘Zur Theorie der juristischen Fiktionen: mit besonderer Ber?cksichtigung von
Vaihingers Philosophie des Als-ob [On the Theory of Legal Fictions: with particular reference to
Vaihinger’s Philosophy of As-If]’ (1919) in WRS, pp. 1215-41. The ‘fiction’ version of the ‘basic norm’ concept was first announced in discussion reported in Schm?lz, op. cit., n. 89, pp. 119-20. The full argument is given in FC and ATN. It is presented only partially when it first appears in English: ‘On the
Pure Theory of Law’, op. cit., n. 9, p. 6.
[308] 1 ‘Was ist ein Rechtsakt? [What is a Legal Act?]’ (1952) in WRS, pp. 1381-93 at 1390-1.
1 PTL, p. 204n.
1 C. Martyniak, ‘Le Probl?me de l’Unit? des Fondements de la Th?orie de Droit de Kelsen [The Problem of the Unity of the Bases of Kelsen’s Theory of Law]’ (1937) 7 Archives de Philosophie du Droit et de
Sociologie Juridique 166-90 at 185; compare H. Klenner, Rechtsleere [A Legal Void (an awful pun on
Rechtslehre, legal theory)] (1972), p. 39.
1 Cp. N. Lavand, ‘Hans Kelsen ou le Cubisme [Hans Kelsen or Cubism]’ (1986) 9 Cahiers de Philosophie
Politique et Juridique 95-114.
1 J. Wr?blewski, ‘Kelsen, the Is-Ought Dichotomy and Naturalistic Fallacy [sic]’ (1981) 138 Revue
Internationale de Philosophie 508-17 at 515. I have suggested elsewhere a philosophical equivalent of paint and canvas: ‘Closure and the Legal Norm: an Essay in Critique of Law’ (1987) 50 Modern Law Rev.
908-33 at 916-22.
1 Varga, op. cit., n. 2, p. 137.
1 See, further, my ‘Kelsen and the Exegetical Tradition’ in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 123-47;
‘Closure and the Legal Norm’, op. cit., n. 165; P. Amselek, ‘Kelsen et les Contradictions du Positivisme
Juridique [Kelsen and the Contradictions of Legal Positivism]’ (1981) 138 Revue Internationale de
Philosophie 460-73.
1 As does Pashukanis, op. cit., n. 6.
1 Thus, Kelsen’s critique of Pashukanis does not take seriously Pashukanis’s analyses of ‘legal fetishism’:

CTL, pp. 89-111.
1 On the relation of the pure theory to Marxism, see generally the Hans Kelsen-Institut symposium Reine
Rechtslehre und marxistische Rechtstheorie [Pure Theory of Law and Marxist Theory of Law] (1978).
Kelsen fell into the error of understanding Marxism solely as the Eastern Marxism of economic determinism, whose capacity for critical legal theory was very limited: CTL, especially p. vii. However,
Kelsen’s opposition to Marxism was not bigoted: his willingness to take Marxist thinking seriously (e.g.
‘Allgemeine Rechtslehre im Lichte materialistischer Geschichtsauffassung [General Theory of Law in the
Light of the Materialist Conception of History]’ (1931) 66 Archiv fur Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik
449-521) nearly got him into an extermination camp.
1 Although occasionally he examines common modes of expression, he does so speculatively, in order to clarify his own vocabulary; he does not treat such expressions as evidence of meaning, in the manner of
‘ordinary language’ philosophy or of semiotics (e.g. the discussion of ‘law’, ‘Recht’, etc. in PTL, pp. 30-
1). The greater attention to language in his last book is just painful: for one thing, his conception of linguistic meaning is wholly referential, with no grasp of Wittgenstein’s (or Bentham’s) conception of meaning as use, though Wittgenstein is occasionally cited (ATN, pp. 24-32). Indeed, his differentiation between an act of will or thought and a speech act may be a deliberate evasion of linguistic philosophy.
However, Kelsen’s attention solely to logic does not, by itself, exclude the possibility of adding into his theory an examination of legal norms as rhetoric.
1 Criticism that is merely negative tends to preserve the terms of that which it negates; to emancipate, criticism needs to transform the subject matter of the critique.
1 See C. Schmitt, ‘The Leader Protects the Law’ (1934), tr. I. Stewart (forthcoming in International J. of the Sociology of Law).
* Senior Lecturer and Head, School of Law, Macquarie University, Sydney 2109.
This paper is the fourth in a series dealing with the work of theorists who have substantially influenced contemporary understanding of law and society. The series will be of interest to both students and specialists.
[NOTE TO THIS TEXT: The present text is derived from my disk copy; the text printed in the Journal of
Law and Society incorporates some stylistic changes preferred by the publisher, which do not affect the

meaning. Were I to update the article, I would refer to the now published translations of Kelsen’s Reine
Rechtslehre (first edition) and Allgemeine Theorie der Normen. I would translate ‘Verfassung im materiellen Sinne’ as ‘constitution in the substantive sense’ (and not ‘in the material sense’). I would also refer to a later article of mine on Kelsen: ‘Kelsen Tomorrow’ (1998) 51 Current Legal Problems 181-204
(also at:: www.law.mq.edu.au/HTML/staff/istewart/istewart.htm). I.S. 10.02.02] i R.A. M?tall, Hans Kelsen: Leben und Werk [Hans Kelsen: Life and Work] (1969), hereafter ‘M?tall,
Kelsen’, pp. 62-3, 70-2. All information about Kelsen’s life is taken from this biography by a pupil and long-time assistant, with which Kelsen co-operated closely. It contains a full bibliography of works by and on Kelsen at pp. 122-216; supplemented in A.J. Merkl et al. (eds.), Festschrift f?r Hans Kelsen zum 90.
Geburtstag (1971), pp. 325-6. In 1933, because his French was better than his English, Kelsen preferred an invitation to work in Geneva to invitations from the London School of Economics (obtained by Laski and
Kelsen’s former pupil Lauterpacht) and the New School for Social Research, the ‘exile university’ in the
USA: M?tall, Kelsen, pp. 63-4. ii C. Varga, The Place of Law in Luk?cs’ World Concept (1985), pp. 136-7. iii See e.g. Hans Kelsen-Institut, Der Einfluss der Reinen Rechtslehre auf die Rechtstheorie in verschiendenen L?ndern [The Pure Theory’s Influence on Legal Theory in Various Countries] (1978). iv E.g. by C. Norris, ‘Law, Deconstruction, and the Resistance to Theory’ (1988) 15 Journal of Law and
Society pp. 166-87 at 182. That Norris comes out of literary theory indicates how orthodox this impression has become. v G. Gurvitch, Sociology of Law (1947), p. 5. vi H.L.A. Hart, ‘Kelsen’s Doctrine of the Unity of Law’ (1968) in his Essays in Jurisprudence and
Philosophy (1983), pp. 309-42 at 313. The charge was laid early: among Kelsen’s Austro-Marxist friends, by Max Adler and Karl Renner (the latter’s work can be seen as an alternative): T. Bottomore and P.
Goode (eds.), Austro-Marxism (1978), p. 18. Among the ‘legal realist’ tendency, Holmes was mightily impressed after meeting Kelsen and wrote so to Laski: O.W. Holmes Jr., Holmes-Laski Letters (1953), p.
1376. (Certainly Kelsen was a strong character, once responding so powerfully to a remark by Hart that the latter, on his own account, ‘fell over backwards in my chair’: H.L.A. Hart, ‘Kelsen Visited’ (1963) in his Essays in Jurisprudence and Philosophy, op. cit., pp. 286-308 at 287.) Yet Laski (echoing Holmes’ most famous phrase) was to call the pure theory ‘an exercise in logic and not in life’ and to pile Kelsen among ‘the veterans of an earlier age’ that knew not sociology: H.J. Laski, A Grammar of Politics (1925,
5th edn. 1948), p. vi. Pound similarly acknowledged Kelsen’s eminence, assisted him in exile and

deplored his unreality: R. Pound, ‘Fifty Years of Jurisprudence’, part III, (1937-8) 51 Harvard Law Rev. pp. 444-72 at 449; cp. ‘Jurisprudence’ in the [300] Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences (1930-5), vol. 8, pp. 477-92 at 484. To Pashukanis, who understood Kelsen’s philosophical standpoint better than most,
Kelsen’s theory of law ‘makes not the slightest attempt to analyse law, the legal form, as a historical form, for it has absolutely no intention of fathoming reality’ and is therefore ‘a waste of time’: E.B. Pashukanis,
Law and Marxism: a General Theory (1924; tr. B. Einhorn, 1978), pp. 52-3. Today, the accusation continues. Patrons of Twining’s ‘Great Juristic Bazaar’ find a large, empty, whitewashed space announced as ‘The One True Legal Science’, to which there is ‘No entry without Purification’: W. Twining, ‘The
Great Juristic Bazaar’ (1978) 14 Journal of the Society of Public Teachers of Law (n.s.) pp. 185-200 at
194. J.W. Harris accuses Kelsen of conceiving of a ‘pure norm’: Law and Legal Science (1979), pp. 34-5.
See also J. Stone, Legal System and Lawyers’ Reasonings (1964), ch. 3; Kelsen replied in ‘Professor
Stone and the Pure Theory of Law’ (1965) 17 Stanford Law Rev. pp. 1128-57. Kelsen’s replies to critics were often long. vii ‘bl?deste’: reported by H. Klecatsky in Hans Kelsen-Institut, Hans Kelsen zum Gedenken
[Remembering Hans Kelsen] (1974), pp. 69-70. viii (1981) 138 Revue Internationale de Philosophie (‘Kelsen et le Positivisme Juridique [Kelsen and
Legal Positivism]’); (1986) 9 Cahiers de Philosophie Politique et Juridique (‘La Philosophie du Droit de
Hans Kelsen [Hans Kelsen’s Philosophy of Law]’); R. Tur and W. Twining (eds.), Essays on Kelsen
(1986). The following have not been seen: (1984) Rechtstheorie, Beihefte 5 and 6; S.L. Paulson and R.
Walter (eds), Untersuchungnen zur Reinen Rechtslehre [Studies on the Pure Theory of Law] (1986); A.
Carrino, Kelsen e il Problema della Scienza Giuridica [Kelsen and the Problem of Legal Science] (1987);
W. Krawietz and O. Weinberger (eds), Reine Rechtslehre im Spiegel ihrer Fortsetzer und Kritiker [Pure
Theory of Law in the Mirror of its Continuators and Critics] (1988); L. Gianformaggio (ed.), Hans
Kelsen’s Theory: a Diachronic Point of View (forthcoming). I have had to neglect almost all of the large literature on Kelsen in Italian and Spanish. ix Even its core, the pure theory, has been surveyed at book length in English only once: W. Ebenstein,
The Pure Theory of Law (1945, reissued 1969). This book contains many valuable reflections for which there is not space here. The only other book in English on Kelsen does not attempt a general exposition and as critique is very weak: R. Moore, Legal Norms and Legal Science: a Critical Study of Kelsen’s Pure
Theory of Law (1978); see my review, (1980) 43 Modern Law Rev. 727-9. Like Ebenstein’s book, the existing article-length surveys in English, though good in their time, are out of date: H. Lauterpacht,

‘Kelsen’s Pure Science of Law’ in W.I. Jennings (ed.), Modern Theories of Law (1933), pp. 105-38; C.H.
Wilson, ‘The Basis of Kelsen’s Theory of Law’ (1934) 1 Politica pp. 54-82. Kelsen himself provides a good, though now dated, survey: ‘The Pure Theory of Law. Its Method and Fundamental Concepts’, tr.
C.H. Wilson, (1934) 50 Law Quarterly Rev. pp. 474-98; (1935) 51 Law Quarterly Rev. pp. 517-35; cp.
‘The Function of the Pure Theory of Law’ in A. Reppy (ed.), Law: a Century of Progress 1835-1935
(1937), vol. 2, pp. 231-41; ‘On the Pure Theory of Law’ (1966) 1 Israel Law Rev. pp. 1-7. Some aspects of the pure theory are discussed in J. Lenoble and F. Ost, Droit, Mythe et Raison [Law, Myth and Reason]
(1980), pp. 467-546; M. van de Kerchove and F. Ost, Le Systeme Juridique entre Ordre et Desordre
[Legal Systems—between Order and Disorder] (1988); D. Beyleveld and R. Brownsword, Law as a Moral
Judgment (1986), ch. 6; also `Normative Positivism: the Mirage of the Middle-Way’ (1989) 9 Oxford J. of
Legal Studies 463-512. The best textbook account is in Lord Lloyd of Hampstead and M.D.A. Freeman,
Introduction to Jurisprudence (5th edn. 1985), ch. 5. x In referring to Kelsen’s major works, the following abbreviations will be used:
ATN—Allgemeine Theorie der Normen [General Theory of Norms] (1979) - an index is available separately (1989); tr. M. Hartney, General Theory of Norms (forthcoming). A draft of the first chapter was published in 1965 and is translated by P. Heath as ‘On the Concept of Norm’ in Kelsen, Essays in Legal and Moral Philosophy, sel. O. Weinberger (1973), pp. 216-27.
CTL—The Communist Theory of Law (1955). Mostly a critique of the collection Soviet Legal
Philosophy, tr. H. Babb (1951).
FC—‘The Function of a Constitution’ (1964), tr. I. Stewart in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 109-19.
Also in Lloyd and Freeman, op. cit, n. 9, pp. 379-85; the text in the Tur and Twining volume will be cited here. This version of the translation supersedes that in [1980] [301] Juridical Rev. pp. 214-24, except that the latter has notes on variations between the two versions of the German text. Parts of the later German text are incorporated in ATN, pp. 205-8.
GTLS—General Theory of Law and State (tr. A. Wedberg 1945, reissued 1961). The original German text has not been published.
HPS—Hauptprobleme der Staatsrechtslehre entwickelt aus der Lehre vom Rechtssatze [Major Problems in
Theory of the Law of the State, Approached from Theory of the Legal Statement] (1911; 2nd edn. 1923, reissued 1960).
PTL—Pure Theory of Law (1967 - translation by M. Knight of RR2). The title is correct on the titlepage; the addition of ‘The’ on the cover of the paperback edition (1970) is unexplained.

RR1—Reine Rechtslehre: Einleitung in die Rechtswissenschaftliche Problematik [Pure Theory of Law:
Introduction to the Problematic of Legal Science] (1st edn. 1934); tr. B.L. and S.L. Paulson, Introduction to the Problems of Legal Theory (forthcoming). The French translation, Th?orie Pure du Droit (1953), tr.
H. Th?venaz, is an amplified text, intermediate between RR1 and RR2; a second edition of the translation
(1988) distinguishes Kelsen’s amplifications and adds an essay by M. van de Kerchove on Kelsen’s influence in francophonic Europe and a bibliography of works in French on Kelsen.
RR2—Reine Rechtslehre (2nd edn. 1960—tr. as PTL).
WIJ—What is Justice? Justice, Law, and Politics in the Mirror of Science. Collected Essays (1957).
WRS—H. Kelsen, A. Merkl and A. Verdross, Die Wiener rechtstheoretische Schule [The Vienna School of Legal Theory], ed. H. Klecatsky et al. (1968, in 2 vols).
The Kelsen bibliographies in GTLS and WRS are superseded by that in M?tall, Kelsen and its supplement; then by that in (not seen) R. Walter, Hans Kelsen (1985). Of Kelsen’s main books, GTLS and RR2/PTL in particular tend to repeat each other: in referencing, preference will be given to ATN because it is a final statement, citing corresponding passages in FC since it is available in English; then to PTL as the last overall statement of the pure theory; and then to GTLS where it covers a point more fully than PTL. In no sense, however, are the references intended to be comprehensive. In quotations from American texts, spelling has been anglicised. xi One inferior translation is that of RR2 as PTL, which, though the translator records that the translation was ‘carefully checked by the author’ (PTL, p. vi), flattens philosophical nuances and omits many footnotes helpful on points of detail and for locating the book in contemporary debate. Where translation and original differ, it is impossible to tell what Kelsen intended: e.g., the apparently handy definition of law in PTL (p. 320) does not clearly relate to the corresponding text in RR2 (p. 321). xii See M?tall, Kelsen. xiii See P. de Visscher, ‘Observations sur la Contribution de Hans Kelsen au Droit International Positif
[Observations on Hans Kelsen’s Contribution to Positive International Law]’ (1981) 138 Revue
Internationale de Philosophie pp. 530-8. xiv Its membership is in any case contested—M?tall finds WRS unrepresentative and holds that the pure theory of law is quite different from the work of the School: R.A. M?tall, ‘Hans Kelsen und seine Wiener
Schule der Rechtstheorie [Hans Kelsen and his Vienna School of Legal Theory]’ in Hans Kelsen-Institut,
Hans Kelsen zum Gedenken (1974), pp. 15-25 at 15-16. xv HPS. In the Germanic universities the higher doctorate, or Habilitation, qualifies for an academic

career. xvi PTL, p. 1, cp. 30-3; Society and Nature (1943). xvii It suited Einstein, for one: P.A. Schilpp (ed.), Albert Einstein: Philosopher-Scientist (1949, 1969). xviii RR1, p. iii; reproduced in RR2, p. iii, but not in PTL. See also PTL, p. 72. See, further, H. Klenner,
‘Kelsens Kant [Kelsen’s Kant]’ (1981) 138 Revue Internationale de Philosophie pp. 539-46. xix PTL, p. 113. xx Kelsen, ‘Natural Law Doctrine and Legal Positivism’ (1929), tr. W.H. Kraus, in GTLS, pp. 389-446 at
444.
[302] xxi HPS, pp. v-xxiii (‘Vorrede zur zweiten Auflage [Preface to the Second Edition]’); ‘Die
Rechtswissenschaft als Norm- oder Kulturwissenschaft [Legal Science as Science of Norms or Culture]’
(1916) in WRS, pp. 37-93. xxii ‘The Pure Theory of Law’, op. cit., n. 9, p. 481. xxiii PTL, p. 94. xxiv D. Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature (1739, 1888), pp. 469-70; ATN, p. 222. xxv Following Herbart: Kelsen, ‘Die Rechtswissenschaft als Norm- oder Kulturwissenschaft’, op. cit., n.
21, p. 37. Kelsen believes that Kant confuses the distinction in his theologically grounded conception of
‘practical reason’ (ATN, pp. 62-5) and in this regard prefers Hume to Kant: ATN, p. 68-9. xxvi PTL, pp. 5-7; ATN, pp. 44-8. The difference between ‘is’ and ‘ought’ parallels that between reality and value: what is understood in terms of ‘is’ is real, what is understood in terms of ‘ought’ is valuable if the ‘ought’ is a norm (then the norm is a value). To understand in terms of an ‘ought’ that is a norm is to make an ‘objective’ value judgement. To understand in terms of an ‘ought’ that is not a norm is to make a
‘subjective’ value judgement: but this is really to understand in terms of ‘is’—to describe a relation between two things, the object valued and one’s emotional state concerning it (ATN, p. 47). Existentialism is classified as merely an extension of iusnaturalism, as yet another mingling of ‘is’ and ‘ought’: PTL, pp.
253-4. xxvii ATN, p. 6; PTL, p. 196, where the reference seems to refer to the essay ‘Das Problem der
Gerechtigkeit [The Problem of Justice]’, appended to RR2, pp. 355-44 at 415ff. xxviii ATN, pp. 131-4; as here, arguments of ATN that refer to norms can often be taken to hold generally for oughts. Subsidiarily, Kelsen distinguishes between physiological will, e.g. by which one contracts an arm muscle, and mental will, e.g. by which one directs an arm movement; his is/ought division requires this distinction, but he accepts that it is difficult, perhaps uncompletable: ATN, p. 24. ‘Will’ here will

mean mental will. xxix ATN, pp. 103, 119-20; PTL, pp. 2-7. xxx RR2, pp. 4-5; PTL, p. 5; ATN, pp. 76-92. The specification is less necessary for the English word
‘ought’ than for the German, ‘Sollen’, which is close to ‘must’. However, in this context ‘must’ is better reserved to translate Kelsen’s ‘M?ssen’, which he reserves for the necessities of causal connection.
‘Derogation’ occurs where one norm removes the validity of another: e.g., where a statute, or a section of a statute, is repealed. Strictly, a derogating norm is a ‘not-ought (Nicht-Sollen)’, but, since that is not feasible linguistically, one says e.g. ‘is hereby repealed’: ATN, pp. 85, 87. Derogation is distinct from desuetude or the replacement of one customary norm by another. Kelsen accepts the existence of selfreferring norms: ATN, p. 88. xxxi ATN, pp. 119-20. xxxii ATN, p. 131. xxxiii PTL, pp. 101-7. xxxiv PTL, p. 1. On the origins of the expression ‘methodological syncretism’, see S.L. Paulson, ‘Kelsen on Legal Interpretation’ (1990) 10 Legal Studies 136-52 at 151. I am indebted to this article for some references to recent and forthcoming publications. xxxv E.g. CTL, pp. 98-9, 143. xxxvi R. Stammler, The Theory of Justice (1902, tr. I. Husik 1925, 1969). Stammler argued, against
Marxism, that law is the ‘form’ of society: Wirtschaft und Recht nach der materialistischen
Geschichtsauffassung [Economy and Law According to the Materialist Conception of History] (1896).
The latter point is, of course, description of law, so that Stammler actually confuses description and prescription: M. Weber, ‘R. Stammler’s `Surmounting’ of the Materialist Conception of History’ (1906), tr. M. Albrow (1975) 2 British Journal of Law and Society pp. 129-52; (1976) 3 British Journal of Law and Society pp. 17-43. xxxvii Cp. K. Olivecrona, Law as Fact (1939). xxxviii ATN, pp. 58-60. xxxix G. Simmel, Einleitung in die Moralwissenschaft [Introduction to Moral Science] (1892-3), vol. 1, pp. 8-9. Later, Simmel preferred a category of ‘value (Wert)’: The Philosophy of Money (1900, tr. T.
Bottomore and D. Frisby 1978), p. 60. But Kelsen does not use this idea. xl The adoption of an additional category has been obscured by Kelsen himself. Although he . [303] discusses the borrowing from Simmel in an early work (HPS, pp. 7-8), and alludes to it later on, so far as I

am aware it is referred to explicitly again only in a work published after his death: ATN, p. 2 and n. 2 (on
221-2). xli PTL, pp. 3-4 (where ‘Schema’ is rendered as ‘scheme’); RR2, pp. 3-4. xlii PTL, p. 86; cp. GTLS, pp. 162-4 (‘normative jurisprudence’). xliii I.e., in more modern language, social or cultural anthropology. xliv GTLS, pp. 175-8; cp. PTL, pp. 75-6, 85-9. xlv ATN, pp. 18-19, 121-5; RR2, pp. 73-7. The translation of Rechtssatz as ‘rule of law in a descriptive sense’ (GTLS, pp. 45ff; PTL, pp. 71ff) has misled. Translation of Solls?tze and Seins?tze as, respectively,
‘ought sentences’ (and perhaps ‘deontic sentences’) and ‘declarative sentences’ (O. Weinberger, ‘Logic and the Pure Theory of Law’, tr. A. Schramm, in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 187-99 at 189, 199) is very awkward: for one thing, these are not necessarily sentences. The distinction between norm and proposition is absent in early works, such as HPS, where Kelsen adheres to conventional usage, in which
‘Rechtssatz’ refers indeterminately to a legal norm and to the proposition describing it. Rather than speak, respectively, of ‘genuine’ and ‘nongenuine’ S?tze, he consciously turns to using ‘Rechtssatz’ to mean only the descriptive proposition: ATN, pp. 121, 124-5. According to Kelsen, the new distinction originates in
RR1 and is first stated clearly in RR2: RR2, p. 83n. xlvi ATN, p. 1. xlvii PTL, p. 58. xlviii As a European, Kelsen uses the Romanist expression ‘delict (German, Unrecht or Delikt)’, which covers both criminal and civil wrongs. xlix My example. Part of Kelsen’s attack on iusnaturalism was to trace the development of the principle of causality and the idea of a causal law out of primitive ideas of retribution, imputation and law: e.g.
‘Causality and Retribution’ (1941) in WIJ, pp. 303-23; Society and Nature (1943); ‘Causality and
Imputation’ (1950) in WIJ, pp. 324-49. Kelsen investigated the idea of the soul as ground for ideas of retribution: ‘The Soul and the Law’ (1937) 1 Rev. of Religion pp. 337-60. Kelsen’s critiques of ancient philosophy may still be of interest; his anthropological ideas remain attached to the category of the
‘primitive’. See further, (not seen) Kelsen, Die Illusion der Gerechtigkeit. Eine Kritische Untersuchung der Sozialphilsophie Platons [The Illusion of Justice. A Critical Enquiry into Plato’s Social Philosophy], ed. K. Ringhofer and R. Walter (1985). l PTL, p. 92. li PTL, pp. 76-81, 87. While the translation of ‘Zurechnung’ as ‘imputation’ may be as good as any,

rendering ‘Rechtsgesetz’ as ‘legal law’ (PTL, pp. 76ff) obscures the analogy with natural science. Kelsen makes the jump from causality to imputation seem more plausible by arguing that the principle of causality derives historically from that of imputation and its associate, the idea of retribution: PTL, pp. 82-
5. lii ATN, p. 20. liii ATN, p. 18. liv ATN, p. 20; PTL, pp. 85-6. lv GTLS, pp. 162-78; PTL, pp. 101-7. Kelsen insisted on this especially against Ehrlich’s conceptualisation of sociology of law: GTLS, pp. 24-8; see also H. Rottleuthner, ‘Rechtstheoretische
Probleme der Soziologie des Rechts. Die Kontroverse zwischen Hans Kelsen und Eugen Ehrlich
(1915/1917) [Legal-theoretical Problems of Sociology of Law. The Controversy between Hans Kelsen and
Eugen Ehrlich (1915/1917)]’ in W. Krawietz and H. Schelsky (eds), Rechtssystem und gesellschaftliche
Basis bei Hans Kelsen (Rechtstheorie, Beiheft 5) (1984), pp. 521-51. lvi ATN, pp. 9, 145. lvii PTL, p. 73 (translation modified; cp. RR2, p. 75). lviii PTL, ch. 8. However, what is interpreted is not, as he says, a norm - for that would be to seek, absurdly, the meaning of a meaning - but the act of will whose meaning the norm is: M. Troper, ‘Kelsen, la Th?orie de l’Interpr?tation et la Structure de l’Ordre Juridique [Kelsen, Theory of Interpretation and the
Structure of the Legal Order]’ (1981) 138 Revue Internationale de Philosophie pp. 518-29 at 520-1. The interpretation should, as Troper notes, be . [304] of a text (or other sign) - but Kelsen distinguishes the act of will from its mode of expression. See, further, Kelsen, ‘On the Theory of Interpretation’, tr. B.L. and
S.L. Paulson (1990) 10 Legal Studies 127-35; Paulson, op. cit., n. 34. lix GTLS, p. 45. lx PTL, p. 72. lxi PTL, p. 70 (translation modified; cp. RR2, p. 72). ‘This is the pure theory’s position as against the socalled `egological’ theory of law, which takes as the object of legal science not norms but human behaviour, and against the Marxist theory, which conceives law as an aggregate of economic relations.’
(RR2, p. 72n.). See also N. Duxbury, ‘Carlos Cossio and Egological Legal Philosophy’ (1989) 2 Ratio
Juris 274-82. lxii A. Wilson, ‘Is Kelsen Really a Kantian?’ in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 37-64. lxiii Economy and Society (1922), tr. various (1968), pp. 4ff. Kelsen occasionally uses ‘objective’ in this

sense, as meaning ‘politically unbiased’: e.g. CTL, pp. 96-7. lxiv Differences in modes of description are ignored in Raz’s distinctions among types of ‘committed’ and
‘detached’ statements: J. Raz, ‘The Purity of the Pure Theory’ (1981) 138 Revue Internationale de
Philosophie pp. 441-59 at 453-5 (also in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 79-97 at 90-3); see also R.J.
Vernengo, ‘Kelsen’s Rechtss?tze as Detached Statements’ in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 99-108. lxv Kant usually speaks of ‘metaphysics’ as meaning erroneous belief in transcendence, but in this context he uses the word with reference to universal postulates. lxvi I. Kant, Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science (1786, tr. J. Ellington 1970), pp. 5-6. lxvii Cp. Weinberger, op. cit., n. 45, p. 188. lxviii ‘The Pure Theory of Law and Analytical Jurisprudence’ (1941) in WIJ, pp. 266-87 at 266. lxix ‘The Function of the Pure Theory of Law’, op. cit., n. 9, pp. 231-2. lxx HPS, p. 92; ‘Zur Soziologie des Rechtes [On Sociology of Law]’ (1912) 34 Archiv f?r
Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik pp. 601-14; GTLS, pp. 175-7. lxxi ‘On the Pure Theory of Law’, op. cit., n. 9, p. 4. lxxii CTL, pp. 72-3. Although Kelsen might have been entitled to assume that the idea of ‘pure theory’ was familiar in his time, it was still necessary to state clearly his own understanding of the expression.
Thus R. Stammler wrote of ‘pure science or theory’ in a related but importantly different sense: The
Theory of Justice, op. cit., n. 36, p. 5. lxxiii ‘Was ist die Reine Rechtslehre? [What is the Pure Theory of Law?]’ (1953) in WRS, pp. 611-29 at
620. lxxiv CTL, p. 193. lxxv Cp. G. Luk?cs, ‘Reification and the Consciousness of the Proletariat’ (1923) in his History and Class
Consciousness, tr. R. Livingstone (1971), pp. 83-222 at 108-9. lxxvi Kelsen, ‘Der Staatsbegriff der ‘verstehenden Soziologie’ [The Concept of the State in ‘Interpretive
Sociology’]’ (1921) 1 Zeitschrift fur Volkswirtschaft und Sozialpolitik pp. 104-19; ‘The Pure Theory of
Law’, op. cit., n. 9, pp. 477-8; GTLS, pp. 162-78; PTL, pp. 2-3, 85-9, 101-7. See, further, N. Bobbio,
‘Max Weber e Hans Kelsen [Max Weber and Hans Kelsen]’ (1981) 8 Sociologia del Diritto 135-54; A.
Carrino, ‘Weber e la Sociologia del Diritto nella Critica di Kelsen [Weber and Sociology of Law in
Kelsen’s Critique]’ (1987) 14 Sociologia del Diritto 17-32. lxxvii Economy and Society, op. cit., n. 63, p. 4. lxxviii PTL, p. 3.

lxxix PTL, pp. 7-8; RR2, p. 7. The argument is clumsily expressed in both texts. lxxx GTLS, p. 178. lxxxi HPS, chs 1-2. lxxxii O. Ewald, ‘Die deutsche Philosophie im Jahre 1911 [German Philosophy in 1911]’ (1912) 17 Kant-
Studien pp. 382-433 at 397-8; M?tall, Kelsen, pp. 7, 8, 15; H. Cohen, Ethik des reinen Willens [Ethic of
Pure Will] (1904). lxxxiii GTLS, pp. 99, 191-2. lxxxiv ATN, pp. 1-3, 22. lxxxv PTL, p. 47. lxxxvi GTLS, pp. 112-13; PTL, pp. 195-8. Kelsen does not confuse ‘legal order’ in this sense with the
[306] orderliness in society that such an order might ensure when it is effective; nor does he assume that law always creates order (PTL, p. 38). lxxxvii GTLS, p. 112. My example. lxxxviii E.g. E. Ehrlich, ‘Judicial Freedom of Decision: its Principles and Objects’ (1903) in various authors, Science of Legal Method, tr. E. Bruncken and L.B. Register (1917, 1969) 47-84; Fundamental
Principles of the Sociology of Law (1913; tr. W.L. Moll, reissued 1975). lxxxix E.g. PTL, chs. 5 and 8. The behaviour in the particular case may be logically relatable to the behaviour envisaged generally in the norm - but that is a subsidiary issue in the realm of ‘is’, concerning the norm not as ‘ought’ but as to its ‘content’: ATN, pp. 26, 39. Logic does not apply even to imagined norms, since these are the imagined meaning of an imagined act of will: ATN, pp. 187-8. Kelsen might have added that norms are usually imagined before they are called into existence by a real act of will.
Strictly, however, there is not a norm that may or may not be legally valid: validity in this sense is the norm’s ‘specific intellectual (ideell) existence’; strictly, ‘valid norm’ is a pleonasm: ATN, pp. 22, 136-8.
Not to be confused with ideal (ideal) existence, in e.g. a Platonic sense, or with real, material existence:
Kelsen in discussion reported in F.-M. Schm?lz (ed.), Das Naturrecht in der politischen Theorie (1963), p.
124. xc PTL, pp. 231, 234-5, 255. xci PTL, pp. 267-78. xcii PTL, p. 279, cp. 70-1. xciii PTL, pp. 279-80; where ‘Rechtsform und Staatsform (Form of Law and Form of State)’ (RR2, p.
283), is rendered as ‘Creation of Law and Form of Government’.

xciv PTL, pp. 9, 214, 226, 250. See also below, on ‘primitive’ law and international law. xcv PTL, p. 227. xcvi PTL, pp. 197-8. xcvii PTL, p. 196. xcviii ATN, pp. 6-7. xcix ATN, pp 201-2. c ATN, pp. 33-40. In characterising even moral orders as dynamic, Kelsen supposes that, just as legal norms are applied by organs of the legal order, moral norms are applied by organs of the moral order:
ATN, p. 42. The meaning of ‘organ’ here is diffuse. ci PTL, p. 222. cii FC, p. 118. This sense of ‘constitution’ seems to be Kelsen’s scientifically acceptable substitute for
‘sources of law’ in the validation sense, after he rejected that expression because it could also refer to historical sources: PTL, p. 233. ciii PTL, pp. 234, 236. civ Luk?cs, quoted in Varga, op. cit., n. 2, p. 148. cv PTL, pp. 211-14. Here Kelsen takes as ‘typical’ opponent his former pupil the Scandinavian ‘legal realist’ Ross: RR2, p. 215n. cvi ATN, pp. 111-14; PTL, pp. 10-12, 211-14 (translation modified). PTL, p. 214, repetitively renders
‘Recht’ as both ‘law’ and ‘right’, and ‘Macht’ as both ‘power’ and ‘might’: cp. RR2, pp. 220-1. Kelsen has in mind the doctrine of desuetude (desuetudo), known in the Romanist legal systems but not in the
Common Law systems. cvii PTL, p. 27. cviii ATN, pp. 43, 108, 115-16; GTLS, pp. 60-1. cix Criticised in GTLS, pp. 62-4. However, Austin’s Benthamite definition of the sovereign, as the person or body that is habitually obeyed and does not habitually obey any other, which is central to his definition of positive law, is also sociological. Kelsen sympathises with this side of Austin and only finds his way of using it contradictory. cx ATN, p. 112. cxi Hart’s primary/secondary distinction is in the same direction as Kelsen’s, but on a different criterion:
H.L.A. Hart, The Concept of Law (1961), ch. 5. Hart’s ‘secondary rules’ fall into Kelsen’s class of
‘dependent norms’, which in their dependence on sanctioned norms are indirectly coercive: cp. PTL, pp.

54-8. For recent comparisons between Hart and Kelsen, see Beyleveld and Brownsword, `Normative
Positivism’, op. cit., n. 9; van de Kerchove and Ost, op. cit., n. 9 (relating the work of Hart and Kelsen to systems theory). cxii FC, p. 111. cxiii E.g. PTL, pp. 221, 255. cxiv PTL, pp. 33-42. cxv ATN, pp. 115-16; cp. FC, p. 112. cxvi PTL, pp. 59-69, 111-14. cxvii ATN, pp. 92-9, 265-6; PTL, pp. 68-9 (translation modified; RR2, p. 71). This holds even for the
‘general principles of law’ that the International Court of Justice is authorised by its Statute to apply:
ATN, pp. 99, 266. cxviii PTL, pp. 33-42. PTL appears later to deny this extension (p. 111), but the denial is not in RR2 (p.
117); cp. PTL, p. 114. cxix His retirement lecture was ‘What is Justice’ (1952) in WIJ, pp. 1-24. See also other essays in that book and ‘Das Problem der Gerechtigkeit’, op. cit., n. 27; J. Bjarup, ‘Kelsen’s Theory of Law and
Philosophy of Justice’ in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 273-303. cxx The Law of the United Nations (1950), p. xiii; cp. GTLS, p. 15; ‘The Law as a Specific Social
Technique’ (1941) in WIJ, pp. 231-56. cxxi See e.g. D. Held, Introduction to Critical Theory (1980), ch. 5. cxxii Cp. A. Renaut, ‘Kelsen et le Probl?me de l’Autonomie du Droit [Kelsen and the Problem of the
Autonomy of Law]’ (1986) 9 Cahiers de Philosophie Politique et Juridique pp. 7-21 at 21. Kelsen’s position is also vulnerable to Foucault’s critique of technical rationality as a form of power in which the subject is denied and reconstructed - although the pure theory may also be taken as useful to a Foucauldian perspective in identifying law as a technique of disciplinary power: see esp. CTL, pp. 102-5. cxxiii ATN, p. 105. This refinement appears to be new in ATN. cxxiv ATN, pp. 195-6. The earlier view reeks, to him, of the old theory of legislation as merely the finding and promulgation of natural laws (familiar in Common Law countries as the fiction that judges do not make law). cxxv ATN, pp. 115, 349-50. Previously, Kelsen had rejected Gray’s approach as supposing that only individual norms exist: PTL, p. 255. cxxvi ATN, p. 196n.

cxxvii ATN, pp. 199-200. cxxviii ‘Was ist die Reine Rechtslehre?’, op. cit., n. 73, at 616-18 (this passage tr. in Weinberger, op. cit., n. 45, pp. 189-90).
Thus legal norms do not ‘teach’, only legal propositions describing them: ATN, pp. 103-6. In Kelsen’s terms, the educative role of law, e.g. in anti-discrimination laws, would operate through description of legal norms, mainly in the press. cxxix ATN, p. 190. A reference to the basic norm as ‘the constitution in the legal-logical sense (die
Verfassung im rechtslogischen Sinne)’ (RR2, p. 232; changed to ‘the “constitution” in the transcendentallogical sense’ in PTL, p. 226) might be understood to refer to the logicality of legal propositions, including a basic norm. The occasional references to ‘the logical relation of norms’ (PTL, p. 339) and
‘contradiction’ between norms (PTL, pp. 206, 350, 352) are harder to explain: since, however, they are made in passing, there is room to take them to refer infelicitously to the norm as presented in the legal proposition. The alternative, and of course defensible, view has produced the impression that Kelsen thought logic did apply to norms and, in the 1960s, changed his mind: e.g. Weinberger, op. cit., n. 45, pp.
192-4. R.J. Vernengo valuably argues that Kelsen usually saw logic as having ‘an epistemological tinge according to the traditional Kantian heritage’ or later, ‘under the influence of phenomenology, an ontological foundation’ and became familiar with modern formal logic only ‘in his last years and then not without ambiguities’: ‘About an Empowerment Theory of Legal Norms and Some Related Problems’
(1989) 2 Ratio Juris 299-303 at 300. cxxx ATN, pp. 203-5. The third case echoes Holmes’ definition of law as the ‘prophecies of what the courts will do in fact’: O.W. Holmes, ‘The Path of the Law’ (1897) 10 Harvard Law Rev. pp. 457-78 at
461. But the echo is distorted: these prophecies would be expressed in laws of law, not legal norms themselves; yet in any case such prophecy belongs to the realm of legal advice, not scientific description:
PTL, pp. 87-9; GTLS, pp. 165-8.
[307] cxxxi ATN, pp. 99-101. cxxxii PTL, p. 18. cxxxiii ATN, pp. 101-3. See also papers by Harris, Paulson and Weyland in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n.
8. cxxxiv ATN, pp. 81, 106-7; PTL, p. 245-50. cxxxv ATN, pp. 351-2. cxxxvi ATN, pp. 25ff. Kelsen awkwardly conceives self-addressing as a relation between oneself as ‘ego’

and as ‘alter ego’: ATN, pp. 23-4. cxxxvii ATN, pp. 39-43, 191-3. cxxxviii Cp. ATN, p. 37. cxxxix PTL, pp. 191-2. cxl ATN, p. 7; PTL, pp. 165-6 (translation modified: RR2, pp. 169-70), 169. cxli PTL, chs. 6 and 7; GTLS, pt. 2. cxlii PTL, pp. 280-4; GTLS, pp. 201-7. cxliii PTL, p. 177. cxliv PTL, pp. 145-68, 256-62. cxlv PTL, pp. 280-4 (translation modified: RR2, pp. 284-7). Kelsen actually writes ‘systematic’ where he clearly means ‘systemic’. cxlvi ATN, pp. 108-11; PTL, pp. 114-17, 125-45. cxlvii PTL, p. 169. cxlviii PTL, pp. 117, 168-91; GTLS, pp. 93-109, 377. cxlix PTL, pp. 32, 35ff, 266-7, 284-319. Throughout PTL, ‘staatliche Rechtsordnung’ is rendered as
‘national legal order’—which both dilutes the key thesis of the identity of (total) legal order and state, and implies that Kelsen na?vely assumes that ‘state’ and ‘nation’ always coincide. cl PTL, pp. 320-4. cli PTL, pp. 324-8. clii PTL, pp. 328-33; reading ‘state’ instead of ‘national’. cliii ‘The Pure Theory of Law and Analytical Jurisprudence’, op. cit., n. 68, p. 287. cliv As Hart says, ‘we might as well attempt to deduce from the existence of the history of warfare or the science of strategy that all wars are one or all armies are one’: ‘Kelsen’s Doctrine of the Unity of Law’, op. cit., n. 6, p. 322. clv PTL, pp. 328-47. Cp. GTLS, esp. p. 388; Peace Through Law (1944). The issue, of course, affects questions of federalism. clvi The expression of the distinction here depends on the distinction between legal norm and legal proposition. clvii Kelsen’s fairly early characterisation of the basic norm as a ‘minimum’ of natural law (‘Natural Law
Doctrine and Legal Positivism’, op. cit., n. 20, p. 437) cannot survive his later distinguishing between legal norm and legal proposition. What applies to the distinction between international and local law also

applies to issues of federalism. clviii Esp. FC; PTL, pp. 193-211 (translation modified), 223. When Kelsen expresses the difference between the two situations by saying that in the robber’s case ‘an evil will be inflicted’ whereas in that of the tax official ‘an evil ought to be inflicted’ (PTL, p. 45), he anticipates Hart’s ‘gunman situation’ distinction between being obliged and having an obligation: Hart, op. cit., n. 111, pp. 19ff, 80ff. clix PTL, pp. 44-50; cp. Augustine, City of God, bk. 4, ch. 4. Hart appears to begin from a Weberian standpoint, yet Hart’s ‘external point of view’ applies only to values and not to description of what is to be valued, and from Kelsen’s standpoint Hart’s ‘recognition’ theory is vulnerable to Kelsen’s much earlier criticisms of Bierling: Hart, The Concept of Law, op. cit., n. 111, passim; PTL, p. 218n.; J. Raz, op. cit., n.
64. clx FC, p. 117; ATN, pp. 206-7; cp. H. Vaihinger, The Philosophy of ‘As If’ (1911; tr. C.K. Ogden, 2nd edn. 1935), pp. 97-100. Kelsen had been aware of Vaihinger’s book and its conceptualisation of fictions since at least 1919: ‘Zur Theorie der juristischen Fiktionen: mit besonderer Ber?cksichtigung von
Vaihingers Philosophie des Als-ob [On the Theory of Legal Fictions: with particular reference to
Vaihinger’s Philosophy of As-If]’ (1919) in WRS, pp. 1215-41. The ‘fiction’ version of the ‘basic norm’ concept was first announced in discussion reported in Schm?lz, op. cit., n. 89, pp. 119-20. The full argument is given in FC and ATN. It is presented only partially when it first appears in English: ‘On the
Pure Theory of Law’, op. cit., n. 9, p. 6.
[308] clxi ‘Was ist ein Rechtsakt? [What is a Legal Act?]’ (1952) in WRS, pp. 1381-93 at 1390-1. clxii PTL, p. 204n. clxiii C. Martyniak, ‘Le Probl?me de l’Unit? des Fondements de la Th?orie de Droit de Kelsen [The
Problem of the Unity of the Bases of Kelsen’s Theory of Law]’ (1937) 7 Archives de Philosophie du Droit et de Sociologie Juridique 166-90 at 185; compare H. Klenner, Rechtsleere [A Legal Void (an awful pun on Rechtslehre, legal theory)] (1972), p. 39. clxiv Cp. N. Lavand, ‘Hans Kelsen ou le Cubisme [Hans Kelsen or Cubism]’ (1986) 9 Cahiers de
Philosophie Politique et Juridique 95-114. clxv J. Wr?blewski, ‘Kelsen, the Is-Ought Dichotomy and Naturalistic Fallacy [sic]’ (1981) 138 Revue
Internationale de Philosophie 508-17 at 515. I have suggested elsewhere a philosophical equivalent of paint and canvas: ‘Closure and the Legal Norm: an Essay in Critique of Law’ (1987) 50 Modern Law Rev.
908-33 at 916-22. clxvi Varga, op. cit., n. 2, p. 137.

clxvii See, further, my ‘Kelsen and the Exegetical Tradition’ in Tur and Twining, op. cit., n. 8, pp. 123-47;
‘Closure and the Legal Norm’, op. cit., n. 165; P. Amselek, ‘Kelsen et les Contradictions du Positivisme
Juridique [Kelsen and the Contradictions of Legal Positivism]’ (1981) 138 Revue Internationale de
Philosophie 460-73. clxviii As does Pashukanis, op. cit., n. 6. clxix Thus, Kelsen’s critique of Pashukanis does not take seriously Pashukanis’s analyses of ‘legal fetishism’: CTL, pp. 89-111. clxx On the relation of the pure theory to Marxism, see generally the Hans Kelsen-Institut symposium
Reine Rechtslehre und marxistische Rechtstheorie [Pure Theory of Law and Marxist Theory of Law]
(1978). Kelsen fell into the error of understanding Marxism solely as the Eastern Marxism of economic determinism, whose capacity for critical legal theory was very limited: CTL, especially p. vii. However,
Kelsen’s opposition to Marxism was not bigoted: his willingness to take Marxist thinking seriously (e.g.
‘Allgemeine Rechtslehre im Lichte materialistischer Geschichtsauffassung [General Theory of Law in the
Light of the Materialist Conception of History]’ (1931) 66 Archiv fur Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik
449-521) nearly got him into an extermination camp. clxxi Although occasionally he examines common modes of expression, he does so speculatively, in order to clarify his own vocabulary; he does not treat such expressions as evidence of meaning, in the manner of
‘ordinary language’ philosophy or of semiotics (e.g. the discussion of ‘law’, ‘Recht’, etc. in PTL, pp. 30-
1). The greater attention to language in his last book is just painful: for one thing, his conception of linguistic meaning is wholly referential, with no grasp of Wittgenstein’s (or Bentham’s) conception of meaning as use, though Wittgenstein is occasionally cited (ATN, pp. 24-32). Indeed, his differentiation between an act of will or thought and a speech act may be a deliberate evasion of linguistic philosophy.
However, Kelsen’s attention solely to logic does not, by itself, exclude the possibility of adding into his theory an examination of legal norms as rhetoric. clxxii Criticism that is merely negative tends to preserve the terms of that which it negates; to emancipate, criticism needs to transform the subject matter of the critique. clxxiii See C. Schmitt, ‘The Leader Protects the Law’ (1934), tr. I. Stewart (forthcoming in International J. of the Sociology of Law).

© Copyright 2001-2004. www.legaltheory.org
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M ARXIST J URISPRUDENCE
T UTOR : C HRIS B EHRENS
S TUDENT : D AVID R ISSTROM : 9106105

In the social production of their existence, men inevitably enter into definite relations, which are independent of their will, namely relations of production appropriate to a given stage in the development of their material forces of production. The totality of these relations constitute the economic structure of society, the real foundation, on which arises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness.
Karl Marx, Preface to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy , 521.53
Marxist jurisprudence posits that legal relations are determined by the economic base of particular kinds of society and modes of production.54 Marxist thought’s primary focus rests on political economy and the corresponding power relations within society, providing the most extensive critique to date of liberal tradition on which many of our legal presuppositions are founded. To this end, this essay examines law, its structure, motivation and consequences for justice and rights from a Marxian jurisprudential perspective.
M
ARXISM AND
L
AW
Your ideas are but the outgrowth of the conditions of your bourgeois production and bourgeois property, just as your jurisprudence is but the will of your class made into a law for all, a will, whose essential character and direction are determined by the economical conditions of existence in your class.
53 Marx, K., ‘Preface to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy’ in Karl Marx
and Frederick Engels Selected Works, Moscow: Progress Press, 1989 521.
54 Balbus, I., ‘Commodity Form and Legal Form’ in Reasons, C., The Sociology of Law,
Toronto: Butterworths, 1978 83 .

Karl Marx, The Communist Manifesto , 24.
Law is not of central concern to Marxists jurisprudentialists, as law in the capitalist mode of production is seen as an instrument of class oppression perpetuated as a consequence of its particular historical, social and economic structures. Indeed, wishing to avoid liberal predisposition towards legal fetishism, Marxists deny the degree of importance jurisprudence typically affords law in analyses of the composition and determination of social formations.55
W
HAT IS
M
ARXISM
?
Marxist theories of political economy, expounded upon the notions of Karl Marx (1818-
83) and Friedrich Engels (1820-95), consider law an instrument of class oppression that benefits the ruling class through oppression of the proletariat. The common law system of criminal and civil law, which protects personal and private property rights, as well as facilitating predicability in social life, is regarded as “no more than a system of coercion designed to protect bourgeois ownership of the means of production”.56
Yet, despite Marx and Engels’ failure to develop a systematic approach to law57, and claims of failure in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, Marxism’s materialist emphasis, particularly concerning the notion of alienation and its consequences as outlined by Ollman58, assists its contemporary paucity.59
H
ISTORICAL
M
ATERIALISM
55 Collins, H., Marxism and Law, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987 98.
56 Barry, N., An Introduction to Modern Political Theory, London: Macmillan, 1989 53.
57 Cain, M., and Hunt, A., 1979, Marx and Engels on Law, London: Academic Press.
58 Ollman, B.,1976, Alienation; Marx’s Conception of Man in Capitalist Society, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
59 Collins, H., op cit., 10 .

Men have history because they must produce their life, and because they must produce it moreover in a certain way: this is determined by their physical organisation; their consciousness is determined in just the same way.
Marx, The German Ideology , 49.
The determinist relationship between the economic base and social superstructure, known as Historical Materialism, is first described in The German Ideology .60 Historic materialism contends that the catalyst behind societal evolution is materially determined, being predicated on contradictions between the forces and means of production. As “it is not consciousness that determines life, but life that determines consciousness”61, law is a reflection of the economic base, rather than the reserve as liberals such as Dworkin would propose.
Under increasing industrialisation Marx foresaw crystallisation of society into two classes; bourgeoisie and proletariat. These relations of production developed due to particular forces of production under the capitalist mode of production that coerced the bourgeoisie to extract surplus value as profit from the proletariat. Laws, as Marx detailed in Capital , as one element of the social superstructure, assisted in forcing down wages.62
Collins characterises two Marxist approaches; crude materialism, in which law is simply a reflection of the economic base; and secondly, class instrumentalism; in which rules emerge because the ruling class want them to.63 This distinction continues as an area of debate, as demonstrated by O'Malley’s attacks of Quinney and Chambliss’ crude materialist claim that law is a direct tool of powerful classes or groups, favouring the
60 Marx, K., and Engels, F., 1976, The German Ideology, Moscow: Progress Press.
61 Marx, K., The German Ideology, Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1976 42.
62 Marx, K., ‘Bloody Legislation against the Expropriated, from the end of the 15th. century: Forcing Down Wages by Acts of Parliament’ in Capital, 1986 686.
63 Collins, H., Marxism and Law, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987 24.

more interactionist, and less conflict premised theory of legislative change.64 The
Relative Autonomy Thesis is such a theory. Contemporary Marxists such as Marcuse, suggest mechanisms analogous to the Factory Acts and Vagrancy Acts remain instruments of the ruling class perpetuating conditions reinforcing this arrangement, especially in relation to the alienating nature of modern technological rationality.65
B
ASE AND
S
UPERSTRUCTURE IN THE
C
APITALIST
M
ODE OF
P
RODUCTION
Much of our law, such as Contract, Property and Commercial Law, is predicated on the existence of the capitalist mode of production. As Marx’s major project was the critique of capitalism, irrespective of a belief in revolution, Marxism has a great deal to notify us of in our contemporary jurisprudence. Marxism postulates that in the social production of their existence, people, independent of their will, enter into definite relations of production appropriate to a given stage in the development of the materials forces of production.66 Consequently the societal superstructure, including but not dominated by law, amongst other hegemonic devices, is determined by the economic base and the organisation of power in society.67 Marxist jurisprudence concentrates on the relationship between law and particular historical, social and economic structures, seeing law, unlike liberal theory, as having no legitimate primacy. Frequently encountered legal rules and doctrine, argue Gramsci68 and Althusser69, establish modern liberal jurisprudential hegemony.70
S
CIENTIFIC
S
OCIALISM
64 O’Malley, P., ‘Theories on Structure Versus Causal Determination’ in Tomasic (ed.)
Legislation and Society in Australia, Allen and Unwin, 1980 140.
65 Marcuse, H., One-Dimensional Man, Boston: Beacon Press, 1968 xv.
66 Marx. K., Preface To ‘A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy’ in Karl Marx
and Friedrich Engels Selected Works, 1989 521.
67 Collins, H., op cit., 9.
68 Gramsci, A., Selections from the Prison Notebooks, London: Lawrence and Wishart. 1971 195.
69 Althusser, L., For Marx, London: New Left Books, 1977 114.
70 Collins, H., Marxism and Law, Oxford University Press, 1982 50.

Marxist epistemology, with dialectic materialism as the centrepiece of Marxism’s scientific claim, proclaims in real life, where speculation ends, positive science; the representation of the practical activity, of the practical progress of development of men, begins.71 Whilst Marx’s materialism does not refer to the assumption of a logically argued ontological position, Marx adopts an undoubtedly Realist position, in which ideas are the product of the human brain in sensory transaction with a knowable material world.72
These claims contrast with those of natural lawyers such as Aquinas who believe religion should normatively guide law; those desiring utilitarian tendencies such as Austin and
Bentham; or objective consistency as some positivists such as Hart, or perhaps integrity, as perhaps only Dworkin can fully endorse. Nevertheless, whilst debate as to the scientific credentials of Marxism continue, Collins claims Marxism’s desire for class reductionism to explain the dynamic interaction between man and nature risks misconstruing the diversity of social phenomena in order to confirm the ‘rigid systemic framework of historical materialism’.73
L AW AND THE D ICTATORSHIP OF THE P ROLETARIAT
Law, morality, religion, are to him so many bourgeois prejudices, behind which lurk in ambush as many bourgeois interests.
Karl Marx, The Communist Manifesto , 18
71 Marx, K., The German Ideology, Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1976 38.
72 Giddens, A., Capitalism and Modern Social Theory: An Analysis of the writings of Marx,
Durkheim and Weber, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971 21.
73 Collins, H., op cit., 45.

Marxism saw development of the relations of production dialectically, as both inevitable, and creating hostility. Accelerated by increased class consciousness, as the contradictions of capitalism perforate the bourgeois hegemony, inevitable revolution and a dictatorship of the proletariat would facilitate “socialised production upon a predetermined plan.”74 Given the scientific nature of Historic Materialism, and upon recognising the role the state and its laws supply, the proletariat will seize political power and turn the means of production into state property75, then according to Marxist jurisprudence, “As soon as there is no longer any class to be held in subjection; as soon as class rule and the individual struggle for existence … are removed, nothing more remains to be repressed.”76
C
OMMUNISM AND THE
E
ND OF
L
AW
The meaning of history, that man’s destiny lies in creation of a Communist society where
“law will wither away”77 , as men experience a higher stage of being amounting to the realisation of true freedom, will after transition through Socialism, be achieved.
J
USTICE AND
R
IGHTS
Communism abolishes eternal truths, it abolishes all religion, and all morality, instead of constituting them on a new basis.
Karl Marx, The Communist Manifesto , 24
Marxism argues there is no absolute concept of justice, justice being dependent on the requirements of a given mode of production.78 Lukes claims Marx believes justice,
74 Engels, F., Socialism: Utopian and Scientific, Moscow: Progress Publishers: 1954 79.
75 Ibid., 73.
76 Ibid., 73.
77 Marx, K., The German Ideology, Moscow Progress Press, 1976 51.
78 Wacks, R., Jurisprudence, London: Blackstone Press, 1987 175.

“Does not provide a set of independent rational standards by which to measure social relations, but must itself always in turn be explained as arising from and controlling those relations”.79
Marxism believes that rights are simply a bourgeois creation, and that justice is something only the rich can achieve in capitalist modes of production. Anatole France
(1894) encapsulated this distinction between formal and substantive justice as entitlement, drawing attention to “the majestic egalitarianism of the law, which forbids rich and poor alike to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets and to steal bread.”80
Formal justice as entitlement therefore allows equal opportunity to the individual without any reference to the unequal ability to use it, with rights only being anti-socialist if individuals are taken to be “inherently and irredeemably self-interested.”81
Marxist dispute over how rights and justice will operate in practice are answered by the materialist proposition that the “distribution of burdens and benefits should not be taken in accordance with a book of rules, but in the light of the objectives of social policy.”82
Campbell distinguishes between Socialist and Bourgeois Rights, arguing that an interest based theory of rights, rather than the contract based notions such as Pashukanis’ incorporated in his commodity exchange theory of law83, allow protection of the individual84, thereby negating the logical connection between rights and justice.85
I
N
S
UMMARY
79 Lukes, S., Marxism, Morality and Justice’ in Parkinson, G., Marx and Marxisms,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982 197.
80 Gamble, A., An Introduction to Modern Political and Social Thought, Hampshire: Macmillan,
1987 101.
81 Campbell, T., Justice, London: Macmillan, 1988 189.
82 Campbell, T., The Left and Rights, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1983 33.
83 Warrington, R., ‘Pashukanis and the commodity form theory’ in Sugarman, D., Legality,
Ideology and the State, London: Academic Press, 1983 43.
84 Campbell, T. 1983, op cit., 123.
85 Ibid., 124.

Marxist jurisprudence and Marxist critiques of law provide invaluable challenges to our thinking as people under law in a liberal democratic society. This essay is only the briefest of introductions in a field rich with reflections concerning the assumptions we construct into our law. Whether you accept the claims of its doctrine, its influence on shaping the society we live in is more significant than most of us realise.
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