December 24, 2008

THE CONSTITUTION OF ELECTORAL SPEECH LAW: THE SUPREME COURT AND THE FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION IN CAMPAIGNS AND ELECTIONS

by Brian K. Pinaire. Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 2008. 368pp. Cloth $60.00. ISBN: 9780804757249.

Reviewed by Thomas G. Walker, Department of Political Science, Emory University. Email: polstw [at] emory.edu.

pp.1135-1138

Brian Pinaire, a Lehigh University political scientist, has produced an intriguing volume that traces the constitutional development of freedom of speech within the context of campaigns and elections. In doing so Pinaire explains the process by which two seemingly distinct areas of the law (the individual’s right to freedom of expression and the government’s authority to regulate elections) have become intertwined. The confluence of these two jurisprudential streams occurred as the Supreme Court struggled with the often-competing values of protecting political speech and guaranteeing the integrity of the electoral process. The book is divided into two sections. In the first, Pinaire develops the theoretical concepts and relationships that guide his understanding of electoral speech law. This is followed by four case studies, or “constitutional episodes,” in which Pinaire uses selected Supreme Court decisions to illustrate his theoretical argument.

The author first identifies two constituent concepts, “the marketplace of ideas” and “electoral superintendence,” that underscore the themes running throughout his analysis. The marketplace of ideas metaphor, of course, was introduced into our constitutional conversations by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. in his dissenting opinion in ABRAMS v. UNITED STATES (1919). Holmes wrote that “the best test of truth is the power of the thought to get itself accepted in the competition of the market . . . . That at any rate is the theory of our Constitution.” The supporters of this view believe that society is best served when expression, especially political expression, is left unfettered by government.

By electoral superintendence, Pinaire refers to the Supreme Court’s role as a guardian of the citizens’ right to free and fair elections. Beginning as early as the first White Primary cases (e.g., NIXON v. HERNDON, 1927) and accelerating after BAKER v. CARR (1962), the Court has embraced the task of serving as a referee in the political process. This has been especially so when questions of electoral inequality and issues of real or perceived corruption have been raised.

The Supreme Court’s early decisions on electoral speech emphasized a classic conception of free expression that approximated Holmes’ notion of the marketplace of ideas. This position rests on the belief that more speech is preferable to less speech. Or, as the dissenting Justice Scalia stated in McCONNELL v. FEDERAL ELECTION COMMISSION (2003), [*1136] “Given the premises of democracy, there is no such thing as too much speech.” This conception assumes that truth will most readily emerge from an uninhibited exchange of ideas and that any regulation of the marketplace is seen as unnecessary paternalism.

The classic position received its first serious challenges in the reapportionment cases of the 1960s and the campaign finance controversies that emerged in the 1970s. Here the Supreme Court confronted questions of participatory equality arising from the realization that institutional rules and resource differences may make the marketplace of ideas an arena in which not everyone can participate equally. The justices also began expressing a concern not only for the rights of the speaker but also of the audience (see, for example, RED LION BROADCASTING v. FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMISSION, 1969).

The recognition that imbalances emerge in the electoral process led various policymakers, scholars, and judges to argue the necessity of regulating campaigns and elections. As Byron White wrote for a six-justice majority in the ballot access case of BURDICK v. TAKUSHI (1992), “Common sense, as well as constitutional law, compels the conclusion that the government must play an active role in structuring elections; ‘as a practical matter there must be a substantial regulation of elections if they are to be fair and honest and if some sort of order, rather than chaos, is to accompany the democratic processes.’” With such decisions the Court acknowledged government’s custodial role over the institutions and processes through which elections take place. Often the resulting regulations allow the interests of equality and electoral integrity to trump the free speech values promoted by the free marketplace conception of political expression.

Consequently, three different views of electoral law have emerged: the classic conception, the equality conception, and the custodial conception. In examining how these competing approaches influence constitutional development, Pinaire examines four rhetorical modes of argument that the justices have used to express their sincere as well as strategic preferences. The “historical mode” advances the importance of nation’s deeply held traditions and values. It interprets government efforts to regulate electoral speech in light of the longstanding beliefs of the American people, many of which date back to the Founding. The “empirical mode” places an emphasis on data and the inferences that can be drawn from quantitative evidence. In campaign finance cases, for example, arguments advanced from this perspective would examine the amounts, sources, and recipients of money contributed and derive inferences about the influence of those funds on the electoral process. The “aspirational mode” pays heed to the goals of a self-governing people, seeking the proper relationship between political speech and the ideals of a representative government. In this rhetorical mode great significance is placed on the capability of citizens in a democracy to evaluate political arguments and make [*1137] political choices. And finally, the “precautionary mode” of argument acknowledges that human and institutional failures on occasion jeopardize the integrity of our democratic processes. It recognizes the necessity of preventive efforts to minimize such events.

To link these theoretical concepts to the actual decisions of the Supreme Court, Pinaire examines the thirty-nine electoral speech cases decided by Court between 1947 and 2006. He categorizes these decisions into five groups based on the targets of the challenged government regulation: political activists, candidates, campaign finances, newspapers, and political parties. He also classifies the positions taken by each justice who participated in these decisions. The results show that the initial electoral speech decisions were largely considered according to classic conceptions, with equality and custodial positions emerging later. Some justices have been generally consistent in their approach, such as Antonin Scalia and Clarence Thomas (classic conception). Others have demonstrated sharp breaks in their patterns. For example, both David Souter and Sandra Day O’Connor began their careers usually relying on a classic approach but later switched allegiance to a more custodial position.

Pinaire’s analysis of the justices’ behavior leads him to argue that jurists view campaign and election speech much differently than expression rights exercised in other settings. Taking strong issue with attitudinalists, Pinaire rejects the view that liberal/conservative measures of justices’ preferences can explain electoral speech outcomes. Instead, speech within the electoral context is unique because of its role in the political decision making of a self-governing people. As a consequence, Pinaire argues that only a more nuanced approach can effectively deal with the interwoven interests of both political speech freedoms and the need for honest and fair elections.

The second section of the book consists of four chapters with each containing an in-depth look at a single Supreme Court decision. In selecting his cases, the author’s goal was to identify a representative set of rulings. His final choices were BURSON v. FREEMAN (a 1992 political electioneering case), MCINTYRE v. OHIO ELECTIONS COMMISSION (a 1995 campaign literature disclosure law challenge), BUCKLEY v. AMERICAN CONSTITUTIONAL LAW FOUNDATION (a 1999 petition regulation case), and NIXON v. SHRINK MISSOURI GOVERNMENT PAC (a 2000 campaign finance decision). The cases varied not only in subject matter, but also in court of origin and decisional outcome. The case studies rely on archival research (legal documents, journalistic accounts, court opinions) as well as interviews with key individuals who participated in the cases. The chapters focusing on these four “constitutional episodes” apply Pinaire’s theoretical concepts and carefully lead the reader from the origins of the dispute through the Supreme Court’s opinion deciding the case. The analysis explores the conceptual constituents, the rhetorical modes, and the cognitive contours that shaped the Court’s [*1138] interpretation of the Constitution.

Pinaire expresses hope that his book will be of interest to a wide variety of scholars as well as to concerned citizens. Realistically, however, THE CONSTITUTION OF ELECTORAL SPEECH LAW is likely have a much narrower audience. Some scholars of the law, especially those who prefer to study the judicial system from a more behavioral or positivist perspective, will not be attracted to the approach Pinaire takes. And few members of the general public will have the necessary background to appreciate the theoretical arguments Pinaire advances.

Nevertheless, Pinaire’s volume is a worthy read for those interested in legal development. This is especially so for individuals seeking a better understanding of how law evolves through the Supreme Court’s expounding of the Constitution. Readers should be forewarned, however, that much of the material is rough sledding, especially in the chapters that develop theory and concepts. As exemplified by 83 pages of endnotes, the author goes to great lengths to provide rich documentation for his argument. This is a strength of the book, yet at times references and quotations are embedded into the text to a degree that the smooth flow of the argument is interrupted. Moreover, the work is densely written and characterized by complex sentences that too frequently exceed 100 words. For scholars, however, who are steeped in the subject matter and comfortable with Pinaire’s approach the book has much to offer. Few other volumes are devoted to an understanding of how the Supreme Court blends disparate lines of legal thought. It is a welcome addition to the literature.

CASE REFERENCES:
ABRAMS v. UNITED STATES, 250 U.S. 616 (1919).

BAKER v. CARR, 369 U.S. 186 (1962).

BUCKLEY v. AMERICAN CONSTITUTIONAL LAW FOUNDATION, 525 U.S. 182 (1999).

BURDICK v. TAKUSHI, 504 U.S. 428 (1992).

BURSON v. FREEMAN, 504 U.S. 191 (1992).

McCONNELL v. FEDERAL ELECTION COMMISSION, 540 U.S. 93 (2003).

MCINTYRE v. OHIO ELECTIONS COMMISSION, 514 U.S. 334 (1995).

NIXON v. HERNDON, 273 U.S. 536 (1927).

NIXON v. SHRINK MISSOURI GOVERNMENT PAC, 528 U.S. 377 (2000).

RED LION BROADCASTING v. FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMISSION, 395 U.S. 367 (1969).


© Copyright 2008 by the author, Thomas G. Walker.

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FUTURE IMPERFECT: TECHNOLOGY AND FREEDOM IN AN UNCERTAIN WORLD

by David D. Friedman. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. 300pp. Hardcover. £17.99/$30.00. ISBN: 9780521877329. eBook format. $24.00. ISBN: 9780511421402.

Reviewed by Debora Halbert, Department of Political Science, University of Hawaii at Manoa. Email: halberd [at] hawaii.edu.

pp.1131-1134

According to the introduction of David Friedman’s new book, FUTURE IMPERFECT, the project grew out of a seminar on future technologies he taught. The goal of the book is to develop multiple scenarios that problematize the implications of technology for our future. Despite his futures focus, however, he does not endorse long-range futures planning because, as he puts it, the future is radically uncertain. Given that we might not even exist as a species in the next 50 years (p.320), there is little reason to plan beyond the much more realistic event horizon of the next few decades. Thus, he limits his discussion to the next thirty years because as he claims, “beyond that my crystal ball, badly blurred at best, becomes useless; further future dissolves into mist” (p.11).

While Friedman limits his future scenarios in time, the scope of topics under consideration is wide-ranging. The topics covered in the twenty-two chapters range from problems associated with the growing popularity of the Internet to nanotechnology and space exploration. Friedman claims to focus on the legal and social challenges associated with technological change, but in almost every chapter he tends to invoke rhetorical questions instead of structured analysis. As a result, the book includes vague thought experiments that are not grounded in current trends or emerging issues. These hypotheticals may have been useful when teaching a seminar on technology a decade ago, but in the context of an uncertain and always moving future, many are out of date in the context of the futures scenario building he attempts here.

For example, when discussing privacy, encryption, e-commerce and copyright law, Friedman deals with important issues but offers dated examples in support of his analysis. His chapter on encryption describes the policy debates over public key encryption that have been ongoing for the last twenty years, but with no new future implications. The same is true for copyright. Friedman simply re-hashes old debates without linking his speculation to the controversial aspects of the law currently under discussion, including the problems associated with property rights in nanotechnology – one of the other future scenarios discussed in the book.

Nanotechnology itself is poorly handled. This is an issue that may not yet be entirely understood by the general population and also might move us beyond Friedman’s 30-year future timeline. However, in positing the possibilities of a nanotech future, Friedman cites K. Eric Drexler’s original 1980s discussion of “grey goo,” hardly [*1132] the last word in the debate. Friedman is concerned with government centralization, a theme that emerges throughout the book, and somehow nanotechnology will lead to dictatorship, but this scenario is never fully developed. Alternative scenarios are not discussed at all, which is a shame, given the implications of nanotechnology, including the possibility of a post-materialist future that renders scarcity and disease obsolete.

FUTURE IMPERFECT not only deals with issues of computer technology, but also the intersection of social institutions and technology, including reproductive technologies, marriage, and aging. Friedman raises a multitude of issues associated with reproductive technologies, primarily as they impact the lives of men. While Friedman acknowledges that reproductive technologies will change our definition of the family and expand the possible numbers of parents a single child might have, he spends at least as much time considering the importance of determining paternity and sexual access to beautiful women.

In Chapter 14, Friedman’s hypothetical asks us to consider the problems associated with paternity testing if it were required at the birth of all children. The scenario posits that females seek out the best genes for reproductive purposes and then often mislead their partners about the paternity of the resulting children. Mandatory paternity testing would be a way for fathers to determine if they are really the biological father (p.203). It is not clear why this is a future scenario, or even a hypothetical that needs testing. The technology already exits, people can request a paternity test if they want, and at best such a plan only requires a simple change in policy.

Despite the duplicity of women (and geese as well, evidently), we learn that “One function of the marriage institutions of most human societies we know of, past and present, is to give males a reasonable confidence of paternity by providing that under most circumstances no more than one male has sexual access to each female” (p.205). So, we understand that marriage has had a traditional social function that could be disrupted. What is not clear is why any of this should matter. Friedman suggests later in the chapter that there is the possibility of a multiplicity of parents (biological, surrogate, and so on). However, instead of following this trend towards the destruction of the nuclear family, he speculates on whether male jealousy is hardwired, thus making alternative marriages and social pairings unlikely (p.206). We are already dealing with the legal ramification of test-tube babies, surrogate mothers and sperm donors. It is not clear that Friedman’s focus on biological determinism and male jealousy sparked by female infidelity (male infidelity seems acceptable) makes the future any different from the past.

When dealing with the “problem” of aging in Chapter 17, we are again asked to consider the issue from a male perspective. Friedman poses a question about the possibility of extending life for hundreds of years or perhaps even attaining immortality. Friedman states [*1133] that “my own guess is that the problem of aging will be solved, although not necessarily in time to do me any good” (p.251). His “guess” is not supported with evidence. Instead, the endnotes include some science fiction references, a 1992 Consumer Report article on antioxidents, a NATIONAL REVIEW essay on cryonics, and some narrative footnotes on population growth and congressional terms. However, it is illuminating that the real problem with aging is associated with male access to women. As Friedman speculates,
While thinking about how to spend your second century, you might want to consider the social consequences of eliminating the markers of age. In a world where aging is entirely under our control, a young woman of 20 might be dating a young man 100 years older than she is – and he might or might not tell her. The same thing already happens online, where a flirtatious twelve-year-old girl may be almost anything, including a forty-year-old FBI agent. If you, a grandfather with a retirement pension and a century behind you, could go back to college as a freshman, would you? Part-time? Lots of cute girls. The women of your own generation are just as cute, thanks to the same advanced biotech that makes you eighteen again, but the real thing has its charms. Perhaps. (p.256).


I guess at one level I am happy women will be able to take advantage of anti-aging technology to become “cute” again and thus continue to be sexually available to the 100-year old men now loitering around college campuses, but if this is the extent to which our understanding of a future in which aging disappears can go, then kill me now.

The gendered implications of Friedman’s futures do not end with the continued dominance of the patriarchal family or powerful men retaining control over the senate (p.253), but we also learn in Chapter 20 that virtual reality can be used by “homely women” to “leave their faces behind” (p.284), and in these virtual utopias, “all women are beautiful and enough are willing. All men are handsome. Everyone lives in a mansion that he can redecorate at will, gold-plated if he so desires” (p.290). Ultimately, Friedman discounts this virtual reality scenario because, despite the fact it might appear as a paradise, much like masturbation (pp.290-291), it is not a substitute for the real thing. A virtual life is not a “real” life and thus he would not “touch the thing with a ten-foot pole” (p.291).

While there are many ways to use scenarios, good scenario building usually will unpack starting assumptions and introduce the reader to the most recent issues surrounding the topic under consideration. To discuss the future, one must track emerging issues, deal with possible “wild card events” and try to work systematically through the different permutations of a topic. Scenarios are not fantasy but instead are generated out of the present and tracked into possible futures. Friedman’s general refusal to move beyond the immediate future limits the possibility of planning for the long-term consequences of human behavior. For example, when [*1134] it comes to solving global warming, an issue that gets several pages of attention in the final chapter, Friedman argues there is no reason to try to “do much about global warming at present” because “substantial problems due to global warming are decades into the future” (p.319). Not only should these problems be left to future generations to solve but his conclusion suggests we can not and should not plan that far in advance anyway. Such a perspective undermines the very methodology Friedman claims to be using – one generated by futures studies.

It could be that Friedman’s point is to repudiate futures studies, but if this is the case, it is not clear why he begins the book by saying he wants to create multiple possible futures so that we can better understand the impact of technological change on our lives. Furthermore, he does not cite any futurists or demonstrate that he has read the literature of scenario building, strategic planning or environmental scanning (just to name a few futures methodologies that might be relevant). In the one area where he mentions futurists directly, those engaged in the environmental movement of the 60s and 70s, he discounts their predictions (pp.316-317) without recognizing the importance of their warnings in changing policy to help avert some of the problems they saw looming on the horizon.

While I generally agree with Friedman’s thesis – that the future is uncertain, that technology will have a profound impact on humans and our environment, and that there will be radically different ways of being in the world because of technology, if I were to recommend a book that covers these issues, it would not be this one. Friedman offers under-researched and vague scenarios. He would have been better served if he had delved into fewer topics in more detail and provided up-to-date research. He also might have been better served by writing a book that described his preferred future – one with limited or no government, where men act according to their biological imperatives and women are willing and beautiful, where we can travel through space and use virtual reality, but still come home to a nuclear family (albeit one that plays World of Warcraft). This seems to be the future Friedman can get behind, but we do not call it research – we call it fantasy.


Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike 2008 by the author, Debora Halbert.

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THE NATURE AND AUTHORITY OF PRECEDENT

by Neil Duxbury. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008. 208pp. Cloth $100.00/£60.00. ISBN: 9780521885799. Paper $45.00/£24.99. ISBN: 9780521713368. eBook format. $36.00. ISBN: 9780511389344.

Reviewed by Matthew J. Franck, Department of Political Science, Radford University; Visiting Fellow, James Madison Program, Princeton University. Email: mfranck [at] radford.edu.

pp.1126-1130

Why do judges in the English common law tradition (including those in former colonies such as the United States) have a doctrine of precedent? What does it mean to say that prior rulings of a court have authority to bind judges, either on the same court or inferior ones? Are there good reasons to follow precedent? If so, what reasons will suffice for not doing so?

These are among the questions addressed by Neil Duxbury, professor of law at the London School of Economics, in this brief but densely argued and challenging book. If you finish reading THE NATURE AND AUTHORITY OF PRECEDENT with more questions and uncertainties than you previously had about its subject matter, Duxbury has been successful. For, as he argues, “no one theory can offer a plausible comprehensive or systematic explanation of why precedents constrain” (pp.ix-x). His objective seems to be to induce the reader to turn the doctrine of precedent this way and that, viewing it from multiple angles and taking none of its features as either philosophically or historically given. But his project is neither cynically corrosive nor a work of destruction and rebuilding on some novel basis; it is analytical through and through, leaving us with an established practice in place but better prepared to think about its purposes and limits.

One of the signal services Duxbury performs in his introductory chapter is to examine what the doctrine of precedent is and is not, and what it does and does not do. The doctrine involves the guidance of present action in light of past decisions, reasoning by analogy. But it is not necessarily the following of publicly accessible prior decisions; nor is it identical to reasoning from experience or to following custom or to the formulation of rules, any of which can be done without the doctrine of precedent or even in contradiction of it. And it is emphatically not the following of only those precedents of which we approve; in a helpfully tough statement of the doctrine in its most demanding form, Duxbury writes that “[t]he authority of precedent is independent of the court’s view as to its correctness or incorrectness” (p.24). As he later argues, however, the notion of precedents as “exclusionary reasons” that “tak[e] the place of individual judgments as to what ought to be done” requires “too tidy a picture” of how the doctrine can be expected to operate in practice (p.108).

When and why did the doctrine of precedent come to be what we now [*1127] know it to be – a form of constraint on judicial decision-making accomplished by tethering it to specific past decisions of sufficiently similar character that those prior rulings must either be followed, distinguished, or overruled? Duxbury argues strongly in his second chapter against the view that “it is with the advent of classical legal positivist jurisprudence that stare decisis becomes established within the common law tradition” (p.37). Indeed, to the extent that Austinian positivism is a “theory of law as coercive orders” (p.14), it lends little support to the doctrine of precedent, since judges are not punished for not conforming to it.

Duxbury’s alternative account is of a more complex confluence of historical developments. Early common law practice prized the “common erudition of the legal profession” (p.32), which came to be embodied by the late sixteenth century in abridgments and compilations of cases; this in turn led to more frequent argument from authority and the elevation of the “artificial reason” of the law as a product not just of many minds but of many minds over time. But a pivotal development was a change in trial conduct that began in the early sixteenth century: from a pattern of pleadings “advanced orally and often tentatively” (p.52) in the course of hearings, practice shifted to the determination by counsel of their pleadings before trial. Such arguments about the meaning and application of legal principles, staked out beforehand by counsel, were now formally the business of the judge to resolve by a decision. In that capacity, judges were expected to state the reasons for a decision in the form of an opinion, oral or written, about the law’s meaning. Stare decisis as a doctrine did not thus emerge full-blown at once, but grew more tightly focused on the past decisions of particular cases as law reporting (including the use of shorthand to record oral pronouncements from the bench) came into its own, particularly in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Consolidating the doctrine’s evolution in England was “[t]he introduction of the hierarchical system of appellate courts” (p.56) in the late nineteenth century, for now the status of the precedent-setting court in relation to the newly deciding one entered the equation.

Leaving aside for a moment what this history cannot explain – why precedents should be raised from the merely interesting to the binding – Duxbury turns in the third chapter to the difficulties that arise within the doctrine of precedent once its authority is recognized. What binds later courts is the ratio decidendi, not the obiter dictum, and so we must know which is which, and that is not always easy. Nor does every case really have a ratio we can discern, or it may have multiple rationes. Or we may have to choose between different accounts of what it is, one offered by the court that decided the precedent and one offered by the court that must apply it. And just what is the definition of a ratio anyway, and how can we determine that we have seen it? Duxbury devotes a great deal of attention to these questions, and the reader’s attention to his discussion will pay dividends. But in any event, cases stand for legal reasons; however inefficiently they do that work [*1128] sometimes, they are hardly useless as guides to subsequent decisions, since they help courts avoid “regularly reinventing the wheel” (p.94).

Chapter 4 takes up the business of distinguishing and overruling precedents. If these are normal parts of judicial behavior, how do they coexist with a doctrine that regards precedents as binding? Distinguishing does not present much of a problem here, since it recognizes that a precedent controls but not here. Overruling is another matter. But in legal systems that prize precedent, overruling a precedent that cannot be distinguished from the instant case is an exercise in respect for precedent, for the overruling must not be willy-nilly: it must be explained and justified. Is there more needed to justify overruling than that a given precedent is perceived to have been mistaken? It seems there is, when a court is overruling a precedent of its own or of a court of equivalent authority. But why that should be so, or just what factors would make a difference, are matters much in dispute. It may simply be a reputational concern, a fear of certain costs to be paid in the respect paid a court that appears to change its mind too often or for reasons not perceived as extraordinary. But can such considerations justify the perpetuation of a wrong?

Duxbury’s fifth and final chapter comes to the nub of the matter: “Why follow precedent?” There are consequentialist reasons: as we have already seen, departing from precedent can appear to carry significant costs in authority or public relations. Or it may be that a doctrine of precedent imparts efficiency or strength to a court. Or that we value the settlement of legal issues, not for a day but durably. Relatedly, we may desire certainty and predictability. These outcomes are not guaranteed by a doctrine of precedent – but what else can guarantee them? Stare decisis is open enough to be flexible, and capable of change. From the standpoint of binding authority, this may seem a vice. From the standpoint of the survival of the rule of law as a viable order, it is probably a virtue.

A weaker case for following precedent exists on deontological grounds. It is difficult to say what is good in itself about treating yesterday’s decisions as binding on today’s. Placed side by side, the two of them look equal in their claim on us; why should the instance that came first in time be privileged over the later one? It does not really help the case for the authority of precedent to say that the past is inherently worth honoring, for no one honors all that is past but only that which is good in it. And the formal justice of treating like cases alike neither requires an actual doctrine of precedent, nor represents what we want to do in all instances, nor helps us in any decisive way in a world in which no two cases are alike in absolutely every respect. We must still reason our way to a grasp of those respects in which likeness is really present, in which the likeness matters to us morally or legally, and in which the institutional conditions of an earlier decision deserve so large a claim on our attention as to condition fundamentally any fresh reasoning we might apply to the situation newly before us. It is hard not to conclude that from deontology we are thrust back into the shadowy but [*1129] more palpable world of consequences, where we cannot so much see our duty as feel our way toward it.

In his abrupt conclusions, Duxbury remarks that the doctrine of precedent has a salutary “capacity simultaneously to create constraint and allow a degree of discretion” for judges, who should treat it as “not an unassailable but a strong rebuttable presumption that earlier decisions be followed” (p.183). It turns out that the authority of precedent is just one of those things: it sprang up from the soil watered by a variety of historic choices of the bench and bar, and it simply seems to work for us. It is not the only possible system for achieving the goods at which it aims, as the civil law system suggests with the much lower value it places on prior decisions. But it serves. Duxbury’s close treatment of the historic and philosophic dimensions of the doctrine reminds me of Aristotle’s remark that political science is among the practical and not the theoretical sciences, and thus has a degree of (im)precision appropriate to its workaday purposes of forging communities out of the oddly shaped human materials available to lawgivers and statesmen.

By way of criticism of Duxbury, I have little to offer. For the American reader concerned with precedent in constitutional law, there is much food for thought here, but it must be borne in mind that the book’s argument is about precedent in common law, and there are differences that make a difference when translating Duxbury’s observations to a constitutional context. There is also a long discussion of the controversy engendered when the House of Lords issued a “Practice Statement” in 1966 that “declared that it would henceforth be free, in some circumstances, to overrule its own decisions” (p.123). For American readers it will seem mystifying that so much energy was expended in debating the propriety and the impact of this statement.

I have two quibbles that I think worth mentioning. First, Duxbury remarks in passing that “more often than not the authority of a precedent will diminish rather than ripen with age” (p.63). This seems worth a more elaborate discussion, especially since it will strike many readers familiar with the older patterns of the common law as stating quite the reverse of the usual principle. After all, precedents have often been called “venerable” for a reason, and usually not because they were decided the day before yesterday.

Second, Duxbury says it is “certainly wrong . . . to define the ratio decidendi as a proposition which, were its meaning to be inverted, would have altered the decision” (p.77). This is certainly true if we seek to define what ratio is in the abstract, because in many cases there will be two or more alternative grounds of decision; inverting just one will sometimes change nothing. But Duxbury never considers a reworked attempt to define ratio that would go something like this: “the ratio decidendi belongs to that class of statements in a case which, if all its members were missing or inverted, would alter the decision.” This would account for the common occurrence of manifold rationes. Though it admittedly does not [*1130] help us dispel all ambiguity about the boundary between ratio and dictum, it has the virtue of being an acceptable definition for the uncertain and contingent world of a common law system governed by stare decisis. Duxbury’s neglect of this possible definitional maneuver was an unusual omission from a book that otherwise left very few unturned stones.


© Copyright 2008 by the author, Matthew J. Franck.

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THE SHIFTING ALLOCATION OF AUTHORITY IN INTERNATIONAL LAW: CONSIDERING SOVEREIGNTY, SUPREMACY AND SUBSIDIARITY

by Tomer Broude and Yuval Shany (eds). Oxford, England and Portland, Oregon: Hart Publishing, 2008. 429pp. Hardback. £60.00/$126.00. ISBN: 9781841137971.

Reviewed by Lee P. Ruddin (LL.B: Liverpool); (MRes: London); and (PgCert: Sheffield). Email: leepruddin [at] yahoo.co.uk.

pp.1123-1125

THE SHIFTING ALLOCATION OF AUTHORITY IN INTERNATIONAL LAW: CONSIDERING SOVEREIGNTY, SUPREMACY AND SUBSIDIARITY, edited by Tomer Broude and Yuval Shany, is the latest volume in Hart’s Studies in International Law series (No. 19). The essays published were first presented at a conference held in June 2006 at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, which celebrated the life and work of Ruth Lapidoth. Professor Lapidoth, in the words of one contributor, Thomas M. Franck, is “the raison d’être of this collection of essays” (p.21).

In the 400-pages-plus hardback, leading international scholars systematically examine the allocation of decision-making authority to international organizations, courts and other international actors through the prisms of three organizing principles: sovereignty, supremacy and subsidiarity.

The terms sovereignty, supremacy and subsidiarity pervade the language of law and politics. Each likewise influences the language of diplomacy in international law as well as international politics. For this reason it will be of great interest to readers of the LAW AND POLITICS BOOK REVIEW.

The 15 contributors offer theoretical, analytical and practical responses to the attempt by international law-makers and institutions to exert their authority vis-à-vis states, while addressing, at the same time, challenges to their legitimacy from other state norms. In other words, the volume covers a multiplicity of legal relationships (one legal relationship not covered, though, concerns rogue states and preemptive intervention) from the vertical (postmodern) dimension to the classical (‘Westphalian’) horizontal paradigm.

The work of the authors is divided into four parts: “The Structures of International Law” (pp.17-120); “International Authority and the State” (pp.121-213); “Allocation of Authority among Judicial Bodies” (pp.215-292); and “Allocations of Authority in Specific Normative Contexts” (pp.293-415). The volume is coherently organized and the writing is consistently first-rate yet the essays remain beyond the reach of undergraduate students. (Undergraduate students would no doubt find STATE, SOVEREIGNTY, AND INTERNATIONAL GOVERNANCE a more accessible primer.)

The first of the volume’s four parts is all about the tensions that today permeate the structuring authority in international law and politics. Chapter One is lively or, as the author would put it, “surreal” (p.20). [*1124] After introducing the tensions that exist between the global and the local decision-making processes, NYU Professor Thomas M. Franck proposes three practical principles for the allocation of power between the centre and periphery (pp.26-29). To that end, Franck’s installment makes for interesting reading.

Diverse symbols of authority put stress on the existing legal apparatus, increasing the instability of international law, writes W. Michael Reisman, author of Chapter Two. It is this “dynamic dialectic of law that gives it its vitality and its volatility” (p.40). Reisman’s contribution is as comprehensive as it is powerful. Even Francis Fukuyama gets a mention, although Reisman’s use of ‘justical anachronism’ (p.40) puts paid to the Japanese-American’s ‘end of history’ thesis.

In a similar vein to the opening chapter, not to mention as skeptical as the second, Gareth Davies, in Chapter Four, provides a clear and concise take on the issue of the method of subsidiarity. In the following chapter Tomer Broude correlates norm-authority integration. Suggesting methods of norm integration that are less intrusive upon the institutional authority in question, Chapter Five offers an original perspective on authority allocation.

The second section of the book concentrates on conceptions of sovereignty and the tension between (international) authority and (national) sovereignty. Brad R. Roth (“State Sovereignty, International Legality and Moral Disagreement”: pp.123-161) provides a clever, penetrating look at self-determination and non-intervention, while Robert L. Howse and Kalypso Nicolaidis (“Democracy without Sovereignty: The Global Vocation of Political Ethics”: pp.163-191) methodically evaluate the model of governance offered by the World Trade Organization compared to its predecessor organization, the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade. And Andreas L. Paulus (“Subsidiarity, Fragmentation and Democracy: Towards the Demise of General International Law”: pp. 193-213) looks at questions of legitimacy and whether a shift from democracy to technocracy has occurred.

Section III is as light to read as Section II is as heavy. Indeed the chapters contained in Section III (substantively, in the case of Chapters Nine and Ten) compliment each other in a similar way Sections I and II do. Nikolaos Lavaranos offers an unrivalled insight on the Solange-method and jurisdictional overlap despite being one of the shortest contributions to the volume (19 pages). Much like the preceding installment, Iris Canor’s chapter provides an original contribution to the existing literature analyzing, in this particular instance, the BOSPHORUS case. And Amichai Cohen (“Domestic Courts and Sovereignty”: pp.265-292) serves up a simple yet scholarly take on the not-so-simple relationship between international cooperation and sovereignty.

Two essays stand out in Section IV. The first, by André Nollkaemper (“Multi-level Accountability: A Case Study of Accountability in the Aftermath of the [*1125] Srebrenica Massacre”: pp.345-367), Director of the Amsterdam Center for International Law, traverses law and politics effortlessly. The second, the gem of this collection, by Malcolm N. Shaw QC (“Territorial Administration by Non-territorial Sovereigns”: pp. 369-415), is both substantively astute and historically nuanced and is the longest contribution to the volume (47 pages).

The editors have done a fine job of amassing a wide repertoire of scholars, from a wide repertoire of backgrounds, to discuss a wide repertoire of topics (yet the commentators, surprisingly, provide little critique of others’ works within the volume). That said THE SHIFTING ALLOCATION OF AUTHORITY IN INTERNATIONAL LAW is by no means the final word on the subject, but rather a ‘hologram’ of the discussion (p.14). Indeed more research needs to be carried out – many of the contributors say as much. It is here that a concluding chapter is conspicuous by its absence. What is more, this heterogeneity contributes to the lack of any unified solutions. And although this point is acknowledged by the editors when considering the goal of the book (p.3), readers looking for any theoretical take-away will be disappointed. But none of this detracts from the overall value of the text. There is little in the way of repetition, little in the way of typing errors and the volume remains of huge significance to the informed reader.

REFERENCES:
Kreijen, Gerard (ed). 2002. STATE, SOVEREIGNTY, AND INTERNATIONAL GOVERNANCE. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press.

CASE REFERENCES:
BOSPHORUS AIRLINES v. IRELAND, [2005] ECHR (application no. 45036/98).


© Copyright 2008 by the author, Lee P. Ruddin.



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December 16, 2008

Introduction

December 2008 Special Edition: Review Symposium

pp.1091

THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, by Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira (eds). New York: Oxford University Press, 2008. 832pp. Hardback. $150.00/£85.00. ISBN: 9780199208425.

Editors Note
This special issue marks the first joint publication by LAW AND POLITICS BOOK REVIEW and LAW & COURTS. Special thanks to Artemus Ward who developed the project and to the five reviewers who have done a fine job of assessing this volume. The symposium also appears in the 2008 Winter issue of LAW & COURTS (Volume 19, No.1): http://www1.law.nyu.edu/lawcourts/pubs/newsletter/index.html.

Introduction
Artemus Ward, Department of Political Science, Northern Illinois University
Editor, LAW & COURTS

The study of law and politics is a cornerstone of the discipline of political science, and it has been one of the productive areas of cross-fertilization between the various subfields of political science and between political science and other cognate disciplines. THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, edited by Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira, seeks to provide a comprehensive survey of the field of law and politics in all its diversity, ranging from such traditional subjects as theories of jurisprudence, constitutionalism, judicial politics and law and society to such re-emerging subjects as comparative judicial politics, international law, and democratization. The volume gathers together leading scholars in the field to assess key literatures shaping the discipline today and to help set the direction of research in the decade ahead. The contributions to this symposium discuss the Handbook and the state of the field more generally.

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SHAPING THE FIELD? A REVIEW OF THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS

Jeffrey K. Staton, Emory University. Email: jkstato [at] emory.edu.

pp.1116-1122

I strongly recommend purchasing THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, edited by Keith Whittington, Daniel Kelemen and Gregory Caldeira. For me, the handbook has already been a useful guide to less familiar literatures and a fine summary of those in which I write. If this is a fair snapshot of our field, we have a lot to be excited about. The essays the editors have amassed not only review a solid base of knowledge but they also identify new puzzles to pursue and possibilities for collaboration. Before I address the material directly, however, I thought I might say a word or two about process.

The key question is this. On what grounds does one review an Oxford Handbook? I have struggled with this question for more time than I care to admit. It is not a summary of a particular study or a proposal for future research, so the normal guidelines for manuscript review do not necessarily apply. An edited volume presents similar troubles, but at least it is usually a collection of research papers, which gives you the opportunity to review a literature in light of the volume’s theme. A handbook, in contrast, is a series of review essays. So, what we are talking about here is reviewing a collection of reviews. How this should be done was not immediately obvious to me. After burning through a couple of legal pads and my colleagues’ patience, I decided to lean a little bit on the volume’s fine editors. Rather than invent a standard, which frankly was not coming to me, I decided to evaluate The OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS according to their goals.

The overarching goal of the Oxford series, stated succinctly on the book jacket, is “to shape the discipline [of political science].” The more modest goals of the volume editors are twofold. As we would expect, the editors hope to offer a useful conceptual map of the field. They define law and politics as the political analysis of law and courts. The goal of law and politics is to see what leverage we can gain in our understanding of law and legal institutions from models that are explicitly political (p.4). With this frame in mind, the editors construct a reasonable partition of literatures, which draws on existing scholarly labels: Jurisprudence and the Philosophy of Law, Constitutional Law, Politics and Theory; Judicial Politics; Law and Society; and, Comparative and International Law and Courts. The review essays do not perfectly follow the map they develop; but there is wide coverage, and there are plenty of new ideas to consider.

The real success of the volume, in my view, lies in how the review essays might spark new inquiry. This is how disciplines are shaped. Toward this end, the editors’ second goal is to start productive conversations among scholars in the various subfields. [*1117] Although the essay writers do not really engage each other directly, I think the best way to view the handbook is as an invitation to readers to flesh out implicit conversations in the essays. I divide the rest of this note as follows. In the next section, I raise two areas of common ground in law and courts on which scholars might engage each other across the subfields. Admittedly, my training in comparative political institutions limits the dialogues that I see. I have targeted issues that influence, in the broadest sense, concerns over the rule of law. No doubt, I will have missed many important points of concern. Yet if the number of unresolved issues that I see in the literatures that I know relatively well is a reflection of these issues in the general field, I expect that scholars outside comparative politics will find much to stimulate them. In the conclusion, I return to the editor’s first goal, the conceptual map, and consider it with respect to Oxford’s interest in shaping the discipline. While I appreciate the editor’s framework, the field definition risks failing to articulate the importance of law and politics scholarship for political science, and the volume’s organization reinforces this issue. It is not that big implications are omitted, but rather that they could be highlighted better.

Avenues of Engagement
Some of the most intellectually stimulating moments on the job occur at faculty workshops or job talks where the research subject is outside your area. Learning that someone else thinks about a particular research problem in roughly the same way as you think about an analogous yet distinct research problem is exciting and reassuring. But it is even better when you see someone work through a problem in a way that provides material assistance to your own struggles. In large part, the handbook serves this purpose. I am anxious to get to work on my own research in light of what I have read from other scholars. I am also excited about the opportunity to reach out to people outside my subfield in an effort to collaboratively advance shared research questions. In what follows, I suggest two possibilities for collaboration.

Procedural Fairness and Compliance
One avenue for fruitful inter‐subfield engagement involves placing the law and psychology literature summarized by Tom Tyler in direct dialogue with the literatures on the rule of law and international law, summarized by Rebecca Chavez and Beth Simmons, respectively. The most conspicuous issue involves compliance. The approach Tyler describes affords significant causal weight to the internalization of beliefs in the legitimacy of authorities, the basis of which lies in perceptions of procedural fairness. We obey the law not when we believe compliance is in our immediate or even long‐term interests, but because we believe that the procedures authorities use are essentially fair. This perception induces a belief in the legitimacy of those authorities, which compels compliance as an appropriate moral choice.

The concept of compliance is essential to the rule of law. There can be no meaningful legal constraints on the state, no real judicial remedies for illegal state actions, if political figures refuse to comply with unfavorable decisions. Yet, the models Chavez summarizes largely ignore the procedural fairness approach to compliance in psychology. Instead, [*1118] causal mechanisms turn on expectations about substantive outcomes. Like much of the rule of law literature, popular accounts of compliance in international relations draw on rationalist models of state behavior, which do not make use of the legitimacy concept (e.g. Morrow 2002; Simmons 2002). On the other hand, a rich constructivist tradition in international relations suggests that compliance flows from an internalization of norms of system legitimacy. Nevertheless, it is not clear that the procedural fairness mechanism has penetrated constructivist theories of compliance. So, there is reason to believe that a fruitful conversation awaits.

Consider the rule of law literature first. A preliminary step will involve thinking through an obvious conceptual difference between its research subjects and those in law and psychology. Whereas the psychology literature deals with mass compliance in society, the rule of law literature is concerned mostly with compliance among elites, power holders in particular. We might ask whether this difference in research subjects is material. Can we gain leverage in understanding elite compliance by appealing to models of procedural fairness? What special problems emerge if we do? For example, is it the perceptions of procedural fairness among democratic elites that matters, or should we be focusing on beliefs in the electorate? The latter approach is broadly consistent with the public support models of judicial power summarized in Vanberg’s contribution, but perhaps we should be focusing on elites themselves.

A dialogue between the international relations literature and the literature on law and psychology confronts the same research subject problem. If that problem could be resolved satisfactorily, we might suspect that the constructivist literature would be a natural place to begin the conversation. The most exciting possibility is that the procedural fairness approach could give more precise shape to the process by which international norms are internalized. Rather than focusing on the special substantive qualities of the legal norms with which states are supposed to comply (as in Hawkins 2004 or Keck and Sikkink 1998), perhaps the focus should be on the process by which these norms are adopted and/or subsequently vindicated.

Turning our attention to the law and psychology literature itself, we might wonder if the rule of law models Chavez summarizes can inform the law and psychology understanding of compliance. It is one thing to know that beliefs about procedures drive compliance. It is quite another thing to know from where these beliefs in fair procedures derive. And it seems quite possible that perceptions could be tied to the interactions between courts and governments around which the rule of law literature revolves. At the very least, it seems plausible that individuals in a society characterized by high levels of institutionalized corruption might not believe that objectively fair procedures are genuinely fair.

Reconciling Models of Judicial Independence
Another subject of shared interest deals with questions of judicial empowerment and the subsequent use of independent [*1119] judicial power. Why do politicians delegate political authority to judicial institutions? Why do courts exercise their powers independently? These questions are front and center in the essays on judicial independence in law and comparative judicial politics, authored by Frank Cross and Georg Vanberg, and in Tom Ginsburg’s essay on constitutional review. Also, the concept of judicial independence is a key element of the judicialization of politics story as told by Ran Hirschl. Even the story Beth Simmons tells about states’ compliance with their international law obligations involves assumptions about judicial independence. The possibility for fruitful collaboration is obvious, and due in no small part to an existing interdisciplinary commitment to these research questions.

Over the past three decades, we have made considerable progress resolving key conceptual issues related to judicial independence. Definitional ambiguity was once severe, but we now largely have a shared understanding of judicial independence. Authors have one of two concepts in mind. They either wish to describe a world in which judges are free from undue interference in their decision‐making process, so that they can be the “authors of their opinions” (Kornhauser 2002); or, they wish to describe a world in which judges are not only autonomous but able to definitively resolve policy conflicts – they are powerful (Cameron 2002). Further, we also largely agree that there is a tradeoff between judicial independence and judicial accountability. For this reason, more judicial independence is not always desirable. Beyond these conceptual issues, the field also has produced numerous theoretical explanations for the empowerment of courts and for their exercise of independent authority. In fact, so much ink has been devoted to judicial independence over the past three decades, one is inclined to call the subject closed and move on to issues that have received less attention. My reading of the handbook suggests that this would be a significant error.

There are a number of challenges to meet, but in the interests of space, I will focus on one. We are in serious need of real theoretical integration, as Vanberg suggests in his essay. Specifically, the empowerment stories are not easily reconciled with the models of independence. For example, consider the standard credible commitment argument for judicial empowerment. A powerful actor that is essentially unconstrained by competing political rivals empowers a court to solve its inability to credibly commit to respecting property (or other) rights. This argument must anticipate a future world in which the newly empowered court is independent in the Cameron sense. Otherwise, the court’s formal empowerment would not induce the credibility for which the state is looking.

As Chavez and Vanberg note, the well‐known political fragmentation argument about judicial independence suggests that independence increases in the number of veto players. In so far as the credible commitment story operates most persuasively in a single veto player world, the fragmentation argument suggests that the newly empowered court is unlikely to be powerful. If this is true, then the central logic of the credible commitment empowerment story is undermined. It is worth asking whether [*1120] these two arguments can be reconciled. There are many other puzzles of this sort that emerge if we place the various arguments Vanberg summarizes up against each other. Until we sort out these puzzles effectively, I would not recommend moving on to different subjects. The good news is that we have numerous scholars who seem to be interested in the subject. For this reason, I am hopeful that the process of integration will be fruitful.

Law and Politics and Political Science
The primary goal of the Oxford series is to shape the discipline of political science. By launching new conversations among law and courts scholars, this handbook will serve that cause well. If I could change one thing about the volume, however, it would be this. I would have liked the editors to make a stronger case in the introduction for the critical role of law and courts scholarship in the larger discipline. Practitioners surely see multiple reasons why understanding law and courts is useful for explaining broader political phenomena, and many of those reasons are found in the volume’s contributions. So it is not that the editors do not expose us to important implications. They do. The issue I am identifying is about where, when and how they emerge.

Consider the first three chapters. In the introduction, the editors suggest that in the field of law and politics, political models of human behavior help enlighten our understanding of law. In this sense, law and politics is analogous to law and economics or law and psychology. As Martin Shapiro notes in his delightful final essay on boundary problems in law and courts, the intellectual flow runs from economics to law and from psychology to law in those fields and not the other way around. So, if law and politics is like law and economics, then it is political science theory that is informing our understanding of law and not vice versa. I do not believe that law and politics is limited in this way or should be limited in this way. I doubt that the editors would disagree. Nevertheless, the impression suggests itself as one reads the first part of the handbook.

The second and third chapters, which review models of judicial decision‐making, reinforce the “law and politics” as “law and economics” frame. The first, written by Jeffrey Segal, and the second, written by Pablo Spiller and Rafael Gely, provide clear and succinct summaries of their subjects. In a fundamental sense, they are excellent review essays. What they do not do, however, is articulate why it matters whether judges are guided by their role perception or their ideology or whether they are strategically prudent on occasion. If our field is really about law only, then I think it is perfectly defensible to develop good models of judicial decision‐making and call it a day. But this is not what our field is about, and it is not why we model decision‐making.

We want good models of judicial decision‐making because we want to answer broad questions in political science. Our models of judicial behavior matter because they inform the answers we want to give to questions about whether law can produce social change, whether courts can help governing coalitions manage political instability, whether judges can help create conditions for order and economic [*1121] development, and many other inquiries of major political relevance. These are big questions in our field and our scholarship is critical to answering them.

Later in his essay, Shapiro reminds us that the scope of law and politics can be and probably should be broader than what the editors’ definition might suggest. Indeed, he argues that most scholars who include themselves in the law and politics camp joined because they thought that their understanding of the law would help enlighten their understanding of politics. One is tempted to conclude that where Whittington, Kelemen and Caldeira see the political study of law, Shapiro sees a field in which this endeavor is paired with the legal study of politics.[ftn1] I suspect that the editors would not quarrel with the broader view of the field, and certainly not with the relevance of law and politics to political science generally. Their own excellent research suggests otherwise. And as I say, the volume is brimming with big implications. Still, I would like to see them framed more clearly.

For me, the bottom line is this. I am more excited about our field than I was before reading the handbook. I am anxious to get back to work on the problems the handbook addresses. I would strongly recommend purchasing it and using it in your classes. I surely will.

NOTES:
1 Shapiro sees to overlapping subfields of law and politics. One, law and politics, deals with political decision making that is constrained significantly by legal rules. This field might include studies of agency decision‐making or detailed analysis of congressional statutes in addition to the more constrained areas of judicial behavior. The second, law and courts, largely deals with relatively judicial behavior, especially in the context of judicial lawmaking.

REFERENCES:
Cameron, Charles M. 2002. “Judicial Independence: How Can You Tell It When You See it? And, Who Cares?” In JUDICIAL INDEPENDENCE AT THE CROSSROADS: AN INTERDISCIPLINARY APPROACH, ed. Steven B. Burbank and Barry Friedman. New York: Sage Publications Inc. pp.134-147.

Hawkins, Darren. 2004 “Explaining Costly International Institutions: Persuasion and Enforceable Human Rights Norms.” INTERNATIONAL STUDIES QUARTERLY. 48: 779-804.

Kornhauser, Lewis A. 2002. “Is Judicial Independence a Useful Concept?” In JUDICIAL INDEPENDENCE AT THE CROSSROADS: AN INTERDISCIPLINARY APPROACH, ed. Steven B. Burbank and Barry Friedman. New York: Sage Publications Inc. pp.45-55

Morrow, James. 2002. “The Laws of War, Common Conjectures, and Legal Systems in International Politics.” JOURNAL OF LEGAL STUDIES 33: 41-60.

Simmons, Beth. 2002. “Capacity, Commitment, and Compliance: International Institutions and Territorial Disputes.” JOURNAL OF CONFLICT RESOLUTION 46: 829-856. [*1122]

Keck, Margaret and Kathryn Sikkink. 1998. ACTIVIST BEYOND BORDERS: ADVOCACY NETWORKS IN INTERNATIONAL POLITICS. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.


© Copyright 2008 by the author, Jeffrey K. Staton.

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INTERDISCIPLINARITY IN LEGAL SCHOLARSHIP

Wendy L. Martinek, Binghamton University. Email: martinek [at] binghamton.edu.

pp.1111-1115

It is surely a Sisyphean task to identify and elucidate the various strands of scholarship that fall under the rubric of law and politics. The research that can be reasonably gathered under this organizational heading continues to proliferate, producing an ever more diverse literature such that there will undoubtedly be many “new” areas that could merit their own chapters in any future edition of THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS. The kind of synthesis – or, more accurately, syntheses – represented by the chapters in THE OXFORD HANDBOOK reflect the careful thinking and writing of a collection of the finest scholars working in the law and politics métier. Of special interest to me is what the entries in this book – individually and collectively – tell us about the interdisciplinary nature of law and politics scholarship.

There is certainly an allure to the term “interdisciplinary.” It sounds intellectually weighty and broad-minded. (And, who wouldn’t want to be considered broad-minded?) What exactly constitutes interdisciplinary scholarship, however, is rarely made clear in discussions about the relative merits of such work compared to work that is grounded in a particular discipline (such as political science).[ftn1] As a general description, interdisciplinary research might be characterized as scholarship that draws from two or more disciplines to examine a phenomenon of interest. To be truly interdisciplinary, presumably the work must integrate the theories and/or tools of each of the relevant disciplines. In the absence of a true synthesis, the work might be described as multidisciplinary but surely not as interdisciplinary. But “if there is too much overlap in examined questions and methodology, then the multiple disciplinary perspectives become redundant and no new insights can be gained from the exchange” (Dau-Schmidt 2004: 200). In other words, valuable interdisciplinary work will integrate complementary but distinct aspects of two or more disciplines.

A hidden-in-plain sight complication is determining what constitutes a separate discipline. Exactly how distinct must the two or more disciplines (from which the purported interdisciplinary scholarship is drawing) be for the research in question to be considered interdisciplinary and not intradisciplinary?[ftn2] On its face, a collaboration between an artist and a biologist on the form and function of bird wings may be considered interdisciplinary.[ftn3] But, for example, are social psychology and psychological sociology separate fields or simply subfields of social psychology (Sewell 1989)? No doubt those who labor in the field of social psychology have strong opinions on this and, not being either a social psychologist or a psychological sociologist, I would defer to them on this point. But such thoughts do lead me to wonder if, indeed, law is a discipline separate from other disciplines [*1112] that include the study of law, legal processes, legal actors, etc.

Even a casual reader of the chapters on law and economics (Kornhauser), law and psychology (Tyler), and law and history (Tomlins) – all of which appear in Part IX “Interdisciplinary Approaches to Law and Politics” – will come away with some sense of what might reasonably be seen as an economic or psychological or historical approach to the study of some aspect or aspects of law. But we can consider these interdisciplinary approaches only by assuming that law is a separate discipline.[ftn4] Setting aside the study of and training in the actual practice of law, however, I respectfully submit that law is not a separate discipline unto itself. There is no unique theoretical focus or particular methodological tool that demarcates law from other disciplines.[ftn5] And scholarship that examines law through the lens of only one discipline – no matter how finely crafted and insightful – cannot be properly understood as interdisciplinary.[ftn6]

When I began work on this short contribution to the symposium devoted to THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, I initially thought I would be writing a piece that extolled the virtues and contributions of interdisciplinary legal scholarship, rife with examples drawn from the extant literature. While I am quite convinced that interdisciplinary work (if executed well) is virtuous and that it can make important contributions, I have come to the conclusion that only a small proportion of the work devoted to the law and legal phenomenon that is commonly labeled as interdisciplinary truly is so.[ftn7] The more I read purported examples of interdisciplinary work, the more I found that the work was really examining the law from one or another disciplinary basis. And it was difficult to discern what was uniquely from the “discipline of law.” There is, of course, interdisciplinary legal work ;[ftn8] just not as much of it as I originally thought there was.

This is a pity since, as Scheingold asserts, “In the academic world, disciplines are very decidedly the ties that bind – and often that blind” (2008: 2). And that is exactly why the paucity of real interdisciplinary legal scholarship is unfortunate. As Dau-Schmidt observes:
In making abstractions from reality that allow insight into a problem, all social scientists need to be mindful of the limitations of their analysis and to adapt that analysis when the essential features of the problem exceed the capacity of their model. Talking to scholars in other disciplines, or reading their work, is one of the best ways to learn about the limitations of your own analysis and to find ways to address the problem (2004: 205).


Interdisciplinary work, if done well, has the very practical and salutary effects of improving the quality of our theorizing and enhancing the models we construct, thereby advancing the state of our knowledge. Encouraging it, then, is a good thing.

Beneficent effects notwithstanding, interdisciplinary work is notoriously difficult to sustain as an intellectual program over the long term (see, e.g., Harty and Modell 1991; Sewell 1989).[ftn9] Others have catalogued a [*1113] plethora of reasons for this (e.g., Scheingold 2008; Sewell 1989). These reasons include professional rivalries, with members of various subfields jealously guarding their turf. Institutional organization also matters, as most universities are structured primarily as collections of separate disciplines.[ftn10] And, of course, there is the simple matter of developing the necessary human capital.[ftn11] It is not enough to merely bring together a group of people from different disciplines who share common interests. There must be a willingness on the part of scholars not only to bring their vocabulary, theories, and methods to the table but also to consume the vocabulary, theories, and methods brought to the table by scholars from other disciplines. As Kramer asserts, interdisciplinary research “is perfectly possible, but one cannot get it just by mixing the different people [from different disciplines] together. One must mix the disciplines together in one human brain, so to speak” (1959: 565). And this is not an easy thing to do since the academic reward structure is not a clean fit with the structure of interdisciplinary research. For example, with notable exceptions such as LAW & SOCIETY REVIEW, most journals are discipline specific. But the difficulty of fostering a sustained interdisciplinary research agenda is not a reason to avoid making the effort. Doing so successfully necessitates, I suspect, being quite a bit clearer about what we mean by interdisciplinary legal research.

There is one additional point that THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS brought to mind and that I think is worth mentioning here. Political scientists studying law and legal processes are often wont to don a hair shirt and cilice regarding our failure to make our scholarship relevant to those outside of our “narrow” little field. But even a casual perusal of the chapters in this book should make two things clear. First, the field of law and politics is anything but narrow. There may be, as Martin Shapiro argues in his contribution to this volume, a disproportionate emphasis on law and courts in the law and politics field. But the breadth of actors, institutions, products, and processes examined by law and politics scholars is astounding. Second, much of the law and politics research is self-evidently relevant to those who identify themselves as legislative specialists, interest group analysts, social movement scholars, etc. If it is true, as it undoubtedly is, that law and politics scholars could do more to make this relevance clear, their duty to do this is no greater than the duty of scholars in other subfields of political science to make the relevance of their scholarship clear to others (including to law and politics scholars). And it is far from self-evident that law and politics scholars currently do any better or worse at this than non-law and politics scholars. And, so, wearing a hair shirt or a cilice rather than a hair shirt and calice might well suffice.

In one of the last chapters in this volume, Stuart Scheingold recalls his days as a graduate student at Berkeley as a means of communicating a sense of what “public law” entailed at that time. Scheingold reports thinking about “public law” then as “that forbiddingly opaque and never elucidated designation” (739). No doubt many graduate students in many fields still struggle with understanding the nature and substance of the intellectual [*1114] endeavor that characterizes their respective disciplines. Students of law and courts now have an advantage in this regard. Though it may not be able to elucidate the designation of “law and politics” to everyone’s satisfaction, THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS does much to make the study of law and politics a great deal less opaque.

NOTES
  1. A notable exception is Lynn Mather’s contribution to this volume regarding the law and society field.

  2. This is a lot like asking how substantial the effect of purely intrastate commerce must be on interstate commerce for its regulation to fall under federal Commerce Clause authority.

  3. Or perhaps not if they collaborate on the collection of bird photographs but the artist goes on to use them for an art installation and the biologist goes on to use them to create a forensic record. There is scant synthesis there.

  4. Mather’s chapter is a bit different in this regard. As Mather notes, “the law and society field lacks clear boundaries to separate its interdisciplinary perspective from the other disciplines” (692) but the work that she cites as examples of law and society scholarship all draw on two or more distinct disciplines, making law and society research perhaps some of the most truly interdisciplinary work of all the scholarship that claims that title.

  5. Tomlins (2000) offers a diametrically opposed view that is worth reading for both the substance of his argument and the intellectual history it provides. See, also, Martin Shapiro’s contribution to The Oxford Handbook.

  6. This is akin to referring to work that examines the political institutions or behavior in one country, as long as it is not the United States, as comparative politics scholarship.

  7. Interestingly, some of the work that is really interdisciplinary, such as economic analyses of the political decision making of judges that takes into account the cognitive limitations of decision makers, is only rarely referred to as interdisciplinary.

  8. An excellent example is the line of research that draws from both economic theory and psychology (behavioral economics) to understand the decision making of juries.

  9. This does not mean that it is impossible, as the longevity and robustness of the law and society field attests (Scheingold 2008).

  10. Interdisciplinary programs abound but they remain a minority in a sea of discipline-based departments.

  11. Another difficulty sometimes identified is the lack of financial support for interdisciplinary work. That difficulty is substantially ameliorated by the Law and Social Science Program of the National Science Foundation since this program’s mission explicitly includes fostering interdisciplinary – or, at least, multidisciplinary – research on the law. [*1115]


REFERENCES:
Dau-Schmidt, Kenneth G. 2004. “Pittsburgh, City of Bridges: Developing a Rational Approach to Interdisciplinary Discourse on Law.” LAW & SOCIETY REVIEW 38: 199-206.

Harty, Martha and John Modell. 1991. “The First Conflict Resolution Movement, 1956-1971: An Attempt to Institutionalize Applied Interdisciplinary Social Science.” JOURNAL OF CONFLICT RESOLUTION 35: 720-758.

Kramer, Robert. 1959. “Some Observations on Law and Interdisciplinary Research.” DUKE LAW JOURNAL 1959: 563-570.

Monroe, Kristen Renwick. 2002. “Interdisciplinary Work and a Search for Shared Scientific Standards.” P.S.: POLITICAL SCIENCE AND POLITICS 35: 203-205.

Scheingold, Stuart A. 2008. “Home Away from Home: Collaborative Research Networks and Interdisciplinary Socio-Legal Scholarship.” ANNUAL REVIEW OF LAW AND SOCIAL SCIENCE 4: 1-12.

Sewell, William H. 1989. “Some Reflections on the Golden Age of Interdisciplinary Social Psychology.” ANNUAL REVIEW OF SOCIOLOGY 15: 1-16.

Tomlins, Christopher. 2000. “Framing the Field’s Disciplinary Encounters: A Historical Narrative.” LAW & SOCIETY REVIEW 34: 911-972.


© Copyright 2008 by the author, Wendy L. Martinek.

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LAW, POLITICS, AND POLITICAL SCIENCE

Thomas M. Keck, Syracuse University. Email: Tmkeck [at] maxwell.syr.edu.

pp.1103-1110

The OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS is a fabulous collection of essays. Its forty-five chapters include something for everyone in the law-and-courts community. In fact, despite my repeated efforts to prepare for this essay by focusing on the chapters most relevant to my own research on the Supreme Court and American constitutionalism, I kept getting distracted by excellent chapters on comparative and international law, particularly the contributions by Kim Lane Scheppele (on extralegal emergencies), Karen Alter (on the European Court of Justice), Tom Ginsburg (on the global spread of judicial review), and Ran Hirschl (on the worldwide judicialization of politics).

Other readers will rightly praise different aspects of the collection, but I would like to emphasize several chapters that, taken together, make a strong case for the independent significance of law and legal institutions in shaping American politics. Distilling the key contributions of a wide range of literatures, these chapters make clear, first, that courts play an influential role in policy change and political development, and second, that their performance of this role is shaped in important ways by distinctive legal norms and commitments. Put another way, these chapters emphasize the multiple ways in which law influences the decisions of judges, the actions of other lawmakers, the outcomes of policy processes, and the trajectory of political conflicts. This research paradigm has the distinct advantage, from my perspective, of accurately characterizing the significance of legal phenomena that have sometimes been neglected or misunderstood. In addition to its substantive merits, this research agenda has the potential to encourage greater attention from the broader discipline of political science to legal ideas, legal actors, and legal institutions. But this potential will only be realized if the broader discipline is aware of this research, and on this count, the Oxford Handbook series is a mixed bag.

One of the great strengths of the law and politics handbook is its broad representation of each of the three principal paradigms of empirical research in contemporary political science: large-n behaviorism, rational choice modeling, and historical institutionalism. After an opening essay by the editors, a section on “Approaches” presents three chapters, each of which surveys one of these three paradigms as it has been deployed in the field of law and courts. And in the forty-one more narrowly focused chapters that follow, each of the three paradigms shows up repeatedly. But in the other volumes of the Oxford Handbook series – many, if not all, of which cover territory that is of interest to (some) law-and-courts scholars, the subfield has been less than fully represented.

Consider, first, several chapters from the law and politics volume. In “Historical [*1104] Institutionalism and the Study of Law” – one of the broad paradigm chapters that opens the book – Rogers Smith briefly surveys the disciplinary origins of, and recent theoretical advances in, the historical institutionalist wing of political science and the distinctive ways in which law-and-courts scholars have made use of this approach. Smith makes a strong pitch for continued attention to the distinctive role of legal ideas in shaping judicial behavior in particular and political development more broadly. Among other things, he notes, the failure to attend to such relatively autonomous “normative orders” risks “undue minimization of the role of courts in politics” (p.55). In a closely related chapter on “Law and Political Ideologies,” Julie Novkov examines “the relationship between law and ideas in the historical process of constitutional and legal change” (p.627). Drawing on recent historical institutionalist accounts of several noteworthy lines of nineteenth- and twentieth-century constitutional development, Novkov argues that extant political “ideology[ies] shape[] the way courts make decisions, providing boundaries or frameworks within which decisions are made.” In addition, with the causal arrows running the other direction, she emphasizes that “the language of judicial decisions themselves can generate ideological change” (p.628).

In a chapter on “Courts and the Politics of Partisan Coalitions,” Howard Gillman surveys the contemporary literature on regime politics and the courts. The primary theme of this literature is that governing coalitions use judicial institutions to promote their own partisan and policy ends, but as Gillman makes clear, the distinctive features of courts shape both the nature and degree of the coalitions’ success in this regard. Indeed, the regime politics literature has documented a variety of “circumstances or conditions that would allow judges to promote unexpected agendas” – for example, when they are addressing an issue that “central decision-makers in the regime care little about,” one on which regime leaders are genuinely divided, or one on which “judges [have] arrive[d] at some independence by virtue of internalizing their legal training and taking seriously the distinctive institutional ‘mission’ of the judiciary” (pp.656-7). Mark Graber explores similar themes in “Constitutional Law and American Politics,” emphasizing the multifarious ways in which constitutional norms structure political and legal conflicts, without dictating the specific outcome of those conflicts. Citing a range of contemporary literature on constitutional development, Graber notes that “[i]deology often explains the differences between persons engaged in a constitutional debate, but law usually explains the debate they are having” (p.310). He argues that judges and legislators alike “act on the basis of constitutional visions that structure their policy choices” (p.317) and that “institutional affiliations influence constitutional decision-making” by fostering particular constitutional visions among judges that are less prevalent among legislators (and vice versa) (pp.314-15). He ends by calling for greater scholarly attention to the nature and value of the distinctive constitutional principles that tend to be disproportionately held by judges.

In addition to the Smith-Gillman-Graber-Novkov school of constitutional development, the scholarly tradition of [*1105] legal mobilization is also well represented in the volume. Among political scientists, this interdisciplinary tradition is associated most closely with Michael McCann, and his chapter provides a wonderfully clear and concise survey of its 35-year history. Among the many lessons of this research, McCann notes, is the observation that ordinary citizens, left to their own devices, “rarely mobilize law,” usually responding to legally cognizable injuries by deciding to “lump it” rather than to litigate (p.531). But despite this widespread and realistic sense that the formal legal system is stacked against ordinary folks, legal mobilization scholars have repeatedly found circumstances in which “subaltern groups and relatively powerless citizens [have the capacity] to mobilize the law against more powerful groups and status quo relations,” particularly when the ordinary citizens are effectively mobilized by organized interest groups (p.525). Surveying this same line of research in a separate chapter on “Law as an Instrument of Social Reform,” Charles Epp notes that legal mobilization scholars have often shown that “judicial decisions (and law more broadly) [are] potentially effective in contributing to long-term social changes” (p.603). As a result, “court-structured law may have a broader social-reform impact than once thought” (p.597). Exploring some related themes, Scott Barclay and Susan Silbey mine the literature on legal consciousness to develop an original account of the impact of legal mobilization in prompting otherwise unresponsive legislative institutions to enact policies supported by the public. Most of the scholars cited by McCann, Epp, Barclay and Silbey would identify themselves as “law and society” scholars rather than historical institutionalists, but the two communities share overlapping memberships and a number of methodological and substantive commitments, and McCann ends his chapter by calling for greater integration between the two approaches (p.535).

All of the chapters I have mentioned here assert the broad political significance of legal ideas, legal actors, and legal institutions. Graber argues that “[c]onstitutions and constitutional law consistently secure agreements where agreements would otherwise not exist” (p.305). Smith notes that judges often have “some relative autonomy from broader political forces, indeed real power to affect political results” (p.48). McCann insists that “legal mobilization is one of the most important but least studied modes of citizen participation in the U.S. political system and perhaps around the world” (p.527). And Hirschl suggests that “[t]he judicialization of politics – the reliance on courts and judicial means for addressing core moral predicaments, public policy questions, and political controversies – is arguably one of the most significant phenomena of late twentieth and early twenty-first century government” (p.199). If these claims are right, then the literatures surveyed in these chapters are relevant not just to the law-and-courts community but to the broader discipline of political science. Gillman makes this point most explicitly, opening his chapter by noting that “[o]ne of the most promising ways of integrating the study of law and courts into the mainstream of political analysis is to focus more attention on how legal institutions figure into the broader interests and agendas of other power holders,” and closing it by calling for “scholars across various [*1106] fields . . . to reintegrate courts into the broader analysis of political systems” (pp.644, 658).

Unfortunately, the law and politics handbook is likely to draw attention only from specialists, and law-and-courts research is not well-represented in the other volumes in the Oxford Handbook series. As summarized on Oxford’s website, The OXFORD HANDBOOKS OF POLITICAL SCIENCE is a ten-volume series that purports to serve as “the essential guide to the state of political science today.” Readers of LAW AND COURTS should all be pleased that one of these ten volumes has been devoted to law and politics, and that the editors of this volume have so ably assembled a collection that captures the full range of the law-and-courts subfield. But we might well be concerned about the representation of the subfield in the other nine volumes.

The handbooks of political behavior, public policy, and contextual political analysis have no entries from the field of law and courts. The handbook of comparative politics has one chapter (out of 38 total) on “Comparative Judicial Politics”; the handbook of international relations has one (out of 44) on “International Law”; and the handbook of political methodology has, by my count, just one chapter (out of 37) that is authored by a law and courts scholar. The other volumes do somewhat better in covering our subfield, but not much. The handbook of political economy has one chapter on “The Judiciary,” as well as several chapters on constitutional theory. The handbook of political theory has an entry on “Constitutionalism and the Rule of Law” as well as several chapters on topics that are related to the field of law and courts, including rights, liberty, and equality. And the handbook of political institutions has two chapters on constitutions and two others on judicial institutions. It is hard to say whether these numbers represent an adequate allocation. Given the ambitious scope of these volumes, their editors faced a daunting task, and I’m confident that every member of the discipline could identify important topics that were left under-examined. More important than the number of chapters devoted to law and courts, however, is the limited range of research that these chapters have covered.

Consider THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS, published in 2006. The editors of this volume present its 38 chapters as a collective effort to survey “the origins, evolution, and impact of institutions on politics and policy alike” (p.xvi), but the research paradigm I have surveyed here – the large body of literature relying principally on interpretive and historical methods to document the independent political significance of law and legal institutions – goes almost entirely unmentioned in the volume.

In a chapter on “Historical Institutionalism,” Elizabeth Sanders includes one brief (and favorable) reference to contemporary studies of constitutional development, citing Ken Kersch’s award-winning CONSTRUCTING CIVIL LIBERTIES. In a chapter on “Analyzing Constitutions,” Peter M. Shane likewise offers praise for contemporary historical institutionalists who seek “to show how the attitudes of legal actors, especially judges, are shaped not only by individual preference, but also by the institutions [*1107] through which these actors operate and the relationship of those institutions to others” (2006, 192). But Sanders focuses almost entirely on historical institutionalist studies of legislative and executive institutions (and the social movements that have shaped them) and Shane focuses almost entirely on conventional legal scholarship.Neither devotes more than a paragraph to historical institutionalist studies of constitutional development. Josep M. Colomer’s chapter on “Comparative Constitutions” does not mention such work at all.

Two chapters on judicial institutions devote sustained attention to the central questions that are present throughout the law and politics volume, but they too largely ignore the research traditions that I have emphasized here. In a chapter on “The Judicial Process and Public Policy,” Kevin McGuire (2006, 536) examines more or less the same question as Epp – “Are judges capable of actually producing changes within society?” – but presents a strikingly different picture of the state of contemporary research on this question. Relying extensively on Donald Horowitz’s 1977 THE COURTS AND SOCIAL POLICY and Gerald Rosenberg’s 1991 THE HOLLOW HOPE, McGuire emphasizes the limited ability of courts to implement their decisions. On his account, “[t]he very nature of adjudication . . . serves as a serious limitation on the extent to which courts can generate meaningful legal change” (2006, 539). These constraints include the fact that “adjudication tends to focus on a limited range of policy alternatives” – that is, those presented by the two litigants – and that judges are generally presented with “only limited amounts of information upon which to base decisions.” To make matters worse, judges “have little capacity to summon additional information” that might help, and they have “no formal mechanism by which [they] can examine the ongoing impact of their policies.” In addition, “policy-making through adjudication requires that judges be presented with a genuine legal controversy that plainly presents the issues that judges wish to address. Stated differently, courts do not speak until spoken to” (2006, 540-2).

As is common with this sort of judicial impact scholarship, McGuire contrasts this cramped reading of judicial capacity with an expansive vision of legislative capacity: “When Congress seeks to develop new policies in telecommunications or agriculture or foreign policy, it gathers information, conducts committee hearings, and considers testimony for various affected interests.” Unlike judges, elected legislators “routine[ly] . . . seek to gather as much information and analysis as they deem useful on the impact of various policy alternatives.” They are “free to consider what policies they regard as most sensible, even if those policies constitute major departures from the status quo.” They commonly define the terms of art used in their policies, thereby “reduc[ing] ambiguity and allow[ing] for a common understanding of the meaning of policy enactments,” and they “need nothing beyond their own initiative to stimulate policy change. They may promote reform whenever they see fit” (2006, 540-1). As McGuire himself acknowledges at the end of the chapter, this is an overly romantic account of the legislative process in the U.S. Congress (2006, 550). As a result, McGuire’s conclusion that “courts require considerable [*1108] cooperation and support from other actors as a condition for effective policy-making” is not wrong, but neither does it distinguish courts from other institutions (2006, 546).

Toward the end of the chapter, McGuire notes in passing “that the role of courts around the world is . . . expanding, with judges assuming an ever increasing scope of influence” (2006, 550), and James Gibson opens his chapter on “Judicial Institutions” by noting that “[l]egal institutions throughout the world have become increasingly powerful” (2006, 514). Gibson closes with an even stronger assertion that “[l]aw and courts are not marginal to politics; they are central, and this is increasingly being understood by the entire discipline of political science” (2006, 531). But neither McGuire nor Gibson offer any examination of the mechanisms of judicial influence on policy and politics. The central thrust of McGuire’s chapter is to show that judges face daunting “institutional constraints that limit their policy ambitions” (2006, 536), and Gibson’s chapter focuses primarily on the question of judicial decision-making. On Gibson’s account, such decision-making is primarily a function of judges’ ideological preferences, tempered by their views of appropriate judicial behavior and by their understandings of other significant actors’ views about appropriate judicial behavior. He notes that “the single-minded pursuit of policy goals may on occasion threaten the legitimacy of a court, and therefore judges will act to protect the institution rather than maximize policy preferences” (2006, 522).

Despite its clear relevance to this argument, Gibson does not engage with the Smith-Gillman-Graber-Novkov line of research, apparently because of a fundamental methodological divide. (He notes that “the empirical question of how . . . beliefs about proper behavior influence actual decision-making can only be resolved through careful empirical analysis, based mainly on positivist methods” (2006, 521).) Likewise, the authors of the one chapter on law and courts in The OXFORD HANDBOOK OF COMPARATIVE POLITICS – John Ferejohn, Frances Rosenbluth, and Charles Shipan – attend almost solely to research using formal or statistical methods, despite the clear relevance of a variety of interpretive and historical works to their central thesis that political fragmentation increases judicial independence. This methodological divide – which James Mahoney and Gary Goertz (2006) have characterized as a tale of two distinct cultures – shows up in the law and politics handbook as well, with chapters by Jeffrey Segal, Lee Epstein, and others dismissing certain qualitative and interpretive lines of research out of hand.

One of the great virtues of the volume, as I noted at the outset, is the extent to which its forty-five essays collectively represent the diverse range of research that makes up the subfield. In addition to the constitutional development and legal mobilization scholarship that I have emphasized here, the research summarized elsewhere by McGuire, Gibson, Ferejohn, Rosenbluth, and Shipan is also well represented in the law and politics handbook, as well it should be. But the research summarized by Smith, Novkov, Gillman, Graber, McCann, Epp, Barclay, and Silbey is not well represented in the other handbooks. In short, the editors of THE OXFORD [*1109] HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS have done an admirable job of surveying, summarizing, and (by implication) praising the methodological pluralism of the subfield, but the message may not be getting out.

REFERENCES:
Alter, Karen J. 2008. “The European Court and Legal Integration: An Exceptional Story or Harbinger of the Future?” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, ed. by. Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira. New York: Oxford University Press, 209-28.

Barclay, Scott, and Susan S. Silbey. 2008. “Understanding Regime Change: Public Opinion, Legitimacy, and Legal Consciousness.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, ed. by. Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira. New York: Oxford University Press, 663-78.

Colomer, Josep M. 2006. “Comparative Constitutions.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS, ed. by R.A.W. Rhodes, Sarah A. Binder, and Bert A. Rockman. New York: Oxford University Press, 217-38.

Epp, Charles R. 2008. “Law as an Instrument of Social Reform.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, ed. by. Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira. New York: Oxford University Press, 595-613.

Ferejohn, John; Frances Rosenbluth; and Charles Shipan. 2007. “Comparative Judicial Politics.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF COMPARATIVE POLITICS, ed. by Carles Boix and Susan C. Stokes. New York: Oxford University Press, 727-51.

Gibson, James L. 2006. “Judicial Institutions.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS, ed. by R.A.W. Rhodes, Sarah A. Binder, and Bert A. Rockman. New York: Oxford University Press, 514-34.

Gillman, Howard. 2008. “Courts and the Politics of Partisan Coalitions.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, ed. by. Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira. New York: Oxford University Press, 644-62.

Ginsburg, Tom. 2008. “The Global Spread of Constitutional Review.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, ed. by. Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira. New York: Oxford University Press, 81-98.

Graber, Mark A. 2008. “Constitutional Law and American Politics.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, ed. by. Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira. New York: Oxford University Press, 300-320.

Hirschl, Ran. 2008. “The Judicialization of Politics.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, ed. by. Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira. New York: Oxford University Press, 119-141. [*1110]

Kersch, Ken. 2004. CONSTRUCTING CIVIL LIBERTIES: DISCONTINUITIES IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF AMERICAN CONSTITUTIONAL LAW. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Mahoney, James, and Gary Goertz. 2006. “A Tale of Two Cultures: Contrasting Quantitative and Qualitative Research.” POLITICAL ANALYSIS 14 (Summer): 227-49.

McGuire, Kevin T. 2006. “The Judicial Process and Public Policy.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS, ed. by R.A.W. Rhodes, Sarah A. Binder, and Bert A. Rockman. New York: Oxford University Press, 535-554.

Novkov, Julie. 2008. “Law and Political Ideologies.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, ed. by. Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira. New York: Oxford University Press, 626-43.

Sanders, Elizabeth. 2006. “Historical Institutionalism.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS, ed. by R.A.W. Rhodes, Sarah A. Binder, and Bert A. Rockman. New York: Oxford University Press, 39-55.

Scheppele, Kim Lane. 2008. “Legal and Extralegal Emergencies.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, ed. by. Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira. New York: Oxford University Press, 165-84.

Shane, Peter M. 2006. “Analyzing Constitutions.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS, ed. by R.A.W. Rhodes, Sarah A. Binder, and Bert A. Rockman. New York: Oxford University Press, 191-216.

Smith, Rogers M. 2008. “Historical Institutionalism and the Study of Law.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, ed. by. Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira. New York: Oxford University Press, 46-59.

Whittington, Keith E. 2008. “Constitutionalism.” In THE OXFORD HANDBOOK OF LAW AND POLITICS, ed. by. Keith E. Whittington, R. Daniel Kelemen, and Gregory A. Caldeira. New York: Oxford University Press, 281-299.


© Copyright 2008 by the author, Thomas M. Keck.

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