The indigenous, African idea of ubuntu is difficult to define in abstract terms. Indeed, former South African Constitutional Court justice, Yvonne Mokgoro, has said that defining it “in a foreign language and from an abstract, as opposed to a concrete approach, defies the very essence of the African world-view” (“Ubuntu and the Law in South Africa” (1998) 4 Buffalo Human Rights Law Review 15). Nonetheless, its gist may, perhaps, be captured as follows. uBuntu expresses a conception of humanity and an ethic (a set of moral and political principles) which emphasise group solidarity, the interdependence of members of a society, and the interconnected value of human lives in community. It approximates ideas of human dignity, but is often contrasted with ‘Western individualism’ and is said to be irreducible to “simple-minded communitarianism” (uBuntu and the Law, p. 3). The idea is often associated with the Zulu phrase, umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu, which translates literally as “a person is a person through other people”.

The notion of ubuntu first entered South African law via the ‘interim’ Constitution (Constitution of the Republic of South Africa, Act 200 of 1993) – the legal cornerstone of the negotiated transition to democracy. It appeared in a short postscript, entitled “National Unity and Reconciliation”, which stated that the divided society that emerged from apartheid bore a “legacy of hatred, fear, guilt and revenge” which needed to be “addressed on the basis that there is a need for understanding but not for vengeance, a need for reparation but not for retaliation, a need for ubuntu but not for victimisation”. It was an historic inclusion, given that indigenous, customary legal ideas had invariably been treated as inferior by the legal systems established by European colonizers and their descendants in southern Africa. Perhaps surprisingly, the word ‘ubuntu’ was not included in the subsequent, ‘final’ Constitution (Constitution of the Republic of South Africa, 1996), which was enacted by a democratically-elected Constitutional Assembly and replaced the interim Constitution on 4 February 1997. Nonetheless, ubuntu has continued to play a role. It appeared, for instance, in the preamble of the Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act, 34 of 1995, which established the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Moreover, several justices of the Constitutional Court, as well as lower courts, have repeatedly appealed to ubuntu in their judgments. The first and arguably most famous example is S v Makwanyane 1995 (3) SA 391 (CC), where capital punishment was unanimously declared unconstitutional (see para 204 per Langa J; para 208 per Mokgoro J). Thereafter, ubuntu has been invoked in judgments addressing a wide and growing variety of legal issues including, for example, the constitutionality of the post-apartheid amnesty process (Azanian Peoples' Organisation v President of Republic of South Africa 1996 (4) SA 671 (CC), para 19 per Mahomed DP), the lawfulness of evicting people from their homes (Port Elizabeth Municipality v Various Occupiers 2005 (1) SA 217 (CC), para 37 per Sachs J), and the role of apology as a defence to, or remedy for, a claim for defamation (Dikoko v Mokhatla 2006 (6) SA 235 (CC), para 68 per Mokgoro J).

Notwithstanding these remarkable developments, uBuntu and the Law, edited by Professor Drucilla Cornell and Dr Nyoko Muvangua, is only the second book to examine the meaning and role of ubuntu in contemporary South African law. (Another work – Ubuntu, Good Faith and Equity, edited by Professor Frank Diedrich – appeared only in 2011.) Introduced by an illuminating essay co-written by the editors, uBuntu and the Law is both a casebook and a collection of essays. The first part (270 pages in length) contains extracts from judgments in twenty-three South African cases, chosen either because ubuntu is explicitly referred to and discussed in more or less detail by the court or because the “reasoning in the judgment reflects the value of ubuntu” (p. 153). Each case extract is preceded by a short summary of the facts, legal issues and decision(s) taken. The goal, in this part, appears to be purely descriptive. Unlike in some other casebooks, the editors do not engage in a case-by-case commentary or critical assessment of the judgments. Nonetheless, it remains a convenient resource for those not well-acquainted with the South African law reports. Placing between two covers the most important judgments on the topic thus far is also of symbolic value. Since ubuntu has been referred to in cases addressing a range of disparate legal issues, practising and academic lawyers in South Africa, with ever-narrowing specialisms, may have overlooked the growing, systemic importance of the value of ubuntu across the field. One quickly grasps ubuntu's potential relevance to much South African law in future.

The second part of uBuntu and the Law (100 pages in length) contains eight articles, which present a variety of cross-cutting perspectives on the moral and legal meanings and significance of ubuntu. Two contributions are written by former justices of the Constitutional Court. Albie Sachs eloquently calls for the revitalization and liberation of customary law in South Africa's constitutional democracy, appealing to deeper, enduring African values of ubuntu as opposed to more ephemeral, indigenous rules and institutions, in order to avoid any collision course with constitutional rights to equality and freedom from discrimination. Yvonne Mokgoro argues along comparable lines:

The three pieces written or co-authored by Cornell (the introduction is written with Dr Muvangua, another chapter with Professor Karin van Marle) broadly support these views. Referring to the writings of African philosophers like Ifeanyi Menkiti, Kwasi Wiredu, and John Murungi, they seek to unpack the various nuances and implications of ubuntu in some theoretical depth and to defend its being ‘operationalized’ (p. 365) in legal doctrine. More tentative and critical contributions are provided by Professors Irma Kroeze and Narnia Bohler-Műller, and Dr Thino Bekker. The final essay, by Professor Chuma Himonga, analyses the Constitutional Court's landmark judgment in Bhe v Magistrate Khayelitsha 2005 (1) SA 580 (CC), which held that the customary principle of male primogeniture violated the constitutional right to equality.

The variety of points of view expressed in uBuntu and the Law is undoubtedly thought-provoking. Yet the book's format has limitations. In particular, given the lack of a single, sustained argument, and the generally high level of abstraction at which ubuntu is treated, worries about the difficulties of successfully ‘operationalizing’ ubuntu in everyday practice are not wholly dispelled. Appeal to indigenous moral ideas could certainly help to build the popular legitimacy of post-colonial legal systems – so needed in post-apartheid South Africa. However, is ubuntu sufficiently precise an idea to be of legal use in effectively guiding behaviour and resolving disputes? How much scope is there for disagreement among judges (let alone laypersons seeking to obey the law) about its general meaning or its implications in particular legal contexts? Could ubuntu not be abused as a rhetorical tool to mask and legitimate judicial choice? Can ubuntu be successfully disentangled from patriarchal aspects of customary practices? What concrete legal reforms are required by ubuntu? Some of these questions are indeed confronted at various points in the book. For instance, Bekker seems to argue that ubuntu requires the abolition of general damages for defamation and the judicial development of a court-ordered apology as an alternative remedy (p. 386). Cornell and Van Marle argue that the “bloatedness” of ubuntu is “actually its strength”, suggesting that pretending to give its ultimate definition “would go against the spirit of ubuntu” (p. 354). We may be faced with a catch-22: saddled with a practical, legal need to concretise a concept which, by its nature, is said to resist concretisation and definition.

uBuntu and the Law documents the latest stage in the evolution of South African law as a mixed legal system (see J. E. du Plessis, “Comparative Law and the Study of Mixed Legal Systems” in M. Reimann and R. Zimmermann (eds.), Oxford Handbook of Comparative Law (Oxford 2006), ch. 14; V. V. Palmer (ed.), Mixed Jurisdictions Worldwide, 2nd ed., (Cambridge, 2012), ch. 2). The heightened influence of indigenous, African ideas across the field will further enrich – and complicate – a jurisdiction that, in the past, was predominantly shaped by an already complex interaction between and mixture of Roman-Dutch and English legal principles, institutions, and traditions. It is difficult to predict what effect the added layer will produce in years to come. uBuntu and the Law is an enlightening addition to the growing literature on the matter.