William Rattigan overcame humble origins to achieve great success. Born in British India in 1842 to an Irish father, Rattigan began his career in the lower ranks of the Indian civil service. He then studied law and practiced as a lawyer in Lahore, later moving to London, where he studied at King’s College and was admitted to the English Bar. Returning to India, he served as a government advocate and judge of the Chief Court of the Punjab and a member of the Supreme Legislative Council of India. In 1885, Rattigan obtained a doctorate in law from the University of Göttingen in Germany. In 1887, he became the Vice-Chancellor of the University of the Punjab, serving until 1895. Rattigan was a polyglot conversant in five European languages, several vernacular Indian languages, and Persian. He published many books, including works on Hindu and Roman law, a textbook on private international law, and the leading digest of the customary law of the Punjab. In 1900, Rattigan returned to the United Kingdom and was elected as a Member of Parliament before his life was tragically cut short in a car accident.Footnote 1
In 1888, Rattigan published a textbook on jurisprudence written for his Indian law students.Footnote 2 Even though the book was, in many senses, more learned, sophisticated, and cosmopolitan than comparable works available in England at the time, it was far less influential.Footnote 3 This was primarily due to the fact that the book was written for Indian law students and was, therefore, seen as inferior to similar works published in the West. Such a view is evident, for example, in a review of Rattigan’s book published in an American law journal in 1889. After noting Rattigan’s “marked familiarity with the Roman and German jurists” and stating that “the whole work … shows great research and diligence,” the reviewer ended by condescendingly observing that “it is a learned and able work … [that] shows a profundity of learning hardly to be looked for in India.”Footnote 4 These dismissive words echo a broadly shared view that non-Western works on jurisprudence merely repeated Western ideas, a view held by Westerners and non-Westerners alike. For example, in 1958, when the Polish–Indian legal scholar C. H. Alexandrowicz published a bibliography of works on Indian law, he wrote (in the section of the bibliography devoted to jurisprudence) that, apart from some works on Hindu law, “Indian academic lawyers have made no original contribution in this field.”Footnote 5 Similarly, disparaging remarks about the unoriginality of Indian works can be found in later writings by Indian authors.Footnote 6
In this chapter, I argue that this conventional view is wrong. Some theoretical works on law published in India in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries did not merely repeat ideas transplanted from England. During the colonial period, British legal scholars working in India, as well as Indian legal scholars, sometimes produced works on legal theory that were both interesting and original. The works produced were less insular and more cosmopolitan than English writings; they were critical of English legal theories claiming that these did not fit local reality; and, sometimes, the influence of nationalist ideology motivated local scholars to develop new theoretical insights derived from the study of local religious legal systems.Footnote 7 In order to understand that context out of which these works emerged, I will now briefly describe the history of legal education in England and British India in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Legal Education in Nineteenth-Century England and British India
At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the education of English lawyers was a haphazard affair based on an unreliable apprenticeship system. In previous centuries, the Inns of Court had provided formal education for aspiring barristers, but after the English Civil War in the seventeenth century, studies at the Inns of Court atrophied. Academic courses on English law were first given in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. William Blackstone lectured on common law in the mid eighteenth century at the University of Oxford. During the 1820s and 1830s, John Austin taught jurisprudence at University College in London, and Andrew Amos taught English law there. Courses on English law were also taught during this period at Cambridge University and King’s College in London. However, compared to Continental and American legal education at the time, English legal education lagged far behind. Indeed, England’s most advanced and comprehensive system of formal legal education in the first half of the nineteenth century was not connected to English law but to India. It was provided at Haileybury College, north of London, where the East India Company trained its administrators. The College, which existed between 1806 and 1858, offered a two-year course of studies, during which various legal topics were extensively covered.Footnote 8
A Select Committee on Legal Education was established by the House of Commons in 1846, and, following the publication of its findings and a report by an 1852 Royal Commission, Oxford and Cambridge Universities expanded the teaching of English law, creating degree programs and various chairs on legal topics. In addition, a law faculty was created at King’s College, and the Inns of Court appointed five Readers to deliver lectures on law. However, intending barristers or solicitors were not required to obtain a university law degree to practice; therefore, the number of practitioners holding such a degree was still relatively small. In the second half of the nineteenth century, there were attempts to create a “University of Law,” or “General Law School,” based on the Inns model, to provide broad legal education resembling German universities and other Continental institutions, but these attempts failed.Footnote 9
Simultaneously with the changing nature of legal education, the nature of English law books also changed. Modern attempts to systematize English law using treatises began in the eighteenth century with Blackstone’s Commentaries on the Laws of England. Law-treatise writing accelerated in the second half of the nineteenth century with the reforms in English legal education.Footnote 10 One specific subgenre of legal literature that evolved in the nineteenth century was that of books on jurisprudence. Unlike other kinds of legal treatises, the audience for these books mainly comprised law students.Footnote 11 Side-by-side with leading authors such as Jeremy Bentham, John Austin, and Henry Maine, writers such as Markby (1871), Holland (1880), and Salmond (1902) began to gain visibility. However, the underdeveloped state of legal education in England – limited in scope, relatively non-academic, and with little emphasis on research – was not conducive to creating a large and sophisticated body of works on jurisprudence.Footnote 12
The history of Indian legal education in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries mirrors that of England. The development of Indian legal education was connected to the gradual development of the modern Indian legal profession. Until the late eighteenth century, there was no regulation of the lawyers who appeared before the British courts operating in the Presidency towns of the East India Company (Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras), and the number of legal practitioners was exceedingly small. Over time, a nascent legal profession appeared, divided into several subcategories of lawyers; these were primarily British, to begin with, but a few local Indian lawyers later joined their ranks. However, even in the mid nineteenth century, the number of lawyers was still small.Footnote 13 The British also established courts in territories outside the three aforementioned Presidency towns, and here the lawyers (vakils) were Indian. These lawyers had to be familiar with Persian (the language of the courts until 1826) and to have been trained in Hindu or Islamic law.Footnote 14
After the end of Company rule in 1858, the dual court system that had operated up to that point was replaced by a unified system of courts, at the apex of which stood the three High Courts of Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras. Additional High Courts later followed in cities such as Allahabad, Patna, and Lahore. Indian lawyers could plead before the High Courts, thus greatly expanding the scope and prestige of their work. In parallel, the requirements to practice as a vakil were expanded: these lawyers now had to acquire knowledge of English, study at a law college or university, and pass the High Court examination.Footnote 15 By the beginning of the twentieth century, a law degree had become an essential prerequisite for practicing law, at least in Bengal.Footnote 16
Before the colonial period, Hindu law was taught by individual teachers (gurus) in Hindu temples and schools or, in the case of Islamic law, Islamic seminaries (madrasas). British colonial authorities created new institutions teaching traditional law, such as the Calcutta Madrasa (established in 1780) and the Benares Sanskrit College (established in 1791).Footnote 17 Gradually, institutions providing Western-style legal education also began to be established in India.Footnote 18 In Madras, the College of Fort St. George, established by the British in 1812, provided formal training for law officers and pleaders as early as 1816. While law classes in Madras were discontinued in the late 1830s, they were revived by George Norton, the Advocate General, in 1840, until Norton returned to England in 1853.Footnote 19 In 1855, law classes were established at Elphinstone College in Bombay, the Hindu College in Calcutta, and the Presidency College of Madras. In 1857, universities were established in the three Presidencies, and training in law was declared part of their functions.Footnote 20 Other universities followed (such as the University of the Punjab, established in 1882, and the University of Allahabad, in 1887).
The actual role of these universities in the provision of legal education differed from place to place. In certain cities, such as Madras, legal education was concentrated in a single, dedicated law college operating under the affiliation of the local university. In others (such as Calcutta, which produced approximately half of all Indian law graduates in the late nineteenth century), there was no central law college until the beginning of the twentieth century. Instead, various colleges affiliated with the university taught law as just one subject area among others in the curriculum.Footnote 21 By the 1886 academic year, there were eighteen law schools in India and 1,716 law students. By 1896–1897, there were thirty-four such schools, teaching 3,020 students; and by 1939–1940, the number of law students had risen to 6,749. This compares to just 1,515 law students in the United Kingdom at that time.Footnote 22
The gradual growth in the number of law students in nineteenth-century India did not change the nature of its legal education, and, generally speaking, “the study of law was not taken as a very serious exercise.”Footnote 23 There was no standard legal education program, and the duration of studies varied from school to school. Part-time teachers taught law to part-time students. Courses were often delivered in the evening, attendance was non-mandatory, and law libraries were limited or non-existent. While jurisprudence was taught in Indian law schools (as well as other theoretical subjects, such as legal history and Roman law), the teaching was primarily technical and non-academic. Because legal education institutions in British India were geared to training lawyers rather than conducting legal scholarship, there was also little academic research or writing on law.Footnote 24
However, the nature of legal education had evolved by the first decade of the twentieth century, at least at the University of Calcutta – the most important higher education institution in British India (see Figure 1.1). Established in 1857, it began, like other Indian universities of the period, as an examination-oriented entity modeled on the University of London, while the actual teaching was delivered by the numerous colleges affiliated with it.Footnote 25 There were sixty such colleges at the beginning of the twentieth century, although less than a third of them taught law.Footnote 26
In the first decade of the twentieth century, the University of Calcutta underwent significant reform. In 1904, the British enacted the Indian Universities Act. This sought to strengthen government control of Indian universities and thus undermine their independence. Indian nationalists vehemently opposed the Act. When the British decided to partition Bengal in 1905, Indian nationalists initiated a campaign involving various forms of protest – demonstrations, boycotts, labor unrest, acts of civil disobedience, and, ultimately, acts of terror – known as the Swadeshi Movement. The Movement reached its zenith between 1905 and 1908. As part of the Movement, Bengali nationalists sought to promote self-sufficiency in the educational realm. One expression of this impulse was the creation of a National Council of Education in Bengal. The Council envisioned a system of education rooted in Indian culture and languages, in opposition to the Anglicized education promoted by the universities established by the British. This vision was manifested in the establishment of the Bengal National College in 1906. The College did not achieve the anticipated success. This was partly due to practical reasons involving the employment prospects of its graduates. It was also partly the result of the fact that the demand to de-Anglicize higher education in Bengal had spurred British officials to undertake significant reform in the nature of the education delivered at the University of Calcutta.Footnote 27
In response to nationalist agitation, the British appointed Asutosh Mookerjee, a mathematician and jurist, as the Vice-Chancellor of the University of Calcutta in 1906 (see Figure 1.2). Mookerjee served in this post between 1906 and 1914 and again between 1921 and 1923. He was an academic entrepreneur who sought to emulate the German university model and steer his institution toward academic research. He initiated a series of significant reforms that turned the university into the leading academic institution in India. He instigated the creation of a postgraduate teaching department, hired a host of talented Indian scholars, expanded the university library, and created a university press.Footnote 28
Mookerjee was also a nationalist intellectual associated with the Swadeshi Movement, and his appointment as the university’s Vice-Chancellor was a way for the British to calm nationalist agitation. However, in practice, Mookerjee used his position to further the nationalist goal of Indian cultural independence from Britain.Footnote 29 Like many Indian intellectuals, he opposed the view that “a single shelf of a good European library was worth the whole native literature of India and Arabia.”Footnote 30 He appointed lecturers who were associated with radical nationalist politics, expanded the use of the vernacular Indian language at the university, and was keen to turn it into a center for studying and propagating Indian culture.Footnote 31
Specifically in the legal realm, Mookerjee, who had previously studied law and served as a judge in the Calcutta High Court, sought to reform legal education at the university, moving it in a more academic direction. Until his time, there was no college affiliated with the university that was entirely devoted to legal studies. A two-year postgraduate course of law lectures, with no mandatory attendance requirement, was all that was required to obtain a law degree.Footnote 32 In 1909, Mookerjee established the University of Calcutta College of Law, which was based on the idea that law was “neither a trade, nor a solemn jugglery, but a true and living science.”Footnote 33 Law now became a three-year postgraduate degree. In addition to this Bachelor of Law program, the College offered students an advanced Master’s degree and a doctorate in law. A dedicated library containing approximately 20,000 law books was also established.Footnote 34 Jurisprudence, Roman law, and Hindu law were taught at the College during its first academic year.Footnote 35 Hindu law, which Mookerjee once called a “monument of Asiatic genius,” was studied not only at the College of Law but also at the Sanskrit College in Calcutta, established in 1824 and later affiliated with the University. It was also incorporated into the MA degree in Ancient Indian History and Culture, a program associated with the Carmichael Chair that Mookerjee established in 1912.Footnote 36
Moving from legal education to legal research, throughout the nineteenth century, legal education in India was viewed as a technical matter involving the study of rules, not a science based on principles, and certainly not a discipline related in any way to the historical or social sciences. This was at least partly due to the acceptance of an understanding (associated with the works of the English legal philosopher John Austin) that defined law as a command imposed from above by the sovereign and as consisting mainly of statutes (in the Indian case, codes enacted by the British). As a result, the type of legal scholarship produced in India was narrow. In the early colonial period (until 1858), the primary genre of works created by English jurists in India comprised collections of regulations, rules, and case law and translations of Hindu and Islamic law books. In addition, digests and descriptive works attempting to summarize the rules on a given legal topic were also published.Footnote 37 Once the British embarked on the project of Indian codification, commentaries interpreting these codes also began to be published.Footnote 38
One exception to the generally practical nature of Indian legal literature was that of the publications associated with the Tagore Law Lectures, an annual lecture series established in 1870. It was created by Prasanna Kumar Tagore, one of the members of the Tagore family, a family of Bengali intellectuals and nationalist activists. The annual lectures were given by leading non-Indian jurists (including, eventually, figures such as Holdsworth, Pollock, and Pound) and many Indian ones (most of them practicing judges and lawyers rather than law professors). The lectures were then published.Footnote 39 Most of the lectures published in the nineteenth century were descriptive surveys of the law of British India (such as the laws concerning mortgages, minors, marriage, inheritance, gifts, and agency). They were comprehensive and learned but formalist, non-contextual, and non-theoretical. They did not make use of history or the social sciences.Footnote 40 However, this changed in the early decades of the twentieth century when some of the lectures became more theoretical.
British Jurisprudence Textbooks Written in India
English jurisprudence dominated Indian legal education during the colonial period. Why was it so dominant? Different scholars offered different reasons. Charles Lewis Tupper, the Vice-Chancellor of the University of the Punjab, argued in 1901 that, just as Greek art and philosophy had “fructified” Rome, and Greek and Roman literature had led to the transition from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance, so too was English culture playing the same role in “the Indian Renaissance now in progress.” Specifically, in law studies, this role was to be played by English jurisprudence, which, claimed Tupper, “reigns alone” in this field (mentioning three thinkers, Bentham, Austin, and Maine).Footnote 41
A different argument about the dominance of English jurisprudence in India – specifically, English analytical jurisprudence – was made after Indian Independence by S. N. Dhyani, a law professor at the University of Rajasthan in Jaipur. He wrote in 1985:
… during the heydays of British imperialism and absolute power no theory of law could fit in so eminently as Austin’s analytical positivism which meant despotism, status quo, police state, anti-people government and alien laws and judicial system – all rolled into one … Austin was [the] god-father of [the Indian legal community before 1947] and his philosophy of law was their Bible which they capriciously worshiped by sacrificing the good of the people.Footnote 42
Whether one agrees with Tupper or Dhyani, English jurisprudence was not entirely dominant. A relatively large number of books on jurisprudence were produced in India during the British period. At first, these works were written by British lawyers. Later, they were joined by Indian jurists. Most of the books produced in India were derivative, simply summarizing English ideas. Some, however, were unique in several senses.Footnote 43 First, some were more cosmopolitan than English works, relying more heavily on contemporary Continental and American legal theories compared to English works produced at the same time. Second, in some of the Indian works, the gap between English theories and Indian reality led the authors to critique prevailing English jurisprudential notions, which were supposed to be universal but were actually only applicable to modern Western law. Finally, in the first decades of the twentieth century, a new genre of jurisprudential works emerged in India: texts that employed Western jurisprudential notions to describe the principles and history of Hindu law (and, to a lesser extent, Islamic law), offering a different vision of the nature of law (and sometimes also of society) to the one provided by the British.Footnote 44 Such works also illustrate the impact of nationalist ideology on jurisprudential thought in India.
The first comprehensive treatise on jurisprudence written in India was William Markby’s Elements of Law.Footnote 45 This book was published in 1871, less than a decade after the publication of Austin’s Lectures on Jurisprudence. Thus, it pioneered a long line of treatises that attempted to simplify Austin’s lectures and render them more accessible to law students. Markby’s book was based on a series of lectures he had given to a class of Indian students at the University of Calcutta in 1870.Footnote 46 Markby (see Figure 1.3) was related to John Austin’s wife, Sarah, and he helped her prepare Austin’s Lectures on Jurisprudence for publication in 1863. In 1866, he was appointed a judge at the Calcutta High Court, and he later served as the Vice-Chancellor of the University of Calcutta (1877–1878) before returning to England in 1878 and becoming the first Reader in Indian law at the University of Oxford.Footnote 47
Portrait of William Markby by Hubert von Herkomer.

Markby’s book seems to have been relatively influential (at least in the first decades after its publication), with six editions published between 1871 and 1905. It was published in the United Kingdom and was based on a structure that later became a convention in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century English jurisprudence textbooks.Footnote 48 Markby believed that the scientific study of law was universal, noting, for example, that his definition of law (based on Austin’s definition) was not only relevant to English law. “No theory of religion, or of morals, or of politics, is involved in these views of law,” he declared. “They are alike true for Hindoos, Mahommedans, and Christians.”Footnote 49 Markby referred to India and its laws in many places in his book, which is unsurprising given its origins in a series of lectures at the University of Calcutta. Markby’s Indian references were mostly used to illustrate his general arguments.Footnote 50 However, when he discussed the role of customary law in deciding cases, he argued – contrary to Austin – that custom was “not merely a branch of judge-made law” but an “independent source of law” and, indeed, “a notion older than law itself.” In support of this argument, Markby mentioned ancient German village courts and “the village courts (punchayets) [sic] which exist to this day in Madras.”Footnote 51 Indian examples provided to illustrate general jurisprudential points were also used in other works by Markby.Footnote 52
In the final two decades of the nineteenth century, several works resembling Markby’s were published in India.Footnote 53 The most ambitious of which was William Rattigan’s The Science of Jurisprudence.Footnote 54 Rattigan modestly disclaimed “any intention” of presenting himself as “an original writer.”Footnote 55 His book, he explained in the preface to the first edition, was written to “supply a want” for an accessible jurisprudence textbook for Indian students because Austin’s book could not be understood even by English students, while Markby’s and Holland’s books were “not simple enough” for Indian ones.Footnote 56 However, the book was unique in some important senses. First, it was more “Indian” in focus than Markby’s book, containing more mentions of topics related to India.Footnote 57 This Indian aspect becomes evident if we consider a quantitative analysis comparing the words used by Markby and Rattigan in their respective books. Table 1.1 lists the number of occurrences of specific keywords in both texts in descending order (the terms related to Indian law in both texts are italicized).Footnote 58
| Terms used in Markby’s book | Number of instances | Terms used in Rattigan’s book | Number of instances |
|---|---|---|---|
| English/England/British | 272 | India/Indian | 382 |
| Roman/Rome | 103 | English/England/British | 287 |
| India/Indian | 97 | Roman/Romans/Rome | 184 |
| Austin/Austin’s | 75 | Hindu | 54 |
| France/French | 47 | France/French | 33 |
| Savigny/Savigny’s | 38 | Allah | 32 |
| Hindoo/Hindoos | 29 | Austin | 23 |
| America/American | 21 | America | 23 |
| Bentham | 16 | German/Germany | 20 |
| Maine | 15 | Justinian | 19 |
| Mahommedans | 14 | Bengal | 16 |
| German/Germany | 8 | Madras | 14 |
| Bengal | 7 | Muhammadan | 13 |
| Italian | 6 | Maine | 11 |
As Table 1.2 shows, there is a marked difference in the prevalence of English-law-related terms versus Indian-law-related terms in the two works. Indian-law-related keywords (the “Indian cluster”) comprised just 20 percent of the keywords in Markby’s book, compared to 45 percent in the case of Rattigan’s book.
| Markby | Rattigan | |
|---|---|---|
| English cluster | 399 (53%) | 350 (31%) |
| Continental cluster | 202 (27%) | 274 (24%) |
| Indian cluster | 142 (20%) | 511 (45%) |
A second feature of Rattigan’s book that can be considered unique was that, while Continental-law-related keywords appeared with similar frequency in both texts (27 percent of the words counted in Markby, compared to 24 percent in Rattigan), Rattigan’s book contained more in-depth discussion of Continental legal theorists than Markby’s book.Footnote 59 For example, Rattigan’s exploration of the distinction between law and morality did not simply follow the conventional Austinian discussion. Instead, he devoted several pages to a survey of different Continental approaches to this distinction, mentioning both German legal thinkers (Krause, Jhering, Ahrens) and also Italian ones (Vico, Lioy), only then moving on to Austin’s “narrower view” on the topic.Footnote 60 This Continental orientation was noted in a review of the second edition of the book published in the Revue générale du droit (July–August 1892).Footnote 61 Rattigan’s educational trajectory, which included a doctorate from the University of Göttingen, may explain the more extensive references to Continental thinkers in his book.Footnote 62
Finally, another significant aspect of Rattigan’s book that set it apart was that it relied on Indian examples to refine or critique English theories of law. This is evident, for instance, in his discussion of the Austinian definition of law. The second chapter of the book began with a summary of the theory of “Austin and his followers” on the nature of law as the command of a sovereign. Rattigan then provided some conventional counter-examples to the Austinian theory (such as international law, which is conceived as “law” even though it is not created by a “sovereign”). He also criticized Austin’s theory as relevant only to modern states where legislation was the main source of the law. As an example of law in other societies, he mentioned India, noting that Austin probably did not know that, in India, before the British conquest, life was governed by rules that were “as absolute as any” modern law but did not emanate from a political superior.Footnote 63 In this context, Rattigan mentioned examples such as the customary rules that governed the life of village communities in the Punjab (customary law, it will be recalled, was a topic on which Rattigan wrote a digest). He also cited the example of Hindu laws, which were prescribed and reformed by Hindu sages (rishis), who had no temporal power. These sages, Rattigan continued, were able to introduce radical changes in the law using indirect methods. For example, “when they wished to abolish some prevailing practice or custom, they did not do so by an express injunction, but, by pretending to regulate the practice, they subjected it to so many conditions and ceremonial requirements as in reality to render its observance impossible,” thus giving the Hindu codes “elasticity which has not rendered them obsolete despite the lapse of centuries.”Footnote 64
What is remarkable about this passage is that, using Indian examples, Rattigan managed in just a few pages not only to demonstrate the problematic nature of Austin’s theory of law (as the command of a political sovereign) when applied to a non-modern legal system – a point made earlier in Maine’s Ancient Law and other works by Maine – but also to attack the second dominant legal theory produced by nineteenth-century English jurisprudence, that of Maine himself (without naming him). In Ancient Law (first published in 1861), Maine described Hindu law as being based on outmoded codes that, because of the sanctity of religion, could not be reformed.Footnote 65 Rattigan argued that the conditions and requirements created by the rishis were not a mark of an outdated and problematic legal system but just the opposite: an indication of its elasticity and vitality.
The emphasis on the importance of custom was also evident in other parts of Rattigan’s book. For example, in the chapter on the sources of law, Rattigan observed that one cannot “overstress … [the] importance of giving due effect to custom,” especially in the Punjab, where peasants were “extremely simple in their habits” and where, therefore, Hindu and Islamic laws were foreign. Indian law, Rattigan noted, was a “mosaic” in which “English, Muhammadan, and Hindu” law existed side-by-side with the customs of towns and villages. Austin’s view that customary law was not “law” until the courts declared its existence was, therefore, “clearly erroneous,” Rattigan contended.Footnote 66
Customary law also played a significant part in another English jurisprudence book related to India: Carleton Kemp Allen’s Law in the Making. Allen, who taught jurisprudence at Oxford, delivered the 1926 Tagore Law Lectures at the University of Calcutta, and his book was based on them.Footnote 67 The work focused on sources of law and discussed precedent, equity, and legislation, but the book’s first and most sizeable part was devoted to custom. Allen explained this emphasis on custom by saying that, while French jurists could ignore custom because codes were their primary source of law, English lawyers – be they in India or the Privy Council – “cannot be unconscious of the part which custom has played and still plays in the legal development of civilizations even more complex than [their] own.” Therefore, Allen argued, Indian customary law proved “the huge vitality of custom as a source of law and as a rule of conduct quite unrelated to any sovereign authority in the Austinian sense.”Footnote 68
Allen’s book was reviewed in the Calcutta Law Journal. As we shall see in the next part of this chapter, by the 1920s, Indian scholars, too, were readily critiquing English jurisprudential approaches. The anonymous reviewer commended Allen for abandoning the Austinian model of law, but he also criticized him. One critique was that Allen’s description of the attitude of ancient Hindu law to custom was based on outdated sources and did not take into account the latest theoretical works on the topic written by Indian scholars. A second critique was that Allen viewed equity as a separate source of law – a view that was the result, said the reviewer, of English parochialism and formalism. In other legal systems, equity was not considered an independent source of law.Footnote 69
The books I have discussed here illustrate one outcome of the transplantation of English jurisprudential ideas to India, namely their modification due to the gap between English theory and Indian reality. I will now discuss South Asian writers, whose works reflected the impact of Indian nationalist ideology. Nationalism led some Indian authors to be more receptive to non-English (Continental and American) jurisprudential theories. It led others to produce works that sought to tease out the jurisprudential notions underlying local (Hindu and Islamic) law and to portray these notions positively, in contrast with the negative image of non-Western law prevalent in English works at the time.
Works on Jurisprudence Produced by Indian Authors
Works on Western Jurisprudence
From the late nineteenth century onward, South Asian authors began publishing works on jurisprudence.Footnote 70 As these works were primarily meant to assist students in passing their exams, they adopted an uncritical approach to English jurisprudence. Thus, even when they mentioned Indian examples, these were not used to question the ideas of English thinkers.Footnote 71 However, there were also more original works. One such work was written by Karunamay Basu, the Chairman of the Board of Lecturers in Jurisprudence and Roman Law at the University Law College of Calcutta in the 1920s and 1930s.Footnote 72 Basu had a keen interest in contemporary American and Continental legal theories, which were more advanced and sophisticated than English ones, and these dominated his 1921 Tagore Lectures, which were published in two volumes in 1925 and 1929.Footnote 73
One reason that Basu’s lectures made copious use of Continental theories was practical: the fact that these theories were now easily accessible in English. Between 1909 and 1925, the Boston Book Company and its successor, the Macmillan Company, published a series of translations of major Continental jurisprudence books.Footnote 74 These books were heavily referenced by Basu in his book.Footnote 75 Basu’s discussion of these works was rather unique. Other books and articles published in India during the same period also sometimes referred to Continental thinkers, but they did so in a far less comprehensive way.Footnote 76
In addition to practical considerations, however, it seems that Basu’s shift from a wholly English jurisprudential orientation to a more international one may have reflected a broader cultural trend associated with Indian nationalism. In the nineteenth century, Indian thinkers mostly turned to England for intellectual inspiration. This was certainly true for the mid nineteenth-century “Bengali Renaissance,” which was associated with liberal thinkers such as Rammohun Roy and, later, with the Young Bengal movement, both influenced by English utilitarian thought.Footnote 77 It was even true when liberalism was replaced by neo-romantic Hindu revivalism in the late nineteenth century, best expressed in the works of writers such as Bankimchandra Chatterjee. Bankim’s neo-Hinduism of the late nineteenth century may superficially be seen as a local reaction to English culture, but, in fact, it echoed contemporary English ideas about the nature of culture, nation, and religion. The late nineteenth-century Indian rejection of liberalism thus resonated with similar trends prevalent in England.Footnote 78
However, as historian Kris Manjapra has shown, during the first two decades of the twentieth century (partly due to the Swadeshi Movement), and especially in the 1920s, Bengali intellectuals shifted their cultural outlook, replacing the Anglophilic tendencies of the previous generations of intellectuals with an international, multipolar, anti-colonial vision of the world, turning Calcutta into “the epicenter of anti-British intellectual politics.”Footnote 79 For example, the shift from an English to an international orientation was evident in literature. While Bankim’s late nineteenth-century literary magazine, Bangadarshan, still imagined the world through “the lenses of the British Empire” and the India–Britain axis, the equivalent literary magazine of the 1920s generation in Bengal, Kallol, offered its readers a multipolar internationalist perspective.Footnote 80 This move from an imperial to an international orientation was manifested in a rejection of the conventional English literary canon taught at the time at Indian universities, leading to the publication of literary works by non-English writers from places as diverse as the United States, Germany, Northern and Eastern Europe, Russia, and Japan. It also echoed other trends in Indian culture of the 1920s, such as a marked increase in the translation, publication, and trade of books in European languages other than English, the growing connections between the University of Calcutta and German and Japanese scholars, and the international literary tours of India’s leading author, Rabindranath Tagore, during the interwar period.Footnote 81 Basu’s lectures can be viewed as the jurisprudential manifestation of this broader movement away from English intellectual fashions, as discussed in detail by Manjapra.
In his first lecture of the series, Basu declared his independence from English jurisprudence and the analytical method, stating that his Tagore Law Lectures reflected “the new tendency” to study not only law but also “the science and philosophy of law.” He also noted that this tendency had been adopted by the University of Calcutta, following the lead of the United States, where works by Continental jurists were being translated and studied. In recent years, he continued, the “limited” focus on the analytical school had changed. Americans were studying French and German legal theory, thus leading to the “rise of a new unified school of Sociological Jurisprudence,” which was needed “for the better and more effective solution of the serious social and legal problems which can no longer be disposed of … [by] … superficial and pragmatic treatment.” He observed:
India cannot help sharing in these problems of the civilised world, and it is but meet and proper that the study of jurisprudence from the points of view of all the schools, should receive the same impetus and encouragement from the premier University of India as it is receiving in the continent of Europe and in the United States.Footnote 82
Later in the book, Basu also noted the resistance of English jurisprudence to “sociological thought,” adding that, unlike England, in the United States, “the sociological spirit ha[d] been awakened.”Footnote 83 Basu’s observation on the relative absence of Continental (and American) legal theories from contemporary English works was accurate.Footnote 84 For example, in the 580 pages of the seventh edition of Salmond’s Jurisprudence, published in 1924, sociological jurisprudence was not mentioned at all, and Roscoe Pound was mentioned only twice – once in a footnote mentioning an article of his that contained a general survey of schools of jurisprudence, and once in the bibliography.Footnote 85 In a similar vein, the newest edition of T. E. Holland’s Elements of Jurisprudence, at the time of Basu’s Tagore Lectures in 1921, was the twelfth edition of the textbook, published in 1917, from which the notion of “sociological jurisprudence” was absent.Footnote 86
Another interesting point about Basu was his attitude to Hindu law. In the preface to the book, he mentioned a complaint he had received about the lack of attention to Hindu law in his lectures.Footnote 87 His somewhat puzzling answer to this criticism was that all the stages of the development of jurisprudence were already found in Hindu law: “My first impulse [in response to that criticism] naturally was to find some excuse in the fact that Hindu Jurisprudence is not ‘modern.’” However, Basu continued, he had then realized that: “Hindu juristic theories had in fact passed through almost all the phases which characterised the various stage of the juristic history of Europe and Anglo-America since the dawn of civilisation; and moreover had reached in its most developed form a synthesis which has not yet been attained in the modern world.”Footnote 88
Basu said in his book that the next step in the development of jurisprudence would be a synthesis of existing theories. In the preface, however, he argued that such a synthesis would not be novel. It would actually be “an adaptation of the synthetic philosophy and jurisprudence of the Hindus to modern conditions.”Footnote 89 Basu repeated this point in his preface to the second volume, which was subtitled “A Plea for a Synthetic Philosophy of Law.” He explained that the book was “only an expository study of the modern theories” and that “the proposed reconstruction of the Synthetic Philosophy of Law in the light and spirit of our ancient Oriental Philosophy should be, if at all … taken up separately as an independent piece of work.”Footnote 90
Basu’s lectures contained almost no references to Hindu or Islamic law. For example, the first lecture, which was a survey of legal theories between antiquity and the early modern period, was based on a view of jurisprudence as a Western creation. It began with the Greeks and Romans, moving directly on to the Middle Ages in Europe. There were no allusions to non-Western systems of law.Footnote 91
While Basu argued in the preface to his book that Hindu jurisprudence was superior to its Western counterpart, in the book itself, Basu often repeated disparaging Western descriptions of non-Western law. For example, when discussing the critique of Austin’s theory by what he called the “English Historical School” (specifically, Maine, Pollock, and Bryce), he noted that one of their objections to this theory was that:
Austin’s definition of law may be true with regard to the laws of advanced civilized states like the Roman Empire or the modern European states … but can scarcely apply to the more backward states, past and present, e.g., the Oriental States, where the central power concerns itself only with the gathering of armies and levying of taxes and leaves the administration of law entirely to local courts and [village councils, i.e.,] panchayaets [sic].Footnote 92
Basu then mentioned the response given by Austin’s defenders (Holland, Markby, and Salmond), namely, that:
… the customary laws and rules of Oriental states … are not positive laws at all in the Austinian sense. They may be yet regarded as mere rules or laws of morality – defective and deformed predecessors of the more perfected type that constitutes the positive laws of modern civilised states. You may historically trace the new modern type to the older as its source, as you can biologically trace the descent of man from the anthropoid ape; but the two logically belong to essentially separate species.Footnote 93
Rather than question this equation of Oriental laws with apes, Basu repeated it, and this repetition seems to undermine his contention in the preface to the book that Hindu law and jurisprudence were actually more advanced than Western ones.Footnote 94
The tendency to uncritically summarize Western works was also evident in other places in the book. For example, when discussing racial theories of law (based on thinkers such as Houston Stewart Chamberlain), Basu commented that “contact with superior foreign civilisations and legal systems develops the resources of a virile race and improves and reforms its indigenous social and legal fabric, as was the case with the Roman Republic; but similar influences would smother a weaker race and denationalise it.”Footnote 95
The unquestioning acceptance of Western theories sometimes led Basu to adopt contradictory positions. For example, in one place in the book, Basu criticized the classical economists of the early nineteenth century as if he were a Marxist. Thus, when describing the rise of the science of economics in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, he noted that economic theory (as well as jurisprudence) during that period were based on an individualistic ideology and the ideal of freedom of contract and, therefore, ignored class distinctions and the “debasement” of the proletariat. The abstract idea of “freedom of contract,” he said, led only to the “freedom to perish.”Footnote 96 Later in his book, he devoted several pages to a survey of socialist, communist, and anarchist social theories, including a summary of their critique of liberal law – a law that was designed, he said, to assist in the “economic enslavement of the masses.”Footnote 97
In another place in his book, however, Basu praised the Historical School for undermining the revolutionary spirit of the French Revolution, as if he were a conservative thinker, arguing that this school’s portrayal of law as the “historic product of popular life slowly … evolving … and incapable of being suddenly and spasmodically changed” represented a “safe, healthy and orthodox line of thought,” resisting the “tide of revolutionary ideas” of the eighteenth century “and their accompanying evil.”Footnote 98 Basu may only have been attempting to accurately convey the main ideas of the schools of thought that he was describing, but the terms he used (such as “healthy”) pointed to a contradictory espousal of both socialist and conservative ideas about the nature of law and society.
Basu was aware of the need to include non-Western law in his work (as is evident from the preface to his book). However, he did not actually do so. Other works written at the time were more critical of Western legal theories and more interested in non-Western law, specifically in Hindu law. I will now discuss such works, some of which were also based on Tagore Law Lectures, like Basu’s book.
Theoretical Works on Hindu Law
Interest in digesting and codifying “Hindu law” can be traced back to eighteenth-century British officials in India, such as William Jones. The English brought with them specific jurisprudential notions about the nature of law (and of “religion”), and these notions shaped how they constructed and represented local “law,” whether Hindu or Islamic (and, later, also Buddhist law in colonial Burma).Footnote 99 In the following paragraphs, I will not discuss works dealing with the practical aspects of Anglo–Hindu law (that is, the personal law of most non-Muslims in India), whose primary audience comprised legal practitioners, nor will I discuss the way Hindu law was reflected in colonial case law.Footnote 100 Nor will I discuss works by Western and Indian Indologists such as Julius Jolly, Ganganatha Jha, or P. V. Kane.Footnote 101 Rather, I am interested here in texts on Hindu jurisprudence – that is, works (produced by Indian legal scholars) whose main concern was to discuss the more general aspects of Hindu law, whether its sources, the classification scheme used by Hindu jurists, significant concepts (such as ownership, contract, crime, and so on), or the history of Hindu law. This type of literature evolved at the beginning of the twentieth century and was associated with scholars linked to the University of Calcutta.Footnote 102
The intellectual roots of this literature go back to pre-twentieth-century British missionary critiques of Hinduism, which portrayed it as idolatrous, superstitious, and morally degenerate.Footnote 103 These critiques provoked introspection and reform among Hindu intellectuals influenced by the West who sought to reassert the philosophical richness and ethical foundations of Hinduism. Nineteenth-century religious and social reform movements like the Brahmo Samaj and Arya Samaj, also influenced by Western monotheism and rationalism, played pivotal roles in redefining Hindu identity.Footnote 104 The twentieth-century works dealing with legal theory that I will now discuss can be seen as another expression of the same mixture of Western ideas and Hindu traditions in colonial India.
I will discuss several books and articles on Hindu jurisprudence published in the first decades of the twentieth century. These were all based on Western jurisprudential theories, accepting some of its basic premises (for example, that there was, indeed, an entity that could be called “Hindu law” or that this entity could be described by using concepts taken from “universal” or “general” jurisprudence). However, these works were also critical of Western descriptions of Hindu law, especially those found in the writings of Henry Maine. I have selected these particular works even though they seem to have had little lasting influence in their own right, either in India or elsewhere.Footnote 105 However, they illustrate how Indian nationalist discourse shaped Indian jurisprudential works in the early twentieth century. Criticizing English jurisprudential theories was a way for these authors to indirectly criticize British colonial rule. Specifically, their writings sought to challenge two significant themes found in English jurisprudential works that tended to legitimize British colonial rule in India. First, the Austinian association of the term “law” exclusively with norms created by a sovereign in a top-down manner. Second, Maine’s portrayal of Hindu law as “perverted” (and, therefore, in need of replacement by English law), an idea that was also associated with a broader theme – the view that Oriental societies were inherently despotic.Footnote 106
Some aspects of the relationship between Indian nationalism and law have been explored in past literature – specifically, the fact that many of the leaders of the nationalist movement were lawyers by training. This feature was typical of many non-Western nationalist movements.Footnote 107 Another link between Indian nationalism and law can be found in the attempt, before and after Indian Independence, to replace the alien British legal system of the colonial period with a system based on adjudication by village councils (panchayats).Footnote 108 Here, I discuss one aspect of the links between law and Indian nationalism that, until now, has been overlooked – the attempt, during the colonial period, to use Hindu law to criticize Western jurisprudential notions.
The first scholar whose work I will discuss is Priyanath Sen. Sen was appointed Tagore Law Professor at the University of Calcutta in 1908 at the age of 35. He was due to deliver the 1909 Tagore Law Lectures but died that year. His lectures were published posthumously in 1918 in a book entitled The General Principles of Hindu Jurisprudence (see Figure 1.4).Footnote 109
Title Page, Priyanath Sen, The General Principles of Hindu Jurisprudence (Calcutta: University of Calcutta Press, 1918).

The book discussed Hindu law using modern jurisprudential categories, thus combining Western and Indian ideas. The book was Western because Sen accepted the English definition of what jurisprudence was (“to analyse and systematise these essential elements underlying the infinite variety of legal rules without special reference to the institutions of any particular country”) and the Austinian division between general and particular jurisprudence.Footnote 110 Sen also accepted the notion that there are certain stages through which all legal systems must pass in their evolution.Footnote 111 He argued that his discussion of the general principles of Hindu law could serve to promote a more general understanding of the nature of law (in the same way that the study of Sanskrit contributed to the “science of philology”).Footnote 112 He was convinced that Hindu law’s “secular” parts could be disentangled (albeit with some difficulty) from the religious and moral parts. Thus, he focused on the parts that Western jurists saw as essential to law (property, family, contract, tort, criminal, procedural, and evidentiary law). Furthermore, in his book, he rejected the traditional classifications of Hindu law in favor of a new “scientific” classification scheme derived from the Roman tripartite division of law into things, persons, and actions, augmented by a special chapter on contractual obligations and another chapter on tort and crime.Footnote 113
On the other hand, Sen showed how the Western, positivist, concept of law did not accord with Hindu law. Law, he said, was not the command of a sovereign accompanied by the threat of an earthly sanction (as John Austin argued). In Hindu jurisprudence, the king was subject to the law like all other human beings. The king did not legislate except in minor and temporary matters, and his role was merely that of enforcer of the law. Sanctions were not earthly punishments. Instead, disobedience led to misery, either in this life or in the life to come. Thus, unlike the “modern or Austinian view” of law, which argued that legal norms were “commands issuing from the King,” the Hindu view was that law “issues from a source superior to the King, and the duty of enforcing [the law] is cast upon [the King] from above.”Footnote 114 Sen also criticized the Western view that “Oriental Empires” lacked an interest in the rule of law, being merely concerned with raising taxes and armies. He argued that – at least as far as India was concerned – the primary duty of kings was to protect their subjects by enforcing the law.Footnote 115
Sen also rejected the disparaging English approach to Hindu law found in Henry Maine’s 1861 book, Ancient Law, where Maine described Hindu law as containing an “immense apparatus of cruel absurdities” and referred to a “feeble and perverted” Hindu civilization.Footnote 116 Sen’s answer to this scathing depiction was to say that “the hostile aspersion” cast on Hindu law by “able but ill-informed critics” was the result of “ignorance and prejudice.” Those critics, Sen asserted, “go into raptures at the bare mention of the [early Roman law code, the] Twelve Tables, but shake their heads at the mention of the name of Manu, and talk about ‘feeble civilization’ and ‘cruel absurdities’ without feeling the absurdity of criticising upon a subject which they had no opportunity to study.”Footnote 117
Hindu law was not perfect, Sen acknowledged, but it compared favorably with Roman law – and this comparison was objective, not a result of Sen’s own “undue partiality towards [his] national system.”Footnote 118 Sen directed these comments at Maine, although he did not mention him by name here. However, in another part of his book, when discussing the specific topic of the acquisition of property by conquest, Sen noted that the Hindu laws of war limited the rights of conquering kings more than Roman law did and that “we may be justly proud that Hindu law was less indulgent of the ferocity and cupidity of combatants [than Roman law,] and Sir Henry Maine, when he talked glibly of the ‘feeble civilization’ of the Hindus might well have taken notice of this.”Footnote 119
There are several other places in the lectures where Sen sought, somewhat apologetically, to defend Hindu law relative to Western legal systems. For example, in his discussion of marital relationships, he defended the rules that prohibited widows from remarrying while allowing polygamy, noting that these rules “were due to social causes which I cannot here stop to discuss” and adding that, anyway, nowadays “monogamy is almost the rule and polygamy an exception.”Footnote 120 His discussion of the Hindu law of slavery was opened by a remark on the existence of slavery in Roman law and a statement to the effect that, in ancient times, all legal systems recognized slavery.Footnote 121 When discussing the Hindu law of contractual obligations, Sen noted that, under Hindu law, there was no “distinct treatment of contracts in general,” but he added that, while this might seem to be a shortcoming, the history of English law revealed this to be the case in England, too. Therefore, he reasoned, Hindu contract law was “as developed as most other systems of ancient law.”Footnote 122
Sen ended his lectures by stating again that Hindu law “would not compare unfavourably with even the most developed system of Ancient jurisprudence, the Roman,” noting four “points of excellence” that characterized Hindu law: comprehensiveness, loftiness of ideal, logical consistency, and reasonableness.Footnote 123 Hindus should feel proud of their forefathers, he said, for their contribution to fields such as medicine, but also their contribution to jurisprudence. Like other Indian intellectuals who sought to show the glorious and progressive nature of Indian civilization, Sen, too, argued that India had a brilliant past.Footnote 124 This past, he said, included a system of jurisprudence that was as wise and old as that of the Romans. “The Sun,” he concluded, “arose in the east and traveled towards the west, and it is the same light which illumines the whole world.” He considered Kipling’s words – “East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet” – to be “supercilious,” since “the same universal reason … permeates the universe, and its touch makes the whole world kin.”Footnote 125 Here, it seems, Sen was echoing a central theme in Indian liberal and nationalist discourse: the idea that ancient Hindu civilization was on a par with, or even surpassed, that of Greece and Rome and that India had special, spiritual, universal lessons to teach the world.Footnote 126
Turning to another Indian legal scholar whose work on Hindu jurisprudence is worthy of attention, Nares Chandra Sen Gupta was a Bengali legal scholar, writer, and political activist. He obtained his doctorate in law from the University of Calcutta in 1914 and was later a professor of law and Dean of the Faculty of Law of the University of Dacca, established in 1921. The curriculum at the University of Dacca emphasized both Islamic and Sanskrit studies and thus resonated with an interest in Hindu law.Footnote 127
In 1914, Sen Gupta published a book based on his doctoral dissertation, Sources of Law and Society in Ancient India. The book relied not only on the existing English jurisprudential literature but also on leading works of Continental jurisprudence, such as Luigi Miraglia’s Comparative Legal Philosophy and Nikolai M. Korkunov’s General Theory of Law. It also showed an interest in “the sociological school of modern philosophical jurists.”Footnote 128
In the introduction to his book, Sen Gupta claimed that his work contained “some advance on the existing knowledge” on ancient Indian law and society – an advance that, he said, “may possibly have a bearing” not only on the study of Hindu legal history but also “on general questions of jurisprudence.”Footnote 129 One of the original arguments (according to Sen Gupta) made in the book was the argument that village communities were not, in fact, the most basic units of ancient Indian society but that each village was an aggregate of several small trans-village “ante-political” societies. A second significant point was the idea that, in Aryan societies, the law was based on agreement, and that this was one of the traits that distinguished these societies from those of the Semites, “with their autocratic judges, prophets and kings.”Footnote 130 Another argument was that kingship was not the most primitive form of political organization. Instead, it only emerged gradually. According to Sen Gupta, Maine argued that kings were present at the dawn of society and were responsible for the administration of justice and the creation of law (and this view was supported by examples from the Bible and Homer). Sen Gupta, however, contended that Maine had ignored the fact that this was not necessarily the case in other civilizations. In some Aryan societies, unlike Semitic or Mongolian ones, kings were not the primary source of law and order. Instead of kings deciding disputes between members of society, arbitration was used “before judicial authority was centralized in the King.”Footnote 131 This idea was also manifested in Rome and among the Germanic tribes, and it survives in the more modern concept of trial by one’s peers.Footnote 132 Thus, instead of the typical “Oriental despotism” image of India and its laws, Sen Gupta’s book suggested that there was a “constitution of ancient Indian society.”Footnote 133
This was not the only place in his book where Sen Gupta attempted to revise Maine’s narrative. Later, when discussing the idea of kings as sources of law, he repeated the argument, stating that “the King as legislator is not an idea congenial to the Aryan mind.” Quoting Miraglia, he argued that Aryans, unlike “Egypt[ians], Babylon[ians] … Mussalmans [sic] and the Tartar tribes,” never embraced “that all controlling despotism which blots out man,” and that, in ancient India, the idea that the king had legislative powers did not take root.Footnote 134 Maine was not the only English jurist whose work was attacked. Sen Gupta also criticized James Henry Nelson’s argument in his book A Prospectus of the Scientific Study of the Hindu Law that Hindu law, per se, never existed, rejecting it using arguments made by earlier scholars.Footnote 135
In 1925, by the time Sen Gupta was Dean of the Faculty of Law of Dacca University, he had published a second book, The Evolution of Law.Footnote 136 This book summarized the arguments of the English Historical Jurisprudence School and was mainly based on works by Maine and the British legal historian Paul Vinogradoff. However, as in his first book, here too Sen Gupta was not content with merely repeating English works, sometimes opting to criticize them. In the preface, he stated that “a long study of the history of ancient Indian law has revealed to me hitherto unrecognized truths” and that, therefore, “I have found myself unable to agree to many of the accepted notions on the history and character of [the] ancient legal institutions of India.” The book, he continued, was meant to serve students, introducing them to “[h]istorico-comparative jurisprudence,” but it was impossible to write it without “a certain measure of theorising … and thinking on my own account, and diverging from favorite theories of the day.”Footnote 137
Sen Gupta’s critique of Maine was sometimes based on earlier European theorists. One can see this, for example, in his remarks on the difference between Western and Oriental codes. Maine argued that Oriental codes (unlike Western ones) were problematic because of their association with religion. Sen Gupta contended that Maine was mistaken because all ancient laws were religious: “before the lawyer’s law there always existed the law of the priest.”Footnote 138 However, in arguing for the religious nature of ancient law, Sen Gupta based his argument on the work of the nineteenth-century French historian Fustel de Coulanges, not on Indian law.Footnote 139 Another example of this type of critique can be found in Sen Gupta’s discussion of Maine’s argument that adjudication preceded law. Sen Gupta rejected this argument based on the work of the German jurist B. W. Leist.Footnote 140
However, in Sen Gupta’s discussion of another stage in Maine’s model of the evolution of law – the transition from the individual judgment of a king (themis) to rules found in customs administered by an aristocracy – he relied on Indian law to critique Maine. He asserted:
Maine’s theories about [the] transition … to custom must also be corrected by the same qualification that it is not a universal law of evolution. Whatever may be said about the course of evolution in Greece or Rome it is perfectly clear that in India and, possibly, amongst the original Indo-Germanic race, there never was that absolute autocratic stage which would make the stage of Themis … possible.Footnote 141
Instead of kings, Sen Gupta claimed, ancient societies were governed by “a group of men … devoted … to the knowledge of superhuman things,” such as the Magi of Persia, the Brahmins of India, or the Druids of Celtic lands.Footnote 142
Another instance of the use of Indian examples to critique Western theories can be found in the chapter on “Family and Kindred.” Here, Sen Gupta discussed debates about the nature of “the primitive family” (that is, whether ancient families were patriarchal or matriarchal). He mentioned both those thinkers who argued that the matriarchal family was the earlier type (McLennan, Morgan, Fustel de Coulanges, Kohler) and those (Maine) who argued that the earlier type was patriarchal. He declared the debate to be misconceived because “the form of social organisation everywhere is to some extent moulded by social and economic environments. The relative number of the two sexes, the physical and social surroundings of the community, the pressure of external enemies and such other circumstances make a particular form of social organisation the most suitable for the community.”Footnote 143
Thus, he explained, a paucity of females led to the adoption of polyandry. As an example to prove this point, he mentioned the Nambudiri Brahmins of Malabar and their matrilineal Sambandham system of marriage.Footnote 144 Similarly, when discussing forms of marriage, Sen Gupta argued that it was impossible to place various models of matrimony along a single linear line of evolution because there were “societies which have lapsed from a more advanced form of marriage to a more primitive one” due to changed environmental conditions.Footnote 145 As an example, he mentioned both Hindu marriage rules and those of the Romans. In India, he said, the most ancient form of marriage was based on consent between the bridegroom and the father of the bride, leading to a marriage based on “spiritual union” between husband and wife. Only in a later epoch did additional types of marriage start to form, based on the force of arms, purchase, theft or fraud, or the bride’s consent. A similar process, he argued, occurred in Rome, the earliest form being confarreatio (a Roman form of marriage ceremony limited to patricians), which was later replaced by purchase and also by marriage upon consent of the bride alone. In both cases, the Indian and the Roman, the shift was due to environmental changes.Footnote 146 Sen Gupta also warned against assuming a “single universal course of evolution” when discussing the history of legal remedies and the administration of justice.Footnote 147
Turning to other types of publications, Indian legal periodicals also published theoretical articles on Hindu law.Footnote 148 Here, I will briefly discuss two examples from the 1940s. The first was written by A. S. Panchapakesa Ayyar, an Indian jurist who studied law at Oxford and later served as a Justice of the Madras High Court.Footnote 149 Ayyar was a prolific writer, and his collected works include religious texts, plays, and novels. Many of these works deal with nationalist themes, including a 1941 article he wrote for the Madras Law Journal entitled “The Contribution of Hindu Law to World Jurisprudence.”Footnote 150
Ayyar began his article with the argument that the Hindu contribution to jurisprudence had been obscured by the fact that “Hindu legal theories” have been “attack[ed]” and changed over time by “foreign ideas.” Modern Hindu law, he continued, was not really Hindu law but an Anglo–Muslim creation because “centuries of Muslim and British rule” had “radically” altered Hindu law. Specifically, said Ayyar, these radical changes in Hindu law resulted from the fact that it had been applied by non-Hindu judges, “unacquainted with the basic Hindu ideals.”Footnote 151
The main argument of his article was that, just as the Hindus had made significant contributions to global science and culture (for example, the notion of “zero” in mathematics), they had also contributed to jurisprudence.Footnote 152 He then went on to list some of these contributions. Ayyar argued that they were to be found both in the realm of unique answers to questions such as “What is law?” and also in specific norms and institutions of public law (constitutional law, criminal law, or evidence law, as well as international law) and private law (property, tort, contract, and family law). For example, according to Ayyar, unlike Western legal systems, whose purpose was merely to ensure order, peace, and prosperity, the Hindus believed that the ultimate aim of the law was to realize righteousness and ensure the welfare of the universe and “every living thing.” This meant, for example, that the Hindu kings were subject to the law just like their subjects and were seen as servants of the people, not above the law like English kings.Footnote 153
A particular characteristic of Hindu law, according to Ayyar, was that law changed according to the times but also according to status: “[E]ach caste, asrama [stage in life], family, guild, and tract” had its own customs. This recognition of customary law, he argued, “saved India from stark oppression and drab uniformity, and enabled the roses, jasmines, champaks, lotuses and sunflowers to grow and develop in their own ways, with their peculiar colourings and perfumes.”Footnote 154 Ayyar also claimed that Hindu law was one of the earliest legal systems to create both public and private international law.Footnote 155
Some seemingly “primitive” characteristics of Hindu law, such as the idea of collective rather than individual responsibility for crimes, were described by Ayyar as desirable. He contended that they were “social and humane” in the sense of leading to a diminution in crime, unlike modern legal systems in which individual responsibility led to apathy regarding crimes committed by others. Another related argument was that Hindu law did not merely use sanctions to prevent crime but also used rewards for good conduct.Footnote 156 The article ended with the argument that “the unique beauty” of Hindu law was that it was developed by “sages, kings and caste heads, each group with unique gifts and capacities,” rather than by a parliament, which Ayyar characterized as “an assembly elected on a haphazard system, and giving no sure guarantee of either wisdom or deliberation or even of public” well-being.Footnote 157
A similar nationalist spirit inspired an article by Thakur Prasad Dubey, a provincial civil service judge in the United Provinces. In 1944, Dubey published a piece on “the beauties and comparative greatness” of Hindu law. In it, he argued that just as Roman law had influenced the laws of the West, Hindu law had influenced the laws of the East – those of China and Japan, for instance. In fact, he contended, Hindu law had also influenced the West (the Greeks, he claimed, borrowed their law of hypothecation from the Hindus).Footnote 158 The definitions provided by Hindu jurists for the basic abstract terms of jurisprudence (ownership, right, possession), said Dubey, were markedly superior to those offered by modern jurists such as Austin or Holland. The superiority of Hindu law, he continued, was also evident from the fact that the beneficiaries of its rules were “not only the human race” since Hindu law “aims at the protection and perpetuation of the whole sentient universe,” including birds and beasts. The discussions of some specific topics in the article (gift, adverse possession, and the duties of judges) were all meant to prove the superiority of Hindu law.Footnote 159
The article concluded by noting the “thrill of pleasure to find that our forefathers had a brilliant record in the domain of law” before the “pioneer nations of the West,” such as Rome and Egypt, were even formed. While these Western civilizations were now dead, noted Dubey, “ours that started long before their birth yet exists.” The West, he claimed, once argued that Indian culture was “absurd … puerile … uninspired … grotesque … [and] barbarous,” only to ultimately discover that its own judgment had been erroneous. It was, therefore, a great irony, concluded Dubey, that some Indians, because of their general and legal education, still accepted this obsolete view of Hindu law, which, as a result, they had come to despise.Footnote 160
Some Indian jurists, one can conclude, did not view Hindu law only as a source of examples to critique some of the specific details of English jurisprudential theories. Hindu law was also studied in order to create a sense of pride in Indian culture and to justify the claim that it was, in fact, superior to Western culture. Indeed, while some of the earlier writers of the 1910s and 1920s seem to have accepted the shrinkage of the scope of “living” Hindu law to the realm of personal law, arguing that the study of traditional Hindu law was justified only for the comparative jurisprudential insights it could yield, the 1940s authors I examined were implicitly critical of the fact that most of Hindu law was no longer applicable to contemporary India.Footnote 161 More explicitly, they extolled the “excellence” of Hindu law in areas such as criminal, evidence, and constitutional law.
Theoretical Works on Islamic Law
Like other non-Western societies, Muslim societies in North Africa, the Middle East, and South Asia faced a flood of Western technologies, scientific knowledge, and political ideologies in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Islamic law scholars, intellectuals, and politicians sought to reform Islamic law in order to deal with this influx.Footnote 162 Westernized lawyers interested in Islamic law also sought to use Western jurisprudential ideas to study and describe Islamic law. In Chapter 7, I will describe this phenomenon in Egypt. Here, I will analyze works on Islamic law written by lawyers in India.Footnote 163
Islamic law was a significant component of the legal system of British India. This legal system – or, more accurately, Islamic personal law – as applied by the British (Anglo–Muhammadan law) governed the family life of the Muslims of India.Footnote 164 However, if we focus on the University of Calcutta, the intellectual epicenter of colonial India, it appears that there was less interest in the theoretical study of Islamic law than in the study of Hindu law there. Perhaps this was partly because there were relatively few Muslim law teachers and law students at the University. For example, in 1917, there was no Muslim among the staff members teaching law at the University: out of the seventy-eight lecturers teaching law at the College of Law and other colleges, seventy-six were Hindus, two were European, and none was Muslim. In addition, while the Sanskrit College at Calcutta was affiliated with the University, the Calcutta Madrasah was not (although Arabic, Persian, and Islamic histories were taught, on a small scale, at the University, and it seems that there was some desire to turn it into a leading center of Islamic studies). Another indication of the same phenomenon is the fact that, in 1931, fewer than 11 percent (56 out of the 509) of graduates from the University of Calcutta College of Law were Muslims, while Muslims accounted for more than half of the population of undivided Bengal.Footnote 165
Several comprehensive books on Anglo–Muhammadan law were published in India in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.Footnote 166 These works relied on earlier translations and compilations on the topic, such as the Hedaya, a medieval commentary on Islamic law (first translated into English by Charles Hamilton in 1791), or William Macnaghten’s 1825 compilation Principles and Precedents of Moohummudan Law.Footnote 167 Even when their titles proclaimed that they dealt with the more general aspects of Islamic law, these works were, in fact, surveys of contemporary law (and case law) on topics of personal law. Thus, they were primarily relevant to practicing lawyers rather than to legal scholars interested in the jurisprudential notions, or the legal history, of Islamic law.Footnote 168
For example, Ameer Ali’s Student’s Handbook of Mahommedan Law (first published in 1891) contained only brief discussions of specific topics related to personal law, such as succession, marriage, dower, divorce, and gifts.Footnote 169 Personal law was also the topic of two other, more comprehensive and influential, books that Ameer Ali published in the 1880s.Footnote 170 His approach to Islamic law was more sophisticated than that of the English writers. He was more familiar with the sources of Islamic law and with the nineteenth-century European philological and ethnographic literature on this legal system. In addition, he often sought to place the rules that he was describing within their historical context (in order to show their relatively progressive nature).Footnote 171 However, unlike the works on Hindu law discussed in the previous subsection, the main goal of Ameer Ali’s books was to provide a more accurate picture of the specific fields of Islamic law that he dealt with, not to offer a general and theoretical overview of Islamic law as a way to contribute to the literature on general jurisprudence.
Other works published in the early twentieth century showed similar tendencies. In 1905, the Parsi lawyer, judge, and law professor Dinshah Fardunji Mulla published a book entitled Principles of Mahomedan Law. This book was “mainly designed for the use of students, as a guide to their study of Mahomedan law” and contained simple propositions on Islamic personal law.Footnote 172 It began with a few introductory pages describing Islamic legal history and the sources of Islamic law but then swiftly moved to an overview of the main topics of Anglo–Muhammadan personal law (such as succession, marriage, and divorce).Footnote 173
Similarly, Faiz Badruddin Tyabji’s Principles of Muhammadan Law sought to “state, in the form of a code, the principles of Muhammadan law, relating to subjects on which it is enforced in India.”Footnote 174 Accordingly, the book included a thirty-four-page descriptive historical outline of the sources and schools of Islamic law, followed by approximately 1,000 pages devoted to a black-letter survey of Anglo–Muhammadan law dealing, again, with topics such as the scope of application of Islamic law in India, marriage, dower, divorce, and inheritance.Footnote 175
However, there was one book comparable to the Hindu jurisprudence works discussed in the previous subsection. This was The Principles of Muhammadan Jurisprudence, published in 1911 by Abdur Rahim, a Madras judge, based on his 1907 Tagore Lectures.Footnote 176 Books on Islamic law published before Abdur Rahim’s book were focused on Muslim personal laws, and he regarded their treatment of jurisprudential topics as “introductory or insufficient.”Footnote 177 This was also true of later works published in India.Footnote 178 The audience for Abdur Rahim’s theoretical book on Islamic law comprised students and scholars rather than legal practitioners. His goal was to discuss “the general legal ideas and relations which form the proper province of jurisprudence” and to present Islamic law “as a scientific system instead of treating it, as is the habit … of many lawyers in India, as an arbitrary collection of rules and dicta based on no intelligible data.”Footnote 179 Indeed, Abdur Rahim declared in his preface that such a study of Islamic law may be relevant to “those who are interested in the science of jurisprudence” generally because Islamic law was an example of a system where law and religion met – and, therefore, Muslim jurists were attempting to create a legal system in which law was “an integral part of religion.”Footnote 180
The desire to describe Islamic law in a way that would benefit students of jurisprudence was manifested in the structure of the book. Unlike previous works, Abdur Rahim’s book was not structured around the conventional divisions of Anglo–Muhammadan personal law. Instead, it partly echoed the structure of Salmond’s book on jurisprudence.Footnote 181 It began with a chapter on the history of Islamic law, followed by chapters on the “sciences of law and classifications of law”; the sources of law; acts, rights, and obligations; legal capacity; ownership and possession; the acquisition of ownership; family law; torts; crimes; procedure and evidence; constitutional and administrative law; and international law. Family law, the major area that had practical importance for lawyers in colonial India, was relegated to a single chapter in the middle of the book.
In addition to structuring the book in a way that resonated with the structure of English jurisprudence textbooks of the period, Abdur Rahim also mentioned the resemblance between Islamic and Roman law, noting that such a resemblance might interest “students of comparative jurisprudence.”Footnote 182 There were also many places in the book where he compared specific characteristics or rules of Islamic law to those of English law.Footnote 183
Unlike the books on Hindu jurisprudence analyzed in the previous subsection, however, Abdur Rahim’s book neither explicitly engaged with, nor criticized, Western jurisprudential theories, even when it could easily have done so. For example, when discussing the definition of law and the role of sanctions in Islamic law, Abdur Rahim noted that the term “law” was “not limited in the Muhammadan system to mandatory commands, far less to commands enforceable by the courts.” Instead, it encompassed “all expressions of the lawgiver’s will and wisdom, whether laying down what a man must do or must not do, what he may do, and what he ought to do or ought not to do, or merely making a declaration.”Footnote 184 He then gave an example: the commandment “do not tell a lie, but tell the truth” was viewed in Islam as a law, he observed, even though there was no penalty for lying. In addition, sanctions in Islamic law were defined more broadly than in English law. Thus, obedience to the law was secured not just by the threat of penalty but also by the prospect of reward; and that penalty (and also the reward) could be delivered in the afterlife rather than this world.Footnote 185 This definition contradicted, of course, the Austinian view of what “law” and “sanction” were, but Abdur Rahim did not explicitly mention (or criticize) Austin’s definition of the term “law” in his discussion.Footnote 186
Conclusion
Legal scholars in India produced works that were more than mere copies of English ones. First, the texts written in India were cosmopolitan; in addition to English legal theories, they were also receptive to state-of-the-art Continental ones. Second, Indian works were sometimes more critical of the ideas of major nineteenth-century English thinkers than English jurisprudential works. Finally, some of the texts produced in India were also unique because they were hybrid works that employed Western theories to describe non-Western legal systems: Hindu law and, to a lesser extent, Islamic law. The uniqueness of the Indian works derived from the need to teach non-English law students in an environment where religious law and customary law were important sources of legal norms. Some Indian works were also unique because of the influence of Indian nationalist ideology. Nationalism led some writers to espouse a broad range of jurisprudential theories, including non-English ones, to criticize Western jurisprudential notions (especially ones that seemed to place non-Western law on a lower evolutionary rung), and to create works that celebrated non-Western legal systems. Sometimes, Indian writers even offered alternative visions of the nature of law and its purpose, such as the argument made in both Ayyar’s and Dubey’s articles, according to which Hindu law sought to protect “every living thing” or “the whole sentient universe” and not just human beings, as was the case with Western law.
The works examined in this chapter were not influential in the sense of leaving a discernible long-term impact on scholars in either India or the West. Nevertheless, they are interesting partly because the characteristics of the jurisprudential literature that was explored in this chapter were also present in other places in the British Empire. The next chapter explores such works created in British-ruled Palestine.
Frederic Maurice Goadby studied law at the University of Oxford, graduating in 1901. Having worked for a few years in the City of London, in 1904 he became a lecturer at the Law Department of the University of Leeds. He then moved to Egypt, where he taught at the Khedivial Law School in Cairo. After the First World War, Goadby relocated to Palestine, serving as the Director of the newly established British law school there until 1933, when he retired and returned to England.Footnote 1
In 1910, Goadby published a book entitled Introduction to the Study of Law: A Handbook for the Use of Egyptian Law Students. A second edition was published in 1914, and a third edition, revised for the benefit of Goadby’s students in Mandatory Palestine, was published in 1921.Footnote 2 Goadby defined his book as an “elementary treatise on jurisprudence,” but it was, in fact, more sophisticated. It was a jurisprudence textbook but also a work on comparative law, comprising extensive discussions of English and French law, legal institutions, and legal theories. The scope of Goadby’s book was thus broader than that of contemporary jurisprudence textbooks published in England, and that of jurisprudence textbooks written in India, such as the book by Rattigan analyzed in Chapter 1. The legal systems of Egypt and Mandatory Palestine were greatly influenced by nineteenth-century French law. Therefore, Goadby had to devote more attention to detailed discussions of French legal theories than writers such as Rattigan, and, certainly, more attention than English textbook writers.Footnote 3
Goadby’s book was more learned and comprehensive than comparable works that appeared in England at the time; yet, just like Rattigan’s Indian textbook, Goadby’s book was not viewed this way by some Western scholars. The American legal scholar Roscoe Pound was enthusiastic, noting in his review of the first edition that the complexity of the legal system of Egypt, in which French, English, and Islamic law mingled, afforded sophisticated jurisprudential insights. Pound also praised the work because it summarized contemporary French legal theories that were inaccessible to many Anglo-American law professors.Footnote 4 However, the review of the first edition of Goadby’s book in the leading English legal periodical of the time, the Law Quarterly Review, was lukewarm. The review of the second edition was simply mean, with the anonymous reviewer focusing on a few trivial typographical and substantive errors and rhetorically wondering why the second edition was longer than the first one, containing lengthy discussions of the ideas of various legal scholars, given that the book was “intended for Egyptian students.”Footnote 5
This chapter explores works on jurisprudence written in Mandatory Palestine, such as Goadby’s book. I show, just as I did in Chapter 1, that these works were interesting and original. Like Indian works, those written in Mandatory Palestine were cosmopolitan, revealing an awareness of both English and Continental legal theories. Their authors critiqued imported European approaches, and some also provided interesting insights into the jurisprudential lessons that local religious law could teach. I begin with a brief discussion of the history of institutions providing Western-style legal education in Palestine: the law school established by the British rulers of the country, whose first director was Goadby, and two Jewish academic institutions in which law was taught. I then discuss jurisprudence textbooks and other jurisprudential works written in the territory. First, I analyze Goadby’s book and two Hebrew jurisprudence textbooks, and then I examine various works on the theoretical study of Jewish law. Finally, I explore legal works written by Arab scholars in Mandatory Palestine.
Legal Education in Mandatory Palestine
The territory that became Mandatory Palestine was part of the Ottoman Empire until the end of the First World War when it was conquered by the British, who ruled it until 1948. It was, of course, much smaller in size and population than colonial India. When the British conquered Palestine, the territory had a population of less than 700,000. By 1948, when the British left, approximately 1.8 million inhabitants lived there.Footnote 6
The relatively small size of the population was reflected in the limited number of lawyers practicing in late Ottoman Palestine. When the British took control of the territory, the number of lawyers “could be counted on the fingers of two hands.”Footnote 7 During the late Ottoman period, there was no local law school in Palestine, and anyone seeking formal legal education had to travel to other parts of the Ottoman Empire to obtain it.Footnote 8 The Ottoman system of Western-style legal education dates back to the end of the nineteenth century. A law school was established in Istanbul in the 1870s, and law was also taught in other professional schools in Istanbul, such as the School for Civil Administration, the Imperial School, and the School for Shar‘i Judges. By the beginning of the First World War, these schools had produced a few thousand graduates, several hundred of whom were Arabs, along with a few Jewish graduates. In 1908, the first Ottoman law school established in the Arab parts of the Empire opened in Baghdad. Another law school was established in Beirut in 1912.Footnote 9
During the period of British rule, the number of lawyers in Palestine steadily grew. By the time the British withdrew from the country in 1948, there were more than a thousand lawyers.Footnote 10 Many of these were Jewish lawyers who received their legal education in Europe, the United Kingdom, or North America prior to moving to Palestine.Footnote 11 Others had studied law in neighboring Middle Eastern countries or were trained locally in Palestine.Footnote 12
The leading institution providing legal education in Mandatory Palestine was a law school established by the British in 1920, the Jerusalem Law Classes (see Figure 2.1).
The Jerusalem Law Classes, 1920s. In the front row, Norman Bentwich, the Attorney General of Palestine, is seated fourth from the left, and Frederic Goadby, the director of the Law Classes, is seated fourth from the right.

The five-year program of studies at the Law Classes was divided into two parts. The lectures in the first part were delivered in Hebrew or Arabic. Students who passed an examination at the end of this part were allowed to continue to the second part, in which lectures were delivered in English and dealt with more theoretical subjects such as jurisprudence and legal history.Footnote 13
The Law Classes sought to provide legal education to court clerks and interpreters, as well as local lawyers and magistrates. It was, therefore, a vocational, not an academic, institution. Most lecturers were judges and other government officials. Civil servants who wanted to study there were often admitted even if they lacked the entry qualifications required of other students. The lectures took place in the evening so that these civil servants could attend.Footnote 14 The relatively practical nature of studies was also evident in the fact that most of the courses were merely descriptive surveys of various areas of law.Footnote 15
The legal system of Mandatory Palestine contained a mixture of norms and institutions drawn from various legal systems: Islamic, Ottoman, French, and English law. In the realm of personal law, jurisdiction was given to religious courts that applied religious law. The Law Classes offered its students elective courses on Islamic and Jewish law. The elective course on Jewish law (called “rabbinical law” by the institution’s administrators) focused on marriage and divorce, inheritance and guardianship, and the rules of procedure in rabbinical courts. The course included an introductory element on the principles of Jewish law, but this part, too, focused on the fundamentals of family law.Footnote 16
In addition to the Jerusalem Law Classes, two other non-governmental institutions in Mandatory Palestine taught law: the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and the Tel Aviv School of Law and Economics. The Hebrew University of Jerusalem was established in 1925.Footnote 17 It was a Zionist institution whose creation was inspired by the ideology of cultural Zionism, which sought to turn Palestine into a “spiritual center” of world Jewry. Initially, the university’s founders planned a law school as part of the university. Accordingly, in 1919, the Zionist Department of Culture and Education asked Norman Bentwich, an Anglo-Zionist lawyer (who later served as the Attorney General of Palestine and was also the driving force behind the creation of the Jerusalem Law Classes), to prepare a detailed proposal for a faculty of law at the university.Footnote 18 Bentwich envisioned a faculty of law that would not merely be a vocational school for lawyers but an institution that would also train government officials and politicians. He proposed that students would study the principles of Jewish law as well as “English and American liberalism.” Bentwich’s proposed faculty of law would thus synthesize the study of ancient Jewish law with the study of modern Western law. It would offer courses on practical subjects but also courses on political economy, sociology, legal history, and the history of Roman law.Footnote 19
Bentwich’s proposal was not implemented.Footnote 20 A law faculty was only established at the Hebrew University in 1949, after Israeli independence. Nevertheless, two legal topics were taught at the Hebrew University during the British Mandate period: Jewish law and international law. The former was one of the topics taught at the Institute of Jewish Studies from its inception in 1925 by two professors, Simha Assaf and Asher Gulak.Footnote 21 In the 1940s, a small department devoted to Jewish law was also established. The goal of this department was to teach Jewish law “with special attention to the existing law in Palestine,” that is, by focusing on Jewish family law.Footnote 22 With regard to international law at the Hebrew University, in the early 1930s, the institution received a donation from an English-Jewish industrialist, Sir Montague Burton, who was interested in international and industrial peace. Burton donated funds to establish chairs on these subjects at the Hebrew University and several English institutions. As Bentwich, who was appointed to this chair, was a lawyer by training, his courses had a legal orientation.Footnote 23 After the Second World War, Bentwich was joined by another international law scholar, Nathan Feinberg, and a Department of International Relations was established.Footnote 24 Another legal scholar hired by the Hebrew University in the 1940s was Guido (Gad) Tedeschi. Tedeschi was a young Italian-Jewish law professor appointed as a research fellow and later as a lecturer on jurisprudence at the Department of International Relations.Footnote 25
The third institution providing legal education in Mandatory Palestine was the Tel Aviv Higher School for Law and Economics (see Figure 2.2). Like their counterparts at the Hebrew University, the founders of the Tel Aviv School were also influenced by the ideology of cultural Zionism. One expression of this influence, mirroring the practice at the Hebrew University, was the use of Hebrew as the language of instruction. Unlike the Hebrew University, however, the Tel Aviv School offered a complete course of legal studies.
The Tel Nordau Primary School in Tel Aviv, where the classes of the Tel Aviv School of Law and Economics were held during the 1930s.

The Tel Aviv School was one manifestation of the movement for the revival of Jewish law, which was active in the Jewish diaspora and Mandatory Palestine in the first decades of the twentieth century. This movement was inspired by the ideas of the nineteenth-century German Historical School, which saw law as an expression of the “national spirit” (volksgeist) of each nation and argued that the legal system of every nation should, therefore, be based on its own organic national legal traditions.Footnote 26 However, the legal system envisioned by the movement for the revival of Jewish law was not rooted in a fundamentalist application of all traditional halakhic norms. Scholars affiliated with the movement viewed norms concerned with topics such as dietary purity as irrelevant to their project. Instead, they focused primarily on those aspects of traditional Jewish law that addressed “secular” domains such as property and contract law.Footnote 27
In 1917, Russian-Jewish law students, educated in Central European and Russian universities in the first decades of the twentieth century and inspired both by the ideas of the Historical School and also by cultural Zionism, established a scholarly society in Moscow for the study of Jewish Law (which they called mishpat ‘ivri, literally “Hebrew Law”).Footnote 28 In the early 1920s, growing restrictions on Zionist activities in the Soviet Union led many members of this Society to emigrate to Palestine, where the Jewish Law Society was re-established. In the 1920s and early 1930s, members of the Jewish Law Society were involved in several publishing ventures, including the publication of two legal journals, Ha-Mishpat and Ha-Mishpat ha-‘Ivri. In addition, one of its members, Judah Junovitch, established a publishing house specializing in law and philosophy books. Members of the Society were also involved in the activities of an informal system of Zionist courts, which were active during the period of the Mandate, the Hebrew Courts of Arbitration (mishpat ha-shalom ha-‘ivri). This system was staffed by lay judges who decided cases based on their own discretion, notions of justice and equity, and (sometimes) based on Jewish law.Footnote 29
Members of the Jewish Law Society were also active in the realm of legal education. As early as 1918, they proposed the establishment of a Jewish law school in Palestine. They expected the Hebrew University to implement this proposal, and, when its leaders declined to do so, they harshly criticized them. During the 1920s and early 1930s, several proposals for creating a Jewish law school in Palestine were put forward, none of which materialized. In the middle of the 1930s, however, conditions proved ripe as Jewish students and professors fleeing European anti-semitism flocked to Palestine. In 1934, a “World Conference of Jewish Law” was convened in Tel Aviv. Following the conference, four of the participants, three lawyers (Samuel Eisenstadt, Paltiel Dikshtein, and Max Laserson) and an economist (Benjamin Siew), resolved to establish a “Higher School of Law and Economics” in Tel Aviv. The resulting school, which accepted its first students in 1935, initially consisted of a department of law and a department of economics. Later, these were augmented by a business school, a political science department, and an accountancy institute.Footnote 30
The Tel Aviv School was purposely designed to offer legal education that differed from that of the British-sponsored Jerusalem Law Classes. According to one of the founders of the Tel Aviv School, Dikshtein, the British officials who had established the Law Classes did not seek to train local lawyers who would see themselves as equal to the officials sent from the metropolis. Instead, he claimed, it would serve British goals if those taught at the Law Classes would see themselves, and would be seen by others, as inferior to British officials belonging to “the superior race, sent by the great British people to instill civilization in an underdeveloped and backward country.” The Law Classes, argued Dikshtein, produced lawyers who had “narrow horizons” and viewed the existing political and legal framework of Mandatory Palestine as the optimal one, unable to imagine the “lofty ideals of proper [Jewish] national political revival.”Footnote 31
Legal education at the Tel Aviv School was characterized by its academic rather than vocational nature, by the influence of Continental rather than English law, and by the place given to Jewish law in the curriculum. About a third of its thirty-five lecturers previously held academic positions at various European universities, while the teaching staff at the Jerusalem Law Classes were mainly administrators or practicing lawyers.Footnote 32 The School’s founders regarded the training of lawyers as a secondary aim. More important aims were providing the students “with a complete, university-level education in the social sciences, affairs of state, law, economics, and commerce,” preparing future Jewish political and business leaders, and promoting the scientific research of law and the social sciences.Footnote 33 Because the training of lawyers was only a subsidiary aim, the curriculum was far more academically oriented than that of the Jerusalem Law Classes. At Tel Aviv, law students were required to take courses on the history of Jewish law, Roman law, comparative law, and one or two courses on philosophy. They were also required to take several social science courses, such as political economy, sociology, “colonial policy,” “colonial criminology,” and statistics. The legal courses they took were also more diverse. For example, the Tel Aviv School students took labor or administrative law courses, which were not offered at the Jerusalem Law Classes.Footnote 34
Another characteristic of the Tel Aviv School was the impact of Continental law on its curriculum. Since most of its law lecturers were educated in the Continental legal tradition, Continental notions were more influential than in the Jerusalem Law Classes. For example, Roman law, the basis upon which all Continental legal systems are founded, was not taught in the Jerusalem Law Classes. At the Tel Aviv School, it was a compulsory subject.Footnote 35
Finally, the Tel Aviv School was characterized by the relatively prominent role of Jewish law in the curriculum. One of the primary goals of the School was “to train jurists, lawyers, and judges who could fulfill the ideals of the [Jewish] nation in the field of legal revival, a revival that would be both Jewish and universal, absorbing the best spiritual achievements of the nations of the world, and imbued with the desires of justice and morality of Judaism.”Footnote 36
The School would thus offer a new type of legal education, one that would differ from both the Western education received by Jewish lawyers in Europe and the “colonial type legal education given by the Jerusalem law classes.”Footnote 37 Consequently, the study of Jewish law permeated the curriculum of the Tel Aviv School, where students were obliged to take an extensive course on Jewish law and its history. One could also find sections dealing with Jewish law in courses devoted to other legal topics, such as criminal law, tort law, or international law.Footnote 38
Given the Jewish nationalist agenda of the Tel Aviv School, it is unsurprising that it did not receive any support or recognition from the British authorities of Palestine, which feared that it “would be a center of radical anti-British sentiments.” As a result, graduates of the Tel Aviv School could not take the Palestine Bar exams immediately after they had completed their studies. Instead, they had to obtain a permit to practice law in Palestine in a circuitous way. After graduating, they sought graduate law degrees abroad, in French or Italian universities.Footnote 39 These degrees enabled them to take the Palestine Bar exams for foreign-educated lawyers.Footnote 40
British Jurisprudence in Palestine
The leading jurisprudence textbook used in Mandatory Palestine was the third (expanded) edition of Frederic Goadby’s book, first published in 1910 in Egypt when Goadby taught at the Khedivial Law School. Goadby stated in his preface to the first edition that he had written it because Egyptian students might find English textbooks, such as Holland’s and Salmond’s, “difficult.”Footnote 41 We might recall that Rattigan’s Indian textbook opened with a similar disclaimer, in which Rattigan renounced any intention of purporting to be an original writer and argued that the need for his book merely arose from the fact that Holland’s book on jurisprudence, written for English students, was not simple enough for Indian students. However, like Rattigan’s, Goadby’s book was also far more than a mere summary of other works.
The book was a hybrid work, manifesting English and Continental legal influences. Its structure was semi-Continental (containing, following the Continental model, three consecutive chapters on persons, things, and acts). It featured many discussions and examples taken from non-English legal systems: Egyptian, Islamic, Roman, and French law. In addition, it used examples taken from the law of several modern non-Western systems: the Ottoman Empire, India, Siam, and Japan. Goadby’s book also contained many references to nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Continental legal theorists, mostly French (for example, Capitant, Charmont, Esmein, Gény, Duguit, Planiol, and Saleilles) but also German (for example, Savigny and Jhering). The book even mentioned an Indian author (Syed Ameer Ali).Footnote 42 The ideas of Continental theorists appeared in the book side by side with discussions of English analytical and historical theories. This was true for more abstract issues, such as the role of precedent or of academic scholarship as sources of law in English and French law, but also for discussions of more technical problems, such as the criminal liability of corporations in the two legal systems.Footnote 43
The mixed, English–French orientation of the book is also evident from a quantitative analysis of Goadby’s relative use of terms referring to England and France. Table 2.1 lists the number of occurrences of terms related to England, France, and Egypt in his book versus in the 12th edition of Holland’s Elements of Jurisprudence, published at approximately the same time. We can observe that while, in Goadby’s book, terms referring to England and France were used with roughly the same frequency, in Holland’s book, the terms related to England were three times more prevalent.Footnote 44
| Terms | Number of mentions in Goadby’s book | Number of mentions in Holland’s book |
|---|---|---|
| England/English/Britain/British | 535 | 319 |
| France/French | 494 | 96 |
| Egypt/Egyptian | 253 | 0 |
What was the role of Islamic law and modern Egyptian law in the book’s first edition? Goadby envisioned a publication that would devote special attention to “three great systems” of law: Roman law (and its progeny, French law), English law, and finally “Mohammedan law.” He, therefore, sometimes compared specific institutions of ancient Western law to their Muslim equivalents (the Roman jurisconsults and the medieval Muslim jurists). He also used examples taken from medieval Islamic philosophy or literature together with Western examples, for instance, when arguing that the Western historical and evolutionary concepts of law were also found in the thought of the medieval Muʿtazilah school.Footnote 45
Goadby also sometimes used examples from modern Egyptian law to critique Western legal theories. Hence, the complex constitutional position of the Egyptian ruler, the Khedive, was mentioned as an example of the problematic nature of the Austinian concept of the sovereign. Austin defined the sovereign in a given state as the person, or persons, who had absolute, unlimited power (for example, the King-in-Parliament in England). However, the Egyptian Khedive received his powers from the Ottoman Sultan under coercion from European powers. This fact, argued Goadby, proved that Austin’s concept was uniquely English and could not be generalized.Footnote 46 The book also included some references to Arabic legal terms, such as when comparing the terms “right” and “droit” to the Arabic term “haq.”Footnote 47
However, generally speaking, far less attention was devoted in the book to Islamic law (or Egyptian law) than to French and English law, except for a relatively extended discussion of the topic of waqfs (which were discussed in comparison to the English trusts).Footnote 48 As Goadby explained in his preface, “matters not governed in Egypt by European law have been dealt with very briefly.”Footnote 49 The relatively limited scope of Goadby’s discussion of Islamic law may have resulted from his limited knowledge of the topic. Much of the discussion relied on a single source, Mahommedan Law by the Indian author Syed Ameer Ali.Footnote 50
The most interesting aspect of the role of Islamic law in the book was that Goadby sometimes used it to highlight deficiencies in Western jurisprudential theories (just like he used Egyptian law to critique the notion of sovereignty). Thus, when he discussed Austin’s theory of law, Goadby noted several conventional critiques of this theory but then added that the “Mohammedan world furnishes us with a conception of law which cannot be honestly brought within Austin’s definition.” This was because, he reasoned, the authority of Islamic law and of the courts enforcing it was based on religion – that is, on a belief in the divine nature of the law and not the power of the state. Austin’s theory, Goadby concluded, was not universal but Western, and did not explain religious legal systems such as Islamic, Jewish, or Hindu law. In another place in his book, Goadby noted that, unlike the modern Western sovereign who was seen as the source of all law, in Egypt, the notion of religion as the formal source of law “survive[d].”Footnote 51
While Goadby used Islamic law to challenge some aspects of Western legal theories, his comparative insights did not lead him to question the general superiority of modern Western law – on the contrary. His discussion of customary and religious law was disparaging, quoting an author who compared the adherence to custom in “primitive society” to the “inherited habits of animals” and noting the conservative nature of both custom and religion. Goadby argued that adherence to these conservative sources of law was the mark of “arrested civilizations” in Africa and India, and he described the Quran as one example (together with the Laws of Hammurabi and the Laws of Moses) of a code that served a “primitive society.” Goadby also claimed that “Mohammedan law” and Hindu law “retain[ed] the ideas of an earlier epoch,” giving as an example the fact that they restricted freedom of inheritance.Footnote 52
Goadby’s book was based on an evolutionary understanding that distinguished between legal systems serving people “emerging from barbarism” and those who had “attained civilization.”Footnote 53 It is unclear whether he regarded Islamic societies as the former type (Goadby may have been thinking of African societies here), but specifically regarding Islamic law, Goadby said that “in seeking to adapt law and state organization to European standards, the more progressive Mohammedan countries have introduced bodies of European law” to replace Islamic law.Footnote 54 Indeed, in his historical discussion, it is clear that Goadby saw both customary and religious law as representing two lower evolutionary stages of legal development and that he saw Western law, relying on the will of a human lawgiver (which allowed “radical and frequent” changes in the law), as representing “advanced civilization.”Footnote 55 Goadby mentioned the reception of Western law in Egypt and other non-Western countries such as Turkey, India, Siam, and Japan and said that, in the future, Western law in these places would be “modified into greater conformity to national ideas.” However, this would depend, he added, on the “formation … of a school of independent thought,” which did not exist yet in Egypt.Footnote 56
The third edition of Goadby’s book was published in 1921 after his relocation to Palestine. The title changed to Introduction to the Study of Law: A Handbook for the Use of Law Students in Egypt and Palestine. The legal system of Palestine was based on Ottoman law, with some new legislation based on English models. However, as Goadby acknowledged in the preface to the third edition, due to lack of time, he had done little to adapt the text to the needs of the students of Palestine, apart from adding a few references and remarks on the law of Palestine.Footnote 57 For example, there was no extended discussion of the Ottoman Civil Code, the Mejelle, which formed the basis of private law in Palestine in 1921.
Similarly, regarding Jewish law, which was more relevant in Palestine than in Egypt (because of the larger Jewish population in Palestine and also because the British were supposed to create a “national home for the Jewish people” there), the third edition of Goadby’s book contained only two new remarks on Jewish law. First, Goadby criticized Savigny’s view that early law developed only as customary law “by a process of silent adaptation to changing needs.” To refute Savigny’s depiction, Goadby mentioned Roman law (echoing an idea by Jhering), “Mohammedan law” (the result of “the mighty avalanche of conquest launched from Arabia”), and also Jewish law (“coming amid thunder and whirlwinds” from God on Mount Sinai).Footnote 58 A second, slightly longer, discussion of Jewish law appeared in the section dealing with juristic opinion as a source of law. After noting the role of legal scholars in English, French, Roman, and Islamic law, Goadby added a paragraph on Jewish law where he remarked that it was first based on “primitive custom,” written down in the Bible, but then developed through rabbinical interpretation in the Mishnah and the Talmud, and later through the vehicles of rabbinical responsa and medieval and early modern codes created by the rabbis. He argued that this process was similar to the one in Islamic law. Goadby based his one-paragraph survey of Jewish legal history not on any written sources but on a conversation with Gad Frumkin, a leading Jewish judge in Palestine.Footnote 59
Another characteristic of the new third edition, it seems, was that Goadby now argued that the book was important because it could expose English students and scholars to Continental legal theories. In the preface, he wrote that “Continental writings upon legal theory are unduly neglected in English law schools, and it is my hope that this book, though primarily written for law students in Egypt, may perhaps induce some would-be English lawyers to read the works of such men as Charmont, Demogue, Gény, Saleilles, and Tarde.”Footnote 60 References to Continental thinkers, however, were not limited to French scholars, and the book also mentioned other Continental works, such as the book by Russian scholar Nikolai Korkunov, General Theory of Law.Footnote 61
Works on Jurisprudence Produced by Jewish Authors in Palestine
Works on Western Jurisprudence
The mixture of English and Continental legal theories in Egypt resulted from the French influence on the Egyptian legal system. In Palestine, too, French legal influence was significant because French law was the source of inspiration from the modernization of the Ottoman legal system in the nineteenth century. In addition, Continental legal and jurisprudential ideas were imported to Palestine by Jewish immigrants from Central and Eastern Europe. This avenue of influence could be seen, for example, in the reading materials of the jurisprudence course that Max Laserson, one of the founders of the Tel Aviv School, taught during the academic year 1938/39. The polyglot list of reference books that Laserson recommended to his students included two books by Laserson himself (one in Russian and the other in Hebrew), two English works (by Salmond and Pollock), the Hebrew translation of a book by the late-imperial Russian legal scholar Iosif Alekseevich Pokrovsky, and also a German jurisprudence textbook written, ironically, by Justus Hedemann, one of the leading legal scholars of Nazi Germany.Footnote 62
Just as in India, in Palestine, too, local legal scholars produced cosmopolitan works on jurisprudence, in which analytical and historical English theories were mentioned alongside state-of-the-art Continental anti-formalist theories of law.Footnote 63 One example of this phenomenon is a textbook entitled Torat ha-Mishpat (jurisprudence) written by Paltiel Dikshtein (Daykan). The first edition of this book was published in 1942/43, and the second in 1949/50, immediately after Israel’s independence.Footnote 64 Dikshtein studied law at the University of Odessa and graduated in 1910. As a young lawyer and legal scholar, he was involved in the activity of the Jewish legal revival movement in Russia in the period before and immediately after the Russian Revolution. In 1921, he moved to Palestine, where he worked as a lawyer and a legal scholar. He was one of the founders of the Tel Aviv School of Law and Economics and a leading authority on criminal law in Palestine.Footnote 65
Dikshtein’s textbook was a stenographical summary of his lectures, divided into six chapters. The first two chapters were general and dealt with the nature of law, its sources, and the different types of legal rights. The other four chapters dealt with specific areas of civil law (property, obligations, family, and inheritance). The book included references to various legal theorists, such as the Russian legal scholar Iosif Pokrovsky and the Anglo-American scholars Oliver Wendell Holmes and John Salmond.Footnote 66
Dikshtein also mentioned the ideas of the Free Law Movement. This movement, a precursor of the American legal realists, appeared in Central Europe in the first two decades of the twentieth century. The free law thinkers sought to overcome legal formalism by making law adhere more closely to “life.” They argued that instead of rigid rules and abstract concepts divorced from social reality and found only in state-produced codes, judges should base their judgments in individual cases on customs, traditions, and norms created by non-state actors, on facts discovered by the use of the new social sciences and, ultimately, also on their own personal discretion.Footnote 67 In his lectures, Dikshtein drew on the ideas of Free Law thinkers when discussing the tension between legal formalism and justice. He relied on a 1922 article of his where he argued that the apparent contradiction facing judges of the autonomous Zionist courts of Palestine, the Hebrew Courts of Arbitration between adhering to the formal rules of Jewish law and responding to the demands of justice, of modern society, and of the economy, was in fact a false dichotomy. Only those who read Jewish legal texts in a formalist way, Dikshtein contended – that is, as “dead” and “ossified” rules incapable of legal development – perceived such a contradiction. In fact, expert judges could use discretion to reconcile formal rules and informal justice by finding (within the formal rules) pathways to internal development and change that would lead to optimal results: decisions that would be both faithful to Jewish law and just.Footnote 68
Dikshtein’s book mentioned the ideas of Anglo-American, German, and Russian legal thinkers. It was also cosmopolitan because it included examples from many legal systems: Roman law, English law, and several modern legal systems such as French, German, and American law, as well as the law of Mandatory Palestine.Footnote 69 In a few instances in the book, Dikshtein referred to the sayings of ancient Jewish legal scholars, found in texts such as the Mishnah, side by side with similar sayings of Western thinkers such as Hobbes. In other places, examples from the Bible and Talmud were mentioned.Footnote 70 However, generally speaking, Jewish law did not play a significant role in Dikshtein’s textbook.
Another example of the fact that, in Palestine, just like in India, one could find interest in state-of-the-art Continental non-formalist jurisprudential theories can be found in the work of Guido (Gad) Tedeschi. Tedeschi was born in 1907 in Rovigo in Northern Italy. His uncle, Giorgio Del Vecchio, was a leading philosopher of law and served as the Rector of the University of Rome. Tedeschi studied law in Rome and later taught in Cagliari and Perugia. In 1936, he was appointed a professor of law at the University of Siena but was dismissed two years later following the enactment of anti-semitic laws by the Italian Fascist regime.Footnote 71 Unlike many other Jewish scholars of his generation, Tedeschi had little affinity with, or interest in, Jewish law. This may have been partly the result of the fact that he was born into an assimilated family with a weak connection to Jewish traditions.Footnote 72
In 1939, Tedeschi immigrated to Palestine. He initially lectured on admiralty law at the Tel Aviv School, but in 1941, he joined the Hebrew University of Jerusalem as a research fellow. He spent the 1940s working on several legal research projects. Most of these were practical and based on a formalist conception of law.Footnote 73 However, in 1944, Tedeschi wrote a project proposal entitled “On inductive research in legal life (with special reference to Palestine).” Here, he called on scholars of the law of Mandatory Palestine to adopt a socio-legal research agenda, to “study the life of the law, the law in action,” following the ideas of Free Law thinkers such as Eugen Ehrlich, Ernst Fuchs, and Herman Kantorowicz. In his proposal, Tedeschi indicated that his socio-legal research in Palestine would focus on topics such as the prevalence of bigamy and divorce, standard clauses used in marriage contracts (ktubot); the division of estates among heirs (as well as the attempt to determine whether class or ethnic origin led to different property regimes); and the study of “legal life” in socialist communal agricultural settlements, the kibbutzim, with an emphasis on the way private law norms (regarding property, family, and inheritance) were applied in these settings.Footnote 74
Tedeschi was familiar with state-of-the-art Continental jurisprudential theories before the 1940s.Footnote 75 However, his encounter with the colonial legal system of British-ruled Palestine certainly enhanced his interest in studying the relationship between law and society.Footnote 76 Socio-legal questions, noted Tedeschi in his research proposal, were especially acute in colonial legal systems. There were several reasons for this, he explained. One reason was the heterogeneous nature of colonial societies, such as Palestine, which were also immigrant societies. In such contexts, Tedeschi argued: “… the difference between the legal habits and attitudes of the various parts of the population, according to the countries of their origin, have not yet resolved themselves as a result of unified communal life, and given the prevailing pattern of immigration, are not likely to resolve themselves for a considerable time.”Footnote 77
Second, in colonial societies, judges often applied laws without a deep understanding of the local culture. Tedeschi observed that British judges in Palestine were required to use certain norms of Jewish law, particularly in family matters, but frequently misapplied them. This, he explained, was because “they did not grasp the finer distinctions of that law, distinctions which it is difficult to discern if one does not actually ‘live’ the system: an outsider would just not understand them from a mere study of the abstract rules of the system.”Footnote 78 A third reason for the relevance of socio-legal issues in colonial legal systems, also evident in the law of Palestine, was legal pluralism. In this context, Tedeschi observed that, in Palestine, there were certain “law-making centers” that competed with and, in a sense, undermined the authority of the state, such as the Jewish Agency, the General Federation of Jewish Labor, and the kibbutzim.Footnote 79
Theoretical Works on Jewish Law
In Palestine, just as in India, one could find theoretical works that mentioned or analyzed Jewish law.Footnote 80 One example of such works is a textbook published by Baruch (Boris) Gankin in 1949, immediately after the establishment of the State of Israel. Gankin was born in 1887 in Shchedrin, a small town near Bobruysk, in what is today Belarus. He obtained a traditional religious Jewish education, studied law, and worked as a lawyer in Kiev. In 1925, Gankin became an attaché in the Soviet Embassy in Uruguay, relocating to Palestine in the 1930s. Gankin collaborated with Dikshtein, who taught jurisprudence at the Tel Aviv Law School, although he did not hold an official lecturing position there.Footnote 81
Gankin published articles on the history of the Jews in Russia, as well as two short works of fiction. One of these latter works is Shemhazai (named after a fallen angel consumed by a lust for mortal women), which tells the story of a group of Jewish students studying for the external matriculation exams in late nineteenth-century Russia. The story ends with remarks about the impact of the secular Jewish enlightenment on Jewish culture and creativity. This process, the book’s protagonist reflects, led Jews to become promoters of foreign works and ideas, rather than cultivating an “independent creative spirit [emanating from] the soul of the nation.” The hero then compares modern Jewish and Russian cultures. Before the reign of Peter the Great, he notes, Russians were a “semi-ignorant and wild” nation. A century later, Russians started to excel in producing a unique, independent culture that reflected Russia’s national spirit. The Russians had thus managed to absorb foreign influences while reshaping them to reflect their national character. The Jews, by contrast, a people once renowned for offering the world original ideas, had lost that creative vitality and now merely echoed the ideas and works of other nations.Footnote 82 The cultural nationalism that animated this story also informed Gankin’s legal scholarship.
Gankin’s main legal work was a two-volume textbook on jurisprudence. The first volume was completed in the fall of 1949, a year and a half after Israeli independence. It contained a preface by Dikshtein, the book’s editor. Dikshtein noted therein that, during the period of the British Mandate, no book dealing with the general theory of law had been published in Hebrew and that law students used foreign texts expounding English jurisprudential theories (referring here to Goadby’s book). Even the lectures on general jurisprudence at the Tel Aviv School (imparted by Dikshtein himself) were only published as “stenciled notes.” In contrast, while Gankin’s book did not presume to offer innovative ideas, it did provide a survey combining theories of Continental and English scholars with appropriate materials taken from the “thousands of years old” Jewish tradition.Footnote 83
The first volume of Gankin’s book contained an “introduction to the basic legal concepts,” and the second volume, published in 1950, dealt with subfields of law (and was divided into four subsections dealing with private and public law, procedure, and interpretation). While the two volumes contained discussions of well-known topics that could be found in countless other jurisprudence textbooks, they also had some unique features. The first notable feature, much like Dikshtein’s textbook, was its cosmopolitan character, reflecting a broad intellectual scope that included both English and Continental thinkers. Gankin cited nineteenth-century German scholars such as Savigny and Jhering, English legal theorists like Austin, as well as prominent Russian scholars. For instance, the opening chapter, which explored the “essence of law,” examined the relationship between law and morality. After tracing the historical development of natural law theory, Gankin introduced the Russian legal scholar Leon Petrażycki, who created a unique, anti-formalist theory of law influenced by the new science of psychology. Gankin discussed, and critiqued, Petrażycki’s attempt to distinguish law and morality by linking both to emotional experiences.Footnote 84 Later, within a discussion of sociological theories of law, Gankin included a brief outline of Marxist legal theory.Footnote 85
A second interesting feature of the book was that Gankin attempted to apply the theories discussed to the particular legal setting of Mandatory Palestine. For example, he ended the first chapter, which contained a survey of major jurisprudential schools, by noting that all the theories he discussed about the nature of law and its sources applied only to ordinary times and not to extraordinary moments such as revolutions or periods of emergency when a minority imposed its will on a fearful and passive majority. He then provided another example of times when there was a gap between what the legal norms had to say and the actual circumstances experienced by the people subject to the law. The example he gave was “mandated territories,” where “the English … try to impose on the local inhabitants [English] law under the assumption that this law is universal, although it is [actually] foreign to the spirit of the inhabitants and their conditions of life.”Footnote 86
The third feature of Gankin’s book was its use of Jewish law. The second chapter, entitled “The Study of Law,” began with a brief paragraph that mentioned several possible approaches to the study of law (ethical, Marxist, economical, historical, comparative, and dogmatic) but then plunged into an extended discussion of the history of Jewish law.Footnote 87 Similarly, Gankin’s exploration of the tension between law and equity began with a general overview of the topic but soon turned to a focused analysis of how this issue is addressed in the Talmud.Footnote 88 He also illustrated his discussions of other issues (such as the classification of types of norms or the question of the sources of law) with examples taken from both the Bible and the Talmud.Footnote 89
Many other examples can be mentioned. In one place in the book, Gankin discussed the distinction between private and public law. This distinction, he said, could be traced back to Roman law. He then mentioned various theories that attempted to distinguish between the two types of law, ultimately referring to Hans Kelsen’s approach, which rejected the distinction, arguing that all law, including private law, emanated from the state. This allowed Gankin to turn to Jewish law. Jewish law, he said, also rejected the distinction because it was based on the assumption that all norms ultimately emanated from God. The divine origins of all norms of Jewish law meant that all norms had the same sacred value and aimed to create a “perfect society based on social justice.” Gankin then linked the private–public distinction to the ideological tension between individualism and collectivism. Unlike individualist Roman law, Gankin noted, in Jewish law, the individual was only a tiny link in the collective chain, and the goal of law was to curb the individual’s will for the collective’s benefit in order to further social justice. The various categorization schemes used by Jewish law scholars throughout the ages, therefore, were not based on the distinction between private and public law and the individualist ideology that had inspired this distinction.Footnote 90
Another example of the same kind of move can be found in Gankin’s discussion of the notion of possession. This notion was first developed in Roman law, Gankin said, and was designed to mitigate acute disputes relating to the ownership of property. The protection granted by Roman law to the possessor against anyone threatening the latter’s hold on the possessed object was meant to provide certainty and economic stability and prevent violence. The Roman notion of possession then spread to all European legal systems and also to Ottoman law. However, Gankin continued, this notion was not to be found in Jewish law because there was no need for it, given the “moral attitude of the [Jewish] people, who always avoided violence, fistfights, or bloodshed over property.” Gankin was willing to see English law as somewhat similar to Jewish law in this regard, observing that, while medieval English law received the notion of possession from Roman law, the legal protection of possession gradually declined “as the [English] population acquired habits of peaceful living and moderation.”Footnote 91
The claim that Jewish law reflected a higher tier of social and legal development also appeared in Gankin’s book in his discussion of the prohibition of excessive and compounded interest in Jewish law and in the argument that the legality principle (nullum crimen sine lege – no punishment without law) was already well developed in the Talmud but only appeared in Europe in the eighteenth century, during the French Revolution.Footnote 92
Sometimes, Gankin’s discussion of Jewish law contained apologetic undertones. For example, the age of legal capacity in Jewish law is relatively young compared to Western legal systems: twelve for girls and thirteen for boys. Gankin justified this fact by saying that the age of adulthood varied between different countries and depended on “customs, cultural state, and climate.”Footnote 93 A similar apologetic tone was evident in his discussion of the attitude of Jewish law to the death penalty. Gankin saw the gradual abolition of the death penalty as a result of “cultural development.” Jewish law imposed capital punishment on many types of offenses. However, said Gankin, because this law was “imbued with a special [spirit] of humaneness,” it placed so many procedural obstacles in the way of actually implementing the death penalty that, in practice, it was abolished.Footnote 94 Gankin also favorably compared the cruel methods of execution found in many ancient legal systems with the limited number of methods of execution recognized in Jewish law, which, he argued, proved the progressiveness of ancient Jewish law.Footnote 95 Gankin, however, was not always apologetic. For example, when discussing the relationship between legislation and customary law, he equated the Palestinian Talmud (but not the Babylonian Talmud) with the Ottoman Civil Code, the Mejelle, and “other backward codes” because of the primacy they gave to custom over explicit rulemaking.Footnote 96
A similar interest in the nexus between jurisprudence and Jewish law can be found in the works of Max Laserson (see Figure 2.3). Laserson was born in 1887 in the Latvian part of the Russian Empire. He studied law at St. Petersburg Imperial University under the leading late-imperial Russian legal philosopher, Leon Petrażycki. In 1921, Laserson moved to the newly independent state of Latvia, where he became a member of the Latvian Parliament and worked as a lawyer and a teacher in a private institution of higher education, the Riga Commercial College. In 1934, following an authoritarian coup d’état in Latvia, Laserson was imprisoned in a concentration camp for six months and then left for British-ruled Palestine. He became one of the four founders of the Tel Aviv School, teaching courses on constitutional law, public international law, and jurisprudence. In 1939, he moved to the United States, ultimately becoming a lecturer at Columbia University.Footnote 97
Max Laserson, c. 1934.

Laserson was a polyglot, publishing works in seven languages: Russian, Yiddish, Latvian, German, Hebrew, French, and English. He wrote extensively on constitutional law, international law, and the philosophy of law.Footnote 98 One significant characteristic of Laserson’s jurisprudential oeuvre was his interest in the Jewish contribution to jurisprudence, especially natural law theory.Footnote 99 A major topic of many of his works on natural law was the Jewish notion of the seven Noahide laws – a universal moral code binding all humanity established through a covenant between God and Noah after the flood. According to the Talmud, these laws included a prohibition on idolatry, murder, theft, and incest, and a duty to establish courts of law.Footnote 100
One of Laserson’s first articles, published in 1912 in the Moscow periodical Voprosy Prava, was devoted to natural law in ancient Jewish texts. This article manifested the influence of Marx’s and Petrażycki’s legal theories. The Marxist influence is evident, for example, in the emphasis that Laserson placed on the role of economic conditions in shaping law and in a class-based interpretation of biblical legal history, inspired by the work of the Marxist theoretician Karl Kautsky. Thus, Laserson argued, the fact that the Israelites were mainly nomadic herders and farmers, and not merchants and artisans, influenced their law, which was focused on land law rather than civil or commercial law. He called the prophets advocates of the people’s rights, who stood by the “oppressed masses” and opposed the disparity between rich and poor in ancient Israel. He argued that biblical positive law served the interests of the powerful, while natural law reflected the interest of the lower classes; and he depicted the Second Temple Jewish sect, the Essenes, as “the first practical communists,” and Jesus and his followers as constituting “a movement of the Jewish proletariat.”Footnote 101 The Petrażyckian influence on Laserson’s article is clear in his discussion of the relationship between psychology and law and his interest in the development of intuitive legal consciousness.Footnote 102
Unlike other Russian-Jewish scholars at the time, in this article, Laserson did not call in any way for a revival of Jewish law motivated by a Jewish-nationalist agenda. The article, written for a Russian audience, positioned Jewish legal history as a case study that could be used to illustrate broader theoretical concerns, whether Marxist or Petrażyckian. At this point, Laserson did not view Jewish law as a repository of norms and institutions that could be revived and used in the present; nor did he seek to prove the Jewish contribution to the global history of legal thought. However, in the second half of the 1930s, after moving to Palestine and starting to teach at the Tel Aviv School, a bastion of the Jewish legal revival movement, Laserson’s use of Jewish law changed. Now, he sought to convince non-Jewish audiences that the history of Jewish law was relevant to the comparative history of global legal thought. He also worked to convince Jewish readers that Jewish law was not an archaic legal system but one based on modern values and, therefore, still relevant to the present.
These changes were evident in an article Laserson published in 1937 on the legal philosophy of the medieval Jewish scholar Maimonides. The article was first published in French in the journal of the International Institute for the Philosophy of Law and Legal Sociology, based in Paris. An expanded version of this article was later published in Hebrew as a short book.Footnote 103 The French article began with the statement that its purpose was to “fill a lacuna.” The literature on the philosophy of law had ignored legal thinkers from the “non-Christian world,” and Laserson sought to correct this omission by showing the influence of Maimonides on modern legal thinkers. Laserson argued that Maimonides’ thought had influenced Baruch Spinoza and, via Spinoza, had made an impact on the ideas of Jean-Jacques Rousseau and, therefore, also on modern doctrines of international and constitutional law.Footnote 104
In the Hebrew version of the article, Laserson sought to further a Jewish-nationalist jurisprudential agenda by arguing that Jewish scholars should devote more attention to the study of Jewish legal thought and strive to prove that Jewish law was not an obsolete legal system but one that resonated with modern democratic values. Like the article in French, the Hebrew version began with a note on the importance of Jewish legal philosophers to the global history of law. After lamenting the fact that Jews had contributed to the development of Western legal philosophy but had neglected to tend “[their] own vineyard,” Laserson argued that:
… we [Jewish law scholars] will mostly be able to permanently contribute to the global literature on law by analyzing Jewish legal philosophy and theory because our interpretative and dogmatic analysis is bound to remain, as any legal dogmatics, only on the national level … the development of Jewish legal science demands that we discover the unique [contribution] of Jewish thought to the general treasure of human civilization.Footnote 105
In particular, he claimed that the subject of his book, Maimonides, should be considered one of the foundational figures of the global science of law. Studying Jewish legal thought, Laserson continued, would also prove that commendable and modern notions such as natural rights, freedom, tolerance, and opposition to despotism were not modern Western inventions but had already appeared in ancient Jewish texts.Footnote 106
Western jurisprudential literature claimed that the distinction between positive and natural law appeared only in the West and was related to the individualist nature of ancient Greek and Roman societies. This approach gave rise to the mistaken belief that Hugo Grotius was the originator of natural law theory. However, this was wrong, said Laserson. The critique of existing laws, leading to the appearance of the idea of natural law, was not a uniquely Western phenomenon since such a critique appeared in every society, including in ancient Jewish society.Footnote 107 Moreover, during the Middle Ages, Judaism – or, more specifically, Maimonides, in his treatise, The Guide for the Perplexed – developed the idea of natural law in a way that influenced early modern Western theorists. One major innovation that Laserson attributed to Maimonides was the notion of civil religion, that is, a narrow set of moral dogmas essential for the peace and stability of any state, such as the belief in God, in the afterlife, in punishment for the wicked, and in reward for the good. The notion of civil religion, bolstering the state and guaranteeing its stability, can be found, said Laserson, in the works of Hobbes, Spinoza, and Rousseau. Laserson, however, argued that it could be traced back to Maimonides and specifically to chapter 28 of Part III of The Guide for the Perplexed.Footnote 108
In arguing for the importance of Maimonides’ thought, Laserson was motivated not only by cultural nationalism but also by a desire to show that Jewish legal thought constituted an important chapter in the history of global legal thought. He was also reacting to the events of the 1930s, attempting to use Maimonides’ ideas to create a basis for a critique of both communist and Nazi ideology. Natural law (and civil religion) became such a basis, reflecting a broader effort evident in the works of liberal legal scholars in the 1930s to find some form of non-positivist theory of law that could serve as a foundation for the defense of the beleaguered democracies of the West.Footnote 109 Thus, after arguing that the idea of a civil religion first appeared in The Guide for the Perplexed, Laserson emphasized that this idea was now extremely important. The first modern democracies – Calvinist Geneva, England during the English Civil War, or France during the French Revolution – had civil religions, Laserson explained. This idea, however, was replaced in the nineteenth century by “ideological Manchesterism,” that is, by the notion of ideological laissez-faire. Now, only anti-democratic states (the Soviet Union, Italy, and Germany) had obligatory political ideologies, Laserson said, and these were based on the denial of civic freedom.Footnote 110 Contemporary democratic states had long ignored the need to pay attention to the beliefs and opinions of their citizens, but they were now being forced (due to the threat of anti-democratic regimes) to create a “legal credo” for their subjects, a new civil religion. Laserson concluded his book by claiming that “they must rely not only on one of the last thinkers to mention the idea of [civil religion], Rousseau,” but also on one of the first thinkers who mentioned this idea: Maimonides.Footnote 111
Laserson’s interest in Jewish law continued after his move to the United States. For example, in 1948, he published a short piece on “the Hebrew Roots of International Law,” in which he claimed that the Noahide laws had influenced early modern Christian pioneers of international law, such as Grotius and Selden.Footnote 112 Perhaps the most relevant article on Jewish law written during his American period, however, was published posthumously in 1953. In this article, Laserson compared Thomas Hobbes to the biblical figure of Job. He described the Book of Job as epitomizing a higher stage of moral and legal thought, the stage of natural law, compared to Hobbes’ crass positivism, which ultimately led, he claimed, not just to the legal positivism of nineteenth-century thinkers such as John Austin but also, indirectly, to the legal theories prevalent in Nazi Germany.Footnote 113
In Laserson’s work, the interest in the nexus between jurisprudence and Jewish law was mainly expressed in an interest in the history of natural law theory. In articles published in Mandatory Palestine during the interwar period by other legal scholars, interest in this nexus found expression in works that compared Jewish law to Western law, particularly Roman law. I will now discuss these works, which can be placed on the borderline between comparative law and jurisprudence.Footnote 114
Western thought since antiquity (and also Jewish thought) often used the “Rome versus Jerusalem” dichotomy to argue that Western/Christian and Jewish culture and ideas were diametrically opposed.Footnote 115 Such notions also appeared in discussions of Jewish and Roman law. The difference between the two legal systems was a common topic of Jewish works written in the early twentieth century. One way to contrast these two systems was to argue that Roman law was based on authority and power while Jewish law was based on morality, implicitly echoing the positivism/natural law dichotomy. According to this approach, Jewish law was not just different from Roman law but also better: more moral and progressive.Footnote 116
The distinction between the two legal systems was often based on comparing two concrete and related issues: individualism versus collectivism and subjectivism versus objectivism. For example, a 1927 article by a certain “B. Safra” from Russia (this was probably a pseudonym used to hide the identity of the author), which was published in the journal Ha-Mishpat ha-‘Ivri, argued that Roman law prioritized individual liberty and the concept of absolute private property. Because of its religious nature, Jewish law regarded all property as ultimately belonging to God and did not view the right of property as paramount. Safra offered several examples to buttress this observation. For instance, he noted that Jewish law gave the poor a legal right to part of the produce of orchards and fields owned by the wealthy. Safra stated that Roman law was the source of many Western legal systems, but its influence was waning. In the future, he implied, modern legal systems would adopt the quasi-socialist notions upon which Jewish law was based.Footnote 117
A related distinction to the individual/collective one was that between subjectivism and objectivism. Asher Gulak’s 1925 inaugural lecture at the Hebrew University sought to compare “the spirit of the Jewish and Roman civil law.”Footnote 118 In this lecture, Gulak argued that one principle that distinguished Jewish and Roman law and proved that the two systems were “derived from sources foreign to each other” was related to the notion of will. Roman private and public law, said Gulak, were based on the exercise of will: the will of the individual, in the case of private law; and the sovereign’s will in the case of public law. Both Roman private and public law were thus based on a devotion to the notion of sovereignty. The Jews, however, were devoted to justice, not sovereignty. As a result, their private law did not seek to empower the individual’s will in creating legal relationships. Instead, such relationships were based on objective facts rather than subjective will.Footnote 119
Gulak then noted that, in Roman law, the pater familias could adopt strangers (for example, as a method of forging political or military alliances between families). Adoption did not require any objective criteria. It was carried out merely by the exercise of will on the part of the adopter. In contrast, Jewish law did not recognize the possibility of adoption, and family relations were based purely on “objective” bloodlines. In addition, while Roman law mainly championed the notion of free testamentary dispositions, Jewish law, although it did recognize the possibility of creating wills, focused on creating rules in the case of intestacy. Gulak claimed that Roman civil law, sanctifying the will of the individual citizen, led to “tyranny and the oppression of the weak.” In Jewish law, by contrast, the individual’s exercising of their will was subject to “the demands of justice.”Footnote 120
Nineteenth-century legal thought, shaped by liberal ideology, would have viewed the absence of emphasis on individual free will in Jewish law as evidence of its inferiority. The fact that Jewish law did not give precedence to the free will of individuals would have been perceived as an indication that this legal system belonged to a low rung of the evolutionary legal ladder, at the top of which stood legal systems based on free will. However, by the 1920s, when Gulak gave his inaugural lecture, this fact would actually have led many legal scholars to classify Jewish law as more attuned to modern sensibilities than Roman law. Gulak himself was aware of this fact when he concluded that:
… the objective principles upon which our nation’s private law is founded have many contact points with modern developments in legal science, in which, too, there is a tendency to weaken the power of the individual’s will in his private relations with other individuals and to recognize the influence of social and objective principles in individual relations. The objective principles of Jewish private law and the moral principles they reveal prove the vitality of our nation’s laws and the fertile influence they may have on modern legal ideas.Footnote 121
Jurisprudence and the Palestinian-Arab Community
In Chapter 1, I discussed theoretical works on Islamic law published in India, focusing specifically on the work of the Madras judge, Abdur Rahim. In Chapter 7, I will discuss Egypt, where there was a large community of legal scholars interested in applying Western legal theories to the study of Islamic legal history and jurisprudence. Such interest also existed among the Arab lawyers of Mandatory Palestine but on a smaller scale. In order to explain the relative difference in interest in legal theory between the Arab lawyers of Palestine and Egyptian lawyers, and also between the Arab and Jewish lawyers of Palestine, a short discussion of the history of book publishing in Palestine is required.
The Palestinian-Arab community in Mandatory Palestine was larger than the Jewish one. In 1931, Jews comprised only 17 percent of the population of approximately 1 million. By the end of British rule, the Jewish population comprised roughly 30 percent. However, while Mandatory Palestine was a major Jewish intellectual and cultural center, the centers of Arab and Islamic intellectual life were in places such as Egypt and Lebanon rather than in Palestine. The Jewish and Arab communities differed in literacy rates.Footnote 122 Another difference was that while there was an extensive Jewish autonomous school system in Palestine, which included many high schools and several higher education institutions, there were very few Arab high schools and no Arab universities.Footnote 123 In the early 1930s, the political leader of the Palestinian-Arab community, Hajj Amin al-Husayni, attempted to establish an Islamic University (partly to be funded by Indian Muslims) that would compete with the Hebrew University, but this attempt failed. Al-Husayni was unable to secure enough funds, and events in the second half of the 1930s ultimately doomed the project, specifically the British repression of the Arab Revolt of 1936–39 and the fact that al-Husayni, who played a key role in the Revolt, fled the country in 1937.Footnote 124
The difference in literacy and education rates was reflected in the number of publications in Arabic versus Hebrew in Palestine. The 1931 Census of Palestine reported that thirty-nine books in Arabic had been published in the territory between 1923 and 1931. During the same period, 1,120 books in Hebrew had been published there.Footnote 125 In the 1940s, Ishaq Musa al-Husayni, a Palestinian-Arab scholar, compiled a list of 209 Arabic books published in Palestine between 1919 and 1944, most of which were school textbooks. This number, stated Husayni, was less than the number of books published by the Jews of Palestine in a single year.Footnote 126 As for periodicals, according to the 1931 Census, thirty-nine periodicals were published in Arabic in Mandatory Palestine between 1923 and 1931, compared to 332 in Hebrew.Footnote 127
The gap between Arabs and Jews was also evident in the legal realm. There were many learned Arab lawyers in Palestine, some of whom were involved in activities beyond the ordinary practice of law.Footnote 128 However, the institutional structures of the Arab legal community were less developed than those of the Jewish one. A voluntary national Jewish Bar Association was established in 1928. Arabs had local bar associations, but the National Arab Bar Association was only established in 1945 and remained inactive.Footnote 129 By the end of British rule in Palestine in 1948, there were 1,187 lawyers licensed to appear before the government courts of Palestine. Of these, 1,059 (90 percent) were Jews at a time when Jews comprised only a third of the population.Footnote 130 The dominance of Jews in the legal profession translated into a dominance in legal writing. Four Jewish legal periodicals appeared in Palestine during the period of the British Mandate, compared to just one Arabic legal periodical.Footnote 131 This discrepancy was also evident in the realm of law books. Very few law books in Arabic were written (or translated) in Palestine. According to the Census of 1931, only five of the thirty-nine books published in Arabic during the 1920s dealt with legal topics.Footnote 132
One book in Arabic relevant, to some extent, to legal theory was a book on Bedouin customary law written by a leading Arab intellectual, ‘Arif al-‘Arif, in the 1930s. However, ‘Arif was neither a lawyer nor a legal scholar. Hence, his book did not provide a theoretical examination of the nature of Bedouin law nor even a history of this law. Instead, it was a descriptive survey of Bedouin society and customary norms.Footnote 133
In the mid-1920s, Fahmi al-Husayni, an Arab lawyer, published a legal periodical, al-Huquq. This was a practitioner-oriented publication (unlike the Hebrew journal Ha-Mishpat ha-‘Ivri, which was published at around the same time and had an academic orientation). The articles in al-Huquq included reports on the decisions of courts in Palestine and abroad, police-related articles, and even poems. However, al-Huquq did carry some articles on the nature of law, comparative law surveys (for example, on ancient Egyptian, English, Jewish, Chinese, and Japanese law), and discussions of Islamic law and Islamic legal history. Many of these articles were translated from other languages or were written by non-Palestinian authors. For example, al-Huquq published a short translation of parts of Goadby’s jurisprudence textbook or brief theoretical works written by Lebanese scholars ‘Arif al-Nakdi and Issa Iskandar al-Ma‘aluf. One could also find in it non-legal theoretical articles, such as excerpts from Karl Marx’s Communist Manifesto.Footnote 134 The journal also contained reports exposing readers to Continental theories. For example, it published a report on the visit of the French anti-formalist legal scholar Léon Duguit to Egypt. This report briefly summarized Duguit’s unique theory about the relationship between law and social solidarity.Footnote 135
Few original theoretical works were published in al-Huquq. One example was an article by Husni ‘Abd al-Hadi, a lawyer from Nablus and a graduate of the Ottoman Law School in Istanbul, who wrote an article on the nature of obligations.Footnote 136 There were also some articles with a criminological focus, such as one written by Darwish Abu al-‘Afiyah, which dealt with the economic and social factors causing crime and in which the Italian criminologist Cesare Lombroso was quoted, or an article about women as criminals that drew on the works of the French criminologist René Garraud.Footnote 137 In addition, in reviews published in the journal it is possible to find brief discussions about the progressive nature of Islamic law compared to European law and about the idea that the law of Muslim countries should reflect the “spirit” (ruh) of the Islamic nation.Footnote 138 There were also hints of a sentiment of pan-Asian solidarity in the journal, manifested in the publication of translated articles by Western writers on Chinese and Indian topics.Footnote 139
Conclusion
Despite its small size, Mandatory Palestine had a developed system of Western-style legal education. Law students in Palestine were exposed to English ideas about the nature of law and its development, but they were also exposed to state-of-the-art Continental anti-formalist theories. These were found in works written by English and Jewish legal scholars in Palestine about the philosophy and history of law. Like the Indian works discussed in Chapter 1, the writings produced in Palestine were characterized by cosmopolitanism and a willingness to critique English theories using examples taken from local law. Jewish scholars in Palestine were also interested in theoretical discussions on the nature and history of Jewish law, comparing it to Western law and using the comparison to make general claims about the nature of both systems. There were significant points of similarity between the institutional and intellectual histories of legal theory in colonial India and Mandatory Palestine. However, there were also substantial differences. Both will be explored now, in Interlude 1.
Colonial India and Mandatory Palestine both belonged to the British Empire, but they were very different territories. India was a core colony of the Empire. It was huge territorially, and it contained hundreds of millions of people. The British presence in India began in the seventeenth century as a commercial endeavor, later morphing into political rule. The centuries-long British presence made a profound impact on the politics and culture of India. In contrast, British rulers came to Palestine, a small territory with a tiny population, only at the end of the First World War and left after just a few decades, in 1948. While here, too, their presence had a long-lasting impact in certain respects, their legacy was certainly weaker compared to the case of India. The two territories and their respective populations were not only different in scale; the diversity and characteristics of the two societies, and the previous legal structures out of which the legal systems of the two territories were composed, also differed in myriad ways. However, the history of Western-style legal education in both places displayed similar traits.
In India and Palestine, the British established institutions that provided a formal legal education mainly based on imported English law and English legal theories. In both places, British – and, later, local – teachers used examples taken from local law to critique imported English theories. Colonial legal scholars in India and Palestine were also far more willing to refer to Continental jurisprudential theories in their works compared to contemporary English legal theorists. Some local legal scholars showed a keen interest in the jurisprudential analysis of their respective religious legal systems: Hindu law (and to some extent also Islamic law) in the case of India and Jewish law in the case of Mandatory Palestine. These scholars argued that these ancient systems, viewed by Western thinkers as being on a low rung of the legal evolutionary ladder, were not only the historical source of Western jurisprudential ideas but also contained notions and values that were more advanced and progressive than those found in Western law.
The interest that both Indian and Jewish law scholars displayed in the theoretical discussion of their ancient religious systems was born of the same ideology, nationalism – itself a Western transplant. Indian and Jewish nationalism, like nationalism in many other countries, Western and non-Western alike, went through a stage in which intellectuals sought to create a unified national identity by studying ancient national culture.Footnote 1 Specifically in the legal realm, the theoretical approach to the study of law that was identified with the German Historical School and with English historical jurisprudence motivated this interest in religious law. It was also motivated by a more fundamental human emotion: pride in one’s long and resilient cultural heritage. For example, Jogendra Chunder Ghose, who taught law at the University of Calcutta, asserted in 1917 that:
… the history of Hindu Law is the most wonderful chapter of the history of the world and of human institutions. Egypt and Babylon, Assyria and Persia … have passed away without a vestige remaining of their ancient institutions and religions … [they] have completely discarded their old religion, law and social institutions and adopted those of the Arabian prophet Mahomed …. The Brahmins of India however, maintained the old religion and the old law, through the many vicissitudes of two thousand years, and succeeded in securing their ultimate victory … [the] tenacity with which the [Hindus] have stuck to the old institutions and the old law is a wonderful phenomenon.Footnote 2
Similarly, Rabbi Isaac Herzog, who served as a Chief Rabbi of Palestine in the 1930s and 1940s and had some affinity with the scholars of the Jewish legal revival movement, declared in 1936 that:
Rome, mistress of the ancient world, mighty in war and great in peace, destroyed the Jewish state and drove the Jewish people out of its magic land … [Rome] has been admired throughout the centuries for her juristic genius. Her victim, Judaea, on the other hand, has not yet received due appreciation for her achievement in the field of law, an achievement which so strikingly attests [to] the intellectual powers of the Jewish race as well as its noble passion for righteousness.Footnote 3
While the institutional and intellectual histories of legal theory in colonial India and Mandatory Palestine shared many similarities, there were also significant differences. In the institutional realm, the law schools of India were British creations. The most important institution that was examined in Chapter 1, the University of Calcutta College of Law, was created at the initiative of an Indian nationalist scholar, Asutosh Mookerjee. Nevertheless, it was part of a university that was ultimately governed by the British. In Palestine, too, British officials shaped the curriculum of one of the legal education institutions discussed earlier, the Jerusalem Law Classes (created as a vocational school rather than a university-affiliated academic institution). However, the two other institutions providing legal education, the Hebrew University and the Tel Aviv School, were both Zionist and they were created and operated independently of British rule – indeed, in the case of the Tel Aviv school, in opposition to it.
The colonial government’s lack of involvement in law teaching at these two institutions had negative implications. The Hebrew University refrained from establishing a faculty of law, partly out of concern that doing so might antagonize the British authorities by competing with the Jerusalem Law Classes. The Tel Aviv School also suffered from the lack of government recognition. The law degree it conferred did not enable its graduates to take the Palestine Bar examinations, meaning they had to complete their studies abroad. However, the lack of British involvement also meant that the teaching of law at the Hebrew University and the Tel Aviv School placed a greater emphasis on studying Jewish law. This, together with many other factors, may have been one of the reasons that the effort to produce theoretical scholarship on the history and principles of (one of) the local religious legal systems seems to have been more sustained and broader in Mandatory Palestine than in colonial India, certainly relative to population size. In addition, unlike India, much of the scholarship in Palestine was produced by an unofficial organization, the Jewish Law Society, which had no Indian equivalent.
The institutional difference between law schools in India and Mandatory Palestine was related to a difference in the educational background and intellectual influences of the legal scholars in India and Palestine. In India, the authors I examined were mostly educated either in England or in the English-sponsored universities of India. Many were practicing lawyers who were in daily contact with India’s court system, which applied anglicized Indian law. While some, such as Rattigan (who held a doctorate from a German university) and Basu (who wrote extensively on Continental legal theories), demonstrated an interest in Roman law and modern Continental jurisprudence, English legal theory remained the dominant influence in India.
This was not the case in Palestine. The legal system of Palestine and, more broadly, that of the Middle East was shaped by French law, which, in the nineteenth century, served as the primary European model for legal modernization in the Ottoman Empire and Egypt. As a result, even English authors such as Goadby had to be familiar with French law and French legal theories. In addition, most Jewish lawyers and legal scholars in Mandatory Palestine were immigrants who grew up and were educated in Central and Eastern Europe. Therefore, the primary source of influence on their ideas was not English thinkers such as Austin or Maine but the German Historical School, the Free Law Movement, and Russian scholars such as Petrażycki and Pokrovsky.
The different biographical trajectories of Indian and Jewish scholars also led to a difference in substantive ideas. Scholars in India rejected Austinian positivism and, more generally, nineteenth-century legal science, which saw the law as entirely autonomous. They also recognized the need to study law in anti-formalist ways, connecting legal research to society. However, because the leading anti-formalist jurisprudential theory they espoused was Maine’s evolutionary approach, their scholarship on Hindu law was mainly historical and focused on the ancient history of this legal system. Their works were motivated by a desire to counter Western views of ancient Hindu law as backward and primitive and to show the past contribution of Indians to global jurisprudence.
Scholars in Palestine, too, espoused anti-formalism, but their version of it was more modern. It was sociological and sought to use a social sciences approach to study Jewish law. It was also more practical. While a historical perspective was undoubtedly present in works on Jewish law published in Palestine, these works also had a contemporary and applied edge. This, for example, was the case with Dikshtein’s use of Free Law ideas to justify the anti-formalist approach that characterized judicial decision-making among the lay judges of the Hebrew Courts of Arbitration.
I would now like to focus on a comparison in the context of one specific topic: the goals of the theoretical scholarship in the two places. Here, too, one can point to both similarities and differences. In both India and Palestine, jurisprudential works shared the same pedagogical objective: to introduce students to the nature and history of law. In both places, works by local scholars also had an ideological, nationalist, goal: to foster pride in the national culture. However, in the case of Palestine only, another goal of the scholarship had to do with the idea of legal revival. The study of Jewish law was seen as a practical endeavor ultimately meant to lead to the use of the norms of Jewish law (belonging to legal fields such as contract or tort that could also be found in modern legal systems) as the basis of the legal system of the future independent state to be established once British colonial rule ended. In India, legal scholars did not argue that the anglicized contract law of India should be replaced by norms taken from Hindu contract law. Why was there a difference? The idea of Jewish legal revival originated in the scholarly and political program of the nineteenth-century German Historical School, which sought to use the national legal traditions of the German people as a source of norms of the new German civil code, the BGB. This program inspired the Jewish scholars but had less influence on the Indian ones. Jewish legal revival was also inspired by the successful revival of the Hebrew language, a major goal of cultural Zionism. In India, the desire to “revive” Sanskrit was far less influential.Footnote 4
In colonial India, therefore, there were almost no calls to replace British-colonial law with Hindu law. This was not only the result of jurisprudential theories. Judaism, unlike Hinduism, has combined religious and national identity for three millennia, and Jewish law has been a central pillar of Jewish identity since antiquity. It was thus seen as amenable, despite the fact that it was a non-state legal system, to serve as the foundation of the legal system of a future Jewish nation-state, just like the revived Hebrew language. Hinduism is considerably more diverse than Judaism. Its numerous traditions, practices, and vast corpus of scriptures give rise to a broader spectrum of beliefs and practices compared to Judaism. Thus, Hindu law is more difficult to “revive” than Jewish law. The sources of Hindu law are also far less accessible to non-specialists than those of Jewish law. In addition, Hinduism generally, and Hindu law specifically, are also, in some sense, a modern British-colonial construct, which is not the case with Jewish law.
The idea of legal revival espoused by Jewish scholars was rooted in Continental notions of law being the product of the work of scholars rather than legislators or judges. While ancient Hindu law was also a product of scholars, modern English jurisprudential notions that connected the law to the state and its officials dominated Indian legal education during the colonial period and, it seems, also dominated the imagination of Indian scholars. The influence of English jurisprudential traditions made it more difficult for Indians to accept the idea of legal revival by actors unconnected to the state.
Differences in the nature of Hindu and Jewish religion and law were accompanied by differences in the social and political context in which Indian and Jewish scholars worked. Hindu law, and certainly its text-based, British-influenced colonial version, was associated with upper-caste, Brahmin, “high-culture,” urban elites.Footnote 5 Unlike Jewish law, it was therefore identified only with specific segments of the society it was supposed to govern. The fact that Hindu law was based on and identified with the notion of caste division was anathema to the egalitarian promises of the Indian Nationalist Movement, especially once it moved to its mass mobilization phase. Furthermore, reviving those parts of Hindu law that were outside the realm of personal law would have undermined the vision that independent India would be a secular state based on Hindu–Muslim unity. Finally, the legal profession’s power in India, committed as it was to anglicized Indian law, also impeded calls for the revival of Hindu law.Footnote 6
The notion of Jewish legal revival faced political opposition from various quarters, too: conservative Orthodox rabbis unwilling to agree to any tampering with, or modernization of, Jewish law; secular Zionists who argued that, unlike the Hebrew language, which could be (and was indeed) secularized, Jewish law was too tightly bound to Jewish religion; and also anglicized lawyers who feared that Jewish law would undermine their livelihood, which was based on their familiarity with the British-colonial system. This combined opposition ultimately led to the failure of the movement for Jewish legal revival and to the adoption of the British-colonial law of Mandatory Palestine as the basis of the postcolonial Israeli State.Footnote 7 However, the relative robustness of the demands for legal revival in Mandatory Palestine, compared to colonial India, meant that the scholarly interest in the theoretical study of the jurisprudence and history of religious law was more substantial among Jewish scholars in Palestine than it was among Hindu scholars in India.
These differences, and others, between Indian and Jewish scholars will also be evident in the next part of the book, which is devoted to a description and comparison of the life and thought of two legal scholars, Radhabinod Pal and Samuel Eisenstadt, who were both significant actors in their respective scholarly communities.









