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Page 26
I do not know what may be the cause, but the American visitor does
notice that the English attitude towards the laws of the realm is not so
devout as he had been led to expect. We have from our earliest youth
been taught to believe that the law-abidingness of the Englishman was
innate and impeccable. It was not that, like the good man of whom the
Psalmist speaks, he meditated on the law day and night. He didn't need
to. Decent respect for the law was in his blood. He simply could not
help conforming to it.
And this impression is confirmed by the things which the tourist goes to
see. The stately mansions embowered in green and guarded by immemorial
oaks are accepted as symbolic of an ordered life. The multitudinous
rooks suggest security which comes from triumphant legality. No
irresponsible person shoots them. When one enters a cathedral close he
feels that he is in a land that frowns on the crudity of change. Here
everything is a "thousand years the same." And how decent is the
demeanor of a verger!
When the pilgrim from Kansas arrives at an ancient English inn he feels
that he must be on his good behavior. Boots in his green apron is a
lesson to him. He is not like a Western hotel bell-boy on the way to
becoming something else. He knows his place. Everybody, he imagines, in
this country knows his place, and there is no unseemly crowding and
pushing. And what stronger proof can there be that this is a land where
law is reverenced than the demeanor of a London policeman. There is no
truculence about him, no show of physical force. He is so mild-eyed and
soft of speech that one feels that he has been shielded from rude
contact with the world. He represents the Law in a land where law is
sacred. He is instinctively obeyed. He has but to wave his hand and
traffic stops.
When the traveler is told that in the vicinity of the House of Commons
traffic is stopped to allow a Member to cross the street, his admiration
increases. Fancy a Congressman being treated with such respect! But the
argument which, on the whole, makes the deepest impression is the
deferential manners of the tradesmen with their habit of saying, "Thank
you," apropos of nothing at all. It seems an indication of perpetual
gratitude over the fact that things are as they are.
But when one comes to listen to the talk of the day one is surprised to
find a surprising lack of docility. I doubt whether the Englishman has
the veneration for the abstract idea of Law which is common among
Americans. Indeed, he is accustomed to treat most abstractions with
scant courtesy. There is nothing quite corresponding to the average
American's feeling about a decision of the Supreme Court. The Law has
spoken, let all the land keep silent. It seems like treason to criticize
it, like anarchy to defy it.
Tennyson's words about "reverence for the laws ourselves have made"
needs to be interpreted by English history. It is a peculiar kind of
reverence and has many limitations. A good deal depends on what is meant
by "ourselves." An act of Parliament does not at once become an object
of reverence by the members of the opposition party. It was not, they
feel, made by _them_, it was made by a Government which was violently
opposed to them and which was bent on ruining the country.
It is only after a sufficient time has elapsed to allow for the partisan
origin to be forgotten, and for it to become assimilated to the habits
of thought and manner of life of the people that it is deeply respected.
The English reverence is not for statute law, but for the common law
which is the slow accretion of ages. A new enactment is treated like the
new boy at school. He must submit to a period of severe hazing before he
is given a place of any honor.
To the American when an act of Congress has been declared
constitutional, a decent respect for the opinion of mankind seems to
suggest that verbal criticism should cease. The council of perfection is
that the law should be obeyed till such time as it can be repealed or
explained away. If it should become a dead letter, propriety would
demand that no evil should be spoken of it. Since the days of Andrew
Jackson the word "nullification" has had an ugly and dangerous sound.
But to the Englishman this attitude seems somewhat superstitious. The
period of opposition to a measure is not ended when it has passed
Parliament and received the royal assent. The question is whether it
will receive the assent of the people. Can it get itself obeyed? If it
can, then its future is assured for many generations. But it must pass
through an exciting period of probation.
If it is a matter that arouses much feeling the British way is for some
one to disobey and take the consequences. Passive resistance--with such
active measures as may make the life of the enforcers of the law a
burden to them--is a recognized method of political and religious
propagandism.
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