Ethics in Service — Key Ideas to Explore

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Taft, William H. (William Howard), 1857-1930 Project Gutenberg 2006 Not confirmed
United States -- Politics and government; Legal ethics; Presidents -- United States Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Text sections 3

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In five addresses from 1914, former President Taft examines legal ethics, executive power, and the moral responsibilities of public service, drawing on his judicial and administrative experience.
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Scribes was not closely or clearly drawn. They were evidently supposed to occupy a disinterested position toward those who consulted them and to be in a sense the associates of the judges. Since the motive which prompted their study of particular cases was supposed to be only that of vindicators of general justice, the rules which nominally guided their action, as announced by the lawgivers, required that their services should always be gratuitous. But quite naturally their consultation with private litigants prompted such litigants to influence their view of the law, and command their skill in debate. And so to evade the rule which prevented remuneration they established the custom of giving presents in advance. These presents given in advance to secure the kindly favor of the Scribes are interesting as the precursors of that institution dear to every English barrister, and not unknown--nor even objectionable--to American lawyers, to wit, the Retainer. In fact it was the impossibility of finding men who could remain judicial in their attitude when the thought of remuneration moved them to advocate the cause of one of the litigants, that put the Scribes of those days in an indefensible position and led to the attacks upon them that we find in the New Testament.

And so it was in Rome. There the progenitor of the lawyer was first the priest, the _Pontifex_, mingling judicial and advisory functions, and then the _patronus_ or the orator, a man of wealth and high standing in the community, who had gathered about him freed men and Plebeians as his supporters. The latter were known as his _clientes_, from which term our word is derived. When one of his clients became involved in a lawsuit, the _patronus_ appeared to advise the judge--a magistrate acting only as vindicator of general justice and often not learned in the principles of law--and was not supposed to receive any compensation. Less than the _patronus_, but exercising similar functions, was the _advocatus_--who, though perhaps not so learned in the law, nor so formidable as a person, was able to assist the _patronus_ before the tribunal on behalf of others. There was in addition a body of men called "jurist consults," learned in the law and able to advise, who came to be recognized as the members of a select profession in the time of Augustus.

In the year 200 before Christ, the Cincian law was enacted, requiring that service of the _patronus_ and the advocate should be gratuitous, but it was soon evaded even as the Jewish laws had been. Again presents were made to secure the skilled advocacy of men learned in the law and acute in debate. These gifts like the Hebrew ones were paid in advance and were called "honorariums," another term which suggests the modern retainer. Neither an _advocatus_ nor a _patronus_ could sue for such honorarium at law because it was a violation of law, but once paid, the honorarium could not be recovered. Cicero boasted that he never violated the Cincian law, but historians of his period intimate that by secret loans and testamentary gifts his practice proved to be very profitable. And it is certain, at least, that many of his contemporaries were made very rich by professional remuneration. Augustus directed the passage of another law forbidding compensation to orators and advocates, but it was disregarded and subsequent emperors contented themselves with fixing limits for the fees to be charged. In the golden age of the Roman law, therefore, the payment of the profession became recognized as legitimate and the profession itself became a definite body with clearly understood functions.

In England, for two hundred years after the Conquest, the priests were the only learned men, and they, too, like the Scribes, acted as judges and advisers of litigants. Even as late as the time of Henry VIII, as we know, the Keeper of the King's Conscience and the head of the Court of Equity, was an Ecclesiastic in the formidable person of Cardinal Woolsey. About the reign of King John, laymen became lawyers, and in Henry III's time the Pope forbade priests to fit themselves in civil law or to act as advisers in respect to it. We may properly say that the profession of the Bar, as a recognized English institution, had its beginnings in the struggle for individual rights by which the English race forced the great charter from King John. We find that in the history of the early English administration of justice, bailiffs, undersheriffs, clerical attachés and the underlings of the courts had gone into the business of acting as attorneys, of cheating their clients, and of stirring up litigation. While statutes were directed against their abuses, I cannot find that there was any English statute forbidding lawyers to receive compensation for their services, although the action of the Pope in forbidding his priests to study and practice law in England may indicate some such abuses. It is certain that legal services were not regarded as creating a debt due from the client to the lawyer who had served him. By statute, now, attorneys and solicitors in England are entitled to fixed fees for professional services. But in the case of barristers, down to the present time, while they may demand a retainer for their services in advance, they still cannot recover by suit if the services are rendered without receiving it. This may possibly be derived from the early Roman and Jewish view of the professional relation and suggests the probability that early in English history professional services were deemed to be gratuitous.

The grant of Magna Charta by King John, in response to the demand of the Barons at Runnymede, gave birth to the Bar in its modern character. Articles 17 and 18 of that instrument provided that Common Pleas should not follow the court of the King, but should be held in a certain place, and that trials upon certain writs should not be taken outside of their proper counties. It provided further that the King or the Chief Justice should send two justiciaries into each county, four times in the year, to hold certain assizes within the county, with four knights of the county, chosen by it, on the day, and at the place appointed. The 45th article promised that the King would not make Justiciaries, Constables, or Bailiffs excepting of such as knew the laws of the land and were well disposed to observe them. The result of this provision by which Common pleas courts came to be held at Westminster, while regular assizes were held in the counties, was the establishment of the four Inns of Court, so-called, Lincoln's Inn, the Inner and the Middle Temple, and Gray's Inn, together with a number of others known as Chancery Inns, which have of late years disappeared. Henry III took these Inns under his especial protection and prohibited the study of law anywhere in London save in the Inns of Court. They were the homes of the Bar, for within their walls lawyers had their offices, and there students of the law received their education. In fact, they may be said to constitute the foundation of the modern profession of the law in the English-speaking race.

The Inns of Court were at first an aristocratic institution, and only men of good blood were permitted to practice in them. Indeed, that was the case in the early days in Rome. Pliny reports that no one could become a _jurist consult_, an _advocatus_ or a _patronus_ except he be of the Patrician class. But soon after the Empire began, this rule broke down and the Roman Bar became open to all. So, too, in the English Bar at first admission was controlled by the Benchers or governing bodies of the Inns of Court and the students were chosen only from good families. It was probably this that led to their unpopularity and to the denunciation which they received in Wat Tyler's day, in the fourteenth century, and from Jack Cade's followers whom Shakespeare makes wish to kill all the lawyers in the next century. Their exclusive spirit passed away, however, and while aristocratic class distinctions were rigidly maintained in English society, the Bar became most democratic through the avenue to positions of highest influence on the Bench and in politics which it freely offered to able men from the people. And, indeed, there is no part of English history that is so full of interest as the stories of her great lawyers, who, beginning in the humblest conditions of life, fought their way by real merit into positions of control in the government and thus gave ability and strength to the aristocracy of which they became a part.

In the three centuries or more after the establishment of the Inns of Court, no division appeared in the profession of the law, and it was not until about 1556 that the profession became separated into attorneys at law and solicitors in chancery, on the one hand, and barristers on the other. The former dealt directly with clients and performed the preliminary work of drafting documents and preparing briefs, while the latter, the barristers, drafted the pleadings and presented the causes in court. A similar division of functions prevailed in the Roman Bar. I shall have occasion later to comment on the advantages and disadvantages of this division, but this summary reference is sufficient for my present purpose in tracing the history of the Bar in England. During this period, after the establishment of the Inns of Court, the unpopularity of the Bar manifested itself in the enactment of statutes forbidding the election of lawyers to Parliament. This gave rise to the noted Parliament known as the "Dunces Parliament," because everybody who knew anything about the law, and therefore about the framing or the operation of statutes, was excluded from membership.

In his interesting history of the American Bar, Mr. Charles Warren, of the Boston Bar, says:

"Lawyers, as the instruments through which the subtleties and iniquities of the Common Law were enforced, were highly unpopular as a class in England during the period of Cromwell and Milton."

"Most men are allured to the trade of law, grounding their purposes not on the prudent and heavenly contemplation of justice and equity, which was never taught them, but on the promising and pleasing thoughts of litigious terms, fat contentions and flowing fees."

As examples of a lawyer's reputation in London in the seventeenth century, Mr. Warren cites the titles of the following tracts printed at that time: "The Downfall of Unjust Lawyers"; "Doomsday Drawing Near with Thunder and Lightning for Lawyers"; "A Rod for Lawyers who are Hereby declared Robbers and Deceivers of the Nation"; "Essay where is Described the Lawyers, Smugglers and Officers Frauds."

I note these facts as I progress to indicate and reinforce my original statement that the present time is not the only time in the history of civilization when lawyers have received the condemnation of their fellow subjects or fellow citizens. Yet not only has the profession survived such movements but its usefulness has been recognized in succeeding crises.

I need hardly mention that most of the progress toward individual liberty in English history was made through the successful struggle of the lawyers against the assertion of the divine right of Kings and through the defence of privilege by members of our profession. Lawyers like Lord Coke and Lord Hale stand out in the profession for their maintenance of the independence of the judiciary and their support of the liberties of subjects. The great charters, the Petition of Right, the Habeas Corpus Act, the Bill of Rights, and the Acts of Settlement, establishing the judiciary independent of Royal control, were obtained at the instance of lawyers who knew better than any other class the absolute necessity for such reforms in the maintenance of free institutions.

The evolution of the Bar in this country during colonial times--especially in New England--was a curious counterpart of the history of the English Bar three centuries before. The founders of New England came here to escape a persecution for their religious beliefs and law was closely connected in their minds with the injustices, the inequalities and the rigid hardships of the common law as administered by judges appointed and removable at the will of the Tudors and Stuarts. At that time lawyers exercising their profession were the instruments of a system that had become non-progressive. They had lost the principles of justice in technicalities and had become mere political tools in the hands of tyrants. But in England, the law soon lost its narrowing, hard and inflexible character through the intervention of courts of equity and through the genius and broad views of great judges of common law like Mansfield. It was modified further by the civil law and by the needs of a developing world commerce, and after the action of the Long Parliament and the Revolution it was no longer used as an instrument of tyranny.

In this country, however, the Puritans and the Pilgrims approved of neither the common law nor the English judicial system, and as lawyers were only part of that system, they considered the abolition of the profession from their society as an end devoutly to be wished for and promptly sought. Among the Pilgrim fathers there was not a single lawyer, while among the Puritans there were only four or five who had been educated as lawyers and even they had never practiced. The consequence was that during the seventeenth century and far into the eighteenth, lawyers had little place in the social or political institutions of the colonies. In New England there was a theocracy. The judges--none of them lawyers--were all either ministers or directly under the influence of the clergy. A colonial common law grew up among them, based on a theological reasoning and was really administered without lawyers. In the Massachusetts body of liberties, it was provided that a man unfit to plead might employ a person not objectionable to the Court to plead for him, on condition that he give him no fee or reward. In 1663 a usual or common attorney was prohibited from sitting in the general court.

As society progressed, however, as commerce and trade increased, as wealth grew, as business transactions became more extended and as learning spread from the clergy to other persons, opportunity and inducement were furnished for the study of the law, and professional training became more general. The crying need for a learned and honorable profession of the law was made manifest by the growth of a class of advocates and advisers whose influence was most pernicious. Litigants needed guidance in the presentation of their cases and no learned profession being available, the underbailiffs, undersheriffs, clerks and other underlings of the administration of justice began to practice, without real knowledge. Greedy and lacking in principle, they developed trickery and stirred up litigation for their own profit, just as their predecessors had done three hundred years before in England. Colonial statutes were then passed, forbidding such underlings of the court to practice law at all. But lawyers were not popular in colonial days even after the Bar became able and respectable. In fact a bitter spirit was manifested against lawyers even as late as Shays's Rebellion after the Revolutionary War.

Between the years 1750 and 1775, more than a hundred and fifty young men from the colonies were admitted to one of the four Inns of Court and became educated lawyers with the purpose of entering the profession in their native colonies. How far the presence of such a class of educated lawyers through the colonies contributed to the resentment against the stupidity and injustice of the English colonial policy which brought about the Revolution, cannot be estimated exactly; but certain it is that the preparation of the lawyers who were then in their prime appears to have been Providential interference in behalf of the people of the United States. Never in history has the profession of the law received so great a harvest of profound students of the constitutional principles of government as did our country at this time. Our lawyers signed the Declaration of Independence, served in the Continental Congress, acted as delegates to the Constitutional Convention, and met in the various conventions called by the states to consider the ratification of that great instrument. They not only knew that common law, but they had studied closely the political history of Greece and Rome, and were familiar with the principles of government as set forth by Montesquieu and Adam Smith.

It was the American Bar that gave to the people of the United States such lawyers as Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, James Madison, George Mason, Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, John Adams, James Otis, Samuel Chase, Samuel Adams, Roger Sherman, Oliver Ellsworth, James Wilson, Edmund Randolph and many others not less learned and brilliant, to establish their liberties, frame the limitations of their government and care for the protection of individual rights. The same Bar furnished a little later that lawyer and judge, John Marshall, whose interpretation of the Constitution was as important in its beneficent effect as its original framing. That Bar not only helped largely in constructing the ship of state but it was also most instrumental in launching it on a triumphant and useful course through a century and a quarter. The profound gratitude of succeeding generations owing to such a Bar ought never to be dimmed by partisan or misguided diatribes upon lawyers and judges.

I have heard the utility of legal ethics denied. It is said that the rules in legal ethics are the same as the moral rules that govern men in every branch of society and in every profession--except as there may be certain conventions as to professional etiquette--and that if a man is honest, there ought to be no difficulty in his following the right course in the discharge of his professional duties. If a man is lacking in probity of character, it is said the discussion of legal ethics will do him no particular good, because if he is tempted to a crooked path or an unjust act by his pecuniary interest, he will yield, and neither lectures on ethics nor the establishment of an ethical code will make him good; whereas the upright man will either not be so tempted, or should he be, he will clearly perceive the necessity for resisting the temptation.

In the course of my consideration of this subject, I looked into a text-book on moral philosophy and the general system of ethics with the hope that I might find something there that would suggest, by analogy, a proper treatment of the subject in hand. I consulted Paulsen's "A System of Ethics." The analogy between moral philosophy and legal ethics is not very close, but I found a passage or two bearing on this very issue, which it seems to me might not be inappropriately quoted here. In the conclusion of his introduction, Paulsen says:

"Let me say a word concerning the _practical value_ of ethics. Can ethics be a practical science, not only in the sense that it deals with practice, but that it influences practice? This was its original purpose. 'It is the function of ethics,' says Aristotle, 'to act, not only to theorize.'"

Paulsen refers to the fact that Schopenhauer takes a different view:

"All philosophy," he says, "is theoretical. Upon mature reflection it ought finally to abandon the old demand that it become practical, guide action, and transform character, for here it is not dead concepts that decide, but the innermost essence of the human being, the demon that guides him. It is as impossible to teach virtue as it is to teach genius. It would be as foolish to expect our moral systems to produce virtuous characters and saints as to expect the science of æsthetics to bring forth poets, sculptors and musicians." To this view Paulsen replies:

"I do not believe that ethics need be so faint-hearted. Its first object, it is true, is to understand human strivings and modes of conduct, conditions and institutions, as well as their effects upon individual and social life. But if knowledge is capable of influencing conduct--which Schopenhauer himself would not deny--it is hard to understand why the knowledge of ethics alone should be fruitless in this respect.... Moral instruction, however, can have no practical effect unless there be some agreement concerning the nature of the final goal--not a mere verbal agreement, to be sure, but one based upon actual feeling.... It will be the business of ethics to invite the doubter and the inquirer to assist in the common effort to discover fixed principles which shall help the judgment to understand the aims and problems of life."

William Howard Taft delivered these five addresses in 1914 to the senior class of the Sheffield Scientific School at Yale, as part of the Page Lecture Series intended to promote "the ethical side of business life." The lectures move from a historical survey of the legal profession through specific discussions of legal ethics, the executive power, and what Taft calls "the signs of the times." Rather than a systematic treatise, the volume preserves the spoken character of the lectures, with Taft frequently addressing his audience directly and illustrating points with anecdotes from his own career—including a memorable story about a persistent mother seeking a federal appointment for her son.

A Profession on Trial

Taft opens by asserting that "the profession of the law is more or less on trial." He links the reputation of lawyers directly to that of the courts, arguing that an attack on one is an attack on the other. This structural framing—binding the fate of a profession to the institution it serves—recurs throughout the lectures. Taft notes the "flippant and sarcastic references" to failures of justice in contemporary stage and press, and he charges that courts are accused of "lack of intelligent sympathy for socially progressive movements." The language is defensive but not dismissive; Taft acknowledges a genuine crisis while insisting that the legal profession must reform itself from within.

The President as Moral Arbiter

In the lecture on executive power, Taft moves from abstract constitutional description to concrete ethical dilemmas. He recounts a vivid episode: a mother lobbied him for her son's appointment, then claimed a miraculous recovery from cancer when the appointment went elsewhere. Taft's response—locking the angry letter in a drawer for two days before replying politely—becomes a practical lesson in temperance. The anecdote reveals Taft's view that presidential power is inseparable from personal restraint. He also emphasizes the President's near-exclusive control over foreign relations, noting that the Constitution's phrase "receives ambassadors" means far more than a ceremonial function.

Movement Between Bench and World

The lectures shift repeatedly between the courtroom, the White House, and the broader society. Taft draws on his experience as a judge, governor of the Philippines, and President, using each role to illustrate different facets of ethical obligation. In the legal ethics lecture, he stresses that the lawyer's duty to the court sometimes overrides loyalty to a client. The structure of the volume mirrors this movement: the first two lectures focus inward on the profession, while the final three turn outward to executive power and social trends. Taft's voice remains that of a practitioner reflecting on practice, not a philosopher constructing a system.

Recurring Images of Pressure and Patience

Throughout the addresses, Taft returns to the image of the public official besieged by importunate demands. The appointment story is the most elaborate, but similar moments appear in his discussion of judicial independence and the pressures of party politics. Taft's recommended remedy is almost always delay: put the letter in a drawer, wait two days, then answer calmly. This practical counsel—rooted in his own experience—gives the lectures a consistent ethical rhythm. The reader encounters a speaker who has learned that the hardest part of public service is not deciding what is right, but resisting the urge to act on anger or favoritism.

Readers approaching Ethics in Service should listen for the spoken cadence beneath the printed page. Taft's anecdotes are not decorations but arguments; his digressions into personal experience serve as evidence for claims about character and judgment. The lectures reward attention to the small details—the locked drawer, the musicale at the White House, the mother's handwriting—that reveal how Taft understood the moral weight of everyday decisions in public life.

Taft’s lectures felt less like law and more like a quiet conversation about duty—how a public life shapes a private character. That reminded me of another old voice, Nitobe’s, tracing honor through different soil. I found myself lingering on Bushido, the Soul of Japan — Text and Context, sensing the same patient dignity. Different codes, same inherited weight, almost like meeting old friends in a foreign language.

Avery Martin
4 weeks ago

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