Human Interaction and The Law : Lon L. Fuller

HUMAN INTERACTION
AND THE LAW*
Lon L. Fuller
As IT is USED in my title, I mean the word "law" to be construed very broadly.
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I intend it to include not only the legal systems of states and nations, but also
the smaller systems — at least "law-like" in structure and function •— to be
found in labor unions, professional associations, clubs, churches, and uni-
versities. These miniature legal systems are, of course, concerned with the
member's duties and entitlements within the association itself. They find their
most dramatic expression when the erring member is called up to be tried for
offenses that may lead to his being disciplined or expelled.
When the concept of law is given this broad coverage, it becomes apparent
that many of the central issues of today are, in this extended sense, "legal" in
nature. The pressure of our present predicament pushes us — as we have
not been pushed for a long time — toward an effort at comprehension. We
must come to perceive and understand the moral and psychological forces that
underlie law generally and give it efficacy in human affairs.
I. T H E NATURE AND SIGNIFICANCE OF "CUSTOMARY LAW"
IF IN SEARCH of this understanding we turn to treatises on jurisprudence,

we shall find that they commonly begin by distinguishing two kinds of law.
On the one hand, there is enacted or authoritatively declared law — what
may be called "made" law; on the other hand, there is what is known as
customary law. Customary law is not the product of official enactment, but
owes its force to the fact that it has found direct expression in the conduct
of men toward one another.
As between these two kinds of law the treatises commonly devote almost
their entire attention to enacted or declared law,to'the law that can be found
in statutes, judicial decisions, bylaws, and administrative decrees. The dis-
cussion of customary law is largely confined to the question, Why should it
be thought to be law at all? After some discussion along this line, and some
treatment of its function in primitive societies, customary law is generally
dismissed as largely irrelevant to advanced civilizations. It tends to be re-
• This essay was delivered as an address to the thirteenth annual meeting of the Board
of Editors of this publication, September 26, 1969.
2 THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF JURISPRUDENCE
garded as a kind of museum piece offering an object for serious study only to
anthropologists curious about the ways of tribal peoples.
This neglect of the phenomenon called customary law has, I think, done
great damage to our thinking about law generally. Even if we accept the
rather casual analysis of the subject offered by the treatises, it still remains
true that a proper understanding of customary law is of capital importance

in the world of today. In the first place, much of international law, and
perhaps the most vital part of it, is essentially customary law. Upon the suc-
cessful functioning of that body of law world peace may depend. In the
second place, much of the world today is still governed internally by customary
law. The newly emerging nations (notably in India, Africa, and the Pacific)
are now engaged in a hazardous transition from systems of customary law to
systems of enacted law. The stakes in this transition — for them and for us —
are very high indeed. So the mere fact that we do not see ourselves as reg-
ulating our conduct toward fellow countrymen by customary law does not
mean that it is of no importance to us as world citizens.
The thesis I am going to advance here is, however, something more radical
than a mere insistence that customary law is still of considerable importance
in the world of today. I am going to argue that we cannot understand
"ordinary" law (that is, officially declared or enacted law) unless we first
obtain an understanding of what is called customary law.
In preparing my exposition I have to confess that at this point I en-
countered a great frustration. This arises from the term "customary law"
itself. This is the term found in the titles and the indices, and if you want
to compare what I have to say with what others have said, this is the heading
you will have to look under. At the same time the expression "customary law"
is a most unfortunate one that obscures, almost beyond redemption, the nature
of the phenomenon it purports to designate. Instead of serving as a neutral
pointer, it prejudges its subject; it asserts that the force and meaning of what
we call "customary law" lie in mere habit or usage.
Against this view I shall argue that the phenomenon called customary
law can best be described as a language of interaction. To interact meaning-
fully men require a social setting in which the moves of the participating
players will fall generally within some predictable pattern. To engage in
effective social behavior men need the support of intermeshing anticipations
that will let them know what their opposite numbers will do, or that will at
least enable them to gauge the general scope of the repertory from which
responses to their actions will be drawn. We sometimes speak of customary
law as offering an unwritten "code of conduct." The word "code" is ap-
propriate here because what is involved is not simply a negation, a prohibition
LON L. FULLER 3
of certain disapproved actions, but also the obverse side of this negation, the
meaning it confers on foreseeable and approved actions, which then furnish
a point of orientation for ongoing interactive responses. Professors Parsons and
Shils have spoken of the function, in social action, of "complementary ex-
pectations"1; the term "complementary expectations" indicates accurately
the function I am here ascribing to the law that develops out of human

interaction, a form of law that we are forced —- by the dictionaries and title
headings — to call "customary law."
Pursuing the comparison with language, let us suppose we were to open
a treatise on linguistics and were to encounter the following statement as the
first paragraph of the book:
A spoken language consists of certain patterns of sound men make

with their mouths. The forms of these patterns of sound are set by custom
and tradition; such is the force of habit that within any given culture
men will always be found to make the same general set of sounds that
their ancestors did, with at most minor modifications and additions.
Surely, our reaction would be, this is a most curious way to open a
discussion of language. We would be apt to say:
But this statement does not tell us what language is for. Plainly its pur-
pose is communication. If that is its purpose, why then of course men
will go on using generally the same sounds their fathers did and that
their neighbors do now: the reason they do this is simply that they want
to be understood.
Yet in spirit and thought this imaginary introduction to linguistics is not far
from what we find about customary law in treatises on jurisprudence. It will
be well to turn briefly to some appraisals of customary law taken from the
existing literature.
A much-quoted discussion is to be found in Holland's Elements of Juris-
prudence. He asserts that the characteristic which marks customary law is
that "it is a long and generally observed course of conduct." He goes on to
explain:
No one was ever consciously present at the commencement of such a

course of conduct, but we can hardly doubt that it originated generally
in the conscious choice of the more convenient of two acts, though some-
times doubtless in the accidental adoption of one of two indifferent
1
Talcott Parsons and Edward Shils, Toward a General Theory of Action (1951),
p. 64. ( T H E FOOTNOTES, THE READER WILL OBSERVE, FOLLOW THE MORE OR LESS STANDARD
SYSTEM OF FOOTNOTING IN AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS. Ed.)
alternatives; the choice in either case having been either deliberately or

accidentally repeated till it ripened into habit.
The best illustration of the formation of such habitual courses of
action is the mode in which a path is formed across a common. One
man crosses the common, in the direction which is suggested either by
the purpose he has in view, or by mere accident. If others follow in the
same track, which they are likely to do after it has once been trodden,

a path is made.
Before a custom is formed there is no juristic reason for its taking one
direction rather than another, though doubtless there was some ground of
expediency, of religious scruple, or of accidental suggestion. A habitual
course of action once formed gathers strength and sanctity every year.
It is a course of action which every one is accustomed to see followed:
it is generally believed to be salutary, and any deviation from it is felt
to be abnormal, immoral. It has never been adjoined by the organized
authority of the State, but it has unquestioningly been obeyed by the
individuals of which the State is composed.2
Now in the whole of this lucid passage there is to be found, I submit,

no hint that customary law originates in interaction or that it serves the pur-
pose of organizing and facilitating interaction. Indeed, the picture of the
lonely pathmaker seems almost deliberately choSen to rule out the complica-
tions involved when men attempt to achieve a reciprocal orientation of their
actions.
In the first edition of the Encyclopedia of Social Sciences the article on
Customary Law begins by citing Holland, borrows his figure of the lonely
pathmaker, and ends its first paragraph by explaining the role played by
customary law in primitive societies as being due to "the force of habit" which
"prevails in the whole early history of the race."3
Let me now quote briefly a passage from an author generally more favor-
able to — and, I would say, more perceptive about — customary law than
those I have just quoted. Salmond in his Jurisprudence discusses the ques-
tion, What reasons can justify a court in adopting customary practice
as a standard of decision? One of these reasons he sees as consisting in the
fact that
custom is the embodiment of those principles which have commended

themselves to the national conscience as principles of truth, justice, and
public utility. The fact that any rule has already the sanction of custom,
raises a presumption that it deserves to obtain a sanction of law also. . .
Speaking generally, it is well that courts of justice, in seeking those rules
2
Thomas Holland, Elements of Jurisprudence, 8th ed. (1896), pp. 50-51.
3
Encyclopedia of Social Sciences (1930), IV, 662. There is no entry under the heading
Customary Law in the Second Edition of the Encyclopedia.
LON L. FULLER 5
of right which it is their duty to administer, should be content to accept

those which have already in their favor the prestige and authority of long
acceptance, rather than attempt the more dangerous task of fashioning
a set of rules for themselves in the light of nature.4
There is, of course, much wisdom — as well as a considerable measure of

conservatism — in these remarks. But as touching the nature of customary

law the notion expressed seems to be that, just as a society may have rules
imposed on it from above, so it may also reach out for rules by a kind of
inarticulate collective preference. Men are seen as directing their interactions
by a law that their society has, in some silent way, told them is just and
proper. What is missing is any inquiry into the actual social processes through
which this law came into being and by which it is sustained.
I might add other quotations from the literature of jurisprudence, but
they would not introduce any substantial change in tone or substance into
those I have just discussed. The point I wish to make here relates, in any
event, not so much to what the writers say about customary law, but to what
they do not say. They ask nearly every question that can be asked about
customary rules except this one: What are the processes by which these
rules are created? They ask, What should we do about inherited customary
law? but not such questions as, What functions did that law serve among
those who brought it into being? Do the same functional needs exist in our
society, and if so, how are we ourselves meeting them? Do we have processes
going on around us that are similar to those which before state-made law
existed brought customary rules into being?
These are questions to which I shall return later. Meanwhile, I should
like to consider certain objections that may be raised against the proposal to
view customary law as a language of interaction. In the process of answering
these objections I may succeed in clarifying somewhat the view I am defending.
The first of these objections is that customary law in primitive societies
may lay down rules that have nothing to do with human interaction. There
may be offenses against deities and spirits; a man may be punished, even by
death, for an act committed out of the presence of other persons where that
act violates some taboo. The answer to this is, I suggest, that animistic views
of nature may vastly extend the significance one man's acts may have for his
fellows. There is a passage in Walter Bagehot that is very much in point here.
Bagehot observes that the "notion that the bad religion of A cannot impair,
here or hereafter, the welfare of B is, strange to say, a modern idea."5 The
* John W. Salmond, Jurisprudence, 7th ed. (1924), pp. 208-209.

5
Walter Bagehot, Physics and Politics (1872). The quotation is taken from the Beacon
Press ed. (1956), p. 117.
extent to which one man's beliefs and acts will be seen as affecting his fellows
will depend upon the degree to which men see themselves as parts, one of
another, and upon their beliefs about the intangible forces that unite them.
Within the extended family the distinction between other-regarding and self-
regarding acts will assume an aspect very different from what it has in our
own society, composed, as that society is, largely of strangers with a strong

disbelief in the supernatural.
A further objection to the conception of customary law as a language of
interaction may be stated in these terms: Any such conception is much too
rationalistic and attributes to customary law a functional aptness, a neatness of
purpose, that is far from the realities of primitive practice. Customary law is
filled with ritualistic routines and pointless ceremonies; these may cater to a
certain instinct for drama, but they can hardly be said to serve effective com-
munication or the development of stable expectations that will organize and
facilitate interaction.
In answer I would assert, on the contrary, that a significant function of
ritual is precisely that of communication, of labelling acts so that there can be
no mistake as to their meaning. Erik Erikson has a fascinating discussion of the
ritualism that develops in the interactions of a mother with her infant child:
The awakening infant conveys a message to his mother and immediately

awakens in her a whole repertoire of emotive, verbal, and manipulative
behavior. She approaches him with smiling or worried concern, brightly
or anxiously voicing a name, and goes into action: looking, feeling, sniffing,
she ascertains possible sources of discomfort and initiates services to be
rendered by rearranging the infant's condition, by preparing food, pick-
ing him up, etc. If observed for several days (especially in a milieu not
one's own) it becomes clear that this daily event is highly formalized,
in that the mother seems to feel obliged (and to be not a little pleased)
to repeat a performance arousing in the infant predictable responses,
which encourage her, in turn, to proceed.6
Erikson goes on to observe that the formalization of this performance, the

ritualistic element in it, is much more readily perceived by strangers to the
participants, that is, by those who do not belong to the family, or the class, or
the culture within which it develops. He ends by concluding that the purpose
of the performance is to express a mutuality of recognition; its essential function
is, in other words, communication. He refers to studies of ritualistic behavior
among animals which indicate that such behavior has developed to "provide an
6
Erik Erikson, "Ontogeny of Ritualization," in Loewenstein, Psychoanalysis — A
General Psychology — Essays in Honor of Heinz Hartmann (1966), p. 603. (I am
indebted to my colleague Alan Stone for this reference.)
LON L. FULLER 7
unambiguous set of signals so as to avoid fatal misunderstandings," and con-

cludes that with man "the overcoming of ambivalence is an important aim of
. . . ritualization."6a Certainly among a people who have no state-kept official
records to show who is married to whom, the elaborate wedding ceremonies
found in some customary systems can be said to serve a purpose of com-
munication and clarification.

To illustrate the points I have been making with regard to ritualism, and,
more generally, with regard to the communicative function of customary
practices, I should like to refer briefly to a development that appears to be
occurring in the diplomatic relations of Russia and the United States. Here we
may be witnessing something like customary law in the making. Between these
two countries there seems to have arisen a kind of reciprocity with respect to
the forced withdrawal of diplomatic representatives. The American govern-
ment, for example, believes that a member of the Russian embassy is engaged
in espionage, or, perhaps I should say, it believes him to be ozwengaged in
espionage; it declares him persona non grata and requires his departure from
this country. The expected response, based on past experience, is that Russia
will acquiesce in this demand, but will at once counter with a demand for the
withdrawal from Russia of an American diplomatic agent of equal rank. Con-
versely, if the Russians expel an American emissary, the United States will
react by shipping back one of Russia's envoys.
Here we have, for the time being at least, a quite stable set of interactional
expectancies; within the field covered by this practice each country is able to
anticipate with considerable confidence the reactions of its opposite number.
This means that its decisions can be guided by a tolerably accurate advance
estimate of costs. We know that if we throw one of their men out, they will
throw out one of ours.
It should be noticed that the practice is routinized and contains (at least
latently) ritualistic and symbolic qualities. Suppose, for example, that the
American authorities were confronted with this dilemma: the Russians have
declared persona non grata a high-ranking member of the American embassy
in Moscow, and it turns out to be difficult to find an appropriate counterpart
for return to Russia. We may suppose, for example, that the Soviet representa-
tives of equal rank with the expelled American are persons Washington would
like very much to see remain in this country. In this predicament it could cross
the minds of those responsible for the decision that they might, in order to
preserve a proper balance, return to Russia five men of a lower rank than the
expelled American, or perhaps even that the expulsion of ten filing clerks
would be the most apt response.
6a
Ibid., p. 605.
Now I suggest that any responsible public official would reflect a long time
before embracing such an alternative. Its danger would lie in the damage it
would inflict on the neat symbolism of a one-to-one ratio, in the confusion it
might introduce into the accepted meaning of the acts involved. This is a case
where both sides would probably be well-advised to stick with the familiar
ritual since a departure from it might forfeit the achieved gains of a stable

interactional pattern.
The illustration just discussed may seem badly chosen because it represents,
one might say, a very impoverished kind of customary law, a law that confers,
not a reciprocity of benefits, but a reciprocity in expressions of hostility. But
much of the customary law of primitive peoples, it should be recalled, serves
exactly the same function. Open and unrestricted hostilities between tribes
often become in time subject to tacit and formalized restraints and may, in
the end, survive only as a ritualistic mock battle.7 Furthermore, in the diplo-
matic practice I have described here there may be present a richer reciprocity
than appears on the surface. At the time of the Pueblo incident it was sug-
gested that Russia and the United States may share an interest in being
moderately and discreetly spied on by one another. We don't want the Rus-
sians to pry out our military secrets, but we want them to know, on the basis
of information they will trust, that we are not planning to mount a surprise
attack on them. This shared interest may furnish part of the background of
the ritualistic and patterned exchange of diplomatic discourtesies that seems
to be developing between the two countries.
I have already recorded my distress at having to employ the term "cus-
tomary law" so frequently in this discussion. Both ingredients of the expres-
sion, the adjective and the noun, offer difficulties. I shall take up shortly the
embarrassments created by the noun. Meanwhile it would be well to explore
more carefully than I have so far the problems involved in finding a satis-
factory substitute for "customary." As I have already observed, the principal
objection to this word lies in its suggestion that the mere repetition of some
action by A will create in others a right that A shall repeat this action, with an
added implication that the strength of this claim will vary directly with the
duration in time of A's repetitive behavior. Of course, no theorist of customary
law in fact embraces any such absurdity, however much the language em-
ployed may seem at times to suggest the contrary. My neighbor might for
years have arisen every morning precisely at eight, yet no one would think
that this settled practice could create any obligation toward me unless it en-
tered into some coordination of our activities, as it might if I had come to
7
There is thus less paradox than might at first appear in the title of Paul Bohannon's
anthology, Law and Warfare — Studies in the Anthropology of Conflict (1967).
LON L. FULLER 9
depend on him to drive me to work in his car. Instead, therefore, of speaking
vaguely of an obligation arising through mere "custom" or repetition, it would
be better to say that a sense of obligation will arise when a stabilization of
interactional expectancies has occurred so that the parties have come to
guide their conduct toward one another by these expectancies.
The term "interactional expectancy" is itself, however, capable of pro-

ducing difficulties. We shall be misled, for example, if we suppose that the
relevant expectancy or anticipation must enter actively into consciousness. In
fact the anticipations which most unequivocally shape our behavior and at-
titudes toward others are often precisely those that are operative without our
being aware of their presence. To take an example from a somewhat trivial
context, experiments have shown that the distance at which people stand
toward one another in carrying on ordinary conversations varies predictably
among cultures and as between individuals. At the same time most people
would not be able to state, without some preliminary testing, what they them-
selves regard as a normal conversational distance. My inability to define off-
hand a proper distance would not prevent me, however, from finding offensive
the action of someone who projected his face uncomfortably close to mine,
nor would it relieve my puzzlement and distress at the conduct of someone
who kept retreating when I approached what seemed to me a normal speaking
distance. Our conduct toward others, and our interpretations of their behavior
toward us, are, in other words, constantly shaped by standards that do not
enter consciously into our thought processes. The analogy of language is once
again useful; often we only become aware of rules of grammar when they are
broken, and it is sometimes their breach that leads us to articulate for the
first time rules we had previously acted on without knowing it.
Any analysis in terms of "interactional expectancies" must also confront
the problem of the man who is in some sense an outsider to the expectancies
that organize the life of a particular group. He may be literally an outsider,
a trader, for example, coming from a distance to sell his wares among a tribal
people. Or, though born and raised within the group, he may be "alienated,"
too imperceptive to understand the system, or perhaps too perceptive to accept
some of its built-in absurdities and anomalies. It would, of course, be im-
possible to undertake here any adequate analysis of the problems suggested. A
guess may be hazarded, though, that it is to the intrusion of the true outsider
— "the stranger" in Simmel's famous essay8 — that we owe, not only the inven-
tion of economic trade, but the more general discovery that it's possible for men
to arrange their relations with one another by explicit contract.
Now for the difficulties produced by the noun in the expression "customary
8
The Sociology of Georg Simmel, ed. Wolff (1950), pp. 402-408.
law." If we speak of "a system of stabilized interactional expectancies" as a

more adequate way of describing what the treatises call "customary law," we
encounter the embarrassment that many of these expectancies relate to mat-
ters that seem remote from anything like a legal context. For example, rules
of etiquette fully meet the suggested definition, yet one would scarcely be
inclined to call rules of this sort rules of law.

This raises the question, How much of what is called customary law
really deserves the epithet "law"? Anthropologists have devoted some atten-
tion to' this question9 and have arrived at divergent responses to it, including
one which asserts that the question is itself misconceived, since you cannot
apply a conception interwoven with notions of explicit enactment to a social
context where rules of conduct come into existence without the aid of a
lawmaker. Among those who take the question seriously the answer proposed
by Hoebel has perhaps attracted the most attention; it will repay us to consider
it for a moment. Hoebel suggests that in dealing with stateless or primitive
societies
. . . law may be defined in these terms: A social norm is legal if its

neglect or infraction is regularly met, in threat or in fact, by the applica-
tion of physical force by an individual or group possessing the socially
recognized privilege of so acting.10
There are, I suggest, a number of difficulties with this solution. First, it

seems to define "law" by an imperfection. If the function of law is to produce
an ordered relationship among the members of a society, what shall we say
of a system that works so smoothly that there is never any occasion to resort
to force or the threat of force to effectuate its norms? Does its very success
forfeit for such a system the right to be called by the prestigious name of
"law"?
Again, can it always be known in advance whether the infraction of
some particular norm will be visited with forceful reprisal? The seriousness
of the breach of any rule is always in some measure a function of context.
One might be inclined to hazard a guess that few societies would regularly
punish with violence infractions of the rules of etiquette. Suppose, however,
that a peacemaking conference is held by delegations representing two tribes
on the verge of war; a member of one delegation uses an insulting nickname
in addressing his opposite number; the result is a bloody and disastrous war.
9
References to most of the literature on this subject will be found in Max Gluckman,
The Judicial Process among the Barotse of Northern Rhodesia, 2nd ed. (1967), chs. V
and IX.
10
E. Adamson Hoebel, The Law of Primitive Man (1954), p. 28.
LON L. FULLER 11
Is it likely that his fellow tribesmen would be content to visit on the offender
some moderate measure of social censure? If this illustration seems contrived,
it may be observed that in our free society it is an accepted legal principle
that a man incurs no liability for expressing to another a low opinion of his
intelligence and integrity. If a lawyer trying a case in court were to take
advantage of this freedom in addressing the judge, he might very well find

himself escorted forcibly from the courtroom to serve a jail sentence for
contempt.
Perhaps the basic objection to Hoebel's proposal is that it ignores the sys-
tematic quality of primitive law. The law of the tribe or extended family
is not simply a chart of do's and don't's; it is a program for living together.
Some parts of the program may achieve articulation as distinct "norms" im-
posing specially denned "sanctions." But the basic logic of customary law
will continue to inhere in the system as a whole. Levy-Strauss may seem at
times to drive this quality of primitive social orders to the point of caricature,11
but if so, his efforts have provided a wholesome antidote to the tendency to
assume that any customary system can be reduced to a kind of code book of
numbered paragraphs, each paragraph standing forth as a little law complete
in itself.
A recent controversy among anthropologists is worthy of consideration
in this connection. In his famous book, The Judicial Process among the
Barotse of Northern Rhodesia, Max Gluckman suggested that a key element
of Barotse legal reasoning lay in the concept of "the reasonable man." The
fact that this concept also plays a role in more "advanced" systems argued,
so Gluckman concluded, for a certain unity in legal reasoning everywhere.
This conclusion was rather emphatically rejected by a number of his pro-
fessional colleagues.12
Perhaps it may help to clarify the issues by considering a rule of law,
familiar to every reader, that is at least customary in origin. I refer to "the
rule of the road" by which (over most of the world) one passes the on-
coming vehicle on the right. Now it would seem redundant and even absurd
to introduce into this context anything like the concept of the reasonable man;
I pass on the right, not because I am a reasonable man, but because it is the
rule. But suppose a situation is encountered in which the presuppositions
underlying the rule no longer hold. For example, one is driving in a parking
lot, without marked lanes, where other vehicles are coming and going, backing
and turning. Or, driving on a regular highway, one encounters an approach-
11
See Claude Levy-Strauss, The Savage Mind (1962, English trans. 1966).
12
Op. cit. supra note 9, pp. 82-162, 387-398. (Gluckman's answer to critics on this
point will be found in the second reference.)
ing vehicle careening back and forth across the road apparently out of con-
trol. In situations like these what is demanded is plainly something like the
judgment and concern of "the reasonable man"; in such a context the rule
of the road can furnish at most a kind of presumptive guide as to what to
do when other factors in the situation offer no clear solution.
Primitive society, like vehicular traffic, is run by a system of interlocking

roles. When one man steps out of his role, or a situation arises in which a
familiar role forfeits some or all of its meaning, then adjustments will have
to be made. There can be no formula to guide these adjustments beyond
that of "reasonableness" •— exercised in the light of the demands of the
system as a whole. It is, therefore, no accident that Gluckman should report
that he first perceived the significance of "the reasonable man" for Barotse
law as he reflected on a controversy he designates as "The Case of the Biassed
Father.""
Before proceeding to other matters it may repay us to pursue a little further
the analogy between primitive legal systems and the laws of traffic. To that
end, perhaps the reader will extend his indulgence to a somewhat uninhibited
exercise in fantasy. We begin by supposing that an earthling is being inter-
viewed by a visitor from outer space. In his astral home this visitor follows a
profession we would designate as that of legal anthropology. In the pursuit
of his specialty he has become fascinated with the earthly laws of traffic, a
subject wholly unfamiliar to him because on his planet the movement of goods
and living beings is accomplished automatically under the guidance of a com-
puting center. He begins by asking what the rule is when two vehicles
approach each other from opposite directions. The response is that each driver
keeps to the right. The astral visitor asks, "Why to the right? Why not to
the left?" The earthling replies that there is no special reason for the one rule
or the other and that in some automotive cultures the rule is indeed that one
keeps to the left. (At this point the anthropologist records in his notebook that
the earthlings seem singularly incurious about the basic principles of their
legal systems and are content to follow rules simply because they have been
told they are the proper rules to follow.)
The interview is resumed, and the anthropologist asks, "What about the
rule when you overtake another vehicle? I would suppose it would be the
same, that is, that you pass on the right; this would keep the law simple and
understandable." To the surprise of the astral visitor the earthling replies
that the rule in this case is that you pass on the left. But why this anomaly?
The earthling replies that it is not an anomaly at all, but a logical corollary
13
Op. cit. supra note 9, pp. 37-45.
LON L. FULLER 13
of the rule that you pass the oncoming vehicle on the right. At this point the
anthropologist begins to lose his patience and demands that the earthling give
him some simple, easily understood reason why the rule that you overtake on the
left is the appropriate rule to go with the rule that you pass the oncoming
vehicle on the right. Those of us who feel we might have some difficulty in
producing a prompt response to this demand may take some consolation in

the reflection that this incapacity of ours may help us to understand the
difficulties natives sometimes have in explaining to outsiders the internal logic
of their legal orders, particularly with respect to complex systems for reckoning
kinship.
Some reflection on problems of traffic regulation may also be useful in
another connection, that is, in helping us to understand the impact of "social
change" — urbanization and industrialization, for example — on peoples
used to ordering their lives by customary law. As every experienced driver
knows, the old simplicity of "pass on the right, overtake on the left" has under-
gone substantial modification in accommodation to modern highway con-
ditions. These changes reflect themselves in lengthening and largely unread
paragraphs in the traffic code. Overtaking on the right may, for example,
be permitted when driving on multilaned, divided highways, on one-way city
streets, or when the driver ahead signals for a left turn. But these qualifications
introduce their own special crop of uncertainties. Are you permitted to over-
take on the right when on a very wide, multilaned highway that is not divided
into two unidirectional sections? Again, the driver ahead signals for a left
turn, you start to pass him on the right, then discover (before he does) that
he is not permitted to turn left. Or, driving on a one-way street you are
about to take advantage of your privilege of overtaking on the right when
you suddenly realize that the street is about to become two-way. The American
driver caught in these perplexities is in a position to understand something
of the plight of the African tribesman who tries conscientiously to live in town
by one set of rules, in the country by another, and has some trouble at times
in keeping the two systems apart.
II. T H E INTERACTIONAL FOUNDATIONS OF CONTRACT LAW
T H E BRIEF ACCOUNT of contract law that follows has been included here
primarily for the light it may shed on customary law, which is often and
properly said to contain a "consensual element." In this shared aspect contract
law and customary law are indeed near-cousins, and a study of either will
help to understand the other. In the course of the analysis that follows, I shall
have occasion to revisit from a somewhat different perspective some of the
questions already discussed, particularly that of knowing how to determine

when patterns of interaction can properly be said to have created an obliga-
tion to persist in them.
In keeping with the general objective just outlined we shall be concerned
here with contract as a source of social order, as one means for establishing
"stable interactional expectancies." As it is used in the heading for this section,

the term "contract law," therefore, refers primarily, not to the law of or about
contracts, but to the "law" a contract itself brings into existence. This employ-
ment of the word "law" represents, of course, a considerable departure from
the conventions we ordinarily follow in using the term.
Our reluctance to apply the word "law" to the obligation created by a
contract is, however, in many ways an anomaly. In enforcing contracts courts
purport to derive the legal rights and duties of the litigants from the terms
of their agreement, much as if a statute were being applied. The Romans did
not hesitate, at least in certain contexts, to apply the word lex to contractual
provisions, and the Latin word seems indeed to have taken its origin in a
contractual context. Today international lawyers list treaties as the prime
source of their kind of law. Though the term "customary law" has been
regarded by some legal theorists as an abuse of language, today most writers
seem to have overcome any qualms about that expression; the acceptance of
"customary law" and the rejection of "contractual law" are all the more
remarkable since if what is associated with "law" is something like an explicit
legislative process, the contract comes much closer to fitting that model than
do the silent processes through which customary law comes into being. Finally,
as proof that lawyers do not reject the expression "law of the contract" because
it conflicts with any basic demand of legal logic, I cite their readiness to
accept the thought contained in the expression, provided it comes decently
clothed in paraphrase. Thus, I doubt if any lawyer would be deeply perplexed
(though he might be slightly intrigued) by the statement contained in Article
1134 of the French Civil Code that a contract "serves as law" between the
parties. ("Les conventions legalment formees tiennent lieu de loi a ceux qui
les ont faites")
If we permit ourselves to think of "contract law" as the "law" that the
parties themselves bring into existence by their agreement, the transition from
customary law to contract law becomes a very easy one indeed. The difficulty
then becomes, not that of subsuming the two kinds of law under one rubric,
but of knowing how to draw a clear line of division between them. We may
say of course (using the jargon I have inflicted on the reader here) that in the
one case the relevant interactional expectancies are created by words; in the
other, by actions.
LON L. FULLER 15
But this is too simple a view of the matter. Where words are used, they
have to be interpreted. When the contract falls within some general area of
repetitive dealings, there will usually exist a body of "standard practice" in the
light of which verbal ambiguities will be resolved. Here, in effect, inter-
actional regularities in the world outside the contract are written into the
contract in the process of interpretation. In commercial law generally it is

often difficult to know whether to say that by entering a particular field of
practice the parties became subject to a governing body of customary law or to
say that they have by tacit agreement incorporated standard practice into the
terms of their contract.
The meaning of a contract may not only be determined by the area of
practice within which the contract falls, but by the interactions of the parties
themselves after entering their agreement. If the performance of a contract
takes place over a period of time, the parties will often evidence by their con-
duct what courts sometimes call a "practical construction" of their agreement;
this interpretation by deeds may have control over the meaning that would
ordinarily be attributed to the words of the contract itself. If the discrepancy
between the parties' acts and the words of their agreement becomes too great
to permit the courts to speak of a "practical construction," they may hold that
the contract has been tacitly modified or even rescinded by the manner in
which the parties have conducted themselves toward one another since entering
the agreement.
Generally we may say that in the actual carrying out of a complex agree-
ment between friendly parties, the written contract often furnishes a kind of
framework for an ongoing relationship, rather than a precise definition of that
relationship. For that definition we may have to look to a kind of two-party
customary law implicit in the parties' actions, rather than to the verbal
formulations of the contract; if this is true of contracts that are eventually
brought to court, it must be much more commonly so in situations where the
parties make out without resort to litigation.
If the words of a contract have to be interpreted in their interactional
context, or in the light of the actions taken under them by the parties, the
actions that bring customary law into existence also have to be interpreted
sometimes almost as if they were words. This problem of interpretation is at
once the most crucial and most neglected problem of customary law; in-
trinsically difficult, it is made more so by inept theories about the nature of
customary law, such as those explaining it as an expression of "the force of
habit" that "prevails in the early history of the race."
The central problem of "interpretation" in customary law is that of know-
ing when to read into an act, or a pattern of repetitive acts, an obligatory
sense like that which may attach to a promise explicitly spelled out in words.
All are agreed that a person, a tribe, or a nation does not incur an obligation —
"legal" or "moral" — simply because a repetitive pattern can be discerned in
his or its actions. All would probably also agree that the actions which create
customary law must be such as enter into interactions, though a complication
ensues when we recall that under some circumstances inaction can take on

the qualities of action, as when it becomes appropriate to call it "acquiescence"
or "forbearance." Beyond this we encounter almost a vacuum of ideas.
Into this vacuum there is projected at least one articulate attempt at
formulating a test. This is found in the doctrine of opinio necessitatis. Ac-
cording to this principle (which still enjoys some esteem in international law)
customary law arises out of repetitive actions when and only when such actions
are motivated by a sense of obligation, in other words, when people behave
as they do, not because they want to, or because they act unreflectively, but
because they believe they have to act as they do. This seems a curiously inept
solution. In clear cases of established customary law, it becomes a tautology;
in situations where customary law is in the process of being born, it defaults.
One might suggest that a better approach could be found in the principle
contained in Section 90 of the American Law Institute's Restatement of
Contracts. As formulated to fit the problem at hand this principle would
run along these (unfortunately somewhat complex) lines: Where by his
actions toward B, A has (whatever his actual intentions may have been)
given B reasonably to understand that he (A) will in the future in similar
situations act in a similar manner, and B has, in some substantial way,
prudently adjusted his affairs to the expectation that A will in the future act
in accordance with this expectation, then A is bound to follow the pattern
set by his past actions toward B. This creates an obligation by A to B. If the
pattern of interaction followed by A and B then spreads through the relevant
community, a rule of general customary law will have been created. This
rule will normally become part of a larger system, which will involve a com-
plex network of reciprocal expectations. Absorption of the new rule into the
larger system will, of course, be facilitated by the fact that the interactions
that gave rise to it took place within limits set by that system and derived a
part of their meaning for the parties from the wider interactional context
within which they occurred.
The familiar phenomenon of the spread of customary law from one social
context to another suggests a further distinction between customary law and
contract law that deserves critical examination here. It may be said that a
contract binds only the parties to it, while customary law normally extends its
rules over a large and at times somewhat unclearly defined community. The
LON L. FULLER 17
first observation is that while this spread of customary law is a common
occurrence it is by no means inevitable. Something that can be called two-
party customary law can and does exist; it is, again, only linguistic prejudice
that makes us hesitant about this employment of the word "law."
Where customary law does in fact spread we must not be misled as to the
process by which this extension takes place. It has sometimes been thought of

as if it involved a kind of inarticulate expression of group will; the members
of Group B perceive that the rules governing Group A would furnish an apt
law for them; they therefore take over those rules by an act of tacit collective
adoption. This kind of explanation abstracts from the interactional processes
underlying customary law and ignores their ever-present communicative
aspect. Take, for example, a practice in the field of international relations,
that of offering a twenty-one-gun salute to visiting heads of state. By a process
of imitation this practice seems now to have become fairly general among
the nations. One may say loosely that its appeal lies in the appropriateness
of a resounding boom of cannon as a way of signalizing the arrival of a
distinguished visitor. But why twenty-one guns, instead of sixteen or twenty-
five? It is apparent that once the pattern of twenty-one became familiar,
any departure from it could generate misapprehension; spectators would
spend their time, not in enjoying the grandeur of cannon roar, but in counting
booms, attributing all sorts of meanings —- intended and unintended — to any
departure from the last allocation. Generally we may say that where A and B
have become familiar with a practice obtaining between C and D, A is likely
to adopt this pattern in his actions toward B, not simply or necessarily because
it has any special aptness for their situation, but because he knows B will under-
stand the meaning of his behavior and will know how to react to it.
As for the proposition that a contract binds only those who made it, who
actively and knowingly assented to its terms, a mere glance at modern contract-
ing practice is sufficient to reveal how unreal and purely formal this proposition
can become. Only a tiny fraction of the "contracts" signed today are actually
negotiated or represent anything like an explicit accommodation of the parties'
respective interests. Even contracts drafted by lawyers, and in theory specially
fitted to the parties' situation, are apt to be full of traditional or "standard"
clauses borrowed from other contracts and from general practice. These
clauses are employed for a great variety of reasons — because the lawyer is in
a hurry, or because he knows from the precedents how courts will construe
them, or because the interests at stake are insufficient to justify the fee that
would be appropriate to a more careful, specially tailored phrasing.
But the realities of contracting practice are much farther removed from
the picture of a "meeting of minds" than is suggested by a mere reference to
standard clauses. In fact, the overwhelming majority of contracts are em-

bodied in printed forms, prepared by one party to serve his interests and im-
posed on the other on a take-it-or-leave-it basis. In recent years American
courts in dealing with such contracts have increasingly exercised the right to
strike out clauses they regard as oppressive or grossly unfair. This practice
stands in contrast with that of the homeland of the common law, where the

courts are much more conservative in this matter, being inclined generally to
enforce the contract "as written," that is, as printed from boiler plate. There
is a certain irony in this, for from the time of Lord Coke the English courts
have freely claimed the right to refuse enforcement to customary law deemed
unreasonable and repugnant to the ordinary sense of fairness. If we were to
search about in modern society for the nearest counterpart to the "repugnant"
customary law of Coke's time, we might well find it in the standardized,
printed contract, drafted by one party and signed unread by the other.
There remains for discussion one further distinction that can be made be-
tween contract law and customary law. This lies in the notion that a contract
comes into effect at once, or when the parties stipulate it shall, while custom
becomes law only through a usage observed to have persisted over a con-
siderable period.
This is, again, too simple a view of the matter. The notion that
customary law comes into effect gradually and only over a considerable
period of time comes about, in part because of mistaken implications read into
the word "customary," and in part because it is true that normally it takes
some time for reciprocal interactional expectancies to "jell." But there are
circumstances in which customary law (or a phenomenon for which we have
no other name) can develop almost overnight. As an authority in inter-
national law has observed,
A new rule of customary international law based on the practice of

States can emerge very quickly, and even almost suddenly, if new circum-
stances have arisen which imperatively call for regulation — though the
time-factor is never wholly irrelevant.14
(The assertion sometimes encountered that to be accepted as law a custom

must have existed "from time immemorial" is directed to a very special ques-
tion, that is, When should custom be regarded as overriding provisions of
the general law? This obviously can be something quite different from asking
when custom should control an issue previously not regulated by law at all.
14
Judge Fitzmaurice, quoted in Clive Parry, The Sources and Evidences of International
Law (1965), p. 60 n. 2.
LON L. FULLER 19
The doctrine of opinio necessitatis probably originated in the same context,

for it may make good sense to say that a man should not be held to have
infringed at least some kinds of general law where he acted in the belief that
a special or local customary law obligated him to conduct himself as he did.)
As for the notion that a contract binds at once, and before any action has
been taken under it, this is again a misleading simplification, especially when

the matter is viewed historically. It is, of course, dangerous to attempt gener-
alizations about the historical course of legal development in all societies. Never-
theless, it is reasonably safe to say that the legal enforcement of contracts first
emerges in two contexts. The first of these is that of the ritualistic promise,
the promise accompanied by some traditional oath or the recital of a set
verbal formula, for example. Here, indeed, the contract binds at once and
without proof of any action under it. But the very formality of this process of
"binding," or the distrust implied by an insistence on it, has no doubt always
inhibited its use, as it does today in the case of its modern counterparts.
The second early legal manifestation of the contract principle involves the
situation of the half-completed exchange. A delivers fish to B in return for B's
promise of a basket of vegetables. B keeps the fish but refuses to deliver the
vegetables. Plainly there is nothing mysterious about the fact that in this
situation legal redress became available at an early period in history. It should
be noted, however, that the obligation enforced rests not on mere words, but
primarily on the action (and inaction) that followed the words.
It appears likely that in all legal systems the enforcement of the executory
bilateral contract is a development that comes quite late. This is the situation
where A and B agree on the exchange, let us say again, of fish for vegetables;
when A comes to deliver the fish, B refuses his offering and repudiates the
agreement. The recognition that A has a legal claim in this situation seems
generally to have occurred contemporaneously with the development of some-
thing like a market economy. But in such an environment there is likely to
be action, at least in the sense of forbearance, in the very act of entering the
contract. A, in seeking for a chance to trade his fish for vegetables, foregoes,
when he strikes his bargain with B, the chance to enter a similar trade with
C, D, or E. So here once again the agreement becomes enforceable because
its words have been underscored, as it were, by reliance on them — in this
case, by an inferred neglect of other opportunities once the contract in question
had been concluded.
Finally, it should be recalled that the promise of an outright gift retains
to this day a somewhat uncertain legal status. There may exist cumbersome
legal forms for making such promises enforceable, and the courts have some-
times shown remarkable ingenuity in finding tacit elements of exchange in
what appears on its face as an expression of sheer generosity. In the United

States there has emerged a doctrine (now known generally as the Section
Ninety Principle) whereby the promise may become enforceable when the
promisee has seriously and reasonably taken its anticipated performance into
account in the arrangement of his own affairs. As I have previously suggested
(supra, p. 20), this principle is not far removed from one that underlies cus-

tomary law generally.
III. T H E INTERACTIONAL FOUNDATIONS QF ENACTED LAW
EARLY IN THIS ESSAY I stated my intention to advance a thesis "more radical

than a mere insistence that customary law is still of considerable importance
in the world of today. I am going to argue that we cannot understand
'ordinary' law (that is, officially declared or enacted law) unless we first ob-
tain an understanding of what is called customary law." The time has come
to attempt some fulfillment of the commitment implied in this statement.
In the pages that have gone before I have treated both customary law and
contract law as interactional phenomena. I have viewed them as arising out
of interaction and as serving to order and facilitate interaction. Can any-
thing like this be asserted of enacted law, as typified, for example, by the
statute? Can we regard enacted law itself as dependent on the development
of "stable interactional expectancies" between lawgiver and subject? Does
enacted law also serve the purpose of ordering and facilitating the interactions
of citizens with one another?
It cannot be said that there are no traces of ideas like these in the literature.
What can be said is that it requires some diligence to find them. As for the
general purpose of enacted law, the standard formula — in both jurisprudence
and sociology — is to the effect that "law serves as an instrument of social
control." Sometimes this conception is coupled with the notion that the
necessity for law arises entirely from man's defective moral nature; if men
could be counted on to act morally, law would be unnecessary. As for the way
law is conceived to come into existence, it is by an exercise of authority and
not from anything like an interplay of reciprocal expectancies. The law does
not invite the citizen to interact with it; it acts upon him.
Let us test the question whether enacted law serves to put in order and
facilitate human interaction by inquiring how this conception applies to some
actual branches of the law. First, consider the law embraced under the fol-
lowing headings: contract, agency, marriage and divorce, property (both
private and public), and the rules of court procedure. All of these vital
branches of the law serve primarily to set the terms of men's relations with
LON L. FULLER 21
one another; they facilitate human interaction as traffic is facilitated by the

laying out of roads and the installation of direction signs. To say that these
branches of law would be unnecessary if men were more disposed to act
morally is like saying that language could be dispensed with if only men were
intelligent enough to communicate without it. The fact that the branches
of law just listed include restraints as well as enabling provisions detracts in

no sense from their facilitative quality; there is no more paradox here than
there is in the proposition that highway traffic can be expedited by signs that
read, "NO LEFT TURN," "STOP, THEN ENTER."
An interactional theory of law can hardly claim acceptance, however,
simply because it seems apt when applied to> certain branches of the law,
such as contracts, property, agency, and- marital rights. The law of crimes,
for example, presents a quite different test, for here an interactional view en-
counters an environment much less congenial to its premises. There would,
for example, be something ludicrous about explaining the rule against murder
as being intended to facilitate human interaction by removing from men's
confrontations the fear that they may kill one another. Murder, we are likely
to say, is prohibited because it is wrong, not because the threat of it can detract
from the potential richness of man's relations with his fellows.
Viewed from a historical perspective, however, the matter assumes a
very different aspect. Students of primitive society have seen the very incep-
tion of the concept of law itself in limitations on the blood feud. A member
of Family A kills a member of Family B. In a primitive society the natural
response to this act is for the members of Family B to seek revenge against
Family A. If no limits are set to this revenge, there may ensue a war to the
death between the two families. There has, accordingly, grown up in many
primitive societies a rule that blood revenge on the part of Family B must, in
the case supposed, be limited to one killing, though the injured family is
regarded as being entitled as of right to this degree of countervail. A later
development will normally prohibit blood revenge and require instead com-
pensation in the form of "blood money" for the life of the man whose life was
taken. Here, plainly, the law of murder serves to regulate interaction and,
if you will, to facilitate interaction on a level more profitable for all con-
cerned than killing and counterkilling.
Today the law against murder appears on the surface to have become
entirely divorced from its interactional origins; it is seen as projecting its
imperative, "thou shalt not kill," over the members of society generally and
without regard to their interrelations. But what has in fact happened is that
interactional issues that were once central have, as the result of legal and moral
progress, been pushed to the periphery, where they remain as lively as ever.
The most obvious example is offered by the plea of self-defense; a man is still
legally privileged to kill an aggressor if this is necessary to save his own life.
But how shall we interpret "necessary" in this context? How far can we ex-
pect a man to run some risk to his own life in order to avoid taking the life
of another? Again, there is the question of reducing the degree of the offense
when a man kills in "hot blood," as when he comes upon another making

love to his wife. Finally, there are the disputed issues of killing to prevent a
felony or to stop a fleeing felon. In all these much-debated cases the rule
against homicide may be modified, or punishment reduced, by a reference to
the question, What can reasonably be expected of a man in these interactional
situations?
I trust it is clear that I am not advancing here the thesis that law, in its
actual formulation and administration, always serves exclusively the purpose
of ordering and facilitating human interaction. There are, certainly, some
manifestations of law which cannot readily be forced into this frame of thought.
Perhaps the most significant of these lies in that portion of the criminal law
relating to what have been called "crimes without victims." Included here
are laws forbidding the sale of intoxicants and contraceptive devices, the use
of marijuana, homosexual practices, prostitution, and gambling. Assuming
that those involved are of sound mind, and that there is no deception •—-
the roulette wheel has not been rigged, for example -— these laws, far from
facilitating interaction, have as their purpose preventing forms of interaction
desired by the participants and not directly designed, at least, to injure others.
It is no accident, I think, that it is in this area — the area precisely where
legal restraint appears most unequivocally as an "instrument of social control"—
that the grossest failures of law have everywhere occurred. It is an area
characterized by corruption, selective and sporadic enforcement, blackmail,
and the open tolerance of illegality. There is no need to argue here that this
body of law requires critical reexamination. The problem is to know by what
guiding principle to direct that reexamination.
We should begin by asking ourselves why the law fails so notably in this
general area of "crimes without victims." The usual answer is that you cannot
enforce morality by law. But this is not so. Keeping promises may be a moral
obligation, yet the law can and does successfully force people to keep their
promises. Not only that, but the legal enforcement of promises, far from
weakening the moral sense of obligation, tends to strengthen it. Suppose,
for example, a situation where men associated in some business enterprise are
discussing whether they ought to perform a disadvantageous contract. Those
who believe they are morally bound to do so are in a position to remind their
less principled associates that if the contract is broken they will all be brought
LON L. FULLER 23
to court and will subject themselves, not only to the cost, but also to the
opprobrium of an adverse judgment. There are areas of human concern, then,
where the cliche that you can't make men act morally by law does not hold.
These are, I believe, precisely the areas where the law's sanctions reinforce
interactional expectancies and facilitate a respect for them.
In dealing with primitive systems a distinction is sometimes taken between

wrongs and sins.15 A wrong is an act that inflicts a palpable damage on the
fabric of social relations; a sin is thought to work a more diffuse harm by
spreading a kind of corruption. Typically in primitive societies wrongs and
sins are dealt with by different standards and different procedures, formalized
"due process" being not uncommonly relaxed in the case of sins. While I
would not recommend a resort to sorcery or ostracism as a way of dealing
with modern sins, I think we might profitably borrow from primitive society
some of the wisdom displayed in the basic distinction between wrongs and
sins. Perhaps we might also add to that wisdom the insight that the best way
for the law to deal with at least some modern sins is to leave them alone.
In this discussion of "the interactional foundations of enacted law" I
have so far been chiefly concerned with the question whether enacted law
can properly be regarded as putting in order and facilitating human inter-
action. It is time now to turn to what may seem the more basic question:
Does enacted law itself depend for its existence on the development of "stable
interactional expectancies" between lawgiver and subject?
To answer this question in the affirmative, as I shall here, is to run counter
to an assumption now generally accepted in jurisprudence and sociology, the
assumption, namely, that the essential characteristic of law lies simply in the
fact that it is an exercise of authority. But we must ask, authority to do what?
Many men enjoy authority without being empowered to make law. Both
an army colonel and the director of a government printing office have "author-
ity" in that they are thought of as rightfully exercising a control over those
committed to their direction. They are not, however, considered to make
law. How, then, do we distinguish between the functions performed by,
let us say, a boss and those performed by a lawgiver? These two figures
plainly represent distinct kinds of "social control." But how do we define the
difference between them?
An ancient answer to this question — rather lost from view in contem-
porary discussions — is that the basic characteristic of law lies in its generality.
Law lays down general rules. Managerial direction may proceed by specific
orders: "Here, do this," "A, change places with B," or "Report tomorrow
15
E.g., Henry Maine, Ancient Law, 10th ed. (1884), pp. 359-361.
at eight-thirty." The difficulty here is that managerial direction also often

proceeds by general rules or "standing orders." Would a managerial director
so gifted with foresight and a capacity for apt phrasing that he never had oc-
casion to issue anything but general orders become by that token a lawgiver?
To perceive the distinction between the office of boss and that of lawgiver
we have to go behind the quality of generality and ask why it has been

thought that law must take the form of general rules. The answer is a relatively
simple one: The law does not tell a man what he should do to accomplish
specific ends set by the lawgiver; it furnishes him with base lines against which
to organize his life with his fellows. A transgression of these base lines may
entail serious consequences for the citizen — he may be hanged for it — but
the establishment of the base lines is not an exercise in managerial direction.
Law provides a framework for the citizen within which to live his own life,
though, to be sure, there are circumstances under which that framework can
seem so uncomfortably lax or so perversely constrictive that its human object
may believe that straightforward managerial direction would be preferable.
If we accept the view that the central purpose of law is to furnish base
lines for human interaction, it then becomes apparent why the existence of
enacted law as an effectively functioning system depends upon the establish-
ment of stable interactional expectancies between lawgiver and subject. On the
one hand, the lawgiver must be able to anticipate that the citizenry as a whole
will accept as law and generally observe the body of rules he has promulgated.
On the other hand, the legal subject must be able to anticipate that govern-
ment will itself abide by its own declared rules when it comes to judge his
actions, as in deciding, for example, whether he has committed a crime or
claims property under a valid deed. A gross failure in the realization of either
of these anticipations — of government toward citizen and of citizen toward
government — can have the result that the most carefully drafted code will
fail to become a functioning system of law.
It is a curious fact of history that although the older books are full of dis-
cussions of the principle that law implies general rules, there is almost no
explicit recognition that the enactment of general rules becomes meaningless if
government considers itself free to disregard them whenever it suits its con-
venience. Perhaps there is here illustrated a phenomenon already discussed,16
that the anticipations which most firmly direct our actions toward others are
often precisely those that do not rise to consciousness. Such anticipations are
like the rules of grammar that we observe in practice without having occasion
to articulate them until they have been conspicuously violated. Perhaps there
w Supra, p. 9.
LON L. FULLER 25
is also operative here a confusion arising from the fact that we realize that
normally a lawgiver can change any one of his laws simply by repealing it and
providing a quite different law for the governance of events thereafter hap-
pening. It seems curious that the agency that can rewrite the whole book
of laws should be held to respect the most insignificant of its enactments in
judging events that occurred while it was still in effect. There is the paradox

here, in Simmel's words, of "interaction within an apparently one-sided and
passive submission."17 Yet without that paradox the notion of enacted "law"
would become empty and meaningless.
What are the practical implications of the twin requirements that law
be expressed in general rules and that government abide by its own rules in
acting upon the citizen? The short answer is that these implications are
subtle and complex, so much so that they cannot be adequately explored in
the present context. Certainly there is no intention here to suggest that the
ordinary citizen should go about with a code book in his hand ascertaining
whether government is conforming to its own rules. Normally, and by and
large, the citizen must of necessity accept on faith that his government is
playing the game of law fairly. But precisely because this faith plays so im-
portant a role in the functioning of a legal system, a single dramatic dis-
appointment of it, or a less conspicuous but persistent disregard of legality
over a whole branch of law, can undermine the moral foundations of a legal
order, both for those subject to it and for those who administer it.
In speaking here of the moral aspects of the problem, there is no inten-
tion to imply that the preservation of legality does not make demands on the
intellect as well as on good intentions. For example, a legislature passes a
law authorizing the construction of a park in the city of Zenith. Does this
enactment violate the principle that laws must be general in form? We may
dismiss this problem as involving nothing more than a pun on the word "law,"
but in other cases, since government normally exercises managerial and ad-
ministrative functions as well as legislative ones, the problem can become
more perplexing. Again, suppose the absurd situation of a government that
has only one law in the books: "Do right and avoid evil." Here the rule is
"general" in a way that undermines legality more thoroughly than any number
of "special" laws could do. These examples can only suggest some of the
complexities that arise in the actual realization of trje Rule of Law.18 When
these complexities are taken into account the task of creating and administer-
17
Op. cit. supra, note 8, p. 186.
18
I have attempted to deal with these complexities in my book, The Morality of Law,
rev. ed. (1969), esp. chs. II and V.
ing a legal system will be seen as a very different kind of enterprise than is
suggested when it is described simply as an exercise of "authority" for the
purpose of effecting "social control."
In the analysis now being concluded three distinct kinds of law have been
passed in review: customary law, contract law, and enacted law. This list
omits a fourth expression of law, namely, adjudicative law as exemplified in

the Anglo-American "common law." It is fashionable nowadays to consider
the common law as being simply a form of enacted law, differing from
statutory law only in its authorship, a statute being enacted by a legislature,
a rule of common law being declared by a court. This view ignores the
special qualities exemplified by the common law, qualities that once led men
—- with much justification — to speak of it as a form of customary law. For
the common law, by virtue of its special way of making law case by case,
projects its roots more deeply and intimately into human interaction than does
statutory law — though, to be sure, in the country of its origin it seems to
be losing the qualities that once distinguished it, perhaps because its judges
have finally begun to conform their practice to the pattern legal theory has
been ascribing to it for more than a century.
If we view law as serving the purpose of putting in order and facilitating
human interaction, it is apparent that the making of law involves the risk that
we may be unable to foresee in advance the variety of interactional situations
that may fall within the ambit of a preformulated rule. A statute that reveals
itself as a patent misfit for situations of fact that later come to court — situa-
tioas plainly covered by the language of the statute, but obviously misunder-
stood or not foreseen by the draftsman — such a law certainly has no special
claim to praise simply because it is clear in meaning and announced in ad-
vance. The virtue of the common law is that, proceeding case by case, it can
fit and refit its prescriptions to the configurations of life as they reveal them-
selves in litigation. What the common law lacks in the way of clear advance
formulation, it may more than make up for by its capacity to reshape and
reword its rules in the light of the actual situations that offer themselves for
decision.
The common law presents, then, a complex amalgam of lawmaking forms,
intermixing explicit legislation with the tacit adjustments characteristic of
customary law, sometimes expressing the best qualities of both systems, and,
on rare occasions, displaying the worst qualities of both.19
19
In my book, Anatomy of the Law (1968, paperback 1969), I have undertaken an
analysis of the special virtues and defects of the common law system, pp. 84-112 (1968
ed.), pp. 133-174 (1969 ed.).
LON L. FULLER ' 27
IV. INTERACTIONS BETWEEN LAW AND I T S SOCIAL CONTEXT
IMPLICIT IN ALL that has gone before in this essay is the view that law and
its social environment stand in a relation of reciprocal influence; any given
form of law will not only act upon, but be influenced and shaped by, the
established forms of interaction that constitute its social milieu. This means

that for a given social context one form of law may be more appropriate than
another, and that the attempt to force a form of law upon a social environ-
ment uncongenial to it may miscarry with damaging results.
This presents the problem of knowing how to define and distinguish
the various kinds of "social contexts." On this matter, the literature of soci-
ology provides an uncomfortably extensive vocabulary of relevant terms:
Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft; organic and mechanical solidarity; social
space; social distance; familistic, contractual, and compulsory relations; the
folk-urban continuum; the primary group; and a host of related terms at-
tempting to describe the varying textures, patterns and densities displayed
by the social fabric.20
For present purposes I shall employ simply the notion of a spectrum
or scale of relationships, running from intimacy, at the one end, to hostility,
at the other, with a stopping place midway that can be described as the habitat
of friendly strangers, between whom interactional expectancies remain largely
open and unpatterned. As typifying the intimate relationship, I shall take
the average American family, with no servants, young children in the home,
household chores to be apportioned, and members who are on reasonably good
terms with one another. At the other end of the spectrum, I have in mind,
not two individuals who are enemies, but two hostile nations not under the
control of a superior political power that might contain their tendencies toward
overt hostile action.
In attempting here to test the different forms of law against varying social
contexts I shall begin with contractual law, by which, the reader will recall, I
mean the "law" of the contract itself, not the state-made law of or about con-
tracts. The reason for choosing contractual law as a starting point is that,
in a sense, it stands halfway between customary law and enacted law, sharing
some of the qualities of both. On the one hand, contractual law is like cus-
tomary law in that its prescriptions are not imposed on the parties by some
outside authority; they make their own law. On the other hand, contractual
20
A useful summary of the ways in which sociologists have attempted to distinguish
different forms of the social bond will be found in Ferdinand Tonnies, Community and
Society (1957), pp. 12-29.
law resembles legislation in that it involves the explicit creation of verbalized

rules for the governance of the parties' relationship.
If we start with the "intimate" end of the scale, it is apparent that con-
tract is an instrument ill-suited to ordering the relations within a functioning
family. We are apt to put this in affective terms, saying that people united
by affection would have difficulty in negotiating with one another and that

any attempt to do so might disturb the harmony of the home. But the problem
also has what may be called an operational aspect; the allocation of household
responsibilities is affected by shifting and unpredictable contingencies: some-
one becomes ill, one of the children falls behind in his schoolwork, father has
to be away on a trip, etc. No degree of contractual foresight would be equal
to dealing in advance with all these permutations in the internal affairs of
the family.
It seems a safe guess that not many married couples have attempted to
arrange their internal affairs by anything like an explicit contract. In the few
reported cases in which judicial enforcement of such contracts has been sought,
the courts have denied relief. One court observed that "judicial inquiry into
matters of that character, between husband and wife, would be fraught with
irreparable mischief."21 Another court remarked that if the parties were
able to enter binding contracts regulating their internal relations this would
"open an endless field for controversy and bickering and would destroy the
element of flexibility needed in making adjustments to new conditions . . . . " 2 2
If we move to the opposite end of the spectrum and consider contracts
between parties standing in what I have called a social relation of hostility,
a contractual regulation becomes, once again, not only difficult to negotiate,
but also often an inept device for achieving the end sought. The simple way of
explaining this is to say that hostile parties don't trust one another, and mutual
trust is essential for both the negotiation and the administration of a contract.
But the problem, once again, has what may be called an operational aspect.
The negotiation of a contract of any complexity will involve an intricate
fitting together of diverse interests. This, in turn, means that in the course
of negotiations — in the stand he takes for or against some demanded con-
cession — each party is compelled to make some disclosure of the internal
posture of his own interests. This disclosure may be disadvantageous to him,
especially if negotiations fall through. Thus, suppose that in negotiations
21
Miller v. Miller, 78 I o w a 177, 182, 42 N . W . 6 4 1 , 642 ( 1 8 8 9 ) .
22
Graham v. Graham, 33 Fed. Supp. 936, 938 (E. D. Mich. 1940). See generally,
Foote, Levy and Sander, Cases and Materials on Family Law (1966), ch. 2, pt. II, pp.
297-366; note, "Litigation between Husband and Wife," Harvard Law Review, 79 (1966),
pp. 1650-1665; McDowell, "Contracts in the Family," Boston University Law Review, 45
(1965), pp. 43-62.
LON L. FULLER 29
looking toward a reduction in armaments between two hostile countries,

Country A, to the surprise of Country B, seems quite ready to agree to a
broad limitation on the production and use of Weapon X. Country B at once
begins to ask itself such questions as, "Why is that? Are they aware of some
limitation on the effectiveness of Weapon X we don't know about? Or do
they want us to give up producing Weapon X, which they fear, and divert

our resources to Weapon Y, against which they perhaps have developed an
adequate defense?" This necessity for some disclosure in order to achieve a
successful fitting together of the parties' diverse interests is often inhibitive,
not only in international relations, but in other fields as well, sometimes even
in business deals. Perhaps the ultimate cure for it lies in the gradual and
patient establishment of multiple ties of association between the parties, so
that their social bond is not concentrated in one negotiation or one document.
When that happens, however, the organizing principle of the parties' rela-
tionship is apt to cease to be contractual and become essentially one of
customary law.
I should like now to turn to the middle ground of the spectrum of social
contexts, the area I have previously described as "the habitat of friendly
strangers, between whom interactional expectancies remain largely open and
unpatterned." This is precisely the area where contractual law is most at
home and most effective; it is also here, without much doubt, that the very
notion of explicit contracting was first conceived.
We are prone to suppose that as we move away from relations of intimacy
our freedom of expression and action becomes progressively restricted; with
strangers we are "ill at ease"; it is only with close friends that we are free to
say what we think and declare what we would like to> have. But in fact, in
dealing with intimates we are, often quite without knowing it, restrained by
a host of unarticulated expectations — compelled, as it were, to act out roles
tacitly assigned to us in previous encounters. As Simmel points out, it is often
precisely the stranger who receives "the most surprising openness — con-
fidences which would be carefully withheld from a more closely related per-
son."23 It is this "openness" of the relations between strangers that facilitates
negotiation in a manner that would be impossible (and probably inadvisable)
within an intimate group like the family.
All over the world the intimacies of the extended family, the tribe, and
the country village have proved an obstacle to the establishment of dealings
on a straightforward commercial basis. It is hard, for example, to hold a
relative or a close friend to prompt payment of his account. Mair reports a
23
Op. cit. supra note 8, p. 404.
general anthropological observation that the "pressures to give easy credit on

a man setting up a store in his own village are apt to be so great that he cannot
make a success of his business."24 An enterprising American Indian tribe
in the state of Washington is said to have encountered a similar frustration in
attempting to engage in business enterprises on the Reservation.25 Perhaps
the most interesting observation of this sort is contained in The Irish Country-

man, by Conrad Arensberg. According to Arensberg the practice in rural
Ireland is for the customer of the local shopkeeper virtually never to pay off
his account in full; indeed this is something he would do only in a fit of anger.
The standing unpaid account, reduced from time to time by partial payments,
is regarded as symbolizing a bond of mutual trust — the customer gives his
patronage, the shopkeeper extends his credit.26 Many Americans have ob-
served a similar phenomenon: when one makes a purchase at the local store
and instead of charging it, as he usually does, offers to pay cash, this may
be resented by the storekeeper. When one considers how common this ten-
dency is to shy away from a purely impersonal businesslike relationship, it
is no wonder that the pioneering merchants and traders seem everywhere to
have been "outsiders" — the Jews in Europe, the Parsees in India, the Indians
and Lebanese in Africa, the Chinese in the Pacific, and perhaps one could
say, in the early days, the Yankees in North America. As some of the items
on this list suggest, it might even appear that a difference in religion may at
times facilitate the achievement of the kind of social distance essential for
purely contractual relations.
It might be worth remarking here that sometimes the very success of a
contractual relation has the effect of supplanting it by something akin to a
two-party customary law. Those who renew contracts year after year, and
who thus become "intimates," are likely to have increasing difficulty in pre-
serving an atmosphere of open negotiation; they become prisoners of the
expectations created by past practice. This is, of course, especially likely to
occur where a situation has developed in which it is not easy for the parties
to find alternative sources for filling their needs, a situation approaching that
of "bilateral monopoly."27
24
Lucy Mair, An Introduction to Social Anthropology ( 1 9 6 5 ) , p . 181.
25
A study by Colson reported in M a x Gluckman, Politics, Law, and Ritual in Tribal
Society ( 1 9 6 5 ) , p p . 296-299.
26
Conrad Arensberg, The Irish Countryman ( 1 9 6 8 ) , p p . 155-162.
27
T h e thesis of t h e study b y F r i e d m a n , Contract in America ( 1 9 6 5 ) , might b e stated
as t h e tendency of c o n t r a c t u a l relations to convert themselves into something like cus-
t o m a r y law. H o w e v e r , F r i e d m a n ' s study does n o t , i n m y opinion, t a k e sufficient account
of t h e special qualities of t h e economic b a c k g r o u n d of t h e p h e n o m e n a studied; it should
definitely h a v e been called C o n t r a c t i n Wisconsin, n o t C o n t r a c t in America. A n o t h e r
valuable study is Stewart Macaulay, "Non-Contractual Relations in Business: A Pre-
liminary Study," American Sociological Review, 28 (1963), pp. 55-67.
LON L. FULLER 31
So much for the interactions between contractual law and its social context.
Turning now to customary law, the first observation is that this form of law
is at home completely across the spectrum of social contexts, from the most
intimate to those of open hostility. That the family cannot easily organize
itself by a process of explicit bargaining does not mean there will not
grow up within it reciprocal expectancies of the sort that, on a more formal

level, would be called "customary law." Indeed, the family could not func-
tion without these tacit guidelines to interaction; if every interaction had to
be oriented afresh and ad hoc, no group like the family could succeed in the
discharge of its shared tasks. At the midrange, it should be observed that the
most active and conspicuous development of customary law in modern times
lies precisely in the field of commercial dealings. Finally, while enemies may
have difficulty in bargaining with words, they can, and often do, profitably
half-bargain with deeds. Paradoxically the tacit restraints of customary law
between enemies are more likely to develop during active warfare than during
a hostile stalemate of relations; fighting one another is itself in this sense a
"social" relation since it involves communication.
That customary law is, as I have expressed it, "at home" across the entire
spectrum of social contexts does not mean that it retains the same qualities
wherever it appears. On the contrary, it can change drastically in nature as
it moves from one end of the spectrum to the other. At the terminal point
of intimacy customary law has to do, not primarily with prescribed acts and
performances, but with roles and functions. The internal operations of a
family, kinship group, or even tribe, may demand, not simply formal com-
pliance with rules, but an allocation of authority, and a sense of trusteeship on
the part of those who make decisions and give directions. In the middle area,
typified by arm's length commercial dealings, customary law abstracts from
qualities and dispositions of the person and concentrates its attention on
ascribing appropriate and clearly defined consequences to outward conduct.
Finally, as we enter the area of hostile relations, a decided change in the
general "flavor" of customary law takes place. Here the prime desideratum
is to achieve — through acts, of course, not words -— the clear communication
of messages of a rather limited and negative import; accordingly there is a
heavy concentration on symbolism and ritual.
The influence of social context should be borne in mind, I suggest, in
weighing against one another the sometimes conflicting views of anthropologists
as to the nature of customary law. It is interesting in this connection to com-
pare two works that have become classics: Malinowski, Crime and Custom
in Savage Society (1926), and Gluckman, The Judicial Process Among the
Barotse of Northern Rhodesia (1955, 2d ed. 1967).
Malinowski sees the central principle of customary law in a reciprocity

of benefits conferred; he even suggests, in one incautious moment, that the
sanction which insures compliance with the rules of customary law lies in a
tacit threat that if a man does, not make his contribution, others may withhold
theirs. Though Gluckman is for the most part careful in limiting his generaliza-
tions to the particular society he studied, he seems to see as a central concept

of customary law generally that of "the reasonable man." "The reasonable
man," for Gluckman, is the man who knows his station and its responsibilities
and who responds aptly to the shifting demands of group life. Simplifying
somewhat we may say that the central figure for Malinowski is essentially a
trader, albeit one who trades on terms largely set by tradition rather than by
negotiation. For Gluckman it is the conscientious tribesman with a sense of
trusteeship for the welfare of the group.
When we observe, however, the internal economic and kinship organiza-
tions of the two societies studied, it becomes apparent why the two scholars
should arrive at such divergent conceptions of the model of man implicit in
customary law. Malinowski begins his account by observing that the human
objects of his study, who live dispersed on different islands, are "keen on trade
and exchange." The first concrete situation he discusses involves two village
communities on the same island at some distance from each other, the one
being located on the coast, the other inland. Under a "standing arrangement"
between the two, the coastal village regularly supplies the inland village with
fish, receiving in return vegetables. The "trade" between the two is not, of
course, the product of explicit bargaining, and indeed at times each of the
villages will seek, not to give short measure, but to put the other to shame
by outproducing it.
Among Gluckman's Barotse, on the other hand, economic production and
consumption are organized largely on a kinship basis. The cases before the
kuta studied by Gluckman were chiefly cases that might be described as in-
volving the internal affairs of an extended family, though those affairs in-
cluded some property disputes. Something of the range of the cases studied
is suggested by sampling of the titles Gluckman assigns to them: "The Case
of the Cross-Cousin Adultery," "The Case of the Wife's Granary," "The Case
of the Urinating Husband," "The Case of the Headman's Fishdams (or) the
'Dog-in-the-Manger' Headman." The atmosphere of the arguments and
decisions, reported so vividly by Gluckman, reminds one of what might be
expected in a court of domestic relations, mediating the tangled affairs of
the family and, occasionally and reluctantly, exercising a power to put them
straight by judicial fiat.
The two systems of customary law studied by Malinowski and Gluckman
LON L. FULLER 33
operated, it is plain, in quite different social contexts, though this does not
mean that a Malinowski might not find elements of reciprocity or exchange
among the Barotse, or that a Gluckman could not find apt occasion to apply
the concept of "the reasonable man" among the Trobrianders. I would suggest
generally that if we seek to discover constancies among the different systems
of customary law we shall find them in the interactional processes by which

those systems come into being, rather than in the specific product that emerges,
which must of necessity reflect history and context. I would suggest
further that if we look closely among the varying social contexts presented by
our own society we shall find analogues of almost every phenomenon thought
to characterize "primitive law."
Resuming our analysis of the effects of social context on the different
forms of law, there remains for consideration enacted law as exemplified in
a statute. At the outset it is apparent, I think, that the "home ground" of
enacted law coincides largely with what we have already found most con-
genial to the organizing principle of contract, that is, with the middle area on
the spectrum of social contexts — the region populated by friendly strangers,
whose relations with one another generally stand open in the sense of not
being prestructured by bonds of kinship or the repulsions of a shared hostility.
If enacted law and contractual law are alike in finding especially con-
genial the midpoint on the spectrum of social contexts, they also share an
ineptitude for attempting anything like an internal regulation of the family.
If a contract of the parties themselves is too blunt an instrument for shaping
the affairs of a family, the same thing could be said with added emphasis if
any attempt were made to impose detailed state-made regulations on the
intimate relations of marriage and parenthood.28
Yet, as I have observed here, much of customary law serves — and often
serves well — the function of putting in order the relations of kinsmen. What
is the explanation for this special quality of the customary law of family af-
fairs? I think it is to be found in the fact that customary law does not limit
itself to requiring or prohibiting precisely defined acts, but may also designate
roles and functions, and then, when the occasion arises, hold those discharging
these roles and functions to an accounting for their performances. This con-
ception does not conflict with the analysis of customary law presented at the
beginning of this essay. Stable interactional expectancies can arise with refer-
ence to roles and functions as well as to specific acts; a language of inter-
action will contain not only a vocabulary of deeds but also a basic grammar
that will organize deeds into meaningful patterns.
28
I am not at this point, of course, referring to such problems as child abuse, com-
pulsory education, and the like.
It is important to observe that the very qualities of enacted law that make
it an inept instrument for regulating intimate relations are precisely those
which lend to it a special capacity to put in order men's interactions within
the larger impersonal society. Within that wider context the basic necessity
is to impose rules that will serve to set the limits men must observe in their
interactions with one another, leaving them free within those limits to pursue

their own goals. This in turn means that the law must deal with defined acts,
not with dispositions of the will or attitudes of mind. The rule of law measures
a man's acts against the law, not the man himself against some ideal perceived
as lying behind the law's prescriptions.
What is involved here may be expressed as a distinction between judging
the person and judging the act.29 In the ordinary affairs of life these two
forms of judgment are in constant interaction. We judge what a man is by
the way he acts; we evaluate his acts as expressions of what he is. We know
that a man sometimes has to act as he does "because that's the sort of person
he is"; we also know that over a lifetime a man, to some extent at least, makes
himself the kind of person he is by a multitude of decisions as to how to act
in specific situations.
Primitive systems of law, including the common law of England in its
early period, accept without qualms this commonsense view of the matter
and show but little concern to preserve a distinction between the man and
his act. The jury was originally selected from the immediate vicinage so
that they might know the litigants personally and perhaps even be acquainted
with the facts of the controversy itself. Included in the criminal law were
what have been called "crimes of status" -— the crime, for example, of "being
a common scold."
All of this has, of course, changed drastically. In a criminal trial today
personal acquaintances of the defendant would normally be excluded from the
jury, evidence of past misconduct is inadmissible, and it is unthinkable that a
witness, however well acquainted he might be with the defendant, would be
allowed to tell the jury what kind of person he considers him to be. 30 The
task of the jury is to determine as best it can just what act or acts the de-
fendant committed and then to measure those acts against the prescriptions
of the law.
This picture of a lean and sparing justice, deliberately averting its gaze
29
I have attempted to apply some of the implications of this distinction to the internal
legal systems of voluntary associations in my article, " T w o Principles of H u m a n Associa-
tion," Nomos 11 {Voluntary Associations) ( 1 9 6 9 ) , 3-23, esp. p p . 17-19.
30
I a m not attempting to deal here, of course, with expert testimony concerning t h e
sanity of the defendant. I t might b e suggested, however, t h a t the modern legal uses of
psychiatry present some difficult problems when viewed in the light of the person-act
dichotomy.
LON L. FULLER 35
from the man himself, becomes considerably clouded, however, when we con-
sider what happens before and after the confrontation that takes place in
open court. Before the case is brought to court the defendant has to be ar-
rested, and it would certainly be a rare policeman who routinely—and without
taking into account the nature and circumstances of the offense — arrested
every person he believed to have committed a crime. Certainly in dealing

with minor offenses the police officer uses, and is expected to use, "judgment".;
this judgment is inevitably affected by his perception of the kind of person
the suspected party seems to be. When the case is brought to the prosecutor
he in turn is influenced in some degree by similar considerations in deciding
whether to prefer charges. If he has the case set for trial there will, in many
routine cases, ensue a process that has come to be called "plea bargaining."
This is a procedure by which the prosecutor and the defense attorney will
attempt, with court approval, to reach an agreement by which the defendant
will plead guilty to a lesser charge than that asserted to be justified by those
representing the state. The outcome of this process is inevitably affected by
opinions about the basic dispositions of the defendant. If the case goes to trial
and the accused is found guilty, the question of the appropriate sentence has
to be decided. In deciding that question the judge will take into account what
is known about the defendant himself, his past, and his probable future
propensities. Similar considerations will, of course, determine the granting of
parole or a pardon. When, finally, we consider that probably less than ten
percent of the criminal charges filed ever come to trial, the emphasis placed
in open court on the act, rather than the person of the defendant, will shrink
in significance to the point where it may seem only a kind of symbolic tribute
to the principle of judging the deed and not the man.
This symbolism is, however, of vital importance. If it were ever completely
lost from view the principle of legality, the rule of law, would become an
empty sham. The apparent contradictions within the total processes of the
criminal law are tolerable because it is generally perceived, at least by those
directly concerned, that distinctive institutional roles are played by those who
arrest, prosecute, defend, try, sentence, parole, release and pardon — all of
these roles being directed toward the discharge of differing functions. Whether
these distinctions are always perceived by the public or by the accused him-
self is doubtful. There is, however, no question that any such elaborate divi-
sion of function would be impossible within an intimate society; it presupposes
large and impersonal processes.
When we view the matter in this light it becomes apparent that in a com-
plex modern society enacted law and the organizational principles implicit
in customary law are not simply to be viewed as alternative ways of ordering
men's interactions, but rather as often serving to supplement each other by a

kind of natural division of labor. Generally we may say that enacted law will
default in complex relations of interdependence that cannot be organized by
set rules of duty and entitlement; these situations are by no means confined
to such as we would call "intimate" in any affective sense.31 That they cannot
be put in order by statutory enactment does not mean that they cannot, and

do not in our own society, receive an effective ordering by silent processes
which, manifested in a primitive society, would be called "customary law."
Much that is written today seems to assume that our larger society is
enabled to function by a combination of the individual's moral sense and
social control through the threatened sanctions of state-made law. We need
to remind ourselves that we constantly orient our actions toward one another
by signposts that are set neither by "morals," in any ordinary sense, nor by
words in lawbooks. If this essay has served to rekindle some appreciation of
this fact I shall be content.
31
I have tried to show the inadequacies of formal legal rules and processes of adjudica-
tion for dealing with "polycentric" problems in "Collective Bargaining and the Arbitrator,"
Wisconsin Law Review, 3 (1963), 18-42, and "Irrigation and Tyranny," Stanford Law
Review, 17 (1965), 1021-1042.

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HUMAN INTERACTION

AND THE LAW*

As IT is USED in my title, I mean the word "law" to be construed very broadly.

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I. T H E NATURE AND SIGNIFICANCE OF "CUSTOMARY LAW"

IF IN SEARCH of this understanding we turn to treatises on jurisprudence,

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A spoken language consists of certain patterns of sound men make

No one was ever consciously present at the commencement of such a

alternatives; the choice in either case having been either deliberately or

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Now in the whole of this lucid passage there is to be found, I submit,

custom is the embodiment of those principles which have commended

of right which it is their duty to administer, should be content to accept

There is, of course, much wisdom — as well as a considerable measure of

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* John W. Salmond, Jurisprudence, 7th ed. (1924), pp. 208-209.

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The awakening infant conveys a message to his mother and immediately

Erikson goes on to observe that the formalization of this performance, the

unambiguous set of signals so as to avoid fatal misunderstandings," and con-

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law." If we speak of "a system of stabilized interactional expectancies" as a

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. . . law may be defined in these terms: A social norm is legal if its

There are, I suggest, a number of difficulties with this solution. First, it

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II. T H E INTERACTIONAL FOUNDATIONS OF CONTRACT LAW

questions already discussed, particularly that of knowing how to determine

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standard clauses. In fact, the overwhelming majority of contracts are em-

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A new rule of customary international law based on the practice of

(The assertion sometimes encountered that to be accepted as law a custom

The doctrine of opinio necessitatis probably originated in the same context,

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what appears on its face as an expression of sheer generosity. In the United

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III. T H E INTERACTIONAL FOUNDATIONS QF ENACTED LAW

EARLY IN THIS ESSAY I stated my intention to advance a thesis "more radical

one another; they facilitate human interaction as traffic is facilitated by the

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at eight-thirty." The difficulty here is that managerial direction also often

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IV. INTERACTIONS BETWEEN LAW AND I T S SOCIAL CONTEXT

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