In 2019 William Twining and Harry Arthurs, academic lawyers whose careers peaked during the second half of the twentieth century, published memoirs revealing the central motivations and forces underlying their intellectual endeavour.[1] Their books are a source of great nourishment, provoking readers to think deeply about the central challenges of the discipline and what might be done to bring it closer to realising its full potential. They also reveal what it was like to be a leading academic who pushed disciplinary boundaries. This review considers and compares the contributions of these memoirs to the field of histories of legal scholars. It also examines the relevance of each book to their primary readership: twenty first century academic lawyers.
A legal theorist, scholar of the globalisation of law and legal education, and pioneer of the “law in context” movement in England, Twining has for over sixty years challenged English scholars to situate learning about law within its broader context and to reform prevailing and long-standing approaches to legal education. He wove together a tapestry of leading thought and diverse perspectives drawn to develop largely novel theories and fields of inquiry that engaged with broader actors and pressing political and social concerns.[2] The experiences of writing Karl Llewellyn’s intellectual biography while a postgraduate at the University of Chicago, teaching at the University of Khartoum (Sudan) and then the University College of Dar es Salaam were particularly eye-opening for Twining. They helped him appreciate that working within a long running elite institution such as his alma mater, Oxford, located within a country with a stable legal system and weighty legal tradition encouraged a sense of complacency and a narrowing of perspectives. Throughout his career he repeatedly challenged the parochialism within these elite parts of England’s legal academy that led to a narrowing of perspectives and ideas.[3]
Twining’s memoir, however, is less an accounting of an intellectual life, and more an extended argument for academic lawyers to seriously examine how their particular brand of teaching and scholarship (or research) advances the discipline. He believes that contemplating the health and future of the discipline and taking leading roles is not the exclusive domain of law school managers–heads of schools and Deans–but rather something that all ‘academic lawyers’ should share in and advance. [4] In other words, the discipline’s full intellectual capital should be devoted to strengthening the very enterprise. His “hope is to persuade [academic lawyers] to see their own specialised work in the context of Law as a discipline as a whole and its challenges.”[5] He characterises his memoir as a “restatement of a position” that is grounded within the contexts–intellectual, social and geographical–which led him to this view.[6]
Twining’s argument is a product of his diagnosis of the discipline of law in England. He perceives that the enduring and growing bulk of legal scholarship lacks empirical or contextual foundations, that “so much” of it is “normative and opinionated.”[7] And he argues that many legal theorists remain entranced by the particular brand of abstract analytical philosophy that concentrates almost exclusively on judicial decision-making, gained particular traction through the writing of HLA Hart, holder of the Corpus Chair of Jurisprudence at Oxford, and was buoyed by his successor, Ronald Dworkin.[8] When it comes to legal education, he believes that the complexity of understanding the various forces brought to bear on legal education is immense and that academic lawyers ought to do more to contribute to the way that citizens understand law “from cradle to grave,” drawing from Lawrence Friedman’s model of “Western Societies as one vast school of law.”[9]
Arthurs is perhaps best known for his significant contributions to labor law scholarship, for his pathbreaking Law and Learning report and for his significant contribution to university and law school administration as Dean of Osgoode Hall Law School and President of York University. [10] In some ways, Arthurs career was very different from Twining’s. He was born, educated, studied and taught law in Canada where legal scholars frequently considered England, the United States and France as dominant legal traditions.[11] He completed postgraduate studies in law at Harvard, arguably a more conservative US law school (at that time) than Twining’s Chicago, and, unlike Twining, early in his career passed up opportunities to teach law abroad.[12] Arthurs was drawn to legal practice and politics, not deep theorising.[13] He describes himself as “a consumer of second-hand legal and social theory rather than a primary producer.”[14] And yet, the positions he took on legal education throughout the career and the lines of inquiry he pursued in his research closely resemble Twining’s efforts. As a young man, Arthurs’ commitment to the rights of workers meant that he entered the legal academy with questions that responded directly to social and economic issues. In the course of his studies he grew stronger in his belief that the best way of addressing them was to look beyond purely legal materials and methods. Arthurs, unlike Twining, does not arrange his memoir around an argument that scholars should take greater responsibility for the discipline, but his descriptions of his administrative, teaching, and research experiences—together with testimony from his peers— demonstrate that he has been a pioneering force within Canada’s discipline and took considerable responsibility for the discipline and legal education both within his law school in Ontario and Canada more broadly.[15] His memoir therefore has the potential to achieve much the same aims as Twining’s.
Both memoirs should be viewed as central to current thinking about the discipline and perhaps even compulsory reading for all academic lawyers who want to strengthen the field through their teaching, scholarship and research. Yet neither Twining nor Arthur fully explain how their preferred models of legal education respond to leading studies on the role of law and lawyers in society. Both should have engaged more with the personal dimensions of their work, including issues of gender.
Agency, Optimism and Histories of Legal Education
Writing from the context of Australia’s discipline of law, I have advanced several arguments (in both short and long form) in favour of histories of legal education and of legal scholars. [16] Such arguments seemed needed in a discipline where so little accounting has been undertaken; where much of what had been written draws from caricatures; and where false generalisations about past generations of legal scholars are often enlisted to celebrate supposedly enlightened and progressive contemporary scholars of legal education.[17] As Wes Pue explained, practicing and academic lawyers in the U.S. have self-servingly embraced myths about the discipline and its relationship with the profession and this embrace has discouraged and stymied a proper accounting of legal education and scholarship.[18] Local versions of these myths have traveled far beyond the US.[19] With this in mind, this review first evaluates whether, and if so, how, Twining and Arthurs’ memoirs contribute to the existing body of histories of legal scholarship by providing a stronger understanding of the discipline.[20]
Academic Lawyers Matter?
One of the assumptions underpinning most histories of individual legal scholars is that agency matters; that the endeavours of individuals materially alter the way that law schools operate and this in turn effects what they offer to the world of ideas and/or society. By situating their central academic contributions and ideas within the context of a memoir, Twining and Arthurs appear to subscribe to this way of thinking and it is something that Arthurs deals with directly. Arthurs concludes his memoir by suggesting that there are essentially two ideal types of legal scholars. “The optimists amongst us assume that human hands – our hands – shape legal education, that legal education shapes the law, and that law shapes the world,” writes Arthurs. “The pessimists,” on the other hand, “contend that the process works in reverse, that the forces of political economy” structure “law as a system of social ordering,” as “an intellectual enterprise,” and as a “subject or object of study in law schools.”[21]
Historians of law professors tend to privilege agency and therefore provoke a greater degree of optimism for the future than institutional histories.[22] Arthurs appears to be a pessimist, though, because of his scepticism about both the transformative potential of law and the his own lasting scholarly and institutional impact. [23] While Arthurs never became a radical, his own research and leading work by Critical Legal Scholars convinced him that law was incapable of “transforming societies” and that “progressive causes will only be advanced by social and political mobilization.”[24] He speaks of his most beloved subject, labour law, as “having no future,” considering that neither state nor non-state systems could protect “subordinate groups against abuses of private power” and that liberal legal education did not achieve the transformation he wished for.[25] He believes that he did not inspire bright students to move into critical leadership positions in law and that many of the initiatives he instilled as an administrator were eventually undone.[26] He acknowledges that his scholarly beliefs sit uncomfortably with his concluding reflection that throughout his career his objective was to “make things better,” investing his “energy, intelligence, and reputation in a lifelong project of reform, notwithstanding [his] growing comprehension of the challenges confronting any such project.”[27] And yet, his very act of writing this memoir–insofar as it is an attempt to encourage current and future generations of legal scholars to revisit his central ideas, examining their merits, reception and legacy–could be construed as signalling a degree of faith in his own agency. In other words, it signals an ongoing tension between his actions and convictions.
It might appear that Twining fits neatly within Arthurs’ optimist type. Notably he has spent much of his career defending its importance to an audience of lawyers who looked upon the academy largely as a group of failed practitioners.[28] This encouragement is clearly a product of Twining’s belief in the agency of individual academic lawyers: he believes that they are the most valuable resource of any law school and it is only through them that the discipline will ever realise its potential as a “marvellous and important subject.”[29] Twining hopes that by drawing a larger audience to his work he will encourage new legal scholars to reorient their intellectual agendas towards ends that might better serve the discipline and help it realise its potential.
Twining’s optimism, however, does not depend on whether it is possible to show that academic lawyers “shape legal education, that legal education shapes the law, and that law shapes the world.”[30] His optimism therefore does not place him neatly within Arthurs’ ideal type. Twining was at the University of Chicago during the Warren era and he explains that the environment had a profound effect on his thinking about law.[31] Twining did not, however, develop an American faith in the reforming potential of superior courts. Such faith would be misplaced within the English context where judges did not openly engage in dynamic judging practices. Twining instead embraced the complexity of law, concentrating on issues of “colonialism and decolonisation, nationalism, ethnocentrism, world poverty, terrorism and the survival of humankind.”[32] He wrote not to solve any of the problems arising in these areas but to contribute to our factual and theoretical understandings of law’s role in each of them.
Twining’s optimism is grounded in the discipline’s potential to advance scholarly agendas that are firmly anchored in the idea that law is a liberal art, and he believes that when approached as such the discipline will provide richer and more relevant understandings of the place and value of law. Twining’s agenda for the discipline does not depend on the self-aggrandisement of law professors or an exaggeration of law’s potential to bring about social change. Rather, it relies on the idea that law is an ever-present force in people’s lives and that understanding that force and what people do with, or how they are affected by, law, and thinking seriously about the most pressing and problematic issues it presents, is both practically and intellectually useful.
Hopes for the Discipline
This brings me to a second normative assumption underlying most histories of legal education written by academic lawyers: scholars usually craft their narratives based on their hopes for the discipline—what they believe it can or should become.
Twining hopes that the discipline will embrace its identity as a liberal art and that law professors will assume a broader responsibility to educate the general public about law. Both Arthurs and Twining hope that law professors will teach and study law in a way that presents more reliable understandings of legal phenomenon, situating law and legal institutions with broader social and political contexts. Their memoirs explain how and why they reached these positions and their experiences and the personal narratives add weight to those positions.
For those who share, either wholly or partly, Twining’s assumptions about the role of the discipline of law and the importance of individual scholars, these memoirs are important and central. They provide models of what it means to take the discipline and its subject seriously and to lead and teach with the insights gleaned through such seriousness. However, for those optimists who fit neatly within Arthurs’ ideal type, who believe in the transformative potential of law, Twining’s memoir does little to provide an anecdote to Arthurs’ pessimism: that because law does little to shift power relations in society the discipline will always be a marginal and insignificant social and political player. Twining suggests that law is an important force in peoples’ lives but he does not explain the empirical or other foundation for his faith in the potential of legal education to improve the way people experience law. If Arthurs pessimism is well founded, doesn’t this make Twining’s prescriptions for legal education seem trivial in the grander scheme of things?
‘Law and context’ or ‘law and society’ scholarship has argued that the market, class, race, professional socialisation, and new technology, are far more important than law schools and ethical codes in the operation of the legal profession.[33] The body of work showing either the futility of law in effecting major changes in social and political orderings, or how law reform often brings about unexpected and unintended changes, has also grown. To give one example, Lorraine Talbot recently made a compelling argument, based on historical and contextual studies, that the reform of corporate law, cannot address, even partially, the inequalities brought about by the concentration of wealth in corporations and she suggests that law is an ineffective instrument for social mobility.[34]
Arthurs notes that legal scholars tend to ignore these inconvenient truths. Yet it is peculiar that neither Arthurs nor Twining more substantially connect these studies with their arguments about legal education.[35] And neither fully explain why they both reject root and branch reform and maintain faith in Western democracies. These omissions obscure and weaken the normative foundations of their memoirs and, in particular, the force of Twining’s prescriptions. Put simply, their hopes for the discipline seem to rest more on faith than fact or reason. It also means that neither memoir confronts the most damning criticisms made of various educational models of their time, often found in the work of critical and feminist legal scholars.[36] These scholars argued that law’s liberal foundations worked against, rather than for, an equal and just society. While these critiques may not have been central to Twining and Arthurs’ thinking and careers, they merit a central place in any social and intellectual history of 20th century legal education, especially one written in the present age where similar trains of critical questioning are again gaining traction.
A further problem with both memoirs, and perhaps memoirs in general, is that they do little to investigate what Twining and Arthurs have meant to others. Both Twining and Arthurs are known the world over yet both are reticent when it comes to assessing their impact on ‘law and context’ studies in law in the 20th century.[37] Instead both see themselves as marginal influences on the discipline whose main prescriptions have largely gone ignored. Both are clearly humble but the absence of these details weakens the insights that these books can shed on the history of the discipline. Both books are perhaps better viewed as arguments–very important, fully examined and nicely illustrated arguments–that may buoy the field in difficult times and reignite convictions about the importance of contextual and empirical approaches to law. To put it another way, in the meshing of lawyerly and historical perspectives in these works, the identity of lawyer or jurist prevails.
Personal Toll
For those who, like me, share Twining and Arthurs’ frustrations over the discipline of law, these memoirs engagingly present the ideas and arguments of powerful allies. They make bold assessments that others may be hesitant to make (at least publicly). Their experiences suggest that the reasons for the marginalisation of their approaches to law cannot be explained through a lack of effort or intelligence. Their brilliance and devotion to the discipline is unmistakable. Their memoirs suggest that their marginalisation was due to their early revolts against the status quo, the bringing in of ideas from very different contexts, the rise of powerful analytical philosophers and the tendencies of academic lawyers to deal in specific instances and eschew empirical and historical evidence.
For those of us who are not white men embarking on legal careers during a time of considerable growth and opportunity, there are of course limitations to what we can draw from these accounts. Some aspects of the memoirs may even prove alienating. Diverse perspectives—other accounts and stories of ideas, disappointments, personal struggles and victories—are undoubtedly necessary. This brings me to a further shortcoming of Twining and Arthurs’ memoirs. Neither speak much about the personal toll of various scholarly debates and arguments and, for Twining, his movement to various institutions. Arthurs’ acknowledges how throughout his career he changed tact many times, revising the central premises underlying his work and career, but he says little about feelings of angst or insecurity. Twining, as part of his efforts to release English legal theory from the hold of Oxford analytical philosophy, sought to engage with the analytical legal theorist who most helped it prosper throughout the second half of the twentieth century: Dworkin. Twining explains how his attempts to engage with Dworkin were rebuffed (“intellectually he ignored me”) and suggests simply that he did not mind very much.[38] Twining mentions challenges throughout his time at Warwick Law School, particularly during his time as Chairman where there was political turmoil due in part by radical spirits both within and outside the law school and university, but he does not reveal how any of them ignited anger, frustration, sadness, disappointment or a sense of determination.[39] He simply points to the toll it took on his ability to do research. Twining and Arthurs persisted despite considerable resistance but neither book provides an insight into their personal disposition or struggles. Their progression seems effortless and in this sense we are left in some doubt over whether they really had clay feet.[40]
Does this matter? Nicola Lacey, who writes the foreword to Twining’s memoir, has been at the centre of debates within the discipline about whether the personal lives, struggles and feelings of self-doubt should be included in life history of a legal scholar.[41] In her own work on Hart, Lacey could include such details as she was given access to a large number of Hart’s personal diaries and papers that divulged some of his inner-most thoughts about his work, friendships and family. While the broader context surrounding, and motivations underpinning, a piece of scholarly work may, arguably, provide further insight into the meanings of a particular text and provide new interpretations, it is harder to make the argument that details of an academic lawyer’s sexuality, relationships with family, colleagues and students and mental health, for example, will achieve the same end. Lacey’s work does, however, suggest that an academic lawyer’s personal disposition and life circumstances can help explain how they make choices about the type of questions to ask and the body of knowledge and methods used to answer them. As I have explained elsewhere “Lacey’s narrative suggests that Hart’s decision to pursue analytical jurisprudence arose from an insecurity about his own abilities as a philosopher, the aura surrounding linguistic philosophy at Oxford and a perceptiveness that colonising law with philosophy would be to both his career’s and the discipline’s mutual advantage.”[42]
Including these types of personal details matters, I believe, for three reasons. First, leaving out the personal angst and range of emotions limits our appreciation of the personal toll that accompanies going against the status quo and how attitudes and emotions play a significant part in an academic lawyers’ choice of subject and field of inquiry. It also limits our ability to develop a personal if one sided connection with each figure. Second, any subsequent life and intellectual biographer writing about Twining and Arthurs may now feel that in doing so they are breaching trust. Their memoirs suggest that both men considered that these are areas of their lives and careers that aren’t worthy of further scrutiny and should be left alone. Third, by largely leaving out aspects of their personal disposition and personal circumstances, this discourages a fuller explanation of the role gender plays in an academic career. Neither Twining nor Arthurs say much about the role that gender played in shaping the form and content of legal knowledge or how it was a central explanatory factor for their success within it. Their memoirs convey clearly their efforts to open up and diversify the discipline–to bring in and mix together a range of ideas and experiences. However, neither bring to the surface aspects of the masculine environment–the networks, the attitudes, the jokes, the role of wives and topics of conversation–which worked in their favour, and against women. These contextual factors are crucial to any understanding of the history of the discipline and law schools.
Conclusion
We are currently living in a time when there is so much talk of disruption within both the discipline and the profession. Academic careers are highly competitive and sought after. At the same time, in many quarters law does not enjoy the status and prestige it once took for granted, with graduates finding it increasingly difficult to secure employment and leaders of government and industry openly discouraging young people from studying law. There are also growing and considerable concerns that managerial trends and the ‘knowledge economy’ have led universities away from what ought to be their primary occupations, illustrated by a rise in allegations of institutional corruption.[43] Learning about how others have stayed true to their core beliefs seems more important than ever. One hopes that the discipline will be transformed by the efforts of law professors who hold a strong sense of intellectual excitement, who are committed to their vocation and who try to act with integrity, testing their assumptions and beliefs and considering a broad range of people who may be affected by their efforts. While Twining and Arthurs are strong exemplars of this approach, it falls to the current generation to revisit the basis of their own optimism or pessimism for the discipline and think seriously about how contextual approaches to teaching and studying law–including historical studies–both engage with inconvenient truths and respond to present realities.
[1] William L. Twining, Jurist in Context–A Memoir(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019); Harry W. Arthurs, The Life of an Academic Lawyer–Connecting the Dots(Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2019),138.
[2] See, for example, how Twining sought to push against parochialism by bringing to the fore a range of ‘Southern’ jurists writing on human rights, from Sudan, Kenya and India: Twining, Jurist in Context, 267 and 269 and further discussion in William Twining and David Sugarman, “Jurist in Context: William Twining in Conversation with David Sugarman” Journal of Law and Society 47, no. 2 (2020): 217.
[3] Twining, Jurist in Context, 160.
[4] ‘Academic lawyers’ is Twining’s descriptor.
[5] Twining, Jurist in Context, xviii.
[6] Ibid.,xv.
[7] Ibid.,103.
[8] Ibid 102.
[9] Ibid., 221, 226.
[10] Consultative Group on Research and Education in Law, Law and Learning: Report to the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada(Ottawa: Minister of Supply and Services, 1983).
[11] Roderick A. MacDonald and Thomas McMorrow, “Decolonizing Law School” Alberta
Law Review 54, no. 4 (2014): 720-21.
[12] Arthurs, The Life of an Academic Lawyer, 57.
[13] Ibid., 123.
[14] Ibid., 120. He does, however, fit squarely within Twining’s definition of a legal theorist.
[15] See, for example, the twenty-eight contributions made by eminent scholars to a recent work honouring Arthurs: The Daunting Enterprise of the Law–Essays in Honour of Harry W Arthurs, ed. Simon Archer, Daniel Drache and Peer Zumbansen (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2017).
[16] Susan M. Bartie, Free Hands and Minds–Pioneering Australian Legal Scholars(Oxford: Hart Publishing, 2019), 2-6, 269-272; Susan M. Bartie, “Histories of Legal Scholars–The Power of Possibility,” Legal Studies34 (2014): 305-327; Susan Bartie, “Towards a History of Law as an Academic Discipline,” Melbourne University Law Review38 (2014): 444-481.
[17] Deborah Rhode, “Legal Scholarship,” Harvard Law Review115 (2002): 1330.
[18] W. Wesley Pue, “Common Law Legal Education in the Dominion of Canada’s Moral Project” in Lawyers’ Empire–Legal Professions and Cultural Authority, 1780-1950, ed. W. Wesley Pue(Vancouver: UBC Press, 2016): 148-184.
[19] Bartie, “Towards a History,” 451-452.
[20] For a strong argument for the need for more and better histories and empirical studies of the culture of legal education see Adrien Habermacher, Institutional Cultures and Legal Education at Select Canadian Law Faculties(Faculty of Law, McGill University Montreal, August 2019).
[21] Arthurs, The Life of an Academic Lawyer, 137-138.
[22] For similar arguments see: David Sugarman, “Is the reform of legal education hopeless? Or, seeing the hole instead of the doughnut” Modern Law Review, 48 (1985) 731; William L. Twining, Blackstone’s Tower: The English Law School(London: Sweet and Maxwell, 1994), 24.
[23] “Here’s the question I’m left with, then. How do I deal with the fact that much of my hard work has gone for naught, and that whatever apparent success I achieved in changing people’s thinking, the direction of public policy, or the function of public institutions, has proved transitory?” Arthurs, The Life of an Academic Lawyer, 137.
[24] Ibid., 128-130 (“transforming”),131 (“progressive causes…”).
[25] Ibid., 136-137.
[26] Ibid., 98-99, 137.
[27] Ibid., 138.
[28] In England legal scholars have largely been viewed as a threat to the establishment and kept in their place, treated as mere handmaidens to the profession. In contrast, US legal scholars at elite law schools obtained considerable status in the late 19th and early 20th century. See David Sugarman, “A Special Relationship? American Influences on English Legal Education, c 1870-1965” (2011) 18 International Journal of the Legal Profession, 18 (2011)7.
[29] Twining, Jurist in Context, xiv.
[30] Arthurs, The Life of an Academic Lawyer, 137-138.
[31] The ‘Warren era’ is the period in the US when Chief Justice Earl Warren led the US Supreme Court (1953-1969). During this period the majority of judges on the court took a dynamic and progressive approach to constitutional interpretation. Twining, Jurist in Context, ch 4.
[32] Twining, Jurist in Context, 211.
[33] See, eg, James R. Faulconbridge and Daniel Muzio, “Financialization by Proxy: The Case of Large City Law Firms,” in The Futures of Legal Education and the Legal Profession, eds. Hilary Sommerlad, Sonia Harris-Short, Steven Baughan and Richard Young (Oxford: Hart Publishing Bloomsbury, 2015) 37-60; Susan Carle, “Race, Class and Legal Ethics in the Early Naacp (1910-1920) Law and History Review 20 (2002) 97. Seminal works in this field include Stuart A. Scheingold, The Politics of Rights: Lawyers, Public Policy, and Political Change (Michigan: University of Michigan Press, 2004, 2nd ed); Marc Galanter, “Why the ‘Haves’ Come out Ahead: Speculations on the Limits of Legal Change,” Law and Society Review 9 (1974) 95.
[34] Lorraine Talbot, “Trying to Save the World with Company Law? Some Problems,” Legal Studies 36 (2016): 513.
[35] Arthurs, The Life of an Academic Lawyer, 133-134; Richard Abel explains that Marc Galanter received a similar reaction to his seminal work “Why the “Haves” Come out Ahead”: Richard Abel, “How Marc Galanter Became Marc Galanter,” DePaul Law Review 62 (2013) DePaul Law Review: 560-561.
[36] Twining is largely dismissive of critical legal scholars, referring to it as ‘a movement that developed ‘trashing’ and deconstruction into an art’ and does not explain or engage with feminist legal theory at all, only mentioning its existence very briefly. Twining, Jurist in Context, 87, 164, 242, 250. Arthurs is a little more measured but devotes only two pages to explaining the movement and his reaction to it: Arthurs, Arthurs, The Life of an Academic Lawyer, 126-127.
[37] See, eg, Archer, Drache and Zumbansen, The Daunting Enterprise; Law’s Ethical, Global and theoretical Contexts: Essays in Honour of William Twining, ed. Upendra Baxi, Christopher McCrudden and Abdul Pailwala (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015); “Symposium in honour of William Twining,” International Journal of the Legal Profession 18 (2011) (which includes an introduction by Harry Arthurs who describes Twining as ‘the most influential figure in British legal education of the last half-century’ (3-5).
[38] Twining, Jurist in Context, 209-212.
[39] Ibid 147-158, 160-161.
[40] An expression used by David Sugarman to explain one aspect of Nicola Lacey’s contribution to our understanding of HLA Hart: David Sugarman, “From Legal Biography to Legal Life Writing: Broadening Conceptions of Legal History and Socio-Legal Scholarship,” Journal of Law and Society 42 (2015): 20.
[41] See eg James Allen, “A Life of HLA Hart: The Nightmare and the Noble Dream,” Ontago Law Review 11 (2006): 327; Jeanne L. Schroeder, “Beautiful dreamer: review of A Life of HLA Hart: The Nightmare and the Noble Dream,” University of Colorado Law Review 77 (2006): 803; David Dyzenhaus “A Life of HLA Hart: The Nightmare and the Noble Dream” Journal of Legal Education 55 (2005): 606; G. Edward White, “Getting close to HLA Hart’ Melbourne University Law Review 29 (2005): 317; Thomas Nagel, “The Central Question,” London Review of Books 27(3) (2005) 12.
[42] Bartie, “Histories of Legal Scholars”, 321.
[43] Margaret Thornton has created a volume of empirical studies to support this argument: Margaret Thornton, Privatising the Public University, The Case of Law (New York: Routledge, 2012). For a recent Australian example, see the Four Corners investigation into the treatment of international students, Cash Cows, Aired 6 May 2019, Australian Broadcasting Association.