During the early days of the second French Republic a customer entered a
bookseller’s and asked: “Have you a copy of the French Constitution?” “We
do not,” the bookseller politely replied, “deal in periodical literature.”
Now, to any student of history such a story is a sure indication of the
time of which it is told. He need not inquire to know that the time was
one of revolution, change, and unsettlement. He also knows the mind of the
people of that time, for insecure conditions beget a nervous, restless
fear. And these things are significant. They reveal a quality of
constitution-making that is not always, or easily, remembered. For
whatever changes may proceed in legislation—however many and rapid they
be—as long as the Constitution, written or unwritten, remains intact, the
State at least is stable and its foundations are secure.
Plainly, therefore, nothing should be written into a Constitution that is
of a temporary, experimental, or questionable nature, or which should fall
to the lot of ordinary law-making and the changing convenience of
practice. A Constitution is that which is permanent, as far as anything in
this world may be permanent. Even to amend it, or add to it, requires in
all countries (except England, where the Constitution has not taken a
written form) a procedure quite different from that of ordinary
legislation. To change it, or recast it, requires a revolution. Such a
revolution may not be accompanied by bloodshedding, or it may, but it is
certainly accompanied by insecurity and unsettlement.
It should, therefore, be the business of constitution-makers to prescribe
only what to them is fundamental and irrefutable; to lay down the secure
foundations of their State; and to leave all other matters to the
experience of the nation, without seeking to shackle that experience by
provisions that time may not commend. Otherwise, a convulsion may be
necessary to get done what ordinary legislation could have accomplished
without affecting the stability of the State.
This, then, is the first definition of a Constitution, that it contains
the Fundamental Law of a State, and only the Fundamental Law. In England
there is no such thing as a Fundamental Law. It is claimed by English
constitutional lawyers that this is because Parliament is sovereign; but
the historical truth is that in England Parliament exercises a sovereignty
in fact which the King is supposed to exercise in theory; and any attempt
to make the theory square with the fact by the writing of a Fundamental
Law would lead, perhaps, to a surprising situation.
Yet in England certain fundamental rights are recognised, with which
Parliament would not lightly tamper; and these amount in effect to a
Fundamental Law, holding a higher rank than ordinary laws. In practically
all other countries such rights are set forth in a document, different
from all other legal documents, inasmuch as unless these other documents
observe the conditions required in the first, and do not conflict with its
provisions, they are null and void. In both sets of documents the laws of
the realm are to be found; but the two sets of laws are of different
sorts. One is fundamental and permanent; the other is by contrast casual
and changeable.
This, then, is the second definition of a Constitution, not only that it
contains the fundamental law of a State, but that it prescribes the manner
in which all other laws must be made, and put limits and restrictions on
all other law-making. In the American phrase, it is a “Frame of
Government.”
In English the words Constitution and Legislation do not carry on their
face the relation of one to the other, and the distinction between them.
In Irish the case is different. In Irish the word for Legislation is
Reacht, and the word for Constitution is Bunreacht—fixed and
foundation legislation. But even the distinction so simply carried on the
face of these words does not complete the relation of one to the other.
For that relation is precise; and consists in the fact that all laws
comprising the Reacht must be built upon the foundation of the
Bunreacht, and must be contained within the fixed limits of the
Bunreacht. The moment they attempt to build elsewhere, or go outside
those limits, that moment they cease to be binding on any citizen; and all
citizens may claim the protection of the courts of law against them.
From this follows the third definition of a Constitution, which is that it
contains the highest and completest sovereign act of a nation. A nation
may confer a Constitution on itself, and that Constitution may contain no
declaration that the people are sovereign; but the fact that the nation
did so make their own Constitution is itself a declaration of sovereignty.
Declarations of sovereignty in the body of a Constitution may be very
wise; and they are always pleasant; but they are not necessary.
Similarly, a nation may make a Constitution for itself, and in that
Constitution confer the chief executive authority on a person to be known
as a king; and that person may be known in name as a sovereign; but the
fact that he derives his power from the Constitution is evidence that, not
he, but the people, are sovereign. His is only a sovereign name; theirs is
the sovereign reality.
Such Constitutions were made in 1814 by Norway, in 1830 by Belgium, and
only last year by “Jugo-Slavia.” In the last case the kingly line already
existed before the Constitution was framed, and an oath was prescribed in
it, according to which the King swore “to maintain the Constitution
intact.” In the first two cases the kingly lines were not chosen until the
Constitutions had been framed, when the chosen dynasties stepped into the
places appointed for them, and carried out the functions defined for them.
In each case, however, the authority of the king sprang, not from the
divine right of kings, but from the divine right of the people, as set
forth in the sovereign act of giving themselves a Constitution.
How different the power of kings such as these from the power of the
French monarch who in the 18th century declared, “L’Etat, c’est moi”—“I
am the State.” He was right. He was sovereign. Sovereignty had to reside
somewhere; and until the people arose and declared that it resided in
them, and expressed that declaration in a formal Constitution, it
continued to reside in the ruler who claimed it.
When, however, in 1787, the thirteen American States “ordained and
established a Constitution” for their Union, then in the modern world the
people came by their own. France quickly followed the example, but as a
result of the wars which followed the world was thrown back into reaction.
Throughout the 19th century, however, the statement of democratic
sovereignty as a fundamental law of the State found expression in
Constitution after Constitution; with the result that now, in modern
practice, the existence of a Constitution is practically identical with a
statement of national sovereignty.
There has hitherto been one chief exception; and that exception is of
striking interest at the present time. For within the British Empire the
theory has been that there is only one sovereign assembly, the Parliament
at Westminster. It is true that the Constitutions of Canada, Australia and
South Africa were each drawn up by Constituent Conventions in the
countries themselves; but by the prevalent theory none of these peoples
were competent to confer these Constitutions upon themselves. They were
not, that is to say, sovereign; and before the Constitutions they devised
therefore could come of effect they had to be passed as Imperial Acts by
the Parliament at Westminster.
Yet that also has now changed. Ireland has wrought the change; and the
deep influence of that change cannot be foretold. For the Dail elected to
pass the Constitution will act, not as a Constituent Convention, but as a
Constituent Assembly. It will not only devise the Constitution, with the
present Constitution before it as a Bill for discussion, but, having
devised it, will prescribe it; and thus, through their elected
representatives, the people of Ireland will have conferred it on
themselves as their Fundamental Law.
That is a sovereign act; and that act will differ in no degree from a
similar act by any other sovereign people. From this, however, one last
consideration follows; and, though it is simple, it is not usually
remembered. For if the passing of a Constitution is an act of full
sovereignty, and if that Constitution, being a Fundamental Law, restricts
and limits all future law-making, then the assemblies to come which will
pass those future laws will not be sovereign.
They will not be able to do what they will, and they will not be able to
act as they will, for they must obey the requirements and act within the
limits of the Constitution, as prescribed by the first Assembly, which
alone was of full sovereignty. For this reason every nation has gone to
great care to choose persons of special competence for the body which is
to act as a Constituent Assembly—the body, indeed, which is to act as the
first, and, so long as that Constitution shall remain, the last Sovereign
Assembly of the nation. The act of prescribing a Constitution being the
highest act that a nation can make, care has always been taken to make it
the fullest and the freest. For, once done, it cannot be undone, except at
great trouble, and perhaps as the result of great convulsion.
To draw up a plan is almost inevitably to express a philosophy. In shaping
the sequence and proportion of the parts which are to comprise the whole,
the trick of the mind will out; and it is in that trick of the mind that,
ultimately, all philosophies are contained. Perhaps there are few who,
after consideration, would deny this in all the ordinary (greater or
lesser) concerns of life; but many will think it strange in a matter so
dry as the drafting of a Constitution. Yet even in the drafting of a
Constitution it will be found equally true.
A Constitution may be likened to a pyramid, the apex of which is the
Executive Authority, and the base the People. The first question that
therefore at once arises is, where shall one begin first with this
pyramid? But before this question can be answered, another must first be
met; and it is, whether the base is hung from the apex, or whether the
apex rests on the base? What relation has the Executive Authority (whether
kingly, presidential or consular) to the People, and the People to the
Executive Authority; and which, names and titles apart, is ultimately the
Sovereign? These are ripe questions; and only in the making of the plan
can they be answered.
I have already shewn that the writing of a Constitution is itself evidence
that the people are sovereign, even though no statement to that effect is
included in the writing. But when one comes to look in the Constitutions
of the world it is curious to note the persistence with which that truth
is overlooked. The Canadian Constitution, for example, having provided for
the Union of Provinces by which the Federation was created, begins at once
with the statement that “the Executive Government and authority of and
over Canada is hereby declared to continue and be vested in the Queen.”
Nothing has been said about a Legislature—nothing about the people of
Canada. The Constitution begins at once with an Executive Authority which
nothing has brought into being, and which therefore exists of its own
right, original and indefeasible, all things else in the Constitution
depending from it. The pyramid is hung from heaven, for the philosophy of
the plan is to be found in the mediaeval myth of the Divine Right of
Kings.
The Constitution of Canada consequently proceeds downwards from that apex
to the Legislature; and in that Legislature, according to the philosophy,
the Senate comes before the Commons. “There shall,” it says, “be one
Parliament for Canada, consisting of the Queen, an Upper House, styled the
Senate, and the House of Commons.” As for the base, it is found nowhere at
all. The interest is exhausted before it is reached; and the People are
not mentioned.
I have taken the Canadian Constitution because it is specially mentioned
in the present draft of the Constitution of Saorstat Eireann; but the
same supposition is found in many other constitutions, such as those of
Denmark, Sweden, South Africa. In them are to be found the relics of the
mediaeval theory of government, of a divine authority conferred on a
family, which therefore ruled of its own right; and of its own grace
summoned the subjects of that authority for counsel and advice. Therefore
in these constitutions it is assumed that the sovereignty is above and the
subjection below—even though no one to-day supposes that the practical
facts are what they assume them to be.
In the Irish Constitution, as in most modern constitutions, this order is
inverted. The sovereignty is below, and the subjection is above. Never
once throughout the Irish Constitution (either in its original or its
present form) are the people once considered as subjects, but always as
sovereign citizens. The pyramid is based on the broad earth, in the divine
right of the people; and a beginning is therefore made with the base,
proceeding upward to the apex. The plan in fact is reversed because the
philosophy is different.
The Constitution of Saorstat Eireann begins with the people, and with a
statement of the sovereignty of the people. “All powers of Government,” it
says in Article 2, “and all authority, legislative, executive and
judicial, are derived from the people and the same shall be exercised in
Saorstat Eireann through the organisations established by or under, and
in accord with, this Constitution.” In this Constitution, therefore, the
people of Ireland establish their own right, original and indefeasible,
and all things and persons and institutions named or created by or under
it depend from them. That is in the present, as it was in the original,
draft. Whatever institution or organisation is established to act on their
behalf, acts under an authority conferred by them; and in accord with the
specific bestowal of that authority; and not otherwise. Whatever person or
power is named, is named to act on their behalf; acts under the same
authority; in accord with the specific bestowal of that authority; and not
otherwise. The people confer of their own right; and what they may confer
they may withdraw. If the authority they confer be abused or transgressed,
it ceases thereupon to have any sanction or reverence, and possesses no
binding effect. That is to say, in the terms of my figure, the apex of the
pyramid rests on the base, is hung from no mythical divine right of kings,
and has no support outside the people of Ireland.
The people, consequently, are citizens of a free state, not the subjects
of authority. It is necessary, therefore, at once to state who are the
citizens of this state, and what constitutes their citizenship. This the
next article proceeds to define. In this article the whole question of
future citizenship is referred to legislation. It properly belongs to
legislation, since it includes a number of complex matters and details
quite unsuited to a Constitution. Yet there must be an original
citizenship, otherwise the service of the state could not begin. Article
3, therefore, states what constitutes the original citizenship of Saorstat
Eireann; and leaves all matters “governing the future acquisition and
termination of citizenship” to be “determined by law,” making it a
constitutional provision, however, that “men and women have equal rights
as citizens.” And Article 4 provides that the official language of that
citizenship shall be the Irish language.
From these original citizens, and from whomever shall be admitted to
citizenship in the future, all the authority of the State derives under
the Constitution. They are the base of the pyramid, and it is they who in
the Constitution (according to the plan on which it is framed) confer on
certain persons and organisations definite powers of Government in
Ireland. But the authority which can confer, can also withhold; and from
the powers which they grant, certain matters are withheld. For there are
matters which comprise the fundamental rights of their sovereignty, with
which no Government created by them can interfere. If the Government had
existed, or had claimed to have existed, of its own original right, it
could, being itself sovereign, have acted as it pleased; and in past times
it did so. But since Government under the Constitution exists only by
reason of an authority conferred by a sovereign people, these Fundamental
Rights of their sovereignty are kept apart; and no authority—legislative,
executive or judicial—and no power of Government is conceded the right to
touch them.
Therefore in the first section of the Constitution, where the original
authority of the people is stated, certain matters are withheld. They are
described as Fundamental Rights. The liberty of the Person, the
Inviolability of the Dwelling, Freedom of Conscience and the Free Practice
and Profession of Religion, the Free Expression of Opinion, Free
Assembly, Free Association, Free Elementary Education, and the
Inalienability of Natural Resources, are each dealt with in successive
articles as forming the essentials of these rights. Before any powers are
conferred, before any organisations or institutions of Government are
created, these matters are put to one side and reserved. They belong to
the people. None shall interfere with them. The people are sovereign, and
they so decide.
Such is the plan, for such is the philosophy. The first section of the
Constitution, therefore, includes what may be described as the base of the
pyramid, resting on the soil of Ireland and established in the right of
the People of Ireland. From that base the pyramid is built up toward the
Executive Authority, in section by section, giving the logical order in
which power is derived. Each section is based on that which precedes it;
for the order is the same as in the original draft, and therefore the plan
is preserved.
All powers of Government may derive from the people, but the people cannot
of themselves govern themselves. In simple small communities the people
may gather together and frame the manner of their government from meeting
to meeting (and only then when ancient custom has given them the practice
and expectation of such assemblies); but among nations for a people to
discipline and rule themselves it is necessary that they bestow recognised
and definite powers of government on representatives of their choice. Such
representatives, to be sure, have a habit of conceiving that they are
rulers of their own right. Cases have even been known where they have
endeavoured to obstruct the right of the people to depose them. But the
truth is that such representatives are merely a convenience. They are a
people’s instruments, and no more. Without them the achievement of a
common agreement, and the formulation of laws based on that common
agreement, would prove so cumbersome as to be impossible. A people must
therefore tolerate them with good humour; and keep them under proper
control. And when such representatives have been chosen, they together
form an organised body for the making of laws, and for the supervision and
control of the execution of such laws.
Obviously, then, once a Constitution has stated the sovereign source of
all authority, and defined the fundamental rights of that sovereignty, it
is essential that it should prescribe the manner in which laws shall be
made for the peace, order and good government of the whole people. The
second section of the Constitution, therefore, deals with the Legislative
Provisions of the State. The most important of these, manifestly, is the
creation of an organisation of representatives; but, owing to the tendency
of representatives to arrogate powers to themselves, of late years the
peoples of many States have insisted on a direct voice in the checking,
and even in the making, of laws. This direct voice has been exerted by
means of two instruments known generally as the Referendum and the
Initiative. Wherever these prevail, the Assembly of Representatives is
given only a limited power in the making of laws, the sovereign authority
reserving to itself a constant and continuous control over its action. And
in our Constitution both these instruments are given a place. For it is a
sound rule that the people are generally better than their
representatives—wiser of counsel, more disinterested of judgment—and it
is therefore provided in the Constitution that there shall be an Assembly
of Representatives, but that the people may require of that Assembly that
laws be referred to them for final decision, or that laws be made to suit
their desire.
The most important part of these legislative provisions, however, is the
setting up of a National Assembly, or Synod, to be known as the
Oireachtas. This is to be formed of two Houses, Dail Eireann and Seanad
Eireann. There are many powerful arguments against the two-chamber system.
In the end they all resolve themselves into a question of ultimate
responsibility. In a simple illustration, if there be one thimble and one
pea, it is easy enough to know where the pea is. But directly a second
thimble is brought up beside the first, the difficulty of placing the pea
becomes at once a problem. On the other hand, the arguments in favour of a
second-chamber system also resolve themselves into a question of
responsibility. For if there is only one chamber, without a second to
check it and act together with it, there is, it is argued, a greater
likelihood of its acting in an irresponsible manner, and of its running
into hasty, ill-advised legislation. Its members, having acquired the
habit of concerted action, may moreover strike a bargain behind the
people’s back, even while preserving all the forms of opposition and
discussion. With the two instruments of the Referendum and the Initiative
in operation this danger is less likely, provided that the people be
sufficiently alert. Yet it exists. In most countries, therefore, two
chambers are the rule; and in our Constitution it is provided that there
shall be two chambers, care being taken to fix responsibility ultimately
in the first in case of doubt or delay.
Given two chambers, the difficulty is the creation of the Second Chamber.
The First Chamber causes little difficulty, and is mainly a matter, not
for the Constitution, but for an Electoral Law. The Second Chamber is a
matter for the Constitution. Indeed, the question and creation of a Second
Chamber, and the formation of the Executive Power, are the two foremost
problems for the making of every Constitution. The first difficulty is to
find for the Second Chamber a sufficient constituency, and the second
difficulty is to find for it a proper function; and both these problems
are essentially matters for the Constitution of a State. To answer both of
them satisfactorily is the difficulty; and an examination of the
constitutions of other countries reveals that in few cases have they been
answered even to general satisfaction.
As for the constituency, it is clear that this cannot be the same as for
the first chamber, otherwise the two Houses are simply repetitions. That
is one consideration to be remembered. There is another. For from earliest
times mankind has desired to call into its special councils those who have
distinguished themselves in the conduct of its affairs. Folk may disagree
with such persons, but they defer to them and hear them. What may be
called the Senatorial Person is a recognised factor in the history of all
nations. In the push and jostle of entry to the First House—where special
and local interests are represented—such a Senatorial Person is most
likely to be thrust aside, even if he or she be inclined to mingle in the
fray. He is consequently lost to the councils of the nation. How shall a
place be found for him or for her; and when the place is found, what shall
be the measure of his or her counsel?
Other nations have answered these problems in divers ways. None has
answered them as they are answered in the Constitution of Saorstat
Eireann. For it is clear that if there is to be a Second Chamber, the
right place for such a Senatorial Person is in that Second Chamber, since
only thus is it possible to avoid making one chamber a mere copy of the
other. In some countries, therefore, the Second Chamber is composed of
persons on whom a title has been conferred—and on their children who
succeed to that title. In other countries the Second Chamber is created by
nomination—with at least the ostensible wish that only Senatorial Persons
will be appointed. Both these methods have led to corruption. Both,
moreover, have led to one fatal fault. For Second Chambers are mainly of
value at times when the First Chamber is likely to rush to a mistake; and
at such times no people are inclined to give careful heed to the counsel
of persons whom they have not themselves chosen to give that counsel. They
may be exactly such persons as they themselves would have chosen; but the
fact that they did not choose them, the fact that they came there by the
accident of birth, or the power of money, robs them of authority just when
their authority is most required.
For this reason, the people’s own choice of Senators is necessary to their
efficiency and authority. In countries formed out of a Confederation this
difficulty is evaded by the creation of the Senate from the Federated
States, while creating the First Chamber directly from the whole people.
But where there are no Federated States the people’s direct bestowal of
authority cannot be evaded if friction and loss of strength are to be
avoided. Thus one returns to the original problem, which is, how the
people shall choose a Senate which will not be a copy of the Chamber of
Deputies, and how the Senatorial Person will find his way to the councils
of the nation, bringing with him an unanswerable authority.
Our Constitution meets this by making the whole country one constituency
for the election of the Senate. The Deputies are elected from localities
where they are known, and the special interests of which they are
qualified to represent. Over those interests the major interest of the
whole nation stands guard. It would be possible for persons to enter the
Chamber of Deputies who are not known outside their own localities, but
who are qualified to represent those localities. But by making the entire
country one constituency for the election of the Senate, no merely local
interest will have power to secure election. And thus it will be possible
to find a place for the Senatorial Person from, as the Constitution reads,
“citizens who have done honour to the nation by reason of useful public
service, or who, because of special qualifications or attainments,
represent important aspects of the nation’s life.” These persons are to be
elected by Proportional Representation; and in order that the business of
election shall not prove too cumbersome it is appointed that one-fourth of
the Senate shall retire every three years, and that before each election a
list shall be prepared by both Houses consisting of at least three times
as many persons as there are vacancies to be filled.
Such form the two Houses of the Oireachtas. Their relation to one another
is carefully defined. The Seanad is created as an advisory and delaying
body, and the ultimate responsibility is given to the Dail. But endowed,
as it is, with so strong an authority, vested in it by the entire nation
voting as a whole, it is unlikely that its criticisms and advice can be
neglected. For such criticisms will be furnished in the course of debates
that will be read by the whole people; and behind them there will always
be the possibility of appeal to the whole nation by Referendum, which the
Senate can compel by a three-fifths vote. The Senate and the people,
therefore, are placed in a watchful alliance over the acts and
proceedings of the Dail. Indeed, it is not unlikely that in the future the
Senate and the people (by Referendum) will often be found in practical
alliance against any attempt of the Dail to arrogate power to itself. The
Senate has the power to make it so—a power of greater worth to it, and to
the nation, than any constitutional right arbitrarily to obstruct
legislation or to make legislation abortive.
More is spoken of the two instruments of the Referendum and the Initiative
(particularly the former) than is known about them; for in the countries
where they have been adopted, folk use them and do not talk about them,
and where they have not been adopted folk talk about them with ardour or
with fear but without knowledge. Briefly they may be described as a
retention by the sovereign people of sovereign authority over the making
of laws.
The case is not without an historical parallel. In earlier times in other
states the sovereign was the king, who said, “L’Etat, c’est moi.” He was
therefore the law-maker, by supreme right. He might summon the estates of
his realm—Lords and Commons—to advise and counsel him; and he might,
normally, allow their acts without his interference; but, being sovereign,
he reserved the right to cause those acts to be referred to him for the
final act of his will; and he at all times reserved the right to send a
message to them instructing them to make laws on matters that seemed to
him to require attention. This he did, being the sovereign. His parliament
was the legislature of the State, but he preserved the Referendum and the
Initiative, and held them as his sovereign authority over the authority
deputed to the legislature.
When, however, sovereignty passed to the people, they assumed the
attributes and the functions of that sovereignty. Where once the king’s
person and the king’s dwelling, for example, had been declared to be
inviolable, now (as in our Constitution) the people’s persons and the
people’s dwellings are declared to be inviolable. And where once the king
reserved the right to veto and to initiate legislation, so now (as again
in our Constitution) the people reserve the right to veto and to initiate
legislation. And this is the plain and simple meaning of the two
instruments of the Referendum and the Initiative. Their effect is to shift
sovereignty from the parliament to the people, where the revolutions of
the 17th and 18th centuries shifted sovereignty from the king to the
parliament.
It frequently happens that theories (for whatever they may be worth) are
carried to their logical ends by practical people and not by
theorists—for theory generally lags in the rear of practice. So it
happened in this case. For it was the soberly practical and conservative
people of Switzerland who in modern times first devised the Referendum,
and then the Initiative. Since then they have been adopted in many
countries, chief of which are Belgium, Australia, and many of the American
States; and they appear in most of the constitutions recently adopted in
Europe. But it is in Switzerland that they can most usefully be studied,
for there they have a solid experience of ninety years continuous practice
behind them.
The Referendum came first; and in its modern form was first adopted in the
Constitution of the canton of St. Gall in 1831, the second and third
articles of which read:
Art. 2.—The people of the canton are sovereign. Sovereignty, which
is the sum of all political powers, resides in the whole body of
citizens.
Art. 3.—It results from this that the people themselves exercise the
legislative powers, and every law is submitted to their sanction.
This sanction is the right of the people to refuse to recognise any
law submitted to them, and to prevent its execution in virtue of
their sovereign power.
From St. Gall it spread to each of the other twenty-two cantons, and to
the legislation reserved to the Federal Assembly. Everywhere it is either
compulsory for every law to be submitted to the people by Referendum, or
for laws to be submitted when a given number of electors, within a limited
period of time, have demanded that the Referendum be exercised, some of
the cantons having adopted it in one form and some in another, the
Confederation adopting it in the optional rather than in the obligatory
form. Then, after the Referendum, followed the Initiative with quick pace,
by which the people asserted the right, not merely that laws may be
submitted to them for their approval or rejection, but that a given number
of electors (in writing) may demand that the Legislature proceed without
delay to legislate on any matter that they judge to be of sufficient
importance.
At first sight measures such as these appear to be revolutionary and
drastic. In practice they have proved to be conservative. The mere
existence of the Referendum has proved to be a check on legislation that
might otherwise have been carried by parliamentary manœuvring for
votes. The people, in actual fact, have proved to be both purer and more
conservative than their representatives; and the tendency towards economy
in the expenditure of public moneys has, in the main, been not the least
benefit it has conferred. People are little inclined to study bills
debated in the national assembly when they realise that they are powerless
to change or check the measures it may pass. The power to throw out their
representatives at the next general election is only a limited form of
freedom, and it is illusory in face of the fact that those representatives
are generally chosen by powerful political organisations which take care
to select pliant and obedient tools. Only at times of great crisis does
the wish of the people become vocal; and even then it is more usually
neglected than not. But with the Referendum in their hands (especially
with the Initiative added to it) the will of the people is always present.
The people can hasten legislation where it moves slowly. They can retard
it where it presses too fast ahead. They themselves can make the pace. And
the effect on themselves is that, with this added responsibility, they
take a quick interest in their own concerns. In the first place they break
up the power of political organisations; and in the second place they
themselves become alert and educated citizens, responsible and intelligent
guiders of their own destinies.
Nor are these the imaginings of theory. They are the practical outcome in
every country or state where the Referendum and Initiative have been
adopted. They have especially been the result in Switzerland, where, by
means of the Initiative, the people have insisted on measures being passed
that no political party would have dared to undertake. For there are many
questions that cut clean across all parties, which dare not offend a
majority or a minority, and where therefore the unity of the party comes
before the interest of the nation. But minorities from all parties may
join, and in Switzerland have joined, together to press for their
adoption, with the consequence that the National Assembly has had no
alternative but to frame legislation to deal with them. And when such
legislation has come before the people by the Referendum, the people have
in many cases adopted them.
The presence, therefore, in our Constitution of both the Referendum and
the Initiative is therefore a sign that the people of Ireland are to be
rulers in their own house—not merely as against foreign control, but as
against the dominance of political parties. It means more. It means that
responsibility is now definitely reposed in them. There are provisions
which, in the present draft of the Constitution, could with advantage be
changed. For to require, in Article 43, that a petition from the people of
not less than “one-twentieth of the voters then on the register” is
necessary (in the alternative of a vote of three-fifths of the Senate),
before a measure may be put to the Referendum, is to impose an almost
impracticable, and certainly an extremely difficult, task. It reveals a
fear of the exercise of the Referendum that experience in other countries
does not justify. With the wide franchise allowed in the Constitution, the
tendency will be to play into the hands of political parties, and one of
the purposes of the Referendum is to destroy the power of political
parties. Yet a slight change here may easily be made. And the essential
fact is that the people of Ireland, having asserted the fact of their
sovereignty, and defined its qualities, proceed to exercise its functions
by holding over the Oireachtas the two instruments of the Referendum and
the Initiative.
How will those functions be exercised? It is impossible to say, except
that there is no education like the education of responsibility.
I have likened a Constitution to a pyramid, the base of which is the
People, and the apex the Executive Authority. In all pyramids, it is the
apex that first catches the eye, not the base; yet it is from the base
upward that democratic constitutions are built. Usually it happens in most
countries that the Executive masters the Law-making body, and that the
Law-making body in turn masters the People. It is therefore necessary to
remember, and to emphasise, that the true order is the other way about,
the People being the master of the Law-making body, and the Law-making
body the master of the Executive. In the degree in which that true order
is asserted, and observed, the health of the State is preserved. In the
degree in which it is neglected, or frustrated, there is suspicion,
irritation, discontent. And as it is always the Executive which tends
naturally, where it does not intrigue deliberately, to upset that order,
by gathering all power into its hands, obviously the provisions respecting
the formation and maintenance of Executive Power are the most critical
part of every Constitution.
It was a wise man, and an experienced, who said that it did not matter to
him who had the making of laws, so long as he had the administration of
them. “For forms of government let fools contest,” said the poet; “That
which is best administered is best.” And as the administration of a State
is reposed in the care of the Executive Power, for the most part beyond
the sight of the Law-making Assembly of the people, it is essential that
the Constitution should provide that the Executive should at all times,
and with the utmost flexibility, lie in the control of the Legislature.
Otherwise, whatever safeguards may be provided that laws carry the consent
of the people, the people will in the end find themselves baffled, unable
to track into the thicket of secret decisions the will that they have
elsewhere endeavoured plainly to express.
It is therefore the plain duty of every Constitution to keep the Executive
simple and flexible, responsive always to the will of the Legislature, as
the Legislature should always be responsive to the will of the people.
Crises will arise in the history of every nation when the powers of the
Executive require to be strengthened; and at such times those powers will
be readily conceded. But it is the Legislature and the people which must
decide; and the Constitution must leave them free to do so. It is no part
of the duty of a Constitution to provide for a time of crisis, and to make
that provision fixed and rigid for all later times, when circumstances
will have completely changed.
All that it is the absolute duty of a Constitution to do is to state how
the Executive shall be formed, and to define its responsibility to the
Legislature. The rest may be left to the practice of the future. Certainly
to indulge in experiments in a Constitution respecting so vital a part of
it as the Executive (experiments unlike anything yet attempted in any
Constitution in the world) is an extremely hazardous proceeding. Nor are
such experiments necessary in a Constitution, since they may be tried in
the course of ordinary legislation, and surrendered if they prove
impracticable. It is one thing to experiment—which a Constitution should
allow. It is another thing to be pledged to one’s experiments for
ever—which is what a Constitutional provision is intended to mean.
The experimental nature of the provisions for the Executive in the present
draft of the Constitution is manifest. They are unlike anything in any
Constitution. They are quite unlike the provisions in the Swiss
Constitution, from which the inspiration is supposed to be derived.
Switzerland is a Confederation, consisting of twenty-two sovereign
cantons, where only limited powers are conferred on the federal
authorities. The twenty-two sovereign cantons differ widely in religion,
language, habits and traditions. They are jealous of the federal
authorities, and jealous of one another, and therefore insist that the
Federal Council (which acts as the Executive), as well as the Federal
Assembly, shall be representative directly of the languages, religions and
traditions of different parts of the country. Certain of the larger towns
and cantons, indeed, claim prescriptive rights to the appointment of
members of the Federal Council. This Council, therefore, is appointed for
the whole term of the Assembly by the two chambers of the Assembly sitting
together, and are chosen by the two chambers, as the Constitution says,
“from among all Swiss citizens eligible to the National Council.” The
members of the Council may speak, and propose motions, in both chambers,
but they may not vote in either, for they form a separate institution
outside the Assembly.
It is well to see what are the provisions for the Executive Power under
the Swiss Constitution in order to note how widely the Executive in our
draft differs from them. Good or bad, our draft stands or falls by itself,
and cannot depend from the Swiss example, from which it differs both in
itself and in the circumstance which it is designed to meet. The intention
may be of the noblest; but intentions are only prophecies; and the
Fundamental Law of a Constitution is scarcely the place to commit a whole
people to a prophecy. The intention is to overcome party government, and
is conceived at a time when parties are divided along lines that do not
represent the economic issues that ordinarily influence the course of
legislation. For parties, in so far as parties represent true economic
issues, are a natural and inevitable medium for conducting the government
of a country. Where parties do not represent such issues, but are held
together by unnatural organisations, they do, it is true, obscure the
orderly government of a country. The remedy is to be found, not in an
enforced and arbitrary creation of an Executive, but in the right election
of the Legislature, of which the Executive must be a reflection if the
Legislature is to work harmoniously with it, and keep a constant control
over it. To attempt by arbitrary provisions to create an Executive that
does not accurately and at all times reflect the Legislature (on whatever
party lines that Legislature be composed) is automatically to remove that
Executive from the continuous control of the Legislature. And it is surely
the essential business of a Constitution to insist that that control be
emphasised, not diminished. Otherwise, whatever be the intention, the
Executive will become irresponsible, government will fall into the hands
of rulers who can only with difficulty be removed, and constant friction
will ensue.
Such is the broader line of argument. In detail the Executive provisions
of the present draft seem even less defensible. For authority is reposed
in an Executive Council formed of two parts. Of twelve Ministers, it is
stated, four must be members of the Chamber and eight must not be
members—or, if they were members before, they cannot continue to be
members, and must resign. It is true that on the motion of the President
of the Council these four (who are members of the Chamber) may be
increased to seven; but the draft makes it perfectly clear that according
to the normal procedure under the Constitution the proportions are to be
four and eight; and it is on the normal, not on the exceptional, procedure
that attention must therefore necessarily be laid.
Eight out of twelve Ministers, therefore, are not permitted by the draft
to be, or to remain, members of the Legislature. If they were members
before their appointment as Ministers, they must resign. Consequently,
within a few days of a General Election, bye-elections become necessary in
respect of so many Ministers as were elected as deputies—although other
Ministers who are elected as deputies may continue to remain both as
Ministers and as deputies. The General Election, however, was held under
the Constitution on the principles of Proportional Representation. But
bye-elections, in such a case, cannot be held according to Proportional
Representation. They become a party tussle between two or more candidates.
The first effect of this arrangement, therefore, is to increase the number
of elections, with their confusion and unrest, to create party contests in
their strongest form, and to undo the proportional representation of the
nation in the Legislature. Someone of an entirely different party might be
returned in such a bye-election from the person who resigned on
appointment as Minister; and the representation of minorities be directly
injured as a consequence.
That would be the immediate result. The next to follow would be that the
nation would find itself faced with the danger of an Executive within an
Executive. For the eight external Ministers are to be appointed for the
whole life of that Chamber. They are to be nominated by a Committee itself
specially elected for that purpose. They cannot be removed during the life
of that Chamber unless the Committee finds that they have been guilty of
malfeasance, incompetence or disobedience to the will of the
Chamber—definite sins of omission which are not always easily susceptible
of proof. This is of itself sufficient to remove them from constant
control by the Chamber. But the four internal Ministers are, for some
reason, to be appointed in quite a different manner, and they hold office
by quite a different tenure. They are to be appointed on the nomination of
the President of the Council. They can at any time be removed by an
ordinary vote of the Chamber. They must therefore study the Chamber, and
devise their policies to suit its will, for they are subject to its
constant control.
The whole twelve, it is true, are said to form one single Executive
Council. But what are the chances of this? Is it not only too clear that
the four internal Ministers, since they can be removed by an ordinary vote
(which the eight cannot), will frequently, and in most larger matters,
meet and act separately together in coming to their decisions? Will not
necessity drive them to this? But this would mean at once, not one
Executive Council, but two—one within the other. This is acknowledged to
be a dangerous practice. We know what happened in England when during the
European war a similar practice was adopted, and how soon it became
necessary to change it. And is it not equally clear that they will, and
must, use the majority that keeps them in power to make the eight external
Ministers subservient to their will, if their policies cross, without
calling them into council? For the policies of all Ministers cross, and
inter-cross, and should do so if there is to be a harmonious and healthy
administration, especially in questions and policies of finance.
Ultimately the temptation will always be present to these four internal
Ministers to get subservient persons nominated to the positions to be held
by the eight external Ministers. They themselves will have come to power
by a majority of the Chamber. Of that majority they will be the
acknowledged leaders; and it would be strange if they did not use that
majority to find eight external Ministers to their liking. But where this
happened (as happen it certainly would, in the ordinary human
probabilities of the situation) a very remarkable result would come to
pass, unlike anything in the history of representative government. This
is, that the Four would in practice dictate the Executive policy of the
Eight, but they would not be answerable to the Chamber for the
administrative conduct of those eight departments. They would require what
must be done, but they would not themselves be responsible for the manner
in which it was done, or whether it were done at all. For the Eight would
have been nominated for the life of the Chamber by a special Committee,
they would not be members of the Chamber, they would not be susceptible
to a vote of lack of confidence, but could only be removed when the
Committee which nominated them had found them guilty of some public
misconduct in their administration.
The first result of this amazing separation of executive and
administrative responsibility would be that the Chamber, looking from one
to the other in the attempt to fix the ultimate responsibility, would find
itself with only the vain shadow of control. For the Eight would in theory
be responsible to it, but in practice—certainly on all major matters of
policy—would be directed by the Four. Yet the Four could not be held
responsible for the doings of the Eight. And the second result would be
that the Eight would be little more than Civil Servants. Yet they would
not be Civil Servants. They would neither be Ministers nor Civil Servants,
having neither one kind of responsibility nor the other.
The baffling consequence would be that the Chamber would not only lose
control over the Eight, but, because of the same division between
executive and administrative responsibility, would lose control over the
whole Executive (including the Four) in respect of functions ascribed to
the Eight. It is in the details of administrative practice that the
control of the Legislature is usually most important; and it is in just
these details that, by the division of the Council into two kinds of
Ministers, with different methods of appointment and removal and different
sorts of tenure, that the Chamber will under these provisions have lost
its control. It is true that it would have the remedy of putting out the
Four; but few Chambers, having appointed the head or heads of a
Government, desire to throw them out except on some fundamental, paramount
issue. The remedy might be worse than the evil; and thus, by its
reluctance to take so drastic a step, and by the division of
responsibility, it would lose its continuous control over the Executive
which is the very breath of legislative freedom.
It is unnecessary to point, further, to the danger of nominating a large
part of an Executive under these circumstances through a Committee. It is
notorious that Committees are, or can be made, more easily accessible to
intrigue than larger assemblies. The Chamber itself should be its own
Committee for the selection of Ministers, on the recommendation of the
President of the Council, with whom they would have to work. This
provision still further removes the Executive from the control of the
Chamber. And so the order of responsibility is inverted, which the plan of
the Constitution elsewhere so constantly emphasises. For the People may at
all times, by the Referendum and the Initiative, control the Legislature.
But the Legislature cannot, under these provisions, at all times and so
simply control the Executive. And so control fails just at the point where
authority tends most to arrogate power to itself.
Incidentally, also, the Legislature loses what generally has proved its
greatest source of strength. For the best informed critics of any Chamber
are those who once were Ministers, who appreciate the responsibility of
Ministers, and who temper their words as members with their knowledge and
experience. But, under these provisions, a member who is appointed as one
of the external Ministers ceases to be a Member. If he therefore finds it
incumbent on him to resign, because of disagreement with his colleagues of
the Executive (Inner or Outer), he ceases to be both a Minister and a
Member, and his service and knowledge are lost to the Chamber—not to
speak of the loss of detailed information on the cause of the particular
issue of his resignation, on which the Chamber may wish enlightenment.
Indeed, such a provision as this seems peculiarly arbitrary and
meaningless.
There is, indeed, much virtue in the liberty of the Chamber to appoint as
Ministers persons who may be specially qualified, but who may not be
members. In the jostle at the hustings to enter a Chamber of but two
hundred members it is unlikely that the best ability would always succeed,
if it were so much as willing to share the fray. A Legislature should
therefore not be hampered in the choice of its Executive by restricting
that choice to two hundred persons. If persons, not members of the
Chamber, were appointed as Ministers, clearly they could not vote; but
they could be present, could speak, and could propose motions on behalf of
the Executive of which they were members. But the whole Executive should
share an equal responsibility, and be subject at all times to the
continuous control of the Legislature, of which they are the servants, not
the masters.
The three organic parts of every Constitution are the Legislature, for the
making and enacting of laws, the Executive, for the execution and
administration of laws, and the Judicature, for the interpretation and
enforcement of laws. These three comprise the powers of Government which a
people bestow on certain organisations which they create for that purpose,
in the sovereign act of conferring a Constitution on themselves. The
authority which such organisations shall henceforward exercise in Ireland
derive, under the Constitution, from the people of Ireland; and from no
right or power, pretended or real, existing elsewhere.
The first of these three organic parts, obviously, is the Legislature,
since laws cannot be executed or interpreted until they first exist. The
second, equally obviously, is the Executive, since laws, having come into
existence, must first be put into execution before they can be liable to
interpretation, or before they can be said to require enforcement. But
when a Legislature and an Executive have been brought into existence, as
necessary organisations for a people’s government of themselves, a
Judicial organisation at once becomes necessary. For no law can so be made
as of itself to fit each particular case. Laws, by their nature, are of
general meaning, and must be interpreted to the particular instance where
its construction is questioned. And there is (unhappily) no law that is
not sometimes altogether challenged, and set at defiance, when therefore
the law made by the people at large must be enforced on the individual,
and its defiance punished.
Unfortunately few people regard their Judicature with the same pride of
possession with which they (sometimes) regard the Legislature, and even
the Executive. Even when folk disapprove of their law-makers and their
ministers, they disapprove because they conceive they have acted
mistakenly on their behalf, whereas they conceive of judges as having
acted from a malignancy inborn in them or in the system, with the kind of
disapproval reserved for those who are created and are destined to act
against their behalf. That is—in most countries, and especially in
Ireland—a legacy from evil days, when judges were not the people’s
judges, but whips sent forth through the land by some person who claimed
to be sovereign. With the reversal of sovereignty, however, the judges
become the people’s judges; the courts are the people’s courts, where the
laws of their own making are interpreted; the judicial system is the
people’s system; and it is for the people to insist that this attitude is
observed, not only by them, but by those who interpret the laws and
administer justice. For, under the Constitution, no judge sits in any
court in the land save by an authority bestowed on him by the people, in
the Constitution which they confer on themselves. And it is for the people
to remember that fact; for only by that memory will it be recognised in
the courts themselves—and, indeed, only thus will it deserve to be
recognised there.
It is not, however, necessary that the details of the judicial system
should be worked out in the Constitution. It is not, indeed, desirable
that they should be (a consideration worthy of attention, not alone here,
but in connection with the provisions for the Executive also), for such
details belong to later legislation. All that is required in the
Constitution is the general outline of the Judiciary, and a statement of
its organic relation to the other parts of the powers of government
created under it. How that outline will be completed, and the details of
the organic relation made good, must be dealt with in a subsequent
Judiciary Act, preceded probably by a Judiciary Commission established to
review the whole of the present system and to report to Government on the
changes required. In the meantime the present system will continue,
subject to the principles and plan of the Constitution, which is the law
fundamental to the later Act, and therefore at once of effect in respect
of its general principles and plan.
According to that plan the entire system of courts and titles that derive
from ancient feudal practice is abolished. A new and simple system comes
into existence, comprising a number of courts, civil or criminal, of
original instance and a Court of Final Appeal. The Court of Final Appeal
is to be known as the Supreme Court, and the chief of the courts of first
instance as the High Court. In these courts all cases are entered, and the
Civil Authority of the Nation is made paramount in all circumstances. “The
jurisdiction of Courts Martial,” says Article 69, “shall not be extended
to or exercised over the civil population save in time of war, and for
acts committed in time of war, and in accordance with the regulations to
be preserved by law. Such jurisdiction shall not be exercised in any area
in which the civil courts are open or capable of being held, and no person
shall be removed from one area to another for the purpose of creating such
jurisdiction.” Moreover, soldiers themselves are relieved from Courts
Martial, unless they are on active service, except for purely military
offences. For Article 70 reads: “A member of the armed forces of the Irish
Free State not on active service shall not be tried by any Court Martial
for an offence cognisable by the Civil Courts.”
It may be asked, however, how safeguards such as these, together with the
qualities of sovereignty declared in the Constitution to be the
Fundamental Rights of the people, shall be protected. For it is a
temptation to all governments to find an easy way out of difficulties by
riding roughshod over rights and safeguards, however earnestly they may be
declared. There is only one answer. In the making of constitutions there
can be only one answer. It is that the Judiciary is the People’s
Judiciary, and the third part of the organic whole of Government which the
people create. Article 64, therefore, reads that “the judicial power of
the High Court”—with appeal to the Supreme Court—“shall extend to the
question of the validity of any law having regard to the provisions of the
Constitution.” The Judiciary is the interpreter of laws. It is therefore
the interpreter of the Fundamental Law. And it is therefore the
interpreter of the Fundamental Law and the protector of the Fundamental
Law, as against all other laws of the Legislature that may violate it, not
to say arbitrary acts of the Executive that may neglect it.
It must be so. There is no other way to protect the guarantee of
fundamental rights written carefully in a people’s constitution. Without
some such provision a Constitution might be written in water, and its
guarantees set aside by any powerful executive, or any executive not
instantly answerable to the people’s will. A provision of this kind is,
therefore, a necessary democratic safeguard. It is true that in the United
States the judicial review of the Supreme Court over legislative and
executive acts has led to unfortunate decisions and much acrimonious
discussion. The evils of an institution are always apparent, and no
institution but has its evils. The evils that would have come into
existence had that institution not been there, however, are not apparent.
They are the incalculable part of the bargain; and, being incalculable,
are inevitably neglected in argument. Yet they may prove to be the
overwhelming factor of the argument. So it is in this case. It would be
blindness to neglect it. The mere existence of the Judicial Review in the
United States has unquestionably prevented many an arbitrary act of the
Executive in defiance of the rights ensured by the Constitution; and if
the Supreme Court has, as it undoubtedly has, abused its power of
interpretation, the remedy is, not to sweep away that Judicial Review, and
so to jeopardise the provisions of the Constitution, but to amend the
Constitution in plainer terms, or to amend the Supreme Court. For it is
plain that without Judicial Protection of the Fundamental Law (as the
Judiciary is required to protect, interpret and enforce the ordinary law)
its clearest provisions could be neglected at pleasure.
I may take only one instance. Article 9 of the Constitution protects the
right of free expression of opinion, the right of free assembly, and the
right of forming associations not opposed to public morality. Now it
hardly needs to be said that no Government likes the expression of
opinions hostile to itself. And no Government likes associations formed to
bring its hour to an end. Under the Constitution the minorities of the day
have the honest chance of becoming the majorities of the morrow in a
peaceable manner. But what would be the worth of this honest chance before
a powerful Government unless these protections, these rights of a
sovereign people, were placed in the care of the third institution of the
Constitution, the institution entrusted with the interpretation and
enforcement of laws?
It is true that the Judiciary may abuse its power (since power is nearly
always abused) by interpreting social reform, let us say, to be “opposed
to public morality.” But in this connection, it is right to remember,
first, that judgment is not reserved only to one Court, but to two
Courts—to the High Court, with appeal to the Supreme Court. And it is
right to remember, next, that the people have always in their possession
the instruments of the Initiative and the Referendum, by which they may
require either the Fundamental Law or later laws to be amended to meet
their need. There are, therefore, considerable safeguards in the
Constitution against abuse. Yet, even so, because one-fourth of a
fundamental right may be jeopardised by an abuse of the Judicial Power,
that is no reason why four-fourths should be surrendered to the abuse of
the Executive Power.
Therefore the Judiciary is placed in care of the provisions of the
Constitution, not to imperil but to protect them. The rights conferred in
the Constitution are the People’s rights. The Constitution is the People’s
Constitution. The Judiciary is the People’s Judiciary. It is for the
people, by alert and active citizenship, to make them so in every real
sense.
In the section dealing with the Judiciary one provision lends itself at
once to criticism. It is hostile, on the face of it, to the entire spirit
of the Constitution. It has everywhere created bitterness and irritation
among the other co-equal members of the Commonwealth of Nations, which
Ireland has now joined. If the purpose of life, therefore, is to learn
from experience as one may reasonably believe, in spite of an apparently
united conviction to the contrary, a new State at the outset of its career
would be well advised not to create trouble for the future, and others
would be well advised to honour that quite reasonable wish. And yet in
this provision there lies hid a principle of very great meaning, if it
could be extracted, separated from its feudal lumber, and wrought upon
creatively.
I refer to the provision at the end of Article 65. The article itself
reads:
“The Supreme Court of the Irish Free State shall, with such
exceptions (not including cases which involve questions as to the
validity of any law) and subject to such regulations as may be
prescribed by law, have appellate jurisdiction from all decisions of
the High Court. The decision of the Supreme Court shall in all cases
be final and conclusive, and shall not be reviewed or capable of
being reviewed by any other Court, Tribunal or Authority whatsoever.”
To which, in the present draft, the following apparently contradictory
words are now added:
“Provided that nothing in this Constitution shall impair the right of
any person to petition His Majesty for special leave to appeal from
the Supreme Court to His Majesty in Council or the right of His
Majesty to grant such leave.”
According to this article as it now stands the Supreme Court of the Irish
Free State is the highest court of appeal for all citizens of that State;
but if any citizen, or any corporation, desires to affront the sense of
those amongst whom he, or it, lives, he or it may carry a case elsewhere,
outside the country altogether. This is known as the right of appeal to
the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council. The right is rooted in the
principle of Crown prerogative—a prerogative which has been removed in
the highest questions of life and death, but which apparently exists in
smaller matters, although there too it has been described by no less an
authority than Professor Berriedale Keith as “in process of obsolescence,”
so far as the other members of the Commonwealth are concerned.
Apart from the theory of the matter, however (a theory vested in an
outworn feudalism), what is its effect in practice? That practice can be
investigated on its merits, without the least prejudice; and it will be
found that it has not produced justice, and that it has proved fruitful of
increasing irritation and anger.
In the first place, such a right of appeal out of the country defeats the
ends of justice by placing a premium on wealth. It has so proved among the
other members of the Commonwealth. It is obvious that it must be so. For
it requires a large purse to carry a case out of the country, once it has
been well handled in at least two courts at home. Therefore the experience
in Canada, Australia and S. Africa is that only strong corporations take
advantage of such a right of appeal, because only strong corporations
possess the moneys, and only strong corporations can afford to defy local
feeling, since local feeling cannot react easily against anything so
powerful while so intangible as a corporation.
In the second place, it defeats the ends of justice because it is an
appeal to a court where the local circumstances are not familiar, and
where it may even happen (as it will certainly happen in the case of
Ireland) that the very axioms of the law may not be rightly apprehended.
For a central court of appeal of this kind supposes uniform circumstances
and uniform law. Now the circumstances manifestly are not uniform. Yet
neither is the law likely to be uniform. The example of S. Africa may be
taken. In S. Africa the law in force is Roman-Dutch law, not the English
Common Law. It has therefore proved that the Judicial Committee has been
required to handle an instrument with which it is unfamiliar. The same
will apply in Ireland, where it has already proved, notoriously, that the
principles of the law known familiarly as “Brehon law” have worked in
opposition to the black-letter precedents of English law.
In addition to this, however, it is to be remembered that the lawyers
composing the Judicial Committee are obviously unfamiliar with the
principles underlying the structure of our Constitution, since they are
quite unlike the principles with which they themselves have to deal. One
need not argue which are the better. It is enough that they are unlike. A
mechanic cannot be supposed to deliver impartial justice between two
farmers in a matter of farming economy. The famous case of the Loch Neagh
fisheries is enough to prove that only those who are familiar, not only
with Irish circumstances, but with Irish history, can expect to deliver
justice in Irish matters.
Moreover, there is a further consideration, which the plain facts of the
case require should be firmly stated—and which the experience of other
nations of the Commonwealth emphasises. It is that under the chief of the
two heads under which such appeals to the Judicial Committee would fall
the very intention to do impartial and indifferent justice could not
presumed in advance. For all such appeals involve two classes of cases.
The first deals with appeals from interpretation of the ordinary law. The
second deals with appeals from interpretations of the Fundamental Law of
the Constitution. Now appeals from an interpretation of the ordinary law
heard in some country where the principles of that law are unfamiliar
would, as has been indicated, involve injustices enough; but they would
concern only the individual or some corporate enterprise. The injustice
would exist; but it would be limited; and lawyers of another country might
be supposed to wish to search for justice, even if the trading enterprise
had its seat in their own nation and the individual were Irish. But a
Constitution is the very charter of a nation’s freedom.
Cases concerning an interpretation of the Constitution are vital to a
whole people, and, as between two nations, vital to international safety
and polity. And such cases could, under the circumstances, only arise
between two nations, Ireland, whose the Constitution is, and England,
whose the Constitution is not, and where parties might arise to power who
would intrigue to impeach that Constitution. Moreover, in England it is
frequently the practice to recruit the higher offices of the Judiciary,
not from men of acknowledged skill in the achievement of equity, but
rather from men who have snatched a casual eminence in the heat of party
strife, men of political passions and political prejudices, who have come
to the front by the very profession of partisanship. It is such men who
will form for the most part the lawyers of the Judicial Committee. Even if
the road to that Committee were of the straightest and purest legal
character, no reasonable person would expect it to deliver impartial
judgment on the Fundamental Law of another nation, especially if an
adjustment of the liberties of two nations were concerned, one of those
nations being, more than conceivably, their own. But since the road is,
admittedly, neither of the straightest nor of the purest, the expectation
of impartial and indifferent justice would be a fool’s dream. And where a
Court exists from which a people presumes injustice in advance, the wells
of security and good order are at once poisoned.
Yet, even supposing that these questions of justice are neglected, how is
the system likely to work? How has it, in fact, worked elsewhere? Assume
that a case has been decided in a certain way by the Supreme Court in
Ireland. It is carried to the Judicial Committee, which decides in favour
of the opposite party. How is such a decision of the Judicial Committee to
be put into effect? Such cases have occurred in Australia; and the
Australian High Court has refused to recognise the decisions of the
Judicial Committee, or to give them effect. Special legislation therefore
at once became necessary; but the obvious fact which emerged was that the
Judicial Committee had no machinery to put decisions into effect which
were contrary to local feeling. Of the last of these cases the Australian
Premier said at the “‘Imperial Conference,’ 1917,” that the “decision was
one which must have caused great embarrassment and confusion if it were
not for the fortunate fact that the reasons for the Judicial Committee’s
decision are stated in such a way that no Court and no Council in
Australia has yet been able to find out what they were.”
It is little wonder that Mr. Hughes in the same speech should have said
that “Australia’s experience of the Privy Council in constitutional cases
has been, to say the least of it, unfortunate.” He also read an extract
from a resolution of the Final Court of Appeal of New Zealand, which
declared of the Judicial Committee that “by its imputations in the present
case, by the ignorance it has shown in this and in other cases of our
history, of our legislation, and of our practice, and by its long delayed
judgments, it has displayed every characteristic of an alien tribunal.”
The spokesmen for the other States present were equally emphatic. “I
think,” said Sir Robert Borden for Canada, “we have had just about enough
Appeal Courts, and I think the tendency in our country will be to
restrict appeals to the Privy Council rather than to increase them.”
“There is,” said Mr. Rowell for the same State, “a growing opinion that
our own Courts should be the final authority.” “You know what our opinion
is in S. Africa,” said Mr. Burton. “In our Constitution we have abolished
the right of appeal to the Privy Council as a right. There is no such
right with us at all, but the Constitution merely says that any right
residing in the King in Council to grant special leave to appeal shall not
be interfered with.”
These utterances, and the entire course of history on this matter, reveal
an irritation which has grown with experience. The mechanism is merely a
mechanism, and it has not worked well. It has injured harmony, and it
manifestly has not brought justice. Even assuming that the Irish courts
should agree that the decision in any individual case appealed from should
stand, it could equally well argue that that decision could not be held to
govern other cases; and the effect of such a decision would be to make the
appeal nugatory in law.
Besides all of which, the right to allow such appeals to the Judicial
Committee is based, ultimately, on the acknowledgment of the supremacy of
British legislation; and the plain intention of our Constitution is that
this supremacy is not acknowledged, each party to the Treaty being a
co-equal member of a larger Community. Not only, therefore, are the
practical reasons against such a right of appeal, but there is no
substance in the Constitution to make such a right allowable.
There is, indeed, nothing that can be said in favour of such a provision,
from the point of view either of justice, of law, of equity or of harmony.
If it be destined to remain, it is to be hoped that it will remain a dead
letter. Otherwise it will lead to boundless friction and ill-will,
internal and external.
Yet there is an excellent principle embedded in this provision. It is very
deeply, and perhaps almost inextricably, embedded; but it is there. For
if a number of nations are to join together as co-equal members of a
Community, plainly there should be some common Court to which all can
appeal with equal confidence. Ireland and England, for instance, have made
a Treaty. Either side may violate that Treaty. Who is to judge between
them? Is the appeal to be to the arbitrament of strength? If so, what of
the co-equality of the Community? It becomes an idle phrase, however
separate one may claim to be from the other.
The case may be carried even further. A case exists for such a Court, not
only in respect of their interdependent relations, but not less in respect
of their internal relations. It may even happen that the citizen of a
State, or a combination of citizens, may have a plain case to be carried
to such a Court as against their State, if a Court of sufficient
impartiality could be established. States are not always immaculate of
justice, particularly to minorities.
Can such a Court be found? I believe it can. An exposition of the present
draft of our Constitution is not the place to give the details of such an
alternative. It is sufficient to say that there is such an alternative,
for which provision could therefore be made in substitution of the present
provision, against which the requirements of justice and the entire
experience of the Commonwealth rises in evidence.
It is the duty of a Constitution, not merely to provide for the present,
but to leave itself lissom and flexible for the development of the future.
If those developments can in any way be foreseen, it is its duty further,
to indicate them by allowing specifically for them, without of necessity
pledging the future to them. How far these indications may profitably be
carried is a question not so easy to answer. Times differ. Constitutions
made at a time of fixed social and political ideas, are necessarily fixed
in their provisions. Constitutions made at a time, such as the present,
when social and political ideas are rapidly shifting and changing must
needs indicate the likelihood of change in certain directions; and make
allowance for such changes. It is therefore striking to notice that in
nearly every Constitution made during and since the Great War such
indications are scattered freely. And from that fact alone the historian
of the future could tell with assurance that these were years of rapidly
changing conceptions.
We in Ireland cannot but have a share in these changes. Fortunately for
us, heirs of an ancient tradition, in looking forward we look backward,
and in looking backward we look forward. We may, and often do, use phrases
identical with those used by other nations; but in many cases it will be
found by the thoughtful student that what to them is often social theory,
to us is a slumbering historic memory. Very frequently this will be found
to be the case.
An indication of this kind, that looks both forward and backward, is to be
found in Article 44 of our Constitution. This article has aroused
considerable interest. It reads:—
“The Oireachtas may provide for the establishment of Functional or
Vocational Councils representing branches of the social and economic
life of the Nation. A law establishing any such Council shall
determine its powers, rights and duties, and its relation to the
government of the Irish Free State.”
As a matter of curious interest it happens that the German Constitution
contains an article very similar to this; but the conception had been in
development in Ireland for some years. It had, indeed (as I endeavoured to
shew in a little book on The Gaelic State, published in 1917), been a
slumbering memory of the Irish Nation during the centuries when the
characteristic political conceptions of the people were frustrate and
idle, as they may now be put into practical development. It had been
worked out in practical detail for one of our largest and most important
industries in the Report on Sea Fisheries of the Commission of Inquiry,
published in 1921. And it had actually, though imperfectly, been in
operation for another great industry since 1896 in the Council of
Agriculture.
What, then, are these Functional (or Vocational or Occupational) Councils
for which provision is made, and on what political or social conception do
they rest? One need not travel outside the present draft Constitution to
discover the need for them. For in this Constitution, as in most
constitutions, the people are, outside this one Article, considered in
only two of the three relations that go to make up their lives, and which
therefore constitute the complete life of the Nation. All the persons of
the State are considered either as individuals or as citizens. But these
two descriptions do not exhaust their lives. In addition to being
individuals and citizens they are also workers in some craft, industry,
trade or profession. Indeed, it is seldom they have time to be
individuals, and it is seldom they are reminded that they are citizens.
For good or for ill, these are only occasional parts of their lives. But
they are never permitted to forget the parts they are required to play in
the social and economic life of the Nation.
The Constitution establishes their rights as individuals putting these
rights beyond the reach of interference either of those who make or those
who execute the law. It also establishes their rights as citizens,
certifies the manner of their action as citizens, and derives all
authority in the State from those rights and actions. But these are only
the lesser, however supremely important, parts of our lives. The greater
part of our days is, for each of us, packed with the thoughts are cares of
our functional lives. We are more frequently, in the intake and output of
our lives, blacksmiths or architects, or whatever else, than we are
individuals or citizens. Have we not rights and duties there too, both for
ourselves and to the Nation; and should not the Constitution make
provision for this, the larger part of our lives, as well as for the
lesser parts? Can provision be said to have been completely made either
for our own lives or for the interplay that constitutes the life of the
Nation if this aspect be neglected?
We are faced at once with a difficulty. Seeing that we have the experience
of it, it is easy to perceive how we can be represented in the State as
citizens. How can we be represented in the State in respect of our
functions? To answer this question one may turn to an instance that lives
before us, an example from elder days when such an order of society was
familiar. For in old Ireland (as in other nations) guilds were a
recognised form of the industrial life of the nation. They were also,
though not known by that name, a recognised form of the professional life
of the Nation. And as a relic of those times we have to-day what is in
effect a guild of Lawyers. The lawyers of Ireland, for example, are
organised as a whole, with a Council representative of the profession as a
whole. That Council, representative of all who practice as lawyers, is a
responsible body, not only to the lawyers who are represented in it, but
to and in the State on behalf of the legal profession. It is responsible
for the honour and good conduct of lawyers. It is responsible for the
economic maintenance of its constituents. No lawyer is allowed to practice
except by consent of the Legal Council—that is to say, except by the
consent of all other lawyers. The legal profession as a whole—in the
legal sense, as a Person—protects its own honour, protects the individual
lawyer, protects the public interest (in theory, at least), and requires a
guarantee of efficiency and rectitude from every lawyer before he is
allowed to practice his profession.
So it was in ancient Ireland. At that time, when the Assembly of the
Nation met, the lawyers, or ‘brehons,’ met in a Council of their own. The
administrative heads of each unit of local government met in a Council of
their own. The Recorders, or Seanchaidhe, of the local petty states, met
in a Council of their own. And each Council was responsible for the
administration of its own concerns. Each Council drew up its own
regulations, for the conduct of it own duties in the State, and for the
protection of its own ‘functional’ rights. Each Council, in the modern
legal phrase, was a responsible ‘Person,’ and was by the State, as it
existed at that time, entrusted with the conduct and administration of its
own affairs, subject to the general execution of the public interest.
It lay with the Assembly of the Nation to co-ordinate the whole in the
public interest. Whether this was or was not done effectively in olden
times is indifferent to the present problem of Functional Councils in the
modern State, with its better organisation and more perfect national
sense. The problem of organisation is very real, but it does not affect
the necessity of functional representation and functional responsibility
in the State. It is, for example, absurd that persons unfamiliar with
architectural problems, however highly placed in the nation they may be,
should be entrusted with architectural decisions that require special
training and knowledge. It is equally absurd that a person unfamiliar with
the needs of the Fishing Industry should, because for political reasons he
should happen to be chosen as Minister of Fisheries, make proposals and be
responsible for decisions that affect the present livelihood of fishermen
and the successful future of the Fishing Industry. These matters must be
reposed in the care of representative Functional (Occupational or
Vocational) Councils, that should be required to render account, on the
one hand, to the Function which they represent, and, on the other hand, to
the State on behalf of that Function.
When such an organisation of the social and economic life of the Nation
has been achieved, then, and only then, will it be possible to say that
all parts of the life of the Nation have been brought within the reach and
authority of the Constitution. It may be objected that these matters lie
in the future. That is true. The Constitution allows for them, and by
allowing for them indicates that they should be, and probably will be, the
natural development of the future of the Irish Nation.