the later term of Hobbes. Regarded in this light, the conflict of theory between Crown and Parliament is one between the mediaeval view of a paramount divine law, supreme over every aspect of government, and an attempt to transfer this divine sanction to a monarch who is also to embody the State in the more modern aspect of the word. From this point of view, Parliament represents the conservative side and the Crown the side of innovation. From another angle, however, the positions might appear to be reversed. When it came to the details of the actual powers which the Crown had exercised in the past independently of parliamentary control, it was a plausible argument for the Crown to insist that it was, in fact, basing its position upon mediaeval precedent. This was particularly true on various matters of indirect taxation which the middle ages had left in great obscurity. In asserting control over these matters, the House of Commons laid itself open to historical arguments of considerable force, which would have been stronger still if the Crown had been able to secure the services of antiquaries as learned and zealous as those of the parliamentary party. Even so, when it came to the judicial interpretation of mediaeval precedents, the courts more than once had to find for the Crown—and we are at perfect liberty to assert that the judges who made these decisions reached them honestly and properly upon the historical evidence available to them, although they often spoilt the effect by gratuitously introducing a good deal of dogma on divine right. The historians of a later age, imbued with partisan spirit, have certainly exaggerated their wholesale accusations of subserviency against the Stuart judges. From this point of view, therefore, it is the Crown which seems conservative and Parliament the innovator. However, the Commons were fortunate in possessing several antiquaries of truly prodigious learning; William Prynne, for example, had read enormous quantities of mediaeval rolls. Sources which are voluminous even in modern reprints and abstracts, Prynne could quote at great length from the original manuscripts, which he had studied by candlelight in the dank vaults of the Tower. Only those who have had to spend many hours with mediaeval records can appreciate the immensity of his labours. As we have already mentioned, the ambiguous rolls of the fifteenth-century Parliaments were a particularly rich mine for the opposition, being easily susceptible of interpretations in their favour.
THE SUPREMACY OF THE COMMON LAW
From what has just been said it will be clear that the frank acceptance of the principle that current problems were to be settled upon the basis of antiquarian research might work both ways, and in fact the very honesty with which it was followed has had the effect of making some judges give inconsistent decisions. At times, Sir Edward Coke seems to be a champion of prerogative, although at other times he is one of the most intrepid of parliamentarians. He must not be blamed too much for these inconsistencies1 which were really implicit in the whole of the parliamentarian argument. He himself seems aware of this weakness, and to remedy it he fell back with great ingenuity upon a position which he skilfully developed, and which has had immense influence, especially in America:
“Urged by a presentiment of the coming conflict of Crown and Parliament, he felt the necessity of curbing the rising arrogance of both, and looked back upon his country’s legal history to find the means. This instinctive appeal to history for guidance was characteristic, and the choice of a legal rather than any other solution was amply justified by the remarkable continuity and stability of English law during the vicissitudes of the seventeenth century. His attitude is aptly expressed in one of his own picturesque phrases. ‘Let us now peruse our ancient authors,’ he wrote, ‘for out of the old fields must come the new corne.’ So it was in this spirit that he laboured at the ancient patrimony of his profession, those short, thick folios of black-letter Year Books, and from their forbidding mass of obsolescent technicalities raised a harvest of political theory which was destined to be the food of far-distant states to which he had never given a thought.
“The solution which Coke found was in the idea of a fundamental law which limited Crown and Parliament indifferently. What that law was, its nature and its contents, were questions as difficult as they were insistent—and, as subsequent events showed, capable of surprising solutions. The nearest we find to an explicit definition of this fundamental law is the assertion of the paramount law of ‘reason’. For the rest, the common lawyer’s ‘reason’ is left in as much uncertainty as he himself ascribed to the Chancellor’s equity. Moreover, Coke was prepared to advance mediaeval precedent for his theory, and in so doing has drawn upon his head the criticisms of later investigators. Just as these criticisms are, from the point of view of modern scholarship, it is only fair to the Chief Justice to insist that his view of history was not ours, and that it is only by the standard of his own day that a true evaluation of his learning and intellectual honesty can be formed. Although it must be confessed that even then he cannot be found altogether faultless, yet it is believed that a sufficient explanation will be found to establish his bona fides. His doctrine is certainly based largely upon mediaeval precedents and the extent to which they justify it is an interesting subject for investigation. But if we reach a different estimate from his of the Year Book authority for his dogma, this must not be taken as necessarily involving a severe censure of Coke. He himself has told us that though the fields are old, the corn is new.”2
This doctrine was first proclaimed by Sir Edward Coke in his judgment in Dr. Bonham’s Case (1610),3 and for nearly a century afterwards the idea that the common law could be regarded as a fundamental law seemed attractive to certain minds. The Crown viewed the new theory with alarm, and Coke was ordered by the government to explain his doctrine and to “correct” his reports.
THE GROWTH OF THE CONFLICT
A solution so simple as this frank return to the mediaeval idea of law could hardly have a chance amid the riot of party passion which was soon aroused. In this place we shall be content with only a very brief summary of the stirring events which occupy the reigns of James I and Charles I.1 To begin with, we have a long series of precedents on the subject of parliamentary privilege such as Shirley’s Case (1604),2 and Darnel’s or the Five Knights’ Case (1627).3 The powers of Parliament were further asserted in impeaching unpopular ministers. Worse still, the procedure by bill of attainder was revived. Then again a long constitutional conflict arose over matters of taxation. The obscurities of this subject during the middle ages had never been thoroughly cleared up, and there was a good deal of justifiable doubt as to the powers of the Crown in this respect. Bate’s Case or the Case of Impositions (1606)4 decided that the Crown without the concurrence of Parliament could increase the rate of customs duties. A variety of other expedients were devised for raising money, such as the revival of the forest dues and the demand for ship-money. This latter was contested in Hampden’s Case (1637),5 which also was decided in favour of the Crown. It is noteworthy that previous to the trial the King called upon the judges to give him an extrajudicial opinion upon the questions at issue. Their answers were in favour of the Crown and were ordered to be read publicly in the Star Chamber and enrolled in all the courts of Westminster. In the midst of this conflict Sir Edward Coke was compelled to take a side, and finally became one of the leaders of the parliamentary party. The crisis came in 1616 when the Case of Commendams6 raised some technical points of ecclesiastical law and the validity of a royal grant in commendam. Coke’s dissenting opinion in this case immediately brought about his dismissal from office. Events steadily moved to a climax. The House of Commons defended its privileges fiercely and claimed complete freedom from royal interference for its debates and its members. At the same time the House was assuming control over every source of revenue and was deliberately using the power of the purse in an attempt to compel the Crown to dismiss ministers, and to pursue policies at the dictates of the Commons. It is this claim which makes the history of the seventeenth century so totally different from that of preceding ages, save, perhaps, the superficial resemblances in some respects which are to be found in the fifteenth century, while the Lancastrian monarchy was extraordinarily weak. Finally, the Commons embodied their demands in the Petition of Right1 (1628) which contained a long list of grievances. Rehearsing a number of statutes and several provisions of the Great Charter, the
