Sometimes that’s enough.

“You’ve a good heart. Sometimes that’s enough to see you safe wherever you go. But mostly, it’s not.” –Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere

There are days when it feels like my job is to say no to people who won’t be able to handle hearing “no” one more time. Many of the clients I speak with are in the midst of discovering the difference between morally right and legally permissible, and the realization is painful. Our legal system is not actually designed to provide justice– it’s our flawed attempt to achieve fairness, an unquantifiable entity, in a measurable, widely applicable way. The discrepancy means that even if you have been wronged, even if you have the money to pursue legal action, and even if you have found an attorney who understands your side of the story, there may not be laws with which you can build a case. The most skilled, most empathetic attorney in the world will not take your case if no laws have been broken. Most will not take your case if they feel that the laws that have been broken are not enough to lead you to a victory, or if the cost of pursuing the case, financially and otherwise, is not worth even the best of its potential outcomes.

The distinction between legality and morality is unexpectedly subtle in America, but maybe that should come as no surprise. Our cultural ethos is built on “liberty and justice for all,” with the word justice itself often standing in to represent the law and its consequences. We are raised to believe that if we are good people, or at least if we try to be good people, that justice, and implicitly the law, will be on our side. I’ve lost count of how many times a client has recounted their story, then asked me, “Why isn’t anyone doing anything about this?” I still can’t answer that question. I usually opt to murmur in agreement, but the clients are never satisfied with my speechlessness. I can’t blame them. Ultimately they are asking me to answer why we are not able to achieve justice, even as we claim to mete it out. I think our country could benefit from honest, blunt recognition that the pursuit of justice is noble, crucial, and as close as we seem to get to the thing itself.

Perhaps the only people I’ve encountered who struggle with this gap more than the clients are the attorneys. Their livelihood exists in the gap. Whether they are struggling to bridge it or simply operating within it, the reality of our systemic moral shortcomings builds the foundation for their careers. So many attorneys enter the field guided by their good hearts, sure that this profession will put them in contact with justice in its purest, most powerful form. And sometimes, very briefly, they are right. Every attorney I’ve spoken with has at least one cherished moment of achieved justice, of legality aligning perfectly with morality, that they keep close and revisit often. Most of the time, though, each day that passes drives them further away from the possibility of that justice. The worst of humanity thrives in the gap, and attorneys live within it, day in and day out. I’ve developed more compassion in this job for the ones who teeter into the chasm, their good hearts no longer able to keep them balanced on the tightrope they walk above it.

The choice that Gaiman’s observation brings to light lies between safety and goodness. In childhood, I never questioned why storybook heroes would brave torture, exile, ridicule, and even death to fight for what is right. I had to learn later that in real life, “right” is not an absolute value, and the hero’s good heart does not always carry him through to a happy ending. The attorneys and clients I work with are faced with this reality daily, and few come to the end of their stories unscathed. Some even find themselves leaning away from morality in favor of the more concrete system of legality, which at least they can grasp, define, and cite. Some, though, find the strength to keep following their good hearts. Their moments of achieved justice are scarce and fleeting, but sometimes that’s enough.