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The great British philosopher Michael Oakeshott once observed that ideally teaching should be a personalized affair and take place one on one, as �practical knowledge can be acquired only by continuous contact with one who is perpetually practising it�.1 This way, someone of shown mastery in a subject could guide a pupil along, instruct on points of detail, correct him or her where he or she would threaten to make a mistake, and carefully track the pupil's progress and suggest bespoke improvements. The pupil would learn far more effectively than he or she ever would in a classroom setting and, in particular, be able to reach beyond purely technical knowledge. After all, as Oakeshott explained elsewhere, education �is the transaction between the generations in which newcomers to the scene are initiated to the world which they are to inhabit. This is a world of understandings, imaginings, meanings, moral and religious beliefs, relationships [and] practices�.2 If all this sounds a bit wistful, it is perfectly in keeping with the spirit of Antonio Cassese's nostalgic but wonderful latest book, Five Masters of International Law, containing interviews with a handful of great international lawyers from the past, now all deceased. While it is not a textbook by any stretch of the imagination, the reader comes out of the book with the feeling of actually having learned something, not so much on the level of technical detail (there is little technical knowledge to be acquired here), but rather on the level of inspiration: what it means to be an international lawyer and to work, in one way or another, for the common good.3 Cassese's interviews follow roughly identical patterns but, fortunately, he has been wise enough to let his conversation partners expand a bit whenever they were so inclined ...
