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Let it be shouted from the rooftops; there is no impersonal law distinct from the law that judges have made and will yet make. Once it is accepted that there is no impersonal law it must also be accepted that there is no ‘right’ answer. As there is no impersonal law it is immature for judges to keep thinking and behaving as if there were such an impersonal law. Similarly, as there is no ‘right’ answer, it is equally immature to keep thinking and behaving as if there were a ‘right’ answer. Judges can do no more than harness and manage their intelligence and capabilities so as to provide the best answer possible in the circumstances of the case. As an increasing number of judges obtain a sound conception of the judicial role, the best answer, I believe, will be one that seeks to render justice in the individual case and meet the contemporary needs and expectations of society.
The notion that there is an impersonal law crumbles once it is accepted that there is no law hovering in the heavens waiting to be declared and that, in fact, judges constantly make and remake law. As society is in a constant state of flux so, too, the law is constantly in motion as judges, or some judges, strive to keep abreast of society's needs and expectations. This process, as already observed, represents the irrevocable dynamic of the common law.
From time to time I have used the expression ‘legal fundamentalists’. They are an extreme lot. Notwithstanding determined self-discipline and the most demanding editing, the phrase has survived all attempts to eliminate it from the text of this book. Persisting with its use reflects the experience or, perhaps, the suffering, of those judges who have sought to bring a viable law into the twenty-first century. They have been met with a brand of legal populism that seeks to deny judges the capacity for choice in administering the law and daunts the judicial instinct to do justice and shape the law to fit the needs of the times. Legal fundamentalism seeks to arrest the common law's essential dynamic. It is this hostile influence on the administration and development of the law that justifies separate reference to the topic. There can be no place for legal fundamentalism in a modern judicial methodology.
Legal fundamentalism encompasses a mode of thought that is essentially simplistic and incomplete. It is best understood as the legal equivalent of religious fundamentalism, being similarly dedicated to the strict maintenance of traditional and historical doctrines and characterised by the extremeness of the positions that are adopted and the evangelical fervency and frequency with which they are expressed. Hence, for example, legal fundamentalists tend to viscerally recoil from anything approaching modernity in the law; are committed to a rigid rule-bound approach and a strict application of the doctrines of precedent and stare decisis; have never perceived or accepted the extent of uncertainty in the law, nor fully adjusted to the inevitability of judges making law; believe in the strict separation of powers and the singular omniscience of Parliament; and are vociferously hostile to anything remotely bordering on judicial creativity.
No judge, lawyer or academic is going to agree with all the points made in the preceding chapters. Legal theory and discourse is too diverse and the dispositions of judges, lawyers and academics too divergent to achieve any such unanimity. But it is hoped that some judges will attain sufficient benefit to advance their perception of the judicial role. What should emerge is a refreshingly new judicial methodology that will better serve the interests of society. The various strands pursued in this book can be brought together to form a synthesis of realism, pragmatism and practical reasoning, including in that reasoning a critical role for principles.
Judicial reasoning will be re-invigorated by being less entrammelled by unnecessary and outdated dogmas. It will be at once more realistic and pragmatic, it will be forward looking rather than oriented to the past, it will be more honest and transparent, and it will be more diligent and creative in meeting the particular needs of society. The legal process will be no less, and even more, disciplined than at present, and no less, and again even more, beholden to a realistic and modern conception of the rule of law.
Basic to this fresh approach is the reiterated truism that the law is a social institution that exists to serve society. This subjection to the needs and expectations of society is its ultimate rationale and justification.
In a 1973 article, H.L.A. Hart says the following about Jeremy Bentham's achievements in the philosophy of law:Bentham was certainly not the first to define law as a command: Hobbes, for example, had anticipated him in that, and even the despised Blackstone's definition of municipal law was in terms of command. But Bentham differed from Hobbes and, as far as I know, from all previous social theorists in insisting that we must not so define our terms in legal or political theory as to make the practical conclusions which we favour follow from them. Such definitions have been aptly called ‘persuasive definitions’ and among Bentham's many claims to be an innovator none is better founded nor, I think, more important than his insistence on a precise and so far as possible a morally neutral vocabulary for use in the discussion of law and politics. This insistence, though it may seem a merely linguistic matter, was the very centre, and I would say the sane and healthy centre, of the legal positivism of which Bentham may be regarded as the founder. It accounts for many important themes in his general theory including the form of his own definition of law. The terms that Bentham uses to define law are all flatly descriptive and normatively neutral. (1973, 28)
There are only two species of justice: distributive justice and rectificatory justice. Distributive justice is primarily concerned with the distribution of rights and duties to members of society by way of society's institutions. Included in this concern for a just distribution of rights and duties is a concern for those members of society who are disadvantaged in their opportunities to participate in the benefits of social cooperation. When such disadvantages arise, distributive compensation is due to these members of society as a means of removing the disadvantage. To compensate for something is to counterbalance it; to give something equivalent in value to the thing. “The root of ‘compensate’ is “to weigh,” that is to weigh different things together in order to establish a balance between them…‘compensation’ carries the connotation of providing something equivalent in value to that which has been lost.” In the case of distributive compensation, this rendering of an equivalent in value is done in order to alleviate some disadvantage or natural loss that is thought to pose an undue hindrance on members of society.
Modern liberalism developed out of the strife of post-Reformation religious warfare. Among liberalism's central ideas were those of the individual's right of religious liberty and the separate jurisdictions of secular and religious authority. In societies that accepted these ideas and put them into institutional practice, levels of systemic religious violence were dramatically diminished. Moreover, the liberal principles that helped to build and sustain civil peace could make a strong claim to providing a just framework for addressing religious differences. Yet important normative questions have remained about the policies a liberal state should adopt toward religion.
It is a familiar slogan in legal circles that “like cases should be treated alike.” This idea is often confused with two others: the rationale of analogical reasoning in adjudication, and the value of coherence. I would like to keep these three issues separate, at least for a while. What is unique about idea of treating like cases alike? I would suggest that the interesting cases (and by “cases,” I do mean judicial decisions, to which this essay is confined) are those in which legal decisions are not entirely determined by reasons. If two similar cases are actually determined by the reasons that apply to them, then there is no need for the principle of treating like cases alike: The determining reasons would do all the work of justifying similar rulings. This is what makes the principle of treating like cases alike uniquely problematic and separate from the questions of analogical reasoning and coherence. In analogical reasoning, for example, the assumption is that if there is a good reason that determines a decision X under circumstances C1, and we now face a similar case C2, then the reason that determines X in C1 may also determine (or support) the decision X under C2. In other words, analogical reasoning typically appeals to the reasons that underlie the previous decision(s) and extends the application of those reasons to the new case. (I will qualify this account of analogy in the last section.)
The doctrine of precedent is one of the most distinctive features of the modern common law. Understanding the operation of precedent is important for our theorizing about the nature of law, since any adequate theory must be compatible with the practice. In this paper I will explore the conventional view of precedent endorsed by practitioners and many legal philosophers alike. I will argue that for all its attractions, it provides a distorted view of the nature of precedent. The distortion grows out of the basic assumption that precedents create rules, and thus that the common law can be understood as a form of rule-based decision-making. Instead, the common law is a form of case-by-case decision-making, and the doctrine of precedent constrains this decision-making by requiring later courts to treat earlier cases as correctly decided. The relevance of earlier cases is not well understood in terms of rules—they are better understood as a special type of reason.
The last decade has seen a resurgence of interest among philosophers in the core questions of ethics and justice on the international plane. Issues once discussed primarily in the response to the major global debates of the 1960s and 1970s—the Vietnam War and the North-South economic imbalance—have returned to the domain of philosophers. This engagement has taken place in two distinct but related debates. First, philosophers have devoted attention to the ethical significance of nationality and patriotism, asking whether an impartial morality permits disparate treatment of an individual's co-nationals. Second, scholars have revisited issues of international justice in great detail, including works on human rights as well as just war theory. These works ask, as Brian Barry put it, “given a world that is made up of states, what is the morally permissible range of diversity among them?” One impetus for renewed work on these ideas was the publication of John Rawls's The Law of Peoples.
“Have you ever given any attention to the Science of Evidence?” said Mr. Grodman. “How do you mean?” asked the Home Secretary, rather puzzled, but with a melancholy smile. “I should hardly speak of it as a science; I look at it as a question of common sense.”
“Pardon me, sir. It is the most subtle and difficult of all the sciences. It is indeed rather the science of the sciences. What is the whole of inductive logic, as laid down (say) by Bacon and Mill, but an attempt to appraise the value of evidence, the said evidence being the trails left by the Creator, so to speak? The Creator has (I say it in all reverence) drawn a myriad red herrings across the track. But the true scientist refuses to be baffied by superficial appearances in detecting the secrets of Nature.”
Introduction: connecting the dots
Everyone draws inferences from evidence. The dog barks, you infer that someone is approaching the house; a loud horn sounds behind me, I infer that the driver is impatient or angry; there is a peculiar smell in the playroom after last night's teenage party; cigarettes? Hash? Or just leftover pizza? There is a fresh scratch on the front fender of my car with traces of red paint; Aunt Edna has just roared off in her new red Ferrari. There are dark clouds overhead, footprints in the sand, lipstick on the shirt, fingerprints on the steering wheel of a stolen car.
The field of evidence is no other than the field of knowledge. (Bentham, An Introductory View, Chapter 1)
Evidence is the basis of justice: exclude evidence, you exclude justice. (Bentham, Rationale of Judicial Evidence, Part III, Chapter 1)
In this chapter we present some concrete examples and exercises that introduce the main questions and the basic concepts that are involved in analyzing evidence. The purpose of presenting them at this stage is partly to stimulate interest and puzzlement and partly to encourage you to start to think actively about some basic issues. We use many of the examples and exercises presented here to illustrate points developed later in the book.
The examples in part B raise questions about the similarities and differences involved in confronting problems of evidence and inference in different non-legal contexts, including bible stories, intelligence analysis, famous “analysts,” and commonplace events. Each develops variations around the central theme that the kind of reasoning involved in all these different kinds of factual enquiries is based on the same underlying principles that apply differently as the contexts and standpoints vary.
The examples in part C illustrate the same central theme using examples from legal contexts. The first four examples introduce the process of imaginative reasoning and the roles that generalizations and stories play in arguments about disputed questions of fact. The remaining examples involve cases of increasing complexity that focus upon the kinds of analysis required at different stages of criminal and civil cases and raise issues about the relationship between law and fact, standards of proof, and inferential reasoning in both kinds of cases.
Since, then, our inferences from fact to fact depend upon our belief in general rules of connection between fact and fact, generalizations about the way things happen in nature, the work of criticizing inferences resolves itself into that of criticizing generalizations.
(Sidgwick (1884) 9)
We have seen that generalizations are almost always necessary as warrants for every step in inferential reasoning, but that they can often be shown to be the weakest points in an argument (Chapter 3). Similarly, we have seen that stories are not just an alternative to analytical approaches such as the chart method, but rather complement them in important ways (Chapter 6). According to some psychologists and practitioners stories are psychologically necessary to decision-making about issues of fact. Yet another strand in the literature suggests that stories are wonderful vehicles for “cheating” in the process of persuasion in legal contexts. In this chapter we look in more detail at the nature of generalizations and stories, their role in fact-determination, some reasons why they can be labeled dangerous, some links between these dangers, and practical techniques for navigating them in litigation.
Generalizations
Reprise and introduction
Generalizations are warrants that serve as the “glue” that links an item of evidence to a particular interim or ultimate probandum by showing that it is relevant (Foundations 81–83, 109). We have previously examined the role of generalizations in arguments about evidence. In Chapter 3 we identified the role that generalizations perform in the application of the principles of logic in constructing and analyzing arguments.
Within the common law tradition there has been a tendency to equate the subject of evidence with the law of evidence and to marginalize or neglect other dimensions such as the logic of proof, witness psychology, the evidentiary significance of forensic science, and the role of statistics and of narrative in arguing about and deciding contested issues of fact in legal contexts. In Part B, we first describe the shared assumptions upon which evidence scholars have based their work for two centuries – the Rationalist Tradition – and its importance in contemporary practice and then describe and illustrate the principles that form the basis for the logic of proof.
Part C begins with Wigmore's explanation for his view that mastery of the principles of proof is at least as important as mastery of the rules regulating the admissibility and use of evidence. Part D introduces some terminology basic to understanding those principles. The probative processes and logical principles necessary for analyzing evidence and marshaling arguments in legal contexts are presented and developed in Part E.
The Rationalist Tradition
The common law model of adjudication reflects some basic assumptions – assumptions about the nature and proper ends of adjudication, assumptions about the nature of knowledge and the possibility of making accurate present judgments about past events, and assumptions about what is involved in reasoning about disputed questions of fact in forensic contexts. The assumptions underlying contemporary theory and practice, at least as reflected in the writings of those who have specialized in the field of evidence, have persisted with little apparent change since the eighteenth century.
Rex v. Bywaters and Thompson is one of England's most famous causes célèbres. On January 9, 1923, Frederick Bywaters and Edith Thompson were hanged for the murder of Edith's husband Percy, just three months and six days after his death. The case is an example of rough as well as speedy “justice.” Public opinion at the time and subsequent commentators have been divided on the question whether Edith was guilty as charged and on a number of subsidiary issues.
In our experience, Bywaters and Thompson is a particularly good vehicle for classroom consideration of modified Wigmorean analysis for several reasons:
a It is interesting in itself;
b It is a good test of macroscopic analysis not only because it involves a complex mixed mass of evidence, but also because uncertainties about the law relating to aiding and abetting, conspiring and incitement, raise challenging questions about precisely what it was that the prosecution had to prove in order to establish a case that was sufficient to support a conviction in respect of Edith;
c There were several possible theories of the case available to each side;
d Several key phases of the evidence, including some passages in Edith's letters, invite careful microscopic analysis; and
e Some of the key evidentiary issues relate to what Jerome Frank called “wild facts,” that is to say issues relating to such elusive matters as motive, intent, the characters and relationships of the main actors, and the language of lovers. Edith's letters in particular provide an excellent test of the uses and limitations of careful analysis. As one student put it: “If you can analyze Edith's prose, you can analyze anything.”