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In the introductory lectures on political science that he gave in Cambridge in Michaelmas Term 1885, John Robert Seeley noted the tendency of German writers on politics to characterize states (or stages in the development of the state) according to what is taken to be the province of their main activity, their most important function, the function that organizes and inspires everything that they do. There is Der Kriegstaat (the state organized for war), Der Rechtstaat (the state organized around the principle of the Rule of Law and individual rights), Der Handelstaat (the state devoted to the advancement of trade), Der Polizeistaat (the policestate), and so on. We live, said Sir John, in a Legislation-state, which is not at all the same thing as a Rechtstaat, but rather a form of state devoted to the business of making continual improvements in the life of the community by means of explicit legal innovations, i.e. by parliamentary legislation. We may be committed in principle to laissez-faire economics and to free trade, he said; we may accept Mill's principle of liberty so far as society's interference with the private life of the individual is concerned, but we do not infer from this any principle or moral requirement of government inactivity. On the contrary, every day another demand emerges for new legislation to deal with some difficulty or to reorganize some aspect of social affairs, be it education or public hygiene or the reform of the civil service. All parties in modern politics agree, said Seeley, “that there is a vast amount to be done, that we have more work before us than can possibly be overtaken,” and that consequently “governments ought to be continually busy in passing important laws.”
There is a passage in Chapter 11 of Book III of Aristotle's Politics that has not been given the attention it deserves in modern discussions of Aristetlian political philosophy. Certainly it has not been given enough attention in the theory of democracy and in theories of popular legislation. I want to remedy that neglect. Indeed the aim of this chapter is to exaggerate the importance of this passage – to light it up in a way that may go far beyond the intentions of its author – in order to benefit from its illumination of other themes and passages whose importance for the Aristotelian project is, by contrast, indisputable.
The passage I have in mind is Aristotle's attempt to answer a question he poses about political sovereignty at the beginning of Chapter 10:
There is also a doubt as to what is to be the supreme power in the state: – Is it the multitude? Or the wealthy? Or the good? Or the one best man? Or a tyrant? Any of these alternatives seems to involve disagreeable consequences.
(65: 1281a11)
After reviewing some of these consequences, Aristotle begins Chapter 11 by saying that there might be some truth in the principle that the people at large rather than the few best ought to be in power in the polis. He says (and this is the passage I want to focus on),
For the many, of whom each individual is not a good man, when they meet together may be better than the few good, if regarded not individually but collectively, just as a feast to which many contribute is better than a dinner provided out of a single purse. […]
A wrongful life suit is an unusual civil suit brought by a child (typically a congenitally disabled child)1 who seeks damages for burdens he suffers that result from his creation. Typically, the child charges that he has been born into an unwanted or miserable life.2 These suits offer the prospect of financial relief for some disabled or neglected children and have some theoretical advantages over alternative causes of action.3 But they have had only mixed, mostly negative, success.4 They have, however, spurred considerable philosophical interest.5 This attention, though, has been primarily focused on issues about the coherence of complaining about one’s existence or its essential conditions. These suits also raise important, but less well-probed, philosophical questions about the morality of procreation and, more generally, about the moral significance of imposed, but not consented to, conditions that deliver both significant harms and benefits.
Numerous legal theorists argue that corrective justice is distinct both conceptually and normatively from distributive justice. In particular, they contend that it is an error to view corrective justice as ancillary to distributive justice, necessary only to maintain or restore a preferred allocation of benefits and burdens. The specific arguments of these legal theorists are addressed and shown to be inconclusive in relation to what I term the Dependence Thesis. The Dependence Thesis holds that a normative account of the occasions of corrective justice is dependent on a larger theory of distributive justice. The nature of this dependence relation varies from theory to theory. The role of tort compensation schemes within libertarian, liberal egalitarian, and utilitarian theories of distributive justice is discussed. It is argued that such theories provide comprehensive and critical perspectives on historical corrective practices, neither simply endorsing nor invalidating them. An alternative normative account of the occasions of corrective justice, offered by legal theorists who support the autonomy of corrective justice from distributive justice, is also discussed.
We consider the implications of the definition of juror bias offered in Schwartz and SchwartzEdward P. Schwartz & Warren F. Schwartz, The Challenge of Peremptory Challenges. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the Public Choice Society, Long Beach, California, March 24–26, 1995. for optimal use of juror challenges to improve the accuracy of the jury process. For them, bias consists of a juror assinging more/less weight to the evidence for guilt than would be assigned by the median juror in a fully representative pool of jurors. When juror assessments of the evidence have a probabilistic component to them, we show that this notion of bias does not imply that we necessarily would wish to use challenges to eliminate the most biased jurors. We also explain how understanding juror verdict accuracy requires an analysis of the interaction between the threshold rule that the juror uses to determine what level of belief in the guilt of the defendant is sufficient for “guilt beyond a reasonable doubt” and the probative force of the evidence in the cases that the prosecution chooses to bring to trial. Whether we use the Schwartz and Schwartz definition or other more standard legal approaches to defining juror bias (and grounds for challenge for cause) we come away highly skeptical of the expanded voir dire and extended use of peremptories that, in a number of recent highly publicized criminal trials, have had the consequences of eliminating from the jury pool the most highly educated and the most knowledgeable jurors.
Critical Legal Studies (CLS) writers argue that judicial decision making is not politically neutral; rather, it is only a stylized version of political discourse. More pointedly, these writers argue that the belief in legal neutrality legitimates an unrepresentative political process, thereby benefiting the powerful to the detriment of the weaker. Accordingly, CLS writers consider the belief in legal neutrality to be ideological. Also, CLS writers consider judicial decision making itself (as opposed to beliefs about legal decision making) to be ideological in the sense that the outcomes of legal decision making are informed and influenced by conservative ideology.I use two senses of the term “ideology” in this essay. The ideological belief in legal neutrality is ideological in a pejorative sense. That is, it is a false belief that works to the detriment of its holder. The conservative ideology that informs legal decision making is ideological in a descriptive but not necessarily a pejorative sense. For a discussion of these and other distinctions between the possible meanings of the term “ideology,” see Raymond Geuss, The Idea Of A Critical Theory (1981), esp. ch. 1. Thus, a central project of the CLS movement is to unmask the ideological nature of law.For discussion of the premises that the liberal belief about law is ideological and that the function of CLS writers is to unmask this ideological nature, see David Kairys,Introduction to The Politics Of Law: A Progressive Critique 5 (David Kairys ed., 1990); Alan Hutchinson, Introduction to Critical Legal Studies 3 (Alan Hutchinson ed., 2d ed. 1989); Richard M. Fischl, Some Realism About Critical Legal Studies, 41 U. Miami L. Rev. 505, 524–25 (1987); and Duncan Kennedy, The Structure of Blackstone’s Commentaries, 28 Buff. L. Rev. 205 (1979).
This article seeks to parry Ronald Dworkin’s assaults on the legal-positivist thesis that the authoritative norms in any legal system are ascertained by reference to some overarching set of criteria that may or may not require the making of moral judgments. Four main lines of argument are presented. First, Dworkin does not establish that judges disagree with one another at a criterial level in easy cases; second, even if criterial disagreements are indeed present (at least subterraneously) in all cases, they will be quite sharply limited by the need for regularity at the level of outcomes in a functional legal system; third, Dworkin errs in thinking that legal conventions must be static, and he further errs in thinking that the adjudicative practices of American law can plausibly be portrayed as based solely on convictions and not on conventions. Finally, with his recent reflections on the metaphysics of morals, Dworkin helps to reveal the resilience of a doctrine (viz., soft or inclusive positivism) that he seeks to confute.
In “The Model of Rules I,”1 Ronald Dworkin argues that judges are often bound by principles that do not derive their authority from having been formally promulgated by a judge or legislature in accordance with a rule of recognition. But, on Dworkin’s view, the existence of such principles is inconsistent with positivism’s pedigree thesis, according to which propositions are legally valid solely in virtue of having been promulgated in accordance with a rule of recognition. Thus, Dworkin concludes that positivism is false.
Recently, legal and social thinkers have turned to the idea thatactions possess a nonlinguistic meaning, called “expressive meaning.” In this article I examine the idea of expressive meaning and its role in legal reasoning. My focus is on a series of U.S. Supreme Court cases involving constitutional challenges to election districts drawn on the basis of race. The Supreme Court used the idea of expressive meaning in striking down the districts. After explicating the idea of expressive meaning, I explain and criticize the Court’s reasoning. I distinguish the approach of Justices Thomas and Scalia, who hold that all uses of race in districting do constitutional harm, from that of Justice O’Connor, who distinguishes uses of race that do constitutional harm from those that do not. I contend that Justice O’Connor is right to make the distinction but she draws the line using a questionable standard. A more defensible standard would be more accommodating to the districts that the Court invalidated.
How much must we sacrifice in order to stop strangers from suffering serious losses, and does distance from them alter our obligations? When may we harm some people to help others? How can we best reason about these issues? These are three general questions—the first two are substantive ones, the third a methodological one—that Peter Unger discusses in his book Living High and Letting Die (hereinafter LHLD) and that I discuss in this article.1
Every theory of justice requires a first-order theory specifying principles of justice, and a second-order view explaining why those principles constitute the correct principles of justice. According to John Rawls, political liberalism is committed to the two principles of justice specified in its first-order theory, “justice as fairness.” Justice as fairness, according to Rawls, in turn presupposes the second-order view that justice is a political conception. A political conception of justice treats the principles derived from the fundamental ideas in the public political culture as the correct principles of justice. Political liberalism, however, nowhere offers a defense of the view that justice is a political conception. Indeed, it even strives to avoid the admission that it presupposes that justice is a political conception by stating only that it uses a political conception of justice, while allowing that justice might not actually be a political conception. As to the truth of its second-order presupposition, political liberalism chooses to remain agnostic. Rawls claims that political liberalism has no choice at all. To do otherwise, he argues, would lead to an internal contradiction.
Just once, you should come see a farming or fishing village. You won't find a single girl. All you'll see are shriveled old grannies. The girls are all gone, left the village for work.… We guys are left, but we're lonely. Real lonely. Even suppose I can take the loneliness. How am I going to find a wife? I want a wife so bad I'm going crazy. But no girl'll marry a poor farmer anymore. Even when they come back to the village from the factories, they've turned completely high-class. With their hair done up and perfumed and all, they won't even look at us.
It was a letter to the editor of a Tokyo daily newspaper. And it captured at least some of the economic impact of the textile industry. Having made a minor fortune in the textile mills, the women had raised their sights, and raised them high.
To explain why the textile workers were able to obtain these high wages, in this chapter I explore the informational logic to the employment arrangements they used. Because each firm was so large and because so many women regularly quit work to return home and marry, potential employees had access to a steady flow of verifiable information about their potential employers. Owners, however, did not have accurate information about their recruits, could not readily monitor each recruit's performance, and could not precisely verify what their plant managers told them.
In significant part, the history of law in imperial Japan is a history of the way courts enforced claims to scarce resources. More simply, it is a history of property rights. As one court (somewhat sanctimoniously) put it in 1918, “the inviolability of the right to property is one of the fundamental principles of the Imperial Constitution.” Throughout the period, Japanese courts enforced private claims to property, and labor remained an asset controlled by the laborer himself or herself.
Over the past several decades, scholars have detailed the close (though obviously imperfect) relation between institutions that enforce private rights to scarce resources and the dynamics of economic growth. Those institutions, as Douglass North (1994: 359) put it in his Nobel Prize address, “form the incentive structure of a society, and … in consequence, are the underlying determinants of economic performance.” Through its courts, the Japanese government maintained those institutions scrupulously. The relatively efficient Japanese economic growth in the pre-War years was no surprise. It was the predictable result of the legal rules the government enacted and the courts enforced.
Land and labor are critical ingredients in almost all industries. By the turn of the century, Japanese courts systematically enforced the rights to use land, to exclude others from it, and to transfer it. Most land has value only when improved, and for most of Japanese history improvement has meant irrigation. Over irrigation rights, too, courts enforced such rights.