For a variety of reasons political science in Britain has made no serious attempt to study courts and judges as political institutions and actors. Or at least this was true until recently. Several works in the last few years, especially Griffith's, Stevens's and a forthcoming book on the law lords by Alan Paterson, have pointed to a much needed change in this attitude. However, none of them have been works of political science, even though they have considered politics. By this I mean two things: they have not principally considered the judges' thoughts as political ideology; and they have not used the techniques and assumptions of rigorous, analytic political science. Indeed one of the few slightly earlier studies of the political role of the courts in Britain, by Morrison, specifically denies that such approaches, especially the statistical approach of jurimetrics, is possible in Britain. This article is an attempt to do the impossible, not so much because the author believes that Morrison's point is necessarily wrong, but because it is never sound methodology to abandon techniques that have been useful elsewhere without trying to make them work on different data sets. But first we must attempt to characterize the judicial role, before we try any study of the politics that may be attendant on judicial ideology.

It is well-known that power relations can exhibit a ‘one plus one equals three’ effect. Two or more units can fuse into a bloc which has more power than the component units before had between them. The most obvious example of this type of synergy (whereby the whole is greater than its constituent parts) would be three people bargaining over the distribution of a fixed kitty, and needing a simple majority to impose any outcome. The three actors can, in the long run, expect one-third of the kitty (and can be thought of as having one-third of the power). If two combine into a single bloc, they will win every time. The new bloc controls all of the power (⅓ + ⅓ → 1) and its constituent members' expectations each increase to half of the kitty. Notwithstanding this, it is by no means the case that all combinations of units into blocs increase either aggregate power or individual expectations. Some combinations can result in a loss of power, although examples of this are slightly more complex, and depend upon some formal index of power for their elucidation. Thus, in the real world of coalition politics, the government coalition which actually forms controls all of the power as a bloc, despite the fact that coalition members do not control all of the power between them if they go it alone. Conversely, two parties can sometimes lose power by combining, particularly when they face a dominant opponent not far short of an overall majority.

According to Western observers Soviet political scientists have been making substantial advances in recent decades in their understanding of the United States. It is often pointed out, however, that cultural distance causes special problems. Soviet authors, it is claimed, tend to create images of their object of study which are coloured by conceptions of political behaviour specific to their own society. Although this is incontestable, it is worth remarking that American and British observers of Soviet politics and ideology are not exempt from the same kind of failing.

Compared with its counterparts in other countries the Soviet Union's national legislature, the USSR Supreme Soviet, has generally received little attention from scholars. The reasons are not far to seek. The Supreme Soviet meets much less frequently than its counterparts elsewhere; its votes are almost always unanimous; its discussion of government legislation is generally perfunctory and confined to details; and it has yet to ask a Soviet minister to resign. Yet, for all these obvious shortcomings, it has become increasingly apparent in recent years that the Supreme Soviet, like the soviets at lower levels of the state hierarchy, has been assuming greater powers and becoming a less marginal participant in the policy process than it was under Stalin or even Khrushchev. This apparent assumption of authority is evident most clearly in the expansion in the number and powers of the standing commissions attached to each of its chambers, through which, as in most modern legislatures, an increasing proportion of its business is conducted, but it is apparent in other ways as well. All in all, as one commentator has put it, the Supreme Soviet's meetings and discussions were indeed ‘perfunctory’ and ‘stage-managed’ for perhaps the first three decades of its existence (1936–66); but since Stalin, and more particularly since Khrushchev, the Supreme Soviet has made a ‘modest – but in terms of past history, impressive – comeback as an institution with more than purely symbolic functions’.

Many students of the United States Congress have contended that the institution is too closely tied to the interests of members' local constituencies. While the responsiveness this charge implies may seem laudable, the localism said to exist, especially in the House, weakens national agents of representation such as the political parties. Institutional features like seniority and the norm of reciprocity are often criticized for the premium they place upon members' success in their local constituencies, and the narrow, particularistic policy which results. Those who prefer a legislature responsive to national interests lament the disproportionate influence of constituencies with well-placed representatives on the committees and subcommittees in the House, and the fragmented, ‘distributive’ character of the legislative process.

In a recent article, Alan Ware argues the following:

(1) Manipulation is important to liberals because governments and law courts are justified in overriding some person's wants, when determining his interests, only when his wants have been manipulated (pp. 175, 177). (I shall call this person ‘B’.)

(2) Manipulation only occurs when some specified person (A) is both morally and causally responsible for the change in B's wants (pp. 165–6 and sec. III).

Therefore

(3) Liberals can override B's wants, when determining his interests, only when B's wants have been determined by some specified A who is both morally and causally responsible for the change in B's wants (pp. 176–7).

In his Comment on my article Peter Morriss raises several interesting points, but in this reply I shall try to show that the objections he makes to my analysis are not convincing. I consider first the more general arguments grouped under my ‘second error’. This permits consideration of the ‘first error’ to be placed in the context of anti-paternalist liberal arguments.

I fear that Alan Ware's Reply to my Comment only serves to reinforce my view that his argument is mistaken. Indeed, without apparently realizing it he concedes much of what I want to claim.