R. A. Duff

Richard Dagger (in this issue) provides perhaps the most persuasive version of a ‘fair play’ theory of criminal punishment, grounded in an attractive liberal republican political theory. But, I argue, his version of the theory still faces serious objections: that its explanation of why some central mala in se are properly criminalised is still distorting, despite his appeal to the burdens of ‘general compliance’; and that it cannot adequately explain (as it should explain) the differential seriousness and wrongfulness of different kinds of crime.

On the basis of a communicative theory of criminal punishment, I show how mercy has a significant but limited role to play in the criminal law—in particular (although not only) in criminal sentencing. Mercy involves an intrusion into the realm of criminal law of values and concerns that are not themselves part of the perspective of criminal law: a merciful sentencer acts beyond the limits of her legal role, on the basis of moral considerations that conflict with the demands of penal justice. Sometimes, however (but in a decent system of law in a decent society, rarely), that is how citizens should act. Finally, I discuss, and criticise, two attempts to find a place for mercy within a communicative conception of punishment, and argue that repentance is not an appropriate ground for leniency or mercy in sentencing

First paragraph: Dangerous driving attracts a maximum penalty of a heavy fine, or in the most serious cases up to six months’ imprisonment; but if it causes death, the maximum penalty is fourteen years’ imprisonment. Careless driving attracts a maximum penalty of a level 4 fine; driving whilst under the influence of drink or drugs attracts a maximum penalty of a level 5 fine and/or up to six months’ imprisonment: but if someone causes death by careless driving when under the influence of drink or drugs, the maximum penalty is again fourteen years’ imprisonment, and for causing death by careless driving it is five years’ imprisonment. Driving when unlicensed, uninsured or disqualified attracts maximum penalties of, respectively, a level 3 fine, a level 5 fine, and a level 5 fine and/ or six months’ imprisonment; but an unlicensed, uninsured or disqualified driver who causes death faces a maximum penalty of two years’ imprisonment.2 The difference between causing and not causing death in such cases might be purely a matter of luck; we therefore face the familiar question of whether and how it can be consistent with the demands of penal justice to allow ‘outcome luck’ to make such a dramatic difference to an offender’s criminal liability

First paragraph: The awesome range of Heike Jung’s work—over different aspects of criminal law, different jurisdictions and traditions, different disciplines and languages—makes life both easier and harder for contributors to his Festschrift: easier, because one can choose almost any criminal law topic and be confident that it will connect to his work; harder (for those with the British vices of monolingualism and intellectual parochialism), since one’s paper will display the linguistic, jurisdictional or intellectual limitations that Heike Jung’s work so impressively transcends. In an attempt to overcome some of those limitations, I will discuss a topic that concerns criminal trials and the scope of the criminal law, through the distinction between crimes (Straftaten) and ‘regulatory offences’ (Ordnungswidrigkeiten) which is more often formally drawn in Germany and other continental European systems than in English law

The paper begins with the plausible view that criminal responsibility should track moral responsibility, and explains its plausibility. A necessary distinction is then drawn between liability and answerability as two dimensions of responsibility, and is shown to underpin the distinction in criminal law between offences and defences. This enables us to distinguish strict liability from strict answerability, and to see that whilst strict criminal liability seems inconsistent with the principle that criminal responsibility should track moral responsibility, strict criminal answerability is not. We must ask, therefore, whether, when and why strict criminal responsibility is unacceptable.

I begin by discussing the ways in which a would‐be blamer's own prior conduct towards the person he seeks to blame can undermine his standing to blame her (to call her to account for her wrongdoing). This provides the basis for an examination of a particular kind of ‘bar to trial’ in the criminal law – of ways in which a state or a polity's right to put a defendant on trial can be undermined by the prior misconduct of the state or its officials. The examination of this often neglected legal phenomenon illuminates some central features of the criminal law and the criminal process, and some of the preconditions for the legitimacy of the criminal law in a liberal republic.

Common lawyers are accustomed to the presumption of innocence being described as a “golden thread” running “[t]hroughout the web” of the criminal law: “that it is the duty of the prosecution to prove the prisoner’s guilt” (Woolmington v DPP [1935] AC 462 per Viscount Sankey LC at 481). But although the language of “golden thread” is memorable and oft-quoted, the presumption of innocence must mean more than this: it is not simply a restatement of the burden of proof in a criminal trial.Once this simple point is recognised, a whole host of more complex questions arise. For example: what, precisely, is the scope of the principle? Is this a matter on which consensus is possible or desirable? What role does the presumption have to play in pre-trial proceedings, in decisions by prosecutors? Does the presumption have consequences for the substantive criminal law, or can legislators blunt its impact by defining criminal offences so as to deprive the presumption of its bite? Can legislators tr

Ideas of prevention (the prevention of harms, or of wrongs, or of crimes) have always played a significant role in accounts of the proper aims of a system of criminal law, but in recent years they have come to play a more prominent and disturbing part in developments in criminal law policies—most obviously, but by no means only, in the USA and Britain. Governments have sought to meet (or to be seen to be meeting) a range of perceived threats, such as terrorism, organised crime, and various kinds of sexual predation, by looking for more effective modes of prevention. Sometimes this involves expanding the criminal law to capture more types of preparatory conduct, or conduct (including various kinds of possession) that might facilitate the commission of target crimes; sometimes it involves expanding non-criminal provisions for preventive detention, or other kinds of restriction on the liberty of those thought to be dangerous (restrictions that may themselves be backed by criminal sanctio

In this long-awaited book, Antony Duff offers a new perspective on the structures of criminal law and criminal liability. His starting point is a distinction between responsibility (understood as answerability) and liability, and a conception of responsibility as relational and practice-based. This focus on responsibility, as a matter of being answerable to those who have the standing to call one to account, throws new light on a range of questions in criminal law theory: on the question of criminalisation, which can now be cast as the question of what we should have to answer for, and to whom, under the threat of criminal conviction and punishment; on questions about the criminal trial, as a process through which defendants are called to answer, and about the conditions (bars to trial) given which a trial would be illegitimate; on questions about the structure of offences, the distinction between offences and defences, and the phenomena of strict liability and strict responsibility; and on questions about the structures of criminal defences. The net result is not a theory of criminal law; but it is an account of the structure of criminal law as an institution through which a liberal polity defines a realm of public wrongdoing, and calls those who perpetrate (or are accused of perpetrating) such wrongs to account.

This book reflects the belief that a careful study of the Law of Attempts should be both interesting in itself, as well as being a productive route into a number of larger and deeper issues in criminal law theory and in the philosophy of action. By identifying the legal doctrines which courts and legislatures have developed or adopted, the author goes on to ask whether and how they can be rationalized or rendered persuasive. Such an approach involves paying detailed attention to cases. The book is also unusual in that it grapples with English, Scots and US law, showing great breadth of research as well as philosophical sophistication. This is a work which is likely to become a seminal study and a major contribution to the study of law and legal philosophy.

abstract Focusing on the criminal law, I discuss three ways in which analytical philosophers might contribute to the development or health of the law (and of legal theory). The first is as humble under-labourers, who seek only to clarify legal rules and doctrines, but not to criticise them. This modest conception of the role of philosophy, however, proves to be untenable: clarification must become rational reconstruction — an attempt to make rational sense of the law; and rational reconstruction must involve at least an internal critique, which appraises the law in terms of ends, values or principles that the reconstruction discovers within the law. Such an internal critique must then also point beyond itself, to an external critique that appraises law in terms of the broader and deeper political and moral values by which states should be structured; the paper ends by noting some of the problems that such an external critique faces, and some of the problems that philosophers must face in trying to engage with the world of public policy.

Marcia Baron has offered an illuminating and fruitful discussion of extra-legal excuses. What is particularly useful, and particularly important, is her focus on our excusatory practices—on the ways and contexts in which we make, offer, accept, bestow and reject excuses: if we are to reach an adequate understanding of excuses, their implications and their grounds, we must attend to the roles that they can play in our human activities and relationships—and to the complexities and particularities of those roles. However, I want to focus my comments less on the details of Baron’s discussions of excuses in extra-legal contexts than on the implications of her discussion for our understanding of excuses in the criminal law. What light (if any, a sceptic might add) can such analyses of our extra-legal concepts and practices throw on legal concepts and doctrines?

Nigel Walker’s first principle of criminalization declares that ‘Prohibitions should not be included in the criminal law for the sole purpose of ensuring that breaches of them are visited with retributive punishment’. I argue that we should reject this principle, for ‘mala prohibita’ as well as for ‘mala in se’: conduct should be criminalized in order to ensure (as far as we reasonably can) that those who engage in it receive retributive punishment. In the course of the argument, I show why we should not see the criminal law as consisting in ‘prohibitions’; I explain different species of mala prohibita, and show how their commission does involve genuine wrongdoing; and I show the importance of distinguishing the question of regulation from that of sanction.

First paragraph: Dangerous driving attracts a maximum penalty of a heavy fine, or in the most serious cases up to six months’ imprisonment; but if it causes death, the maximum penalty is fourteen years’ imprisonment. Careless driving attracts a maximum penalty of a level 4 fine; driving whilst under the influence of drink or drugs attracts a maximum penalty of a level 5 fine and/or up to six months’ imprisonment: but if someone causes death by careless driving when under the influence of drink or drugs, the maximum penalty is again fourteen years’ imprisonment, and for causing death by careless driving it is five years’ imprisonment. Driving when unlicensed, uninsured or disqualified attracts maximum penalties of, respectively, a level 3 fine, a level 5 fine, and a level 5 fine and/ or six months’ imprisonment; but an unlicensed, uninsured or disqualified driver who causes death faces a maximum penalty of two years’ imprisonment.2 The difference between causing and not causing death in such cases might be purely a matter of luck; we therefore face the familiar question of whether and how it can be consistent with the demands of penal justice to allow ‘outcome luck’ to make such a dramatic difference to an offender’s criminal liability.

I argue that hanink's account of the principle of double effect ("some light on double effect," "analysis", volume 35, number 5) is inadequate, and rests on the mistaken assumption that the criteria for distinguishing acts from each other, intention from foresight, acting from refraining, can be specified independently of any moral perspective. i try to indicate the way to a better understanding of these distinctions, and the essential features of the kind of absolutist morality which invokes them--its concern with "agency", with "transcendent values", and with "limits" on human action. i illustrate these points by a brief discussion of suicide