R. A. Duff

This book examines responsibility and luck as these issues arise in tort law, criminal law, and distributive justice. The central question is: whose bad luck is a particular piece of misfortune? Arthur Ripstein argues that there is a general set of principles to be found that clarifies responsibility in those cases where luck is most obviously an issue: accidents, mistakes, emergencies, and failed attempts at crime. In revealing how the problems that arise in tort and criminal law as well as distributive justice invite structurally parallel solutions, the author also shows the deep connection between individual responsibility and social equality. This is a challenging and provocative book that will be of special interest to moral and political philosophers, legal theorists, and political scientists.

We can usefully distinguish the conditions of criminal liability (those conditions which must be satisfied if a defendant is to be duly convicted, with which a criminal trial is concerned) from its preconditions (those conditions which must be satisfied if the trial, as a process which aims to determine whether or not this person is criminally liable, is to be legitimate at all). Some of these preconditions concern the defendant's status as a rsponsible citizen, who can properly be called to answer, at the trial, to a charge of criminal wrongdoing. Two such preconditions are briefly sketched (whether this person is capable of answering the charge, and is answerable before this court). More attention is devoted to a third precondition: whether the law calls this person to answer in a language which is genuinely accessible to him, as a language which he could use in the first person

This is a response to ten critiques of my 2018 book The Realm of Criminal Law, by Stephen Bero and Alex Sarch, Kim Ferzan, Stuart Green, Doug Husak, Nicola Lacey, Sandra Mayson, Victor Tadros, Patrick Tomlin, Alec Walen, and Gideon Yaffe. I take the opportunity to explain the main aims and themes of the book, to clarify some of its arguments, and to note some of the ways in which those arguments need expansion, development, or revision. Topics discussed include: the usefulness and limits of ‘rational reconstruction’ as a method of normative theorising; public wrongs and the scope of the criminal law; the idea of civil order as central to a political theory of criminal law; wrongness constraints on criminalization; mala prohibita and regulatory offences; the ‘De Minimis’ principle; and criminal law ‘abolitionism’.

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.

First paragraph: It is worth distinguishing two kinds of role that ideas of virtue and vice might play in the criminal law (or in our theoretical understanding of the criminal law). Each kind admits of a range of variations; each can be more or less ambitious in scope and aim: but although there are of course quite close connections between the two kinds, we can usefully sketch them as two different ways of developing a virtue jurisprudence of criminal law. Both kinds of role are connected to views of the proper aims of a system of criminal law: in the first case, a view of the further goods that criminal law should aim to achieve; in the second case, a view of the proper objects of criminal liability

I discuss two problems for the standard Anglo-American account of recklessness, and the distinctions between intention, recklessness, and negligence. One problem concerns the over-breadth of recklessness as thus defined—that it covers agents whose actions display different kinds of culpability. The other problem concerns the importance attached to awareness of risk in distinguishing recklessness from negligence—that one who is unaware of the risk that he takes or creates sometimes displays just the same kind of fault as an advertent risk-taker. We can work towards solutions to these problems by contrasting the Anglo-American schema with the German schema: this distinguishes intention from negligence. Dolus eventualis, properly understood, constitutes a distinctive kind of fault, which should be distinguished from advertent negligence within the category of what the Anglo-American schema counts as recklessness: this helps to solve the first problem, of over-breadth. As for the second problem, we can see why the difference between advertent and inadvertent risk-taking is not always normatively significant by noticing that an agent’s failure to realise the risk he is creating can itself display a significant fault in the structure of the practical reasoning that informs his action—just the same kind of fault as that displayed by an advertent risk-taker. The upshot of this discussion is a new schema of types of criminal fault; I finally note some problems with the practicability of such a new schema.

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 discuss some of the roles that lay people play in relation to the criminal law, and how that law should figure in their practical reasoning: this will also cast light on the place of criminal law in a democratic republic. The two roles discussed in this paper are those of citizen, and juror. Citizens should be able to respect the law as their law – as a common law; but this must be a critical respect, captured in the idea of ‘law abidance’ as a civic virtue. Jurors are tasked with making normative judgments of guilt or innocence, as part of a process through which those accused of criminal wrongdoing are called to answer to their fellow citizens: they must therefore be able to understand the law, and make it their own – which raises the question of whether jury nullification can be an appropriate response to unjust laws.

Taking as its starting point Miri Gur-Arye’s critical discussion of a legal duty to report crime, this paper sketches an idealising conception of a democratic republic whose citizens could be expected to recognise a civic responsibility to report crime, in order to assist the enterprise of a criminal law that is their common law. After explaining why they should recognise such a responsibility, what its scope should be, and how it should be exercised, and noting that that civic responsibility must include a responsibility to report one’s own crimes; it discusses whether that civic responsibility could ground at least a limited legal duty to report certain types of crime. It then turns to the question of whether a civic responsibility to assist the criminal law’s enterprise of bringing wrongdoers to account could include a responsibility to arrest suspected or known offenders if the police cannot or will not do so—a responsibility to make a citizen’s arrest, and the legal power to discharge that responsibility: how far should citizens feel entitled, or duty-bound, thus to ‘take the law into their own hands’?

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

Philosophers have often claimed that the requirements of morality have an absolute and categorical status. Other values may be relative to the agent's ends, other imperatives hypothetical on his desires: their requirements must be justified by relating the action enjoined to the attainment of those ends or desires, and can be avoided by being shown to be incompatible with them. But the requirements of morality bind us whatever our ends or desires might be: they are not to be justified by reference to anything beyond themselves; they cannot be avoided by being shown to be incompatatible with our existing purposes. Other values and imperatives may be determined—be given their status as values or imperatives—by our own prior purposes and desires: but those of morality themselves determine which purposes or desires we may or may not pursue. For convenient reference I label this the Absolutist view

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

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Commentary on “Psychopathy, Other-Regarding Moral Beliefs, and Responsibility”R. A. Duff (bio)AbstractI make four criticisms of Fields’s account of one type of psychopathy as a responsibility-negating personality disorder which involves an incapacity to form other-regarding moral beliefs. First, his account of what it is to hold moral beliefs (in terms of accepting universal practical principles) actually specifies neither a necessary, nor a sufficient, condition for holding a moral belief. Second, he is too quick to dismiss the suggestion that what psychopaths suffer from is an inability to understand moral concepts and values. Third, he does not show why we should ascribe an incapacity to accept moral beliefs to the psychopath, rather than a culpable failure to do so. Fourth, he suggests too weak a criterion of criminal liability, as requiring only the capacity to act for prudential reasons.KeywordsMoral beliefs, moral understanding, incapacity, criminal liabilityFields argues that we can properly count at least one type of psychopathy as a personality disorder which negates moral responsibility. This is not because, as others have argued, such psychopaths cannot understand moral concepts and moral values, but because they suffer an incapacity to form other-regarding moral beliefs, i. e., to accept practical moral principles; we cannot hold them morally responsible for failing to accept or obey moral principles which they lack the capacity to accept. Nor, he also argues, should we hold them criminally liable, since they lack that capacity to act for prudential reasons to which a deterrent system of law appeals.His paper rightly emphasizes the interdependence of psychiatry and philosophy, in this as in other contexts. A psychiatric account of psychopathy as a disorder involving some kind of moral incapacity must depend for its precise sense on an adequate account of the concepts of moral capacity and incapacity: an account which should draw on the resources of moral philosophy. Philosophers who aim to understand those concepts will do well to attend, as Fields does attend, to psychiatric discussions and case histories: not only because this is necessary if their comments on mental disorder or on psychopathy are to be adequately informed, but also because careful attention to the problematic phenomena of mental disorder can also illuminate our understanding of the rational powers and capacities which are lacking or distorted in the disordered, and which philosophers hope to analyze. Fields is also clearly right to emphasize that the criteria of moral responsibility might not be the same as the appropriate [End Page 283] criteria of criminal liability: that the question of whether psychopaths should be criminally liable cannot necessarily be answered simply by determining whether they are morally responsible.However, I do not think that he has provided an adequate account of psychopathy as a personality disorder which negates moral responsibility and criminal liability. I will comment on four aspects of his discussion.First, as Fields recognizes, one who wants to argue that psychopaths lack the capacity to form moral beliefs owes us an account of what it is to form, or hold, a moral belief. Fields’s account is familiar, but arguable. To hold a moral belief is to accept, and to be motivated by, a universal practical principle: a principle which one regards as providing very strong reasons for action, and breaches of which arouse such responses as (third-person) disapproval or (first-person) guilt. It could be plausibly objected, however, that accepting some universal practical principle is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for holding a moral belief.It is not a sufficient condition, partly because not any universal practical principle which an agent treats as being important can intelligibly count as a moral principle. The principle “One should never split an infinitive” cannot, by itself, count as a moral principle; and if someone treated it as if it were a moral principle, we would judge his moral understanding, and his rational capacities, to be seriously impaired. This suggests that a purely formal account of the “moral,” like Fields’s (an account that pays no attention to the content of what could count as a moral principle) cannot be adequate (see Foot 1978). A further, related reason for the...

Criminal law exceptionalism, or so I suggest, has turned into an ideology in German and Continental criminal law theory. It rests on interrelated claims about the (ideal or real) extraordinary qualities and properties of the criminal law and has led to exceptional doctrines in constitutional criminal law and criminal law theory. It prima facie paradoxically perpetuates and conserves the criminal law, and all too often leads to ideological thoughtlessness, which may blind us to the dark sides of criminal laws in action.

This collection of original essays, by some of the best known contemporary criminal law theorists, tackles a range of issues about the criminal law's 'special part' - the part of the criminal law that defines specific offences. One of its aims is to show the importance, for theory as well as for practice, of focusing on the special part as well as on the general part which usually receives much more theoretical attention. Some of the issues covered concern the proper scope of the criminal law, for example how far should it include offences of possession, or endangerment? If it should punish only wrongful conduct, how can it justly include so-called 'mala prohibita', which are often said to involve conduct that is not wrongful prior to its legal prohibition? Other issues concern the ways in which crimes should be classified. Can we make plausible sense, for instance, of the orthodox distinction between crimes of basic and general intent? Should domestic violence be defined as a distinct offence, distinguished from other kinds of personal violence? Also examined are the ways in which specific offences should be defined, to what extent those definitions should identify distinctive types of wrongs, and the light that such definitional questions throw on the grounds and structures of criminal liability. Such issues are discussed in relation not only to such crimes as murder, rape, theft and other property offences, but also in relation to offences such as bribery, endangerment and possession that have not traditionally been subjects for in depth theoretical analysis.