John Gardner

(1965 - 2019)

In this challenging collection of new essays, leading philosophers and criminal lawyers from the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada break with the tradition of treating the philosophical foundations of criminal law as an adjunct to the study of punishment. Focusing clearly on the central issues of moral luck, mistake, and mental illness, this volume aims to reorient the study of criminal law. In the process of retrieving valuable material from traditional law classifications, the contributors break down false associations, reveal hidden truths, and establish new patterns of thought. Their always illuminating and sometimes startling conclusions makes this essential reading for all those interested in the philosophy of criminal law.

In this paper I outline various different objects of investigation that may be picked out by word “law” (or its cognates). All of these objects must be investigated in an integrated way before one can provide a complete philosophical explanation of the nature of law. I begin with the distinction between laws (artefacts) and law (the genre to which the artefacts belong). This leads me to the distinction between the law (of a particular legal system) and law (the genre of artefacts). Then I discuss the contrast between law (the genre of artefacts) and law (the practice). Finally I comment on legality as the name of an ideal for laws and legal systems to live up to. I commend H. L. A. Hart's explanation of the nature of law for investigating these various objects in an integraed way, while nevertheless respecting the distinctions among them. I also criticise some of R. M. Dworkin's work for failing to respect the same distinctions.

I. Often, I have a reason to φ and derived from it I have a reason to try to φ. But not always. A reason for me to try to φ derives from a reason for me to φ only if my trying to φ will contribute to my φing. In cases of two distinct types my trying to φ does not pass this test. In cases of the first type, I lack the ability to φ at all, so nothing that I do (including but not limited to my trying to φ) will contribute to my φing. I will never sing like Ella Fitzgerald whatever I do, so there’s nothing to be gained by trying. In cases of the second type, I have the ability to φ but lack the ability to φ-by-trying-to: trying to φ is counterproductive; it would be better, from the point of view of my φing, if I aimed at something else instead, possibly even at −φing. Trying to impress people, or trying to be funny, or trying to make oneself popular may all have the opposite effect. The funniest thing, indeed, is sometimes trying to be serious in the face of absurdity. On such an occasion a reason to be funny yields no reason to try to be funny, but it does yield a reason to try not to be funny.

This paper tackles three common misconceptions about responsibility. The first misconception is that it is against our interests to be responsible for our actions. The second is that our responsibility for our actions is fixed at the time when we act. The third is that we can only be responsible to someone in particular, not responsible full stop. The three misconceptions turn out to be related, and disabusing ourselves of them helps us to rediscover the most fundamental point of the courtroom trial

Jeff McMahan rejects the relevance of desert to the morality of self-defense. In Killing in War he restates his rejection and adds to his reasons. We argue that the reasons are not decisive and that the rejection calls for further attention, which we provide. Although we end up agreeing with McMahan that the limits of morally acceptable self-defense are not determined by anyone’s deserts, we try to show that deserts may have some subsidiary roles in the morality of self-defense. We suggest that recognizing this might help McMahan to answer some unanswered questions to which his own position gives rise.