Gabriel Mendlow

Prominent theories of the criminal law borrow heavily from the two leading theories of temptation—the evaluative conception of temptation, which conceives emotion and desire as essentially involving a kind of evaluation, and the mechanistic conception of temptation, which conceives emotion and desire as essentially involving felt motivation. As I explain, both conceptions of temptation are inconsistent with the possibility of akratic action, that is, action contrary to a person’s conscious better judgment. Both are inconsistent with the possibility of akratic action because both are covertly inconsistent with a two-fold psychological assumption that undergirds common beliefs about human action and lies at the heart of the law of criminal responsibility: that resisting a powerful temptation is extremely difficult yet not ordinarily impossible. I reveal these inconsistencies and offer in place of the leading theories of temptation a theory of affective desire as primitive psychic attraction, an elemental psychological state typically accompanied by evaluation and motivation but not reducible to either one. I then show how this theory of desire is consistent with the possibility of akratic action, with the two-fold psychological assumption at the heart of the law of criminal responsibility, and, in particular, with the defense of provocation.

In a characteristically iconoclastic essay, “Does the State Have a Monopoly to Punish Crime?”, Douglas Husak argues that the state’s moral right to punish crime is all but self-evident while its supposed monopoly on punishment is a fiction. Husak draws this bracing conclusion from a modest, quasi-Lockean premise – that persons and other entities have a right to impose stigmatizing deprivations on those who wrong them. This premise evokes John Locke’s far stronger claim that everyone enjoys a natural right to inflict potentially severe sanctions on any wrongdoer. The quasi-Lockean premise also evokes the familiar idea that all criminal wrongdoing is an attack on the broader community, and that law-breakers consequently owe a debt to society that they can repay through punishment. In this essay, I argue that the inferences Husak draws from the quasi-Lockean premise are unsound, but for reasons that reveal important lessons about the state’s right to punish crime and about the limits of what we can extract from the venerable idea that a central victim of criminal wrongdoing is the community as a whole. In Part II, I argue that the quasi-Lockean premise does not ground the state’s right to punish the kind of wrongs traditionally thought central to the criminal law, namely, wrongs perpetrated on individual human victims. In Part III, I answer Husak’s implicit challenge to describe a kind of stigmatizing deprivation – a kind of punishment – that the state alone has a right to inflict. I suggest that no entity but the state may inflict sanctions that constitute prima facie invasions of moral rights.

In his penetrating book on the criminal culpability of children, Gideon Yaffe advances a novel theory of desert. According to the theory, the punishment you deserve for committing a given crime is the punishment the prospect of which would have led you to deliberate correctly about how to act, had that punishment been presented to you beforehand as an inevitable consequence of your committing the crime. Although fascinating and ambitious, Yaffe’s theory of desert struggles as an account of who deserves what, and it falls short of explaining why and how desert is normatively significant—why and how desert matters.

All observers of our legal system recognize that criminal statutes can be complex and obscure. But statutory obscurity often takes a particular form that most observers have overlooked: uncertainty about the identity of the wrong a statute aims to punish. It is not uncommon for parties to disagree about the identity of the underlying wrong even as they agree on the statute's elements. Hidden in plain sight, these unexamined disagreements underlie or exacerbate an assortment of familiar disputes—about venue, vagueness, and mens rea; about DUI and statutory rape; about hate crimes, child pornography, and counterterrorism laws; about proportionality in punishment; and about the proper ambit of the criminal law. Each of these disputes may hinge on deeper disagreements about the identity of the wrong a statute aims to punish, and these deeper disagreements can be surprisingly hard to resolve, fueled as they are by the complex inner structure of our penal laws and the discretionary mechanisms of their administration.

Philosophers have taken little heed of the fact that people often act contrary to their better judgment not because they suffer a volitional infirmity like weakness of will or compulsion but instead because they care too little about what they judge best (they are unconcerned) or they care too much about something else (they are compromised). Unconcerned and compromised action, being varieties of akratic action that do not involve volitional infirmity, are phenomena worth examining not only in their own right but also for what they reveal about the better known varieties of akratic action for which they might easily be mistaken, such as weak-willed action and action (or inaction) that stems from accidie. Unconcern and compromise also are worth examining for what they reveal about a topic beyond philosophical psychology, namely, moral and legal accountability. Forgiveness, resentment, and retributive punishment each may have less to do with what an offender (morally) believes than with what he cares about