Tim Dare

Most countries promote mass immunisation programmes. The varying policy details raise a raft of philosophical issues. I have two broad aims in this paper. First, I hope to begin to remedy a rather curious philosophical neglect of immunisation. With this in mind, I take a broad approach to the topic hoping to introduce rather than settle a range of philosophical issues. My second aim has two aspects: I argue that the states should have pro‐immunisation policies, and I advance a view on the subsequent and more specific question as to which sorts of pro‐immunisation policies they should prefer. I use the immunisation policies of the United States and New Zealand to frame my discussion of these substantive questions. Immunisation is effectively compulsory in the United States. New Zealand, by contrast, requires evidence not of immunisation but of immunisation status upon school enrolment: New Zealand's policy effectively makes immunisation choice compulsory. I argue that, as between the pro‐immunisation policies of the United States and New Zealand, the latter should be preferred. Though the threshold question as to whether states should have pro‐immunisation policies should be answered affirmatively, the move to compulsory immunisation cannot be justified.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 25.1 (2001) 127-141 [Access article in PDF] Lawyers, Ethics, and To Kill a Mockingbird Tim Dare I Lawyers are widely thought to be callous, self-serving, devious, and indifferent to justice, truth, and the public good. The law profession could do with a hero, and some think Atticus Finch of Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird fits the bill. 1 Claudia Carver, for instance, urging lawyers to adopt Atticus as a role model, writes: "I had lots of heroes when growing up.... Only one remains very much 'alive' for me.... Atticus made me believe in lawyer heroes." 2 Not everyone endorses Atticus's nomination. Most influentially, Monroe Freedman argues that Atticus is hardly admirable since, as a state legislator and community leader in a segregated society, he lives "his own life as the passive participant in that pervasive injustice." 3Although there is plainly disagreement between Freedman and his opponents, there is also an important point of consensus. Both sides to the debate accept that Atticus's suitability as a role model is settled by his character. Freedman argues that Atticus should not be a role model because he is not the admirable figure he is made out to be: appointed counsel to an unpopular defendant, Atticus admits that he had hoped "to get through life without a case of this kind" (p. 98). He excuses the leader of a lynch mob as "basically a good man" who "just has his blind spots along with the rest of us" (p. 173). He sees that "one of these days we're going to pay the bill" for racism, but hopes that payment, and so justice for blacks, will not come during his children's life times (pp. 243-44). 4 On the other hand, a leading Atticus supporter, Thomas Shaffer, argues that Atticus shows us precisely that what matters in professional ethics is character rather than moral principle: [End Page 127] One thing you could say about Atticus is that he had character.... We say that a good person has character, but we do not mean to say only that he believes in discernible moral principles and, under those principles, makes good decisions. We mean also to say something about who he is and to relate who he is to his good decisions. When discussion proceeds in this way, principles need not even be explicit. We can say, "How would Atticus see this situation?" or "What would Atticus do" rather than, "What principles apply?" 5So understood, the debate about Atticus connects with the recent resurrection of virtue ethics and with concomitant suggestions that a virtue or character-based ethics might provide a particularly promising approach to professional ethics in general and to legal ethics in particular.In the following essay, I argue that this character-based appeal to Atticus is misplaced. Although Atticus can teach us important lessons, they are not about the priority of virtue or character. Neither side to the debate has Atticus quite right. Sorting out what it is about him that makes him an appropriate or inappropriate role model for lawyers will both enrich our appreciation of a fine novel and further our understanding of what it is to be an ethical lawyer. More generally, my analysis will suggest that virtue ethics has little to offer toward an understanding of the moral responsibility of lawyers. II In brief, To Kill a Mockingbird is the story of the trial of a black man, Tom Robinson, for the rape of a white woman, Mayella Ewell, in racist Alabama in the 1930s. Appointed to defend Robinson, Atticus Finch takes the task seriously, drawing upon himself and his children the slurs and taunts of neighbors. At trial he proves that Robinson could not have raped Mayella, showing that her attacker was left-handed with two good arms, whereas Robinson had lost the use of his left arm in a cotton-gin accident. Robinson is convicted nonetheless. The verdict does not surprise Atticus. Racism, "Maycomb's usual disease" (p. 98), has made it a forgone conclusion. Indeed, shortly afterward, Tom is...

Science is our best way of finding out about the natural world, and philosophers who write about that world ought to be sensitive to the claims of our best science. There are obstacles, however, to outsiders using science well. We think philosophers are prone to misuse science: to give undue weight to results that are untested; to highlight favorable and ignore unfavorable data; to give illegitimate weight to the authority of science; to leap from scientific premises to philosophical conclusions without spelling out their relevance; to treat mere resonance between a scientific theory and a philosophical view as empirical evidence for the philosophical view. This article identifies and illustrates some of the ways in which philosophers misuse science, explains why these pitfalls are easy to fall into, and concludes with suggestions for avoiding them.

Atticus Finch, the lawyer-hero of Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird, played by Gregory Peck in the classic 1962 film version, has been adopted as an exemplar by advocates of a virtue ethics approach to legal ethics. When Atticus condones a departure from the rules of law in order to spare Boo Radley a trial, these theorists argue, he displays practical wisdom, or phronesis, and shows that the good lawyer gives priority to judgement and character over rules and principles. Yet Atticus can be understood in a quite different way as a tragic figure who, when faced with the possibility of a tragedy in Boo's case, abandons the commitment to law which earlier was a central part of his character. From this perspective, Atticus' lesson for legal ethics is not about the priority of judgement and character, but instead about the value of the rules and principles he abandons.

There is a widespread perception that even when lawyers are acting squarely within their roles, being good lawyers, they display the vices of dishonesty and deviousness. At the heart of the perception is the so called standard conception of the lawyer's role according to which lawyers owe special duties to their clients which render permissible, or even mandatory, acts that would otherwise count as morally impermissible. Many have concluded that the standard conception should be set aside. This book suggests that the moral implications of the standard conception are often mischaracterised. Critics suggest that the conception requires lawyers to secure any advantage the law can be made to give. But Dare offers a moral argument for the conception, according to which it justifies a more limited and moderate sphere of professional conduct than is normally supposed, allowing lawyers to preserve their integrity while giving proper weight to the role-differentiated permissions and obligations of their roles.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 25.1 (2001) 127-141 [Access article in PDF] Lawyers, Ethics, and To Kill a Mockingbird Tim Dare I Lawyers are widely thought to be callous, self-serving, devious, and indifferent to justice, truth, and the public good. The law profession could do with a hero, and some think Atticus Finch of Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird fits the bill. 1 Claudia Carver, for instance, urging lawyers to adopt Atticus as a role model, writes: "I had lots of heroes when growing up.... Only one remains very much 'alive' for me.... Atticus made me believe in lawyer heroes." 2 Not everyone endorses Atticus's nomination. Most influentially, Monroe Freedman argues that Atticus is hardly admirable since, as a state legislator and community leader in a segregated society, he lives "his own life as the passive participant in that pervasive injustice." 3Although there is plainly disagreement between Freedman and his opponents, there is also an important point of consensus. Both sides to the debate accept that Atticus's suitability as a role model is settled by his character. Freedman argues that Atticus should not be a role model because he is not the admirable figure he is made out to be: appointed counsel to an unpopular defendant, Atticus admits that he had hoped "to get through life without a case of this kind" (p. 98). He excuses the leader of a lynch mob as "basically a good man" who "just has his blind spots along with the rest of us" (p. 173). He sees that "one of these days we're going to pay the bill" for racism, but hopes that payment, and so justice for blacks, will not come during his children's life times (pp. 243-44). 4 On the other hand, a leading Atticus supporter, Thomas Shaffer, argues that Atticus shows us precisely that what matters in professional ethics is character rather than moral principle: [End Page 127] One thing you could say about Atticus is that he had character.... We say that a good person has character, but we do not mean to say only that he believes in discernible moral principles and, under those principles, makes good decisions. We mean also to say something about who he is and to relate who he is to his good decisions. When discussion proceeds in this way, principles need not even be explicit. We can say, "How would Atticus see this situation?" or "What would Atticus do" rather than, "What principles apply?" 5So understood, the debate about Atticus connects with the recent resurrection of virtue ethics and with concomitant suggestions that a virtue or character-based ethics might provide a particularly promising approach to professional ethics in general and to legal ethics in particular.In the following essay, I argue that this character-based appeal to Atticus is misplaced. Although Atticus can teach us important lessons, they are not about the priority of virtue or character. Neither side to the debate has Atticus quite right. Sorting out what it is about him that makes him an appropriate or inappropriate role model for lawyers will both enrich our appreciation of a fine novel and further our understanding of what it is to be an ethical lawyer. More generally, my analysis will suggest that virtue ethics has little to offer toward an understanding of the moral responsibility of lawyers. II In brief, To Kill a Mockingbird is the story of the trial of a black man, Tom Robinson, for the rape of a white woman, Mayella Ewell, in racist Alabama in the 1930s. Appointed to defend Robinson, Atticus Finch takes the task seriously, drawing upon himself and his children the slurs and taunts of neighbors. At trial he proves that Robinson could not have raped Mayella, showing that her attacker was left-handed with two good arms, whereas Robinson had lost the use of his left arm in a cotton-gin accident. Robinson is convicted nonetheless. The verdict does not surprise Atticus. Racism, "Maycomb's usual disease" (p. 98), has made it a forgone conclusion. Indeed, shortly afterward, Tom is...

Professional roles are often thought to bring role-specific permissions and obligation, which may allow or require role-occupants to do things they would not be permitted or required to do outside their roles, and which as individuals they would rather not do. This feature of professional roles appears to bring them into conflict both with 'ordinary' or non-role morality, and with personal integrity which is often thought to demand some form of personal endorsement of one's conduct. How are we to reconcile the demands of roles with ordinary morality and with personal integrity? This collection draws together a set of papers which explore these questions as they bear upon a number of different professional roles, including those of the lawyer, the judge and the politician, and from a variety of perspectives, including contemporary analytic moral theory, jurisprudence, psychoanalytic theory, virtue ethics, and contextualism, and, more broadly, from philosophy and legal academia and practice.

Although our moral lives would be unrecognisable without them, roles have received little attention from analytic moral philosophers. Roles are central to our lives and to our engagement with one another, and should be analysed in connection with our core notions of ethics such as virtue, reason, and obligation. This volume aims to redress the neglect of role ethics by confronting the tensions between conceptions of impartial morality and role obligations in the history of analytic philosophy and the Confucian tradition. Different perspectives on the ethical significance of roles can be found by looking to debates within professional and applied ethics, by challenging existing accounts of how roles generate reasons, by questioning the hegemony of ethical reasons, and by exploring the relation between expertise and virtue. The essays tackle several core questions related to these debates: What are roles and what is their normative import? To what extent are roles and the ethics of roles central to ethics as opposed to virtue in general, and obligation in general? Are role obligations characteristically incompatible with ordinary morality in professions such as business, law, and medicine? How does practical reason function in relation to roles? Perspectives in Role Ethics is an examination of a largely neglected topic in ethics. It will appeal to a broad range of scholars in normative ethics, virtue ethics, non-Western ethics, and applied ethics interested in the importance of roles in our moral life.

Most countries promote mass immunisation programmes. The varying policy details raise a raft of philosophical issues. I have two broad aims in this paper. First, I hope to begin to remedy a rather curious philosophical neglect of immunisation. With this in mind, I take a broad approach to the topic hoping to introduce rather than settle a range of philosophical issues. My second aim has two aspects: I argue that the states should have pro-immunisation policies, and I advance a view of the subsequent and more specific question as to which sorts of pro-immunisation policies they should prefer. I use the immunisation policies of the United States and New Zealand to frame my discussion of these substantive questions. Immunisation is effectively compulsory in the United States. New Zealand, by contrast, requires evidence not of immunisation but of immunisation status upon school enrolment: New Zealand's policy effectively makes immunisation choice compulsory. I argue that, as between the pro-immunisation policies of the United States and New Zealand, the latter should be preferred. Though the threshold question as to whether states should have pro-immunisation policies should be answered affirmatively, the move to compulsory immunisation cannot be justified

To have the burden of proof is to be rationally required to argue for or provide evidence for your position. To have a heavier burden than an opponent is to be rationally required to provide better evidence or better arguments than they are required to provide. Many commentators suggest that differential or uneven distribution of the burden of proof is ubiquitous. In reasoned discourse, the idea goes, it is almost always the case that one party must prove the claim at issue to prevent the opposing view winning by default. The following passage is typical of the sort of thing one finds in critical thinking textbooks

John Seery begins his book with a stirring condemnation of current political theory. He was attracted to the discipline, he reports, because it promised more than a life of idle speculation and disinterested contemplation. Though ensconced in academe, political theorists "at least have one foot out the door." However, political theory has lost its connection to the real world. Much current writing is predictable and formulaic, too much time is spent scoring points, establishing professional authority, and promoting career options: "The contemporary game is simple enough and avid participants know the rules: Carve out an arcane niche and call it a contribution". Seery implies that recognizing the significance of death will provide at least a partial remedy to this professional malaise. Ultimately he proposes a revised social contract that takes death "more robustly into account."

Recent research conducted in Australia shows that many oncologists withhold information about expensive unfunded drugs in what the authors of the study suggest is unacceptable medical paternalism. Surprised by the Australian results, we ran a version of the study in New Zealand and received very different results. While the percentages of clinicians who would prescribe the drugs described in the scenarios were very similar (73–99% in New Zealand and 72–94% in Australia depending on the scenario) the percentage who would not discuss expensive unfunded drugs was substantially lower in New Zealand (6.4–11.1%) than it was in Australia (28–41%). This seems surprising given the substantial similarities between the two countries, and the extensive interaction between their medical professions. We use the contrast between the two studies to examine the generalisability of the Australian results, to identify influences on clinicians' decisions about what treatment information to give patients, and so the tendency towards medical paternalism and, more pragmatically, about how such decisions might be influenced

This paper argues that significant aspects of the vaccination debate are ‘deep’ in a sense described by Robert Fogelin and others. Some commentators have suggested that such disagreements warrant rather threatening responses. I argue that appreciating that a disagreement is deep might have positive implications, changing our moral assessment of individuals and their decisions, shedding light on the limits of the obligation to give and respond to arguments in cases of moral disagreement, and providing an incentive to seek alternative ways of going on in the face of intractable moral disagreement. Non-coercive, non-reasoned strategies have been used or recommended to increase vaccination rates. Such strategies look problematic when judged by the standards of ideal moral and rational argumentation, but more acceptable if seen as responses to deep disagreements

Ronald Dworkin argues that disagreement in hard cases is ‘theoretical’ rather than empirical and of central importance to our understanding of law, showing ‘plain fact’ theories such as H. L. A. Hart’s sophisticated legal positivism to be false. The argument from theoretical disagreement targets positivism’s commitment to idea that the criteria a norm must meet to be valid in a given jurisdiction are constituted by a practice of convergent behavior by legal officials. The ATD suggests that in hard cases there is no such pattern of convergent behavior. Positivists are divided over the force of the ATD. Much of this disagreement over the force of the ATD can be understood as disagreement over just what it is that legal officials disagreeing ‘theoretically’ are disagreeing about. Once the scope of empirical and theoretical disagreements are more accurately plotted, we will see that the actual disagreements that occur in hard cases are not ones which threaten a deeper and pervasive pattern of convergent behavior, one which focuses not upon rules specifying criteria of legal validity, but instead upon broad processes for making, interpreting, and applying law. Such an account remains positivist, relying on the social fact that there is such a consensus, but allows for considerable disagreement among legal officials deciding cases within such procedures

Jonathan Boston provides an insightful analysis of the emergence and persistence of child poverty in New Zealand. His remarks on why child poverty matters are brief but, as he reports, “[t]here is a large and robust body of research on the harmful consequences of child poverty”. One cost he does not explicitly mention is the increased risk of maltreatment faced by children living in poverty. Given the clear correlation between risk of abuse and poverty, Boston’s recommendations might be expected to go some way to addressing New Zealand’s appalling child maltreatment statistics. However, Boston himself identifies both fiscal and political barriers to the implementation of his proposed strategy. “Fundamentally”, he observes, “without adequate multi-party agreement, it will be hard to reduce child poverty on a durable basis” and “[c]urrently, such agreement is lacking”. Even if we accept Boston’s strategies for child-poverty reduction, then, it is prudent to consider other responses to the consequences of child poverty. Significant and controversial aspects of New Zealand’s 2013 White Paper for Vulnerable Children can be read in this light, and one of them – the proposal to use predictive risk modeling to identify children at risk of maltreatment – is the focus of this commentary.