Mirror of Justice

A blog dedicated to the development of Catholic legal theory.
Affiliated with the Program on Church, State & Society at Notre Dame Law School.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Feldman on the Virtues of Political Justices

I admire and respect Noah Feldman's writing on the religion clauses.  I think that his piece on the intellectual origins of the Establishment Clause was extremely well done.  While I don't agree with many of the claims in "Divided by God," particularly the "and what we should do about it" prescriptions, and while I don't think that at least some of the arguments in the book are original to Feldman, I thought the book was well done overall.

Which is why I am sorry to see another op-ed piece by Feldman that advocates a politicized judiciary and extols the virtues of Supreme Court justices who "play politics" (here are my previous thoughts -- mostly negative -- on similar views of his in Slate).  Feldman writes that the recent criticisms of Justices Scalia and Thomas for entering too much into the political fray fail to account for the fact that past Justices were not at all shy about their political attachments and biases.  His evidence consists primarily of Justices in history who resigned their positions to pursue political office (Justice Charles Evans Hughes) or who were unsuccessfully recruited to do so (Justice Douglas).  He points to Justice Jackson's decision to suspend his judicial duties to take on the Nuremberg prosecutions and to Justice Owen Roberts's chairmanship of a commission investigating the Pearl Harbor attacks.

These political experiences, says Feldman, because they were obtained during the course of judicial tenure, enriched the Justices later opinions.  Feldman doesn't quite say that it was exactly because of his political experiences that Justice Jackson wrote the opinion he did in Eisentrager, but he comes close.  I have no objection to the idea that a judge's experiences, political and otherwise, will influence his or her judgment.  But he draws strange conclusions from something like the obverse claim -- that non-political Justices make distant and isolated decisions -- in the following:

Isolated justices make isolated decisions. It is difficult to imagine justices who drank regularly with presidents deciding that a lawsuit against a sitting executive could go forward while he was in office, or imagining that the suit would not take up much of the president’s time. Yet that is precisely what the court did by a 9-to-0 vote in the 1997 case of Clinton v. Jones. The court’s mistaken practical judgment opened the door to President Bill Clinton’s testimony about Monica Lewinsky and the resulting impeachment that preoccupied the government for more than two years as Osama bin Laden laid his plans.

I don't understand this argument, or if I do understand it, I wish I didn't.  Is Feldman saying that had the Justices understood what it's like to be President, they wouldn't have ruled the way they did in Clinton v. Jones?  My initial response is to wonder why not?  What difference should it make that some of the Justices were, or were not, drinking buddies of President Clinton when that case was decided?  Does Feldman think that their positive or negative relationship with Clinton ought to have affected their judgment?  Should the Justices have realized -- in virtue of their keen political sense -- that a decision against Clinton would empower Osama bin Laden, and that they ought therefore to decide accordingly?  Long live Judge Handy.

In much of the rest of the piece, Feldman criticizes conservatives for casting a skeptical eye at liberal Justices who hobnob with liberal opinion-makers, and liberals who do the same for conservative Justices.  I suppose this is intended to lend the piece an air of even-handedness.  But, in my view, it masks an objectionable view of the nature of judging.  Judging is an activity in some sense, at least aspirationally, set apart and removed from the push and pull of politics.  Of course it is true that judges are not and cannot be completely isolated from the political world that the rest of us inhabit.  Of course.  But it's one thing to recognize that fact and nevertheless aspire to a different ideal, and it's quite another to ridicule the aspiration to judicial integrity and the distinctness -- which is to say, the separateness, and in some fundamental way, the isolation -- of legal judgment from the political world. 

It's all too easy to mock "medieval vestments" and "monk"-ishness: like shooting fish in a populist barrel.  More important, the argument that throwing off these trappings of a backward set of ideals and aspirations would actually improve the law, let alone the regard in which judges are held, seems dead wrong to me.        

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Hard Proof of the Existence of a Benevolent God...

could be found this evening, as the forces of light resoundingly beat back those of darkness.

Complexity and Beauty, Law and Aesthetics

Sometimes people say that a simple theory is an elegant theory.  Or one might hear that a theory is beautiful in its simplicity.  That might mean that a simple theory is an effective theory, and that in turn could have two other meanings: (1) the theory's simplicity will allow more people to understand it in the first place; and/or (2) the theory's simplicity will mean that people who understand it and find it appealing are most likely to apply it correctly (or as intended).  Both of these meanings really have to do with the theory's influence, or its expediency, or the capacity of the theory to reach desirable results: if you want your theory to be influential, to be useable, to be applied as you intend and to reach the consequences for which you intend it, it's wise to make your theory as simple as possible.

But I take the prejudice in favor of simplicity sometimes to mean something more than an argument from effectiveness.  The equation of simplicity with elegance seems to be an aesthetic claim as well -- that simple theories are beautiful, elegant, artful, and that theories become uglier or progressively inelegant as they become more complex and ornamented.  In legal theory, in the fields with which I am familiar, simplicity is often seen as an intrinsic virtue, and its virtue seems somehow fundamentally connected to an aesthetic sensibility.  Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, please, not Bernini.   

I may be quite wrong about the impressions above, but having these thoughts suggests another set of questions that I'm hopeful the learned readership here will know something about.  First, has there been any scholarship on the relationship between legal theory and aesthetics -- how and why it is that we find one kind or genre of legal theoretical account more appealing, from an aesthetic point of view, than another?  Second, and more generally, what does the scholarly landscape of law and aesthetics look like?  Has anyone thought about, for example, Roger Scruton's work in aesthetics in the context of legal scholarship?  Are there any connections between aesthetics and IP law (I could have selected other fields, but this one seems like it might offer something particularly interesting)?  I suppose the law and literature movement may have explored the aesthetics of opinion-writing, and perhaps there are other connections that have been probed there as well.  And finally, is there any serious study of the connections between CST or Christian legal thought and aesthetics? 

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

CST in the Washington Post

Readers will perhaps have seen this piece by Michael Gerson in today's Washington Post discussing the current and past compositions of House Catholics (there are roughly an equal number in total, but the percentage of Republican Catholics increased considerably in the last election).

Gerson discusses the possible effect of Catholic political and social thought on the fortunes of various ideological and policy issues.  Here's an interesting line from the article: "A revolutionary populism has seldom been the Catholic style - especially since Catholics have often been the victims of such populism in American history."

Monday, February 7, 2011

Against Restitution as the Core Aim of Criminal Law

There is a story in today's National Law Journal (unfortunately kept under lock and key) about orders of monetary restitution to make victims of child pornography whole.  The defendants in some of these cases have been convicted of possession of child pornography, not distribution. 

The cases, which at present seem largely limited to a single victim -- "Amy" (though there is another victim in a different group of cases named "Vicky") --, raise interesting questions about the nature and purposes of criminal law.  I understand that restitution seems to be an increasingly popular mode of administering punishment, and the commingling of tort and criminal remedies gives me some pause, though in truth I am uncertain about it.

As I understand the issue (thanks in part to a terrific law review note that I supervised by Brad Reiss), wherever images of Amy (or whoever) are part of the evidence against the defendant, Amy's lawyers (who include former Judge Paul Cassell, whose writing I greatly respect) are notified and then use 18 U.S.C. section 2259 to request restitution for the harm caused by the display of the images.  Whether the victim is herself notified is not clear.  Each time the images are re-circulated represents a new episode of victimization for which new restitution is warranted.  Courts have split over the question of restitution in possession cases.  One, the S.D. of Florida, has awarded full restitution (more than $3 million worth), others partial restitution (sometimes the language of restitution is couched in terms of "proportionality"), and still others no restitution at all.  

The story in the NLJ reports on the 11th Circuit's decision to award partial restitution (it joins the 9th in adopting this approach) using rather over-heated language about the "slow acid drip" of harm that the victim suffered as a result of the defendant's possession.  The story itself is about the appeal of Judge Gladys Kessler's $5,000 award -- the case is being heard today by the D.C. Circuit.

These cases present difficult questions of proximate causation, and it looks like one of the major issues will be how to measure the harm to the victim of increasingly remote possession of the images.  But another larger question relates to the nature of remedies in tort and the aims of criminal punishment -- purposes which, though they may overlap here and there, ought to remain distinct.

Continue reading

Friday, February 4, 2011

Formalism and Formality

For many law professors formalism generally draws at best mixed reviews (there are exceptions, of course -- I've heard tell of some maverick neo-formalists as well as formalists in the great white north of Toronto).  Brian Tamanaha's recent book even goes so far as to claim that some formalists of yesteryear didn't embrace the designation.  But in this post, I don't want to plunge into those ship-wrecking waters.  I want instead to play on safer shoals -- to think about the connection, if there is one, between the ideas of formalism in law and formality of behavior or manner.  I'm particularly interested in the question whether, from the standpoint of teachers of future lawyers, there is a relationship between formalism in law and formality in one's written expression, one's professional interactions, and one's general professional deportment.

Continue reading

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Obstreperous Italy

This story (h/t Mark Movsesian) reports Italy's rejection of the EU's "statement against persecution of religious minorities" because of what it claims to be the studied failure to reference the persecution of Christians.  Italy was supported by France (vraiment??) in its rejection of the statement.

Anybody have a sense for when the Lautsi appeal will be handed down?  I'm looking forward to the Italian reaction to what I predict will be an affirmation of the ECtHR's hugely unpopular earlier decision. 

Sunday, January 30, 2011

"Varieties of Religion Today: William James Revisited"

Over the weekend I've been reading around a very slim book by Charles Taylor based on a lecture series connected with his Gifford Lecture in 1999 (the book was published in 2002 under the title above).  Taylor marks the occasion by "revisiting" William James's The Varieties of Religious Experience (given as the Gifford Lecture nearly a century earlier).  Many of the arguments in the middle of the book clearly presage Taylor's lengthier claims in A Secular Age -- for example, Taylor introduces here arguments from what he calls the neo-Durkheimian dispensation and the post-War development of the "expressivist" (or post-Durkheimian) religious model.

But what is special about the book is Taylor's attempt to situate James's understanding of religious "experience."  James was particularly (exclusively) interested in individual experience, not corporate life (which he disdained).  A different but related idea is that James was concerned to explore what he called religious "feelings" and decidedly not what he thought were the rationalizations and justifications which later proceeded from those feelings and, he belived, diluted and adulterated them.

It has been remarked before that the emphasis on experience and feeling places James as the relatively late descendent of a distinctively Protestant philosophical family tree.  In thinking about the connections of James's thought to modern sensibilities about religion, Taylor says something, again, related, but distinctive: he contrasts the outward, ritualistic, practice-oriented model of religious experience with an inward, personal, devotional model, a model in which people "take their religion seriously."  James's intellectual interests fit neatly within the presuppositions of the latter conception, and it was part of his project to vindicate interior religious experience against the slings and arrows of secular skepticism.   

But, says Taylor, the move from external to interior model was in fact very much of a piece with the march toward secularism: "[T]he drive to personal religion has itself been part of the impetus toward different facets of secularization . . . . Moreover, many of the secular moralities that have taken the place of religion place the same stress on inner commitment," one of which is of course Kantianism.  (13-14).  Some further thoughts after the jump on Taylor's characterization of James. 

Continue reading

Thursday, January 27, 2011

The Pain of the Death Penalty

This story describes how accused murderer Jared Loughner seems to have conducted at least some research on the Internet (through Google) about the physical pain of lethal injection.  What, if anything, can we draw from this fact?  Can this be counted as an example of the death penalty not being an effective deterrent? 

It depends, at least in part on what Loughner found and how it influenced him.  If he found information that convinced him that the pain of lethal injection was mild by comparison with the expected benefit ("pleasure") of the killings, then Loughner as rational calculator would not have been deterred, and one could say that the death penalty was not an effective deterrent.  But one could just as easily say that the death penalty might have deterred him if he had instead found information that the method of its administration was extremely painful, or at least if it outweighed the expected benefit.

This is a fairly crude argument founded on premises of deterrence, and I should make clear that I wouldn't endorse the death penalty for this reason, let alone an extremely painful death penalty for general deterrence purposes. 

But it did get me wondering about the relationship of general deterrence to actual facts.  If Loughner Googled "lethal injection," and if he found some source that said that lethal injection was not very painful, then perhaps one could speculate that he was not deterred by the threatened painfulness of death.  But what if the source(s) that he consulted was/were wrong?  After all, the Internet is chock-full to the gills of completely erroneous information.  That means that his assessments might very well be flat out mistaken.  In fact, the same might be true for any method of administration.  And perhaps that means that what matters for general deterrence arguments is not so much rational calculations as control of the sources through which people get their information.  These may very well be irrational calculations.  I suppose one could say the same for any general deterrence claim, but the amount of pain experienced by people who are killed by various methods seems to me to be a particularly tricky thing to get hard data on (maybe I am wrong about this).

If we wanted to maximize the general deterrent effect of the death penalty, and we were focused on the question of pain as a deterrent (i.e., we set aside the question of the certainty of the DP's imposition [ADDENDUM: just thinking about it a little more, it seems to me that certainty of imposition would be much more susceptible of uniform factual accuracy than degree of pain experienced]), we wouldn't care so much about the quantum of pain actually experienced.  What we'd want is to make the death penalty appear as painful as possible, whatever the actual truth of the painfulness of our favored method of administration.  And to do that, we would need to control the channels by which ordinary people get their information -- more and more, the Internet.  Otherwise, we couldn't predict very accurately what they would choose.

Again, let me emphasize that I'm not making any general claims about the moral status of the death penalty here.  For these purposes, I'm only trying to think about how a deterrence theorist might think about the social utility of the pain of the death penalty.   

ADDENDUM #2: As an experiment, I Googled "pain lethal injection."  The first two hits lead in exactly opposite directions.  The first was this story from "The New Scientist" which reports on findings that lethal injection is "far from painless."  The second contains language suggesting that those who receive lethal injections feel no physical pain other than from the insertion of catheters.

Pristine and Polluted Retributivism

On Tuesday I was lucky to participate in a gathering of criminal law theory nuts at Brooklyn law school to discuss a couple of interesting papers in punishment theory.  At one point in the discussion, the issue arose as to what retributivism might require of the punisher if there was evidence that something terrible had happened to the offender after committing the crime that was somehow responsive to the crime.  Doug Husak offered something like this example: suppose that X rapes Y.  When Z, Y's brother, comes to find out about the rape, he is so enraged that he finds X and keeps him locked in a closet for 3 years (keeping him alive, but in a horrible state).  After the three years, the police come to find out about the rape and arrest X.  Suppose further that the sentence for rape in this circumstance is 3-8 years.  Should the judge consider the fact that X had suffered the horrible ordeal of being closeted for 3 years in deciding how long to punish X?  Would a possible sentence here be no prison time at all? 

Some time back Doug Berman asked a related, but different, question about whether the suicide of Bernard Madoff's son, had it happened before Madoff's sentence, ought to have somehow mitigated or diminished the sentence imposed.  The issues are different because (a) we can be quite sure that X suffered a great deal; whereas (absent some hard evidence), we cannot be sure that Madoff suffered as a result of his son's suicide; and (b) somehow there seems to be a more direct responsive tie between the rape and the closeting than there does in the Madoff situation (admittedly, I am not certain about how to describe the difference).  But the question in both kinds of case is -- for the retributivist, what ought to be the significance of the defendant's suffering (Adam Kolber's work is one kind of answer).

Now comes the sentencing of Ahmed Khalfan Ghailani.  Ghailani was convicted of a count of conspiracy to destroy the U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, acts which resulted in the deaths of 224 people.  HIs defense lawyer argued at sentencing that Ghailani's punishment should be mitigated to something less than life in prison because he had been tortured by the CIA after his capture.  The judge noted that the issue of Ghailani's treatment was not before him, but he also said this: "Whatever Mr. Ghailani suffered at the hands of the CIA and others in our government, and however unpleasant the conditions of his confinement, the impact on him pales by comparison to the suffering and the horror that he and his confederates caused[.]"

Suppose that it is, in fact, true that Ghailani was tortured by the CIA.  What makes this an interesting variation on the cases above is that, unlike in those cases, here it is actually the state which has inflicted the extra-punitive suffering.  By putting it this way, I'm not suggesting that the torture constitutes part of Ghailani's "punishment."  But that still leaves open the question whether a retributivist could consider the fact that Ghailani was tortured by the state (assuming, again, that this is true) in imposing a punishment less severe than he otherwise would.

Here it may be helpful to divide retributivists into two camps -- pristine and polluted.  The pristine retributivist -- he who likes his theoretical accounts clean, pure as the driven snow -- might say that while Ghailani would be entitled to seek some other civil remedy, the question of his punishment ought to be unaffected.  It would be, for the pristine retributivist, a category mistake to permit the issue of torture to muck up the purity of the core retributivist aim -- to calibrate punishment in proportion to desert for the crime committed.  Retributivism here has a limited domain -- one might even call it a political retributivism, in that it involves solely the narrow issue of what the state "owes" the D in light of his offense.  

By contrast, the polluted retributivist would be open to considering the issue of state torture in the question of mitigation.  Like the pristine retributivist, the polluted retributivist would not deem the torture "punishment."  But that would not stop him from taking stock of the circumstances that attend the punishment of this person, in the light of what had happened to him specifically, pre- and post-offense.  We could call this a moral retributivism, one which amplifies the scope of the state's inquiry when it comes to the justification of retributive punishment.

For what it's worth, and because I generally favor self-consciously, willfully impure legal theories of all kinds (and not just in criminal law), I tend to be more attracted to polluted retribution.  I recognize that such an approach expands the range of considerations that a state may ask after, and that's a little disquieting.  But I think polluted retributivism may be a more accurate description of what real retributivist punishment practices look like, and that is, in my view, to its credit.