For those who believe in the values of liberalism and democracy the state is under a political obligation to seek the common welfare of its citizens. In furtherance of this domestic duty, it retains among its external rights and powers that right of self-defense which has been assigned to states under other ideologies.

In 1989, Jacques Derrida was the keynote speaker at a Cardozo Law School symposium entitled “Deconstruction and the Possibility of Justice.” Derrida’s speech was entitled “Force of Law: The ‘Mystical Foundation of Authority’” (hereinafter, “Force of Law”). As the title of the symposium indicated, the conference was organized to address, and perhaps quell, the widely-held impression that deconstruction lacks a coherent conception of justice. Derrida’s lecture is a bold response to those critics who have charged deconstruction with political nihilism, irrationalism, and conservatism. Surprisingly, in “Force of Law,” Derrida comes very close to setting up a full-scale theory of justice and an accompanying account of law. And because Derrida’s recent work affirms the account of justice set forth in “Force of Law,” his lecture merits a close reading.

The nature of authority has been much debated in legal and political philosophy, and the terminology is not stable. I shall begin by stipulating how I understand some of the key terms used in this paper1. I consider authority here as a property of laws and of legal systems. Authority must be distinguished primarily from power, efficacy, and validity. Authority is not the same as power. A person or institution may have the power to affect the way that people behave, but lack authority because he, she, or it is purely coercive. Authority is not the same thing as efficacy; efficacy simply means that there is conformity to the rules of the system, whether willing conformity or not. But it is possible for there to be conformity to the laws of a successful repressive system, and such a system would not have authority. Authority is not the same as validity. To be valid is to be pedigreed by the rule of recognition of the legal system. A legal rule may have that property, and yet lack authority because it is not a rule which there is any obligation to obey. If the law has authority, then the demands that the law makes of us are such that we ought to conform to them. Theorists sometimes distinguish between “legitimate authority” and “de facto authority”. It follows from the above that in my terminology “authority” means legitimate authority as that term has been typically understood, as authority which issues directives we have an obligation to obey. “Legitimate authority” is pleonastic.

Two-step proportionality-balancing [TSPB] has become the standard method for human and constitutional rights decision-making. The first step consists in determining whether a rights-provision has been infringed/limited; if the answer to that first question is positive, the second step consists in determining whether the infringement/limit is reasonable or justified according to a proportionality analysis. TSPB has regularly been the target of some criticism. Critiques have argued that both its ‘two-step’ and ‘proportionality’ elements distort reality by promoting a false picture of rights and constitutional decision-making. This would cause negative moral consequences. This article seeks to defend TSPB against these criticisms and to depict it in a more appropriate and favourable light. First, it is argued that both aspects of TSPB do not have the dire moral consequences that opponents suggest they have. Second, it is argued that TSPB, deploying notions such as burdens, presumptions and prima facie/defeasible propositions, constitutes a valuable framework for public argumentation and authoritative decision-making.

This paper offers a critical appraisal of the growing body of philosophical work on questions of justice in the exploitation of natural resources. It argues that failure to treat property as a distinct set of considerations from those of distributive justice has led to an impoverished philosophical analysis. Moreover, it demonstrates how a property-based approach contributes to a more complete view of the interests at stake in resource exploitation by drawing attention to aspects of human relationships with the physical environment that cannot be captured through the allocation of wealth, such as environmental and cultural integrity. The reason that philosophers have not, by and large, appreciated this contribution rests on mistaken views about the function of property rules that could be rectified through legal understanding. In pursuing this line of argument, the paper considers a recent proposal that seems promising on this front: Leif Wenar’s analysis of the resource curse. Wenar’s proposal is unique in suggesting that questions of resource justice be analysed and resolved through settled principles of property law, rather than through a theory of distributive justice. However, he makes several key tactical errors. Examining where the proposal goes wrong and why provides important insights into the use of legal concepts to analyse intractable questions of justice in political philosophy, and into the place of property in particular—methodological issues that have not received adequate attention, despite the increasingly interdisciplinary nature of scholarship in this area.

The new classical natural law theorists have been decidedly skeptical about claims that non-human animals deserve serious moral consideration. Their theory features an array of incommensurable, nonfungible basic aspects of welfare and a set of principles governing participation in and pursuit of these goods. Attacks on animals’ interests seem to be inconsistent with one or more of these principles. But leading natural law theorists maintain that animals do not participate in basic aspects of well being in ways that merit protection, that the so-called “argument from marginal cases” is unsuccessful as a basis for claims that animals have moral standing, and that affirming that animals have rights leaves one with no basis for maintaining that humans do as well. In response, I suggest that animals can be understood to participate in some aspects of well being, defend the argument from marginal cases, and offer reasons why we might believe that affirming that animals have rights does not undermine the claim that humans have rights.

The topic of ‘judicial discretion’ has been at the center of the debate on legal interpretation in the philosophy of law.1 In a general sense, ‘discretion’ here refers to the exercise of a judgment by a decision-maker due to the lack of legal constraints affecting one’s ability to decide a case. The most fundamental question on this topic is ‘do judges have discretion when interpreting the law?’ There are three kinds of answers to this query. One kind of answer states that judges never have discretion.2 Another kind of answer states that judges always have discretion in interpretation.3 The third kind of answer states that judges sometimes have discretion when interpreting the law, and sometimes they do not.4

When exploring the relations between the concept and the nature of law, ample philosophical reflection has been dedicated to the relations between the intension of terms (or the content of concepts) and their extension. Much less consideration has been given to the causal relations between concept and thing within socially constructed entities. This paper examines the interactive causal relationship between law and the concept we have of it and reflects on its implications for legal philosophy. First, it explains the causal role played by concepts in processes of social construction and applies this explanation to the analysis of the special case of law. Second, it compares this causal role played by the concept of law to the role assigned to it in the context of externalist theories of meaning and mental content. Lastly, it demonstrates the advantages of seeing law as an interactive kind in answering some contemporary methodological difficulties stemming from conceptual plurality or uncertainty, and in opening new avenues for research in legal philosophy.

For years Ronald Dworkin has been a leading academic defender of individual rights. The political and jurisprudential theory underlying his defense has had enormous influence. Defense of the rights of homosexuals has been a prominent theme in his writings. In 1966 he published his well-known critique of Lord Devlin’s critical essay on the Wolfenden’s Committee’s recommendations that sexual relations in private between consenting homosexual adults be de-criminalized (reprinted in 1978b, ch. 10). In recent writings, he has condemned key rulings by American courts that denied certain basic rights to homosexuals. References to the rights of homosexuals are made in many of his works. But nowhere does Dworkin present a developed argument for homosexual rights. He appears to think that support for the rights of homosexuals follows naturally from his political-legal theory. But does it? If so, how? And how adequate is such a defense?

Liberalism is often identified with the claim that individuals should have a large space for decisionmaking into which the state is not morally justified to intrude. On this “negative liberty” conception of liberalism, the boundaries of that space are or should be set by a package of rights against the majority. Individuals can appeal to such rights to override majority decisions that seek to intrude into the space of negative liberty. If this space of negative liberty is preserved, for example, through courts empowered to strike down infringing laws, such liberals suppose that a fundamental interest of all individuals is served. This is the interest in autonomy, in being able to make, revise and carry out decisions about how to live in accordance with one’s own preferences.

In a well-known article, Duncan Kennedy has stated that the central problem for law is its treatment of the fundamental contradiction of our condition. On the one hand we are dependent on others for protection against destruction and for the fullest realization of our sense of ourselves; on the other hand we recognize in others a threat to our own well-being. Kennedy regarded the dilemma “that relations with others are both necessary to and incompatible with our freedom” as the essence of every legal problem, and he ascribed to the liberal conception of law the historical function of dressing up as rational or natural the structures of bondage that emerged as its particular resolutions. Kennedy’s contradiction invokes the recurrent tension between the notions of liberty and community that supply traditional vantage points for the analysis of social and political relations. The reconciliation of these notions poses an enduring philosophical problem, and one need not agree with Kennedy’s unflattering assessment of the law’s function to realize that it is a problem in which law too has been centrally implicated.

Intention is a central concept in our system of criminal liability. And in recent years it has been much discussed, both by lawyers and philosophers. However, there remain disagreements, and some unclarity. My purpose in this paper is to examine, and propose solutions to, the main problems concerning the concept of intention in the criminal law.

It is not easy to summarize what this book is about, except to say that it is an exploration of a variety of themes and a variety of authors on the role of language in the practice of law, the role of theories of language in legal theory, and how all this bears on “the problems of legal determinacy.” By the latter we are to understand problems having to do with whether the law always, almost always, or never provides uniquely correct answers to legal questions like “Does the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms invalidate the Federal government’s ban on tobacco advertising?” or “Is this defendant guilty of defamatory libel?” The works of several authors are discussed, with emphasis placed on Wittgenstein, Friedrich Waismann, Herbert Hart, Ronald Dworkin, Michael Moore, and Lon Fuller. As with the writings of Wittgenstein, who serves as Bix’s philosophical inspiration, it is not always abundantly clear what the discussions all add up to. Nevertheless, it is possible to distil from Bix’s somewhat unfocused discussions the following central themes. These, as Bix himself notes, are linked by nothing stronger than “family resemblance.”

Nearly twenty-five hundred years ago, Aristotle first elucidated his theory of morality in the Nicomachean Ethics by systematically examining and analyzing the virtues which he felt were necessary for the attainment of the Good in the here and now. One of the most controversial and perhaps least understood portions of this magnum opus are those that pertain to the now famous building blocks of legal philosophy: corrective and distributive justice. These terms remain as relevant today as when they were first “discovered” in large part due to modern legal theory’s increasing tendency to rely on Aristotle’s corrective and distributive ideas as the organizing and distinguishing principles of the private and public law, respectively. If corrective justice is to define the limits and form of the private law, however, a blind reliance on Aristotle’s interpretation is mistaken. An examination of Aristotle’s corrective justice shows that his legal philosophy is incomplete and often paradoxical—asserting premises that are irreconcilable on a plain reading of Aristotelian texts. In order to demonstrate these inconsistencies, this paper will first distinguish between corrective and distributive justice. It will then examine three of the most difficult and least understood aspects of corrective justice: namely, Aristotle’s conception of equality, reciprocity, and correlativity in gain and loss.

Constitutional adjudication in many legal systems crucially involves giving courts the power to override the decisions of other state institutions, even democratically elected legislatures. The task of delimiting the domain of judicial review is of the first importance. In this paper my aim is primarily critical. I want to take issue specifically with Ronald Dworkin’s well-known attempt to discharge this task through his use of the distinction between principle and policy. Courts, he claimed in Taking Rights Seriously, ought to decide on questions of principle and not policy and they are better suited for this purpose than legislatures. Despite the years that have passed since its original conception, Dworkin’s theory is very much alive and also relevant to contemporary constitutional theory. For, I believe it exemplifies a still common -perhaps also the predominant- way of conceiving of the role of courts and especially the practice of judicial review. It taps on the powerful intuition that it falls on judges to decide questions pertaining to the exercise and protection of individual right. Since my interest is pitched to questions of constitutional design, I will not challenge the explanatory adequacy of the principle/policy distinction itself from the point of view of moral theory, as many others have. Rather, I wish to explore whether this distinction adequately accounts for salient features of the division of labour between courts and legislatures. More specifically I will assess the extent to which employing this distinction satisfies three desiderata.

The right of national groups to self-government should be universally conceived of in sub-statist forms. Instead of interpreting the right to national self-determination in terms of independent statehood, it should in all cases be conceived of as a package of privileges to which each national group is entitled in its main geographic location, normally within the state that coincides with its homeland. According to this sub-statist conception, self-determination is not a right of majority nations within states vis-a-vis national minorities, but rather a right of homeland groups vis-a-vis non-homeland groups. It is a right to which each national group in the world is entitled, and which must be realized in at least one place.

Austin’s theory of theory of law is simple: the law follows the pattern of power; the sovereign gives commands and obeys none; the subject obeys commands; the law consists in only those commands that directly or indirectly emanate from the sovereign. Nevertheless, Austin’s theory of sovereignty is not simple at all. When we look at the relevant chapters closely, it becomes evident that Austin has two rival theories of sovereignty, one for a single person and one for a ‘determinate body’. It is only the latter that allows him to say that sovereignty lies, ultimately, with the electors, the strange conclusion of his book. But Austin’s second theory of sovereignty is not consistent with his own theory of law. Austin’s faces a dilemma. Is law - as most people take it to be - a public order of standards of conduct aiming to guide behaviour? If so, sovereignty ought to be public and intelligible. If not, sovereignty can remain a mystery to those living under it (accessible only after the event by the expert legal philosopher). For the latter reading, law and sovereignty are ‘normatively inert,’ as some of Austin’s followers claim today. But Austin does not agree with his modern followers. Austin’s second theory of sovereignty is aimed at satisfying a practical requirement of law and jurisprudence, i.e. to be in the position of publicly guiding conduct.

Should poverty be a mitigating factor, if it affects neither the strength of temptations to commit a crime an offender faced nor his mental capacity to refrain from committing the crime? I argue that it should, because of distributive justice. I argue for this conclusion in two steps. First, I argue that we can improve distributive justice by mitigating poor offenders. Second, I argue that there are no strong objections against taking into account considerations of distributive justice in the sentencing process. I also compare my argument with an argument made by Jeffrie Murphy and explain how some objections against Murphy’s argument do not apply against my argument.

The international law of war limits the use of violence, largely through protections afforded to civilians. However, the law provides no principled limit on the taking of combatant life — soldiers may be killed even if to do so would contribute absolutely no military advantage. This permissive approach to unnecessary killing has deep historical roots in the philosophy of the law of war. Three justifications for unnecessary killing have been advanced: a robust notion of sovereignty that views the soldier as a disposable molecule of a greater being; the idea that soldiers are ‘guilty’ and deserve what befalls them in war; and a pragmatic approach holding that limits on gratuitous violence are both impossible to implement in practice as well as harmful. None of these arguments are persuasive in light of the contemporary consensus that there is a human right to life that ought to be respected at all times, even in war. A rule of “combatant proportionality” should therefore be formally incorporated into the law of war.