In the midst of this endless variety of opinion, what man, or what body of men, has the right to say, in regard to any particular action, or course of action, "we have tried this experiment, and determined every question involved in it? We have determined it, not only for ourselves, but for all others? And, as to all those who are weaker than we, we will coerce them to act in obedience to our conclusions? We will suffer no further experiment or inquiry by any one, and, consequently, no further acquisition of knowledge by anybody?"
America’s criminal codes are so voluminous that they now bewilder not only the average citizen but also the average lawyer. Our courthouses are so clogged that there is no longer adequate time for trials. And our penitentiaries are overflowing with prisoners. In fact, America now has the highest per capita prison population in the world. This situation has many people wondering whether the American criminal justice system has become dysfunctional. A generation ago Harvard Law Professor Henry Hart Jr. published his classic article, “The Aims of the Criminal Law,” which set forth certain fundamental principles concerning criminal justice. In this book, leading scholars, lawyers, and judges critically examine Hart’s ideas, current legal trends, and whether the “first principles” of American criminal law are falling by the wayside. Policymakers, academics, and citizens alike will enjoy this lively discussion on the nature of crime and punishment, and how the choices we make in formulating criminal laws can impact liberty, security, and justice.
Lysander Spooner discusses various vices which are prohibited, or strongly discouraged, in society. He concludes vices are distinct from crime, and that there is no sound justification for their prohibition. An outspoken supporter of individual rights, Spooner's point in this text is simple: if no harm comes to anyone other than the person practicing the vice, no crime has been committed, and there is no reason for prohibition. Arguing his point meticulously, the author makes a strong case against the government or other forces of authority attempting to stymie or criminalize the vices of man. Establishing that no man likes to be prohibited against himself, Spooner does not dispute that certain vices can be a mistake. However, it is human to express curiosity and to experiment - whether or not a person incorporates a vice into their daily life permanently, they should not be in fear of punishment. So long as a person with vices remains sane and is not harming others, the government has no grounds to intervene. Common arguments of authoritarian people are addressed one by one, with Spooner's sound logic applied to each. Anticipating the moral panics of popular society, the author calmly and rationally refutes the arguments employed by those behind such manufactured outrage, and reveals their position to be one dimensional and couched in emotion rather than fact. Lysander Spooner's sentiments were vindicated in the early 20th century, when the outlawing of alcohol in prohibition proved a colossal failure, with side effects such as deaths caused by tainted alcohol from amateur stills. In the modern era, as politicians consider and enact reform of drug and prostitution laws, the opinions he expresses continue to resonate.
Powerful emotion and pursuit of self-interest have many times led people to break the law with the belief that they are doing so with sound moral reasons. This study is a comprehensive philosophical and legal analysis of the gray area in which the foundations of law and morality clash. In examining the extent of the obligations owed by citizens to their government, Greenawalt concentrates on the possible existence of a single source of obligation that reaches all citizens and all laws.
Human rights offer a vision of international justice that today’s idealistic millions hold dear. Yet the very concept on which the movement is based became familiar only a few decades ago when it profoundly reshaped our hopes for an improved humanity. In this pioneering book, Samuel Moyn elevates that extraordinary transformation to center stage and asks what it reveals about the ideal’s troubled present and uncertain future. For some, human rights stretch back to the dawn of Western civilization, the age of the American and French Revolutions, or the post–World War II moment when the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was framed. Revisiting these episodes in a dramatic tour of humanity’s moral history, The Last Utopia shows that it was in the decade after 1968 that human rights began to make sense to broad communities of people as the proper cause of justice. Across eastern and western Europe, as well as throughout the United States and Latin America, human rights crystallized in a few short years as social activism and political rhetoric moved it from the hallways of the United Nations to the global forefront. It was on the ruins of earlier political utopias, Moyn argues, that human rights achieved contemporary prominence. The morality of individual rights substituted for the soiled political dreams of revolutionary communism and nationalism as international law became an alternative to popular struggle and bloody violence. But as the ideal of human rights enters into rival political agendas, it requires more vigilance and scrutiny than when it became the watchword of our hopes.
