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> | The Issue with Jerome Frank's Legal Possibilism | | | -- By JiaLee?
[Work in Progress] | |
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< | The Issue with Jerome Frank's Legal Possibilism | | | Jerome Frank believed that the partially conscious and unconscious motives, emotions, impulses, and purposes constituting the self—including the neuroses underlying our desire for legal certainty—resist being made explicit even to the person experiencing them. He assumed we needed expressive tools that functioned in a gestalt-like fashion that could apprehend these idiosyncratic gestalt-like experiences in the legal decisionmaker all at once. He was skeptical that such tools could be discursive rather than belong to the domain of reference, so he thought that legal rules distorted and frustrated epistemically valuable “judicial hunches” about facts, discountenancing judges’ imagination and insight. Instead, Frank advocated for “administering justice as an art” using “music”—a placeholder term for creative modes of examining how our ethos (everything at the level of habit) stands in the way of understanding legal decision-making.
I argue that Frank's search for creative modes of understanding is curtailed by limiting them to those that could somehow capture the legal interpreter's gestalt, so we should rethink this idea.
Reworking the Issue | |
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< | First, I argue that there are rules in legal proceedings that do not frustrate judges' imagination and insight; rather these rules cordon off rules of ordinary language to sustain meaning-making that could only happen within a controlled environment. We trade many of our everyday rules of language that are less systematized and more individualized for carefully organized structures of rules (e.g., evidence, voir dire, and discovery rules). While imperfect, these rules help control pre-reflective states that could be detrimental to the fact-finding process. Moreover, imagination and insight in the courtroom get their start from rules, like how the Dogme 95 movement enables or intensifies the director's creativity by placing restrictions on filmmaking. If a boardgame were a ruleless free-for-all, there would be no opportunity to play; the rules of the game create the domain necessary for creativity. Thus, using courtroom language games, we relegate Frank’s concerns about rules, to some extent, to the numerous everyday language rules left outside the courtroom.
Second, I consider a somewhat different model of judicial deliberation than Frank's. Frank posits that what seems to be a rational decision by a judge is actually a "hunch" influenced by her reactions to the facts presented. The judge is subject to the fallibilities of the human mind while reconstructing the facts of an event. Alva Noë might say that the judge's first-order habitual reactions and second-order thoughts/cognitive processes influence each other; they are "entangled". What we know, what we don't know, and what we know we don't know (referencing Lawyerland) determine our habitual organization, or how we react to facts on a first-order level. Facts are apprehended, and gain certain subjective qualities (e.g., a degree of salience, familiarity) in the ways our mental constitution allows. I could even pick up one point and then encounter the same point again later but the point now feels different and/or I conceptualize it differently because something about my mental capacities, how I conceptualize and judge things, changed to alter the way the fact showed up for me. Rather than try to capture the gestalt, we should study how this bidirectional interaction continuously unfolds, which is what I understand the mindreading we do in class to be: discerning how aspects of someone's life shape how they conceptualize, which affects how something in the world—circumstances, facts, another person—shows up for them (the first-order effects). As Nietzsche said, “We have learned to love all the things we now love.” | >
> | I consider a somewhat different model of judicial deliberation than Frank's. Frank posits that what seems to be a rational decision by a judge is actually a "hunch" influenced by her reactions to the facts presented. The judge is subject to the fallibilities of the human mind while reconstructing the facts of an event. Alva Noë might say that the judge's first-order habitual reactions and second-order thoughts/cognitive processes influence each other; they are "entangled". What we know, what we don't know, and what we know we don't know (referencing Lawyerland) determine our habitual organization, or how we react to facts on a first-order level. Not only do things in the world affect our habits, which affect our mental judgments. We also need to study how the ways we configure our mental capacities or have it structured by external forces modulate how things in the world affect us habitually. Facts are apprehended, and gain certain subjective qualities (e.g., a degree of salience, familiarity) in the ways our mental constitution allows, i.e., how we tune into the world. I could pick up a fact and encounter the same point again later but the point now feels different and/or I conceptualize it differently because something about my mental capacities, how I conceptualize and judge things, changed to alter the way the fact showed up for me. So, rather than try to capture the gestalt, we should study how this bidirectional interaction continuously unfolds, which is what I understand the mindreading we do in class to be: discerning how aspects of someone's life shape how they conceptualize, which affects how something in the world—circumstances, facts, another person—shows up for them (the first-order effects). As Nietzsche said, “We have learned to love all the things we now love.” | | | The upshot is that although the judicial decisionmaking process may not be entirely rational, we have some agency over it because we can study and change our second-order structure, and therefore our pre-reflective reactions. Noë says that to understand our nature, we must study "the transformation of the ways that we are organized by reflective resistance to the ways that we find ourselves organized." Lawyerland offers a caveat for this project. Robin West calls Lawyerland “a meditation on lawyers’ knowledge: what lawyers know, first, from the evidence of their practice, and what they know, second, from the evidence of things not seen.” Each character discusses something that lawyers know, such as knowing the difference between lying and culpable lying when the availability of too much information necessitates lying. Each character also discerns evidence of things unseen, or of what lawyers don’t know (e.g., willful blindness, often to moral questions—occupying “the moral center of too many hurricanes,” as West puts it). Confucius sums this up: "When you know, to know you know. When you don’t know, to know you don’t know. That’s what knowing is” (Analects 2:17). However, the caveat is that Lawyerland's percipient characters quietly acquiesce (me), or comfortably adapt, to how they find themselves organized. They have come across the outer bounds of knowing themselves and the world and still lack agency. | | | Frank insightfully brought law into the aesthetic domain by making it a study of human beings, | |
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> | There are rules in legal proceedings that do not frustrate judges' imagination and insight; rather these rules cordon off rules of ordinary language to sustain meaning-making that could only happen within a controlled environment. We trade many of our everyday rules of language that are less systematized and more individualized for carefully organized structures of rules (e.g., evidence, voir dire, and discovery rules). While imperfect, these rules help control pre-reflective states that could be detrimental to the fact-finding process. Moreover, imagination and insight in the courtroom get their start from rules, like how the Dogme 95 movement enables or intensifies the director's creativity by placing restrictions on filmmaking. If a boardgame were a ruleless free-for-all, there would be no opportunity to play; the rules of the game create the domain necessary for creativity. Thus, using courtroom language games, we relegate Frank’s concerns about rules inhibiting insight and imagination, to some extent, to the numerous everyday language rules left outside the courtroom. | | |
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