Example alone is the end of all public punishments and rewards. Laws never inflict disgrace in resentment, nor confer honour from gratitude. ‘For it is very hard, my lord’, said a convicted felon at the bar to the late excellent judge Burnet, ‘to hang a poor man for stealing a horse’. ‘You are not to be hanged, sir, answered my ever-honoured and beloved friend, for stealing a horse, but you are to be hanged that horses may not be stolen.
A Voyage to Lisbon, 1754.
Henry Fielding too, was honoured in his time as a just and humane magistrate, but few of us today would feel able to endorse the judge’s action as he does. Even the severity of the sentence scarcely repels us so much as the callousness with which the judge scores a debating point at the expense of the condemned man. And is his point even valid? Put like this, the theory of pure deterrence appears crudely utilitarian, and difficult to justify morally, because it treats a human being as only an instrument of deterrence. Can we truly say that the man is not being hanged for stealing a horse? Would he have been hanged if he had not stolen the horse? Surely not. And in that case, can we say that penal justice is concerned only with the future effects of punishment, and that we need not consider what punishment the criminal has deserved?
In talking about punishment, there is a danger of a false antithesis arising through over-simplification. Retribution, deterrence and reformation are sometimes presented as if they were mutually exclusive— as if the adoption of one theory automatically excluded the other two.