Nearly everyone is at times an advocate. By professional role, some people act quite regularly as advocates: lawyers, legislators, executives, merchants, and, in many contexts, educators. Lawyers often consider themselves obligated to maintain a special “zeal” toward their clients' interests, and there are many laws and principles of legal ethics that govern advocacy by attorneys. This article concerns the ethics of advocacy, not its legal aspects. Indeed, I cannot even address the full range of moral issues raised by advocacy; I focus mainly on an area rarely addressed by writers in legal ethics and insufficiently examined in the genral literature of ethics. It is the domain of individual conscience, the arena of internal states and processes, such as desires, beliefs, and thoughts. I am particularly interested in how moral standards apply to the use of reasons in the practice of advocacy. My broadest thesis is that advocacy needs an ethics of reasons, and not just of external behavior.

Much recent work in applied legal and political theory has been preoccupied with the problem of the moral status of business organizations and corporations, and of the nature of their agency and personality. On the one hand, moral rights, such as rights to freedom and autonomy, are paradigmatically ascribed to natural, human persons; moral responsibility analogously seems therefore paradigmatically applicable to individuals. Organizations seemingly have no will or mind, no human feelings such as pleasure, pain, shame, and remorse. How can the language of rights and responsibility be applicable to them? On the other hand, it seems to be a fact that business organizations often do things that we human beings do—make deals, sign contracts, cause harm, and issue apologies. In ordinary and in legal discourse all the time we hear such things as, “Miller's Pulp Mill is responsible for its corrupt environmental practice”; “Philip Cosmetics Ltd. has the right to advertise its products”; and “Sunligt Co. is accountable for its irresponsible behavior.” How then are we to understand the attributions of organizational agency, personality, and responsibility that these statements presuppose? Are the predicates in these statements to be taken as having the same intension, or the same force, as similar ones predicated on natural persons? Or are the predications to be seen as extensions of meaning, justified or not? Or as exotic metaphors with no factual implications?

The criminal law presently distinguishes between actions and omissions, and only rarely proscribes failures to avert consequences that it would be an offense to bring about. Why? In recent years it has been persuasively argued by both Glover and Bennett that, celeris paribus, omissions to prevent a harm are just as culpable as are actions which bring that harm about. On the other hand, and acknowledging that hitherto “lawyers have not been very successful in finding a rationale for it,” Tony Honoré has sought to defend the law's differential treatment. He proposes a “distinct-duties theory” that in addition to the general duties we owe to everyone (e.g., not to inflict harm), we also owe distinct duties to a more limited collection of people and associations, specified by features of our relationship with them (we owe, for instance, duties as parents to our own children). Where a distinct duty holds, breach by omission may well be no better than breach by positive action. But absent a distinct duty, omissions, per Honoré, are less culpable. They are mere failures to intervene and improve or rectify things, whereas actions are positive interventions which make things worse. And, thus, the law has good reason to differentiate between them.

In this article I want to support a certain conception of legal authority. The question I want to address is this: Is it possible to attribute legal authority to a given norm if its authority does not derive from the authority of someone who has issued that norm? Basically, I will try to defend here a negative answer to this question, espousing a personal conception of authority.

In his most recent article, “The Appeals Process as a Means of Error Correction,” Steven Shavell asks a very important question: Why do we use a hierarchical court structure? The flip side of this inquiry is whether we might not be better off simply making our trial courts more efficient (in the sense of making them less error-prone). Although I certainly applaud the recent efforts of Shavell and other law and economics scholars to examine issues of institutional design, this particular attempt suffers from two major flaws. The first involves the asymmetric treatment of litigants before trial courts and appeals courts: Appellants can choose to either appeal cases or not, but the population of cases before the trial courts is assumed to be exogenous. This severely limits the ability to improve the efficiency of trial courts, leading to an overestimation of the value added from an appeals process. The second problem involves the behavior of judges, who are assumed to behave as automatons. Allowing judges to behave rationally dramatically changes the nature of the model's results, most fatally leading to the elimination of the separation equilibrium that Shavell wishes to achieve.