It is a common conceit of academic writing to insist that progress in some given area of law or political theory is hampered by hopeless confusion over the meaning of certain standard terms. My usual attitude toward such claims is one of passionate rejection. Because the English language has served us well for such a long period of time, I bring a strong presumption of distrust to any claim of the conceptual poverty of ordinary language. The persistent fears of lack of understanding are in general refuted by the success of communication in ordinary life, as measured by the coordination of human behavior that language facilitates.

The question that I address in this paper is whether there is a right to privacy. It is not the question whether in the United States there is a legal right to privacy or, more particularly, a constitutional right to privacy. There are any number of ordinary legal rights and specific constitutional rights that might be so described, and the U.S. Supreme Court has referred also to a generic “right to privacy” that is implicit in the U.S. Constitution. Nor is the question that I address whether persons have a moral claim to privacy that others ought to respect. I assume that in many circumstances, respecting a person's claim to privacy is productive of the good and, if so, that the claim ought to be respected. Rather, my question is whether persons have a right to privacy not dependent on positive law, such that it ought ordinarily to be respected without regard to the consequences, good or bad, simply because it is right.

An alleged moral right to informational privacy assumes that we should have control over information about ourselves. What is the philosophical justification for this control? I think that one prevalent answer to this question—an answer that has to do with the justification of negative rights generally—will not do.

Privacy is something we all want. We seek privacy to prevent others from securing information about us that is immediately embarrassing, and so causes us pain but not material loss. We also value privacy for strategic reasons in order to prevent others from imposing material and perhaps psychic costs upon us. I use the expression “securing information” so that it covers everything from the immediate sensory data that a voyeur acquires to the financial data a rival may acquire about our businesses. In the degenerate case of the Peeping Tom's invasion of our privacy, suffering is caused just by the voyeur's having acquired the information, even if nothing is ever done with it beyond the voyeur's recalling it from time to time. In all other cases, privacy prevents others from imposing costs or harms on us in ways that require that they secure information about us.

In their celebrated essay “The Right to Privacy,” legal scholars Samuel Warren and Louis Brandeis identified as the generic privacy value “the right to be let alone.” This same phrase occurs in Justice Brandeis's dissent in Olmstead v. U.S. (1927). This characterization of privacy has been found objectionable by philosophers acting as conceptual police. For example, moral philosopher William Parent asserts that one can wrongfully fail to let another person alone in all sorts of ways—such as assault—that intuitively do not qualify as violations of privacy and thus cannot be violations of the right to privacy.

Of all the moral concerns regarding privacy in its various meanings, this essay selects only one: the right to be left alone by others, in particular, by government. Because moral controversies in pluralist societies tend to be interminable, and surely controversies regarding privacy are no exception, I approach the right to privacy in terms of the centrality of persons. When there are foundational disputes about which content-full moral view should govern, it is not possible to resolve such controversies without begging the question or conceding at the outset crucial moral premises. This observation is not to affirm a moral skepticism or relativism. At worst, it involves an epistemic skepticism, a skepticism about the possibility of resolving controversies by sound rational argument without begging the question or engaging in an infinite regress.

Drawing on themes important in moral and political philosophy, much of the scholarship on the constitutional law of privacy in the United States distinguishes between privacy understood as a person's control over information and privacy understood as a person's ability to make autonomous decisions. For example, Katz v. United States (1967) established the framework for analyzing whether police activity constituted a “search” subject to the Fourth Amendment's requirement that the police either obtain a warrant before conducting a search or otherwise act reasonably. The defendant was a professional gambler who knew enough about police techniques to use a public telephone to make his business calls. Police agents attached a listening device to the outside of the phone booth, and sought to use the recordings against the defendant. The Supreme Court agreed with the defendant that the Fourth Amendment had been violated. Justice John Marshall Harlan's influential concurring opinion asserted that a person's privacy, in the sense of control over information, depended on two factors: “that a person have exhibited an actual (subjective) expectation of privacy and, second, that the expectation be one that society is prepared to recognize as ‘reasonable.’” Fourth Amendment cases like Katz involve informational control; they define the circumstances under which the government may acquire information from or about a person without first obtaining the person's agreement. In contrast, cases like Griswold v. Connecticut (1965), which barred the state from making it a criminal offense to use contraceptives, and Roe v. Wade (1973), which restricted the state's power to prohibit or regulate abortions, used the language of privacy rights to protect a much broader interest in autonomous decision-making. Seeing these cases and related ones through lenseees provided by moral and political philosophy, scholars have attempted to describe what a morally sound constitutional law of privacy would be, and the broadest sense, dworkinian. That is, they seek to provide an account of privacy with two characteristics: it is broadly consistent with the relevant constitutional decisions, and it is the most morally attractive account possible that satisfies the requirement of consistency with the decisions.

There has been a flood of scholarship over the years on whether there is a “right to privacy” in the Constitution of the United States. Griswold v. Connecticut (1965) was, of course, the Supreme Court decision that opened the floodgates to this river of commentary. A subject search for “privacy, right of” in the College of William and Mary's on-line library catalog located 360 book titles. A perusal of the leading law review bibliographic indices turned up still more. Whether the Constitution contains some sort of “right to be let alone” is plainly one of the central questions of contemporary constitutional discourse.

The definition above nicely encapsulates two of the intertwined meanings of ‘privacy’. In the first sense—physical seclusion—the level of privacy in modern developed societies is extraordinarily high by historical standards. We take it for granted that a bed in a hotel will be occupied by either one person or a couple—not by several strangers. At home, few of us expect to share either bed or bedroom with our children. In these and a variety of other ways, increased physical privacy has come as a byproduct of increased wealth.

Individuals care about and guard their privacy intensely in many areas. With respect to patient medical records, people are exceedingly concerned about privacy protection, because they recognize that health care generates the most sensitive sorts of personal information. In an age of advancing technology, with the switch from paper medical files to massive computer databases, privacy protection for medical information poses a dramatic challenge. Given high-speed computers and Internet capabilities, as well as other advanced communications technologies, the potential for abuse is much greater than ever before. At every stage in the process of collection and storage, dangers can arise, including entry errors, improper access, exploitation, and unauthorized disclosure. Secondary use and aggregation of data are all far easier, faster, and less expensive, and thus pose additional threats to an individual's control over the disposition of medical information.

Is information about a person's genome, whether derived from the analysis of DNA or otherwise, protected by the right to privacy? If it is, why and in what manner? It often appears that some people believe that the answer to this question is to be found in molecular genetics itself. They point to the rapid progress being made in basic and applied aspects of this field of biology; this progress has remarkably increased what is known about human genetics. Since knowledge of a particular person's genetic makeup entails a potential intrusion into that person's most private realms and exposes him or her to dire results if revealed to others, they argue, the law needs to protect “genetic privacy.” There is nothing inherently wrong with this account, but it certainly presupposes that we know—and agree about—what it means to protect privacy and, indeed, what interests are implicated in the concept and why they matter. Rather than make this assumption, in this essay I first elaborate a concept of privacy before turning to the potential privacy implications that arise at the intersection of human genetics and the field of insurance. I argue that the core value here is self-determination broadly conceived—that control over one's genetic information may be important for achieving self-determination—but that at least in the context of contracts for life insurance, we should be reluctant to recognize “rights” that would permanently preclude the use of genetic data by insurers.

Western ethics and law have been slow to come to conclusions about the right to choose the time and manner of one's death. However, policies, practices, and legal precedents have evolved quickly in the last quarter of the twentieth century, from the forgoing of respirators to the use of Do Not Resuscitate (DNR) orders, to the forgoing of all medical technologies (including hydration and nutrition), and now, in one U.S. state, to legalized physician-assisted suicide. The sweep of history—from the Quinlan case in New Jersey to legislation in Oregon that allows physician-assisted suicide—has been as rapid as it has been revolutionary.

A rash of very public scandals, of which the behavior of President Clinton and the activities of the late Princess Diana are merely the most famous examples, has raised the question of the appropriateness of the disclosure, or the newsworthiness, of the so-called “private” lives of so-called “public” figures or “public” officials. That is the question I address in this essay.