C S Lewis has an interesting article by the title, “The Humanitarian Theory of Punishment” in his volume God in the Dock (1979). The central argument of the piece is:
“…[W]hen we cease to consider what the criminal deserves and consider only what will cure him or deter others, we have tacitly removed him from the sphere of justice altogether; instead of a person, a subject of rights, we have an object, a patient, a case.” (p. 497)
He goes on to argue that by removing the connection between crime and desert (consequence) we make the sentencing of criminals something other than a moral question. Sentencing becomes an experiment for technical experts (who decide on its effectiveness as a cure and/or a deterrent). The maxim Cuiquam in sua arte credendum, rules the day (”we must believe the expert in his own field”). There no longer is room for the public conscience to make value judgments. The public, Lewis points out, is not viewed as having sufficient technical knowledge to make such judgments. What is more, such judgments as are made by these experts rarely (if ever) employ the categories of moral theology.
This is interesting to ponder in the case of someone like Radovan Karadzic. Finally, after some twelve fugitive years, Karadzic awaits trial by the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY). Karadzic’s indictment concludes that there is reasonable evidence to conclude that he committed war crimes and crimes against humanity during the Bosnian War (1992-1995) when he was the political leader of Republika Srpska.
What to do with Karadzic?
Allow me to state this as affirmatively and succinctly as possible. When the ITCY tries and (presumably) finds Karadzic guilty of one or more of the counts specified in the prosecution’s case, the sentence should be retributive. That is to say, its first goal should be to make this man pay for the grave moral evil over which he presided.
Certainly, we may hope that over the years of his imprisonment (there is no death sentence in the ITCY) he may come to some degree of genuine repentance (in both the non-theological and theological senses of the word) and an alteration of character. We may also hope that somehow his punishment may serve as a warning to other wicked men.
But, in the end, we must hope that he will be made to pay for his wrongdoing. He may, one day, find mercy. But as Lewis rightly points out, mercy only has any real meaning when found in the context of (retributive) justice.
What would a just sentence look like? This is a difficult question. I do, however, have a difficult time finding anything particularly just about allowing such a man to idle away his remaining years (he is 63) in the (relative) comfort of prison. Of course, I also find a spectacle such as the hanging of Saddam Hussein to wholly without justification. Hussein was a wicked man, but even wicked men ought not be mocked in the hour of their death.
I’m open to suggestions, but I wonder if there isn’t something redemptive about hard labor. It is, after all, in the midst of hard labor that Dostoevsky’s Raskolnikov finds the beginnings of renewal and regeneration:
“…[T]he beginning of a new story - the story of the gradual renewal of a man, the story of his gradual regeneration, of his passing from one world into another, of his initiation into a new unknown life…”