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Dworkin, Ronald Mylesfree

  • Stephen Guest
  •  and Jeffrey Jowell

Ronald Myles Dworkin (1931–2013)

by Terence Spencer, c.1978

Dworkin, Ronald Myles (1931–2013), legal and political philosopher, was born on 11 December 1931 in Worcester, Massachusetts, USA, the elder son of David Dworkin (1896–1969), curtain manufacturer, and his wife, Madeline, née Taber (1905–1988), both of Russian Jewish descent, his father an immigrant from Lithuania. His parents had married in 1924 and he had an elder sister, Fern (who later married the cell biologist Zanvil Cohn), and a younger brother, Alan, later a lawyer. The children's parents separated soon after Alan's birth. His mother later married Dr Haskell Talamo, but he died within a year, leaving her once again to raise her three children alone. A talented musician, she worked as a piano teacher. For most of Dworkin's childhood the family lived in Providence, Rhode Island, and he attended a Providence public (state-funded) school.

Early years and education

Encouraged by his mother, the young Ronald was highly competitive and joined in all possible activities, including the scouts. He won a scholarship to Harvard College, where he took his AB, majoring in philosophy, and then won a Rhodes scholarship to Magdalen College, Oxford, where he was taught by Sir Rupert Cross and obtained a first in jurisprudence in 1955. His finals papers (all ‘alpha’) were of such quality that H. L. A. Hart, the professor of jurisprudence, kept his jurisprudence paper, which he later said provided the best critique he had read of his own work. He went on to complete an LLB at Harvard Law School in 1957 where as one of his options he took the famous course on ‘legal process’ which he later said introduced him to the issue of the appropriate roles of law and policy-making. In 1957–8 he was law clerk to the eminent judge and legal philosopher Learned Hand, then in his eighty-sixth year; Hand commented that when Dworkin started he was unsure if he would be able to find things for him to do, but by the time Dworkin left he wondered how he could manage without 'that law clerk to beat all law clerks' (as he described Dworkin in a letter to Supreme Court Justice Felix Frankfurter: Jordan, 384). Although Dworkin and Hand disagreed on the increasingly expanding role of the Supreme Court at that time, he was influenced by Hand's articulation of the idea of a ‘case to be argued’ (so different from the English ‘what is the rule?’). Also in 1958 Dworkin married a fellow Harvard graduate, Betsy Celia Ross (1933–2000), from a well-to-do New York family. During the early years of their marriage she was an arts journalist (having majored in the history of fine arts), but she later took a master's degree at the London School of Economics, and taught social policy at Chelsea College, University of London, and University College London. They had twins, Anthony and Jennifer (b. 1961).

Turning down an opportunity to clerk for Justice Frankfurter, in 1958 Dworkin became an associate in the New York law firm Sullivan and Cromwell, where he dealt mainly with international commercial transactions. This required much travel, to which Betsy objected ('mostly to African states', he said (personal knowledge, S. Guest)) so in 1962 he returned to academia as an associate professor of law at Yale Law School (and master of Trumbull, one of the residential colleges). He became a full professor, remarkably early for that era, in 1965, and in 1968 he became Wesley N. Hohfeld professor of jurisprudence.

A transatlantic career

In 1969 Dworkin returned to England to succeed Hart as professor of jurisprudence at Oxford University, as a fellow of University College. The fact that much of his initial thinking at Oxford involved criticism of his revered predecessor, and of Hart's disciple Joseph Raz, led to the most intense debate. His seminars, which attracted both lawyers and philosophers, soon became legendary. He always had critics who accused him of seldom reading a case (or at least an English case) and who perhaps resented his peripatetic existence, growing celebrity status, and lack of enthusiasm for administration. Indeed he did prefer the life of the metropolis (London and New York in particular), was increasingly in demand for lectures worldwide, and tended to engage in an academic setting with philosophers rather than lawyers. Nevertheless, he made a signal contribution to legal thinking in England, and, after leaving Oxford, fitted in comfortably at the law faculty of University College London where he found allies in his quest for moral principles underlying even the uncodified UK constitution.

While primarily based in the UK for the next thirty years (though London rather than Oxford, at Betsy's insistence), Dworkin worked on both sides of the Atlantic. He was a visiting professor of philosophy at Princeton University in 1974–5, professor-at-large at Cornell University from 1976 to 1980, and a visiting professor of philosophy and law (1977) and of philosophy (1979–82) at Harvard University. From 1984 he held a dual role in England, as visiting professor of jurisprudence at University College London as well as professor at Oxford. His strongest connection was with New York University School of Law, where he was professor of law from 1975 and Frank Henry Sommer professor of law and philosophy from 1984. He had homes in Martha's Vineyard and in Washington Mews, off Washington Square, New York, as well as at 17 Chester Row, Belgravia, London.

On reaching the statutory retirement age in Oxford in 1998, Dworkin remained Sommer professor of law and philosophy at New York University School of Law and also shifted his part-time appointment at University College London, by accepting the Quain chair, then becoming Bentham professor of jurisprudence from 2004 until 2008, thereafter maintaining his connection as an emeritus professor.

Style and underlying ideals

Dworkin's writings and lectures soon established him as the leading legal and moral philosopher of his time. The brilliance of his thought was communicated by his lucid and convincing prose and his extraordinary personal vibrancy and energy. His lectures and seminars were delivered without reference to any notes he might have had with him, with impeccable and fluent articulation which assumed the equal intelligence of his audience. He would invariably define a subject in an innovative way, proceed to put the view against him respectfully, before devastatingly demonstrating its flaws. He fiercely demanded rationality, particularly for moral judgments. One of his earliest papers was an attack on Lord Devlin's view that popular disgust—the feelings of 'the man on the Clapham omnibus'–could determine morality for the purposes of the criminal law's prohibition on homosexuality. Dworkin argued that morality was not just depth of majority feeling but was subject to a rational test of adherence to logic, fact, lack of emotional outburst, and lack of bias: 'What is shocking and wrong is not his idea that the community's morality counts but his idea of what counts as the community's morality' (Taking Rights Seriously, 1977, 255).

Dworkin's favourite forum was his famous colloquia, at New York University with Thomas Nagel and at Oxford with Bernard Williams, Amartya Sen, and others, in which the most eminent speakers submitted their papers to the team in advance, who discussed them with relentless concentration, first over lunch with the speaker alone, then during a long afternoon seminar session, and later over dinner. This format was transferred to University College London when he arrived there as Quain professor in 1998.

Unlike the conventional image of the remote philosopher, Dworkin was always elegantly dressed, was computer literate from the start, and relished the good life. He and Betsy attended sparkling dinner parties in New York and London, and in Martha's Vineyard where they would relax each summer. His interests were wide, but he was happiest engaging with the pressing issues of the day, immersing his friends in the invigorating experience of his academic colloquia. He involved himself in all matters literary and cultural, but admitted to a reluctance to attend concerts as a reaction to the constant sound during childhood of classical music emanating from the room in which his mother taught piano to those of questionable ability.

Legal philosophy

Dworkin's attack on Hart's theory of legal positivism, the doctrine that you can identify law without making a moral judgment, the doctrine bequeathed by Jeremy Bentham and John Austin and famously refined by Hart (in The Concept of Law, 1961), was that it failed to characterize the arguments of lawyers in ‘hard cases’. Dworkin became associated with the ‘hard case’—the controversial case to which there is no demonstrable answer, but in which lawyers make substantive moral claims.

Dworkin argued that hard cases were governed by ‘principles’ the application of which in any particular case, unlike ‘rules’, could not, by Humean definition, be identified by the criteria of Hart's empirical ‘rule of recognition’ (nor by Bentham's and Austin's ‘command of the sovereign’). Such principles have a different logic, he argued. Whereas rules apply in an ‘all-or-nothing’ sense, principles have a ‘dimension of weight’ that, when they declined, ‘eroded’ over time, unlike rules that were 'torpedoed' (Taking Rights Seriously, 40). Such principles meant that judges (with the help of lawyers) exercised a constrained, rather than ‘strong’ discretion:

Discretion, like the hole in the doughnut, does not exist except as an area left open by a surrounding belt of restriction. It is therefore a relative concept. It always makes sense to ask, ‘Discretion under which standards?’ or ‘Discretion as to which authority?’

Taking Rights Seriously, 31

In other articles of this early period, brought together in his Taking Rights Seriously (1977), Dworkin introduced an account of rights that, while appreciated in America, only gained a foothold in the UK at a time rights were regarded as upstart imports from America and the Continent. This Nelsonian attitude to rights was widespread amongst English lawyers (Scotland was different as its legal system was sourced from Europe), although litigation is impossible without the idea (rights to property, for example). The ruling theory in England was the Austin-inspired constitutional theory of Dicey, according to whom ‘subjects’ of the Crown were granted ‘liberties’ or ‘privileges’ but not rights; it spelled of feudal deference and class-consciousness.

In contrast, Dworkin proposed that rights only made sense if they could defeat arguments for collective social goals. It would not ‘take rights seriously’ to think they could be ignored only because their recognition would cost more, or was inconvenient. His phrase ‘rights as trumps’—where a right could be produced as a card to override utilitarian calculations of social good—was intended to capture this serious sense. Dworkin argued that his account of rights explained the judicial role. Judges decide questions of principle, not questions of ‘policy’, the latter referring to those ‘choice sensitive matters’ appropriate to elected government. Judges must therefore be independent, looking only to deciding the rights of particular litigants according to law.

At this time, equality became a major force in Dworkin's thinking. He argued that policies of ‘reverse’ or ‘positive’ discrimination were not necessarily inconsistent with the fourteenth amendment to the US Constitution (requiring states to accord equal protection of the law to their citizens). He drew a distinction between ‘equal treatment’ which, he said, was consistent with contempt for others, as in ‘separate but equal’ segregated schools (condemned by the Supreme Court in Brown <i>v.</i> Board of Education, 1954), and treating people ‘as equals’ (treating applicants fairly for admission to university programmes for which there were minority quotas). He also criticised Rawls's influential social contract theory, stated in Rawls's A Theory of Justice (1970), arguing that it was an abstract right to equality, not Rawls's famous hypothetical contract, that justified principles of just government. The right to equal respect, Dworkin said, 'is one right, therefore, that does not emerge from the contract, but is assumed, as the fundamental right must be, in its design' (Taking Rights Seriously, 181).

Dworkin argued strongly against ‘originalism’, the doctrine that judges should decide in accordance with the ‘original’ intent enumerated in legislation and the Constitution, a view held prominently by Judge Robert Bork, particularly in relation to abortion (and articulated by Supreme Court Justices White and Rehnquist in their dissenting opinions in Roe <i>v.</i> Wade, 1973). Dworkin thought it was probably true that the Founders actually intended future judges to make decisions not rooted in the past. In any case, he argued that legal practice contradicted the originalists. Few lawyers would think it obvious, he said, that if ‘knives, bombs and guns’ were prohibited on aircraft, tear gas was permitted only because it was not ‘enumerated’ (because not invented at the time of the statute). He argued that originalists such as Bork–and Justice Scalia of the US Supreme Court–identified interpretation with originalism and so wrongly supposed that judges were stepping outside their judicial role in following their (personal) convictions about abortion. Dworkin thought originalism sterile: 'principles cannot be seen as stopping where some historical statesman's time, imagination, and interest stopped. The Constitution takes rights seriously; historicism does not' (Law's Empire, 1986, 369).

In a series of articles, Dworkin had engaged with Stanley Fish, the well-known American literary critic, arguing that the common law evolved ‘interpretively’ like a chain novel, with author/judges being creative while being true to the past chapters/precedents. Although Dworkin curtailed the discussion because he thought Fish misunderstood his views on objectivity, the analogy gave birth to the idea of interpretation developed in his Law's Empire (1986). Moral and other evaluative concepts were interpretive, not descriptive of fixed meanings shared by people, deriving their meaning from their ‘best sense’. The best sense of law, Dworkin said, lies in its ‘argumentative’ quality; lawyers argue for different conceptions of legal concepts (such as equal protection, or negligence). Further, proper interpretation of the law, he argued, lies in the idea of integrity which personifies the law so that it assumes a moral character, one that consistently treats people as equals. In his view, past decisions of both the legislature (legislation) and the judiciary (precedent) are relevant to present decisions by being part of one integral picture, namely, the community's equal commitment to its members: 'Law's empire is defined by attitude [and that attitude] is constructive: it aims, in the interpretive spirit, to lay principle over practice to show the best route to a better future, keeping the right faith with the past' (Law's Empire, 413).

Political philosophy

Dworkin challenged proponents of the Chicago law and economics movement, particularly Judge Richard Posner, who argued that judges should decide litigants' rights according to a criterion of cost-benefit (such as Kaldor-Hicks efficiency). Dworkin naturally disagreed; apart from Posner's false equation of wealth with happiness, Posner's view was, he thought, only a version of utilitarianism 'with all the warts' (A Matter of Principle, 1985, 283). Nevertheless, economics intrigued Dworkin and became a large part of his theory of distributive justice.

These encounters were productive for Dworkin. In 1981 he produced two brilliant papers addressing economic justice. If the government has a duty to treat citizens as equals, he asked, what does justice require people be equal in? Governments could not make people equal in happiness, because there was no 'independent metric' for them to apply. He concluded, therefore, that justice could only be satisfied by distributing to people equal shares of the community's total measurable resources. That abstract proposition constituted a base-line principle. In reality, because people's resources are largely distributed through luck, bad or good, Dworkin argued that a just distribution would ignore distributions over which a person had no control; and so redistribution of resources was required to balance the difference between the talented (good luck) and the handicapped (bad luck). But equality worked with freedom; if people increased their resources by just means, such as working hard and engaging in a fair market (where equality defines the relationship between parties), then resulting wealth differences were justified. Employing the economists' idea of opportunity cost, he said:

Under equality of resources … people decide what sorts of lives to pursue against a background of information about the actual cost their choices impose on other people and hence on the total stock of resources that may fairly be used by them.

Sovereign Virtue, 2000, 69

His theory of economic justice does not fit conventional political categories. It is ‘left-wing’ in justifying equal distribution but ‘right-wing’ in allowing differentials in resources fairly earned. And Dworkin offered a sketch of how compensation could work; actuaries would calculate in a ‘hypothetical insurance market’ what the premiums would be for insuring against bad luck. These premiums would inform a graduated tax system, on the assumption that generally speaking the luckier – through chance in talent, and circumstances–acquire more resources than is fair.

Dworkin also developed a separate theory of political justice. Treating people as equals in distributing political power meant democracy was not merely majority rule. Some decisions had to be ‘choice-insensitive’ to protect equality. And so Dworkin could conclude that judicial review of legislation by unelected judges was not ruled out a priori. What procedures were possible for any particular legal system was a matter of local acceptance, but he certainly thought that the power of the US Supreme Court to strike down statutes was, in principle, justified. Further, since corporations are not real persons, equality does not permit corporate donations to political campaigns as the Supreme Court had held in Citizens United <i>v.</i> Federal Election Commission (558 US 08–205 [2010]), a decision Dworkin thought 'appalling': 'Corporations are legal fictions. They have no opinions of their own to contribute and no rights to participate with equal voice or vote in politics' (New York Review of Books, 25 February 2010).

Personal ethics and the sanctity of life

In his Tanner lectures at Chicago University on human value (1990) and later in his book Life's Dominion (1993) Dworkin said that a good life (‘living well’) consisted of living up to the challenge of making the best of one's life according to one's personal goals. Not achievement measured by some external ‘impact’ on the community (our life is not diminished because our painting is no match against Picasso); not, too, a life of cramming as many pleasures in as possible (pure ‘experiential’ existence). Living well could also not be wholly detached from our culture: 'A life of chivalrous and courtly virtue might be a very good one in twelfth-century Bohemia but not in Brooklyn now' (Sovereign Virtue, 258).

Dworkin thought that living in unjust circumstances could affect the goodness of our life, affirming Plato's view that living an unjust life was akin to physical sickness. He disagreed with Plato, however, that an unjust life was by necessity less good, because some instances of injustice had cultivated good lives (such as Michelangelo's life, expensively subsidised by the Borgias).

On abortion and euthanasia Dworkin isolated the idea of sacred or ‘intrinsic’ value. Life could have intrinsic value, the sort of value shared with great works of art, or outstanding landscapes, independent of whether it was protected by a right (the Mona Lisa and the Grand Canyon do not have rights as they do not have interests). The detachment of this value from the discussion of rights to abortion or the right to die, Dworkin argued, explains the differences between opposing camps on these mortal issues. Both liberals and conservatives endorse the intrinsic value of life—the living cells of the early term foetus and the almost dead. Dworkin had found common ground. He points out, for example, that liberals frequently regret abortion and euthanasia while at the same time believing they are sometimes morally justified. Conservatives only differ because they place less weight on the freedom of the mother to determine her procreative life at least in the early stages, and a person's freedom to determine the manner of their death. Dworkin came down on the liberal side on the ground of human dignity.

A true appreciation of dignity argues decisively … for individual freedom, not coercion, for a regime of law and attitude that encourages each of us to make mortal decisions for himself. Freedom is the cardinal, absolute requirement of self-respect: no one treats his life as having any intrinsic, objective importance unless he insists on leading that life himself, not being ushered along it by others.

Life's Dominion, 239


Dworkin concluded that the decision of Roe <i>v.</i> Wade more or less got the answer right. Not only did it decide the time when a foetus began, by becoming sentient, to develop interests, and thus rights (the beginning of third trimester), it also recognised both a woman's right to terminate as well as the state's role in encouraging that decision to be responsible through regulation (such as a ‘cooling off’ period).

Freedom of speech

Dworkin thought free speech was required because the government had a duty to treat all its adult citizens as responsible moral agents: 'Government insults its citizens, and denies their moral responsibility, when it decrees that they cannot be trusted to hear opinions that might persuade them to dangerous or offensive convictions' (Freedom's Law, 1996, 200).

This justification is strikingly non-instrumental. Freedom of speech is grounded in equality of respect, which insists that people be recognised as having convictions and tastes of their own making. It followed for Dworkin that people have a ‘right to pornography’. But Dworkin did not deny that freedom of speech could be regulated, nor did he say that where speech harms others it cannot be prohibited. He thought political equality required that no one be prevented from influencing the shared moral environment merely because those in power felt disgust. Cases of harm, for example, refusing to hire women, or making workplaces too humiliating to work in, were different, but there was insufficient evidence supporting the view of Catharine MacKinnon and others that pornography harmed women.

Value and objectivity

Dworkin believed that reason governed value as much as science, although in comparison with science, he thought reasoning in matters of value was under-developed and unconfidently handled. Most philosophers, he said, wrongly sought science as a basis for reasoning matters of value ('they urge a colonial philosophy setting up embassies and garrisons of science within value discourse to govern it properly' (Justice for Hedgehogs, 2011, 9). On the other hand, Dworkin thought that 'subjectivists' who argue that we somehow 'make up' our values 'bizarre' (ibid., 9) because they denied the role of reason: 'Value judgments are true, when they are true, not in virtue of any matching but in view of the substantive case that can be made for them' (ibid., 11).

Dworkin therefore affirmed Hume's distinction between empirical fact and value although, crucially, he read that distinction as countering rather than promoting scepticism about value (in Justice for Hedgehogs he called it the Humean principle). It followed for him that there were right answers, following the balance of reasons, to questions of value. Understanding this is crucial to understanding Dworkin's work, for he wrote for the area of value: law as a sub-set of politics, a sub-set of morality, which itself arose from personal ethics.

Dworkin was genuinely mystified by persistent criticism of his claim of value objectivity, on the ground that because demonstration, or proof, of the truth of value judgements was not possible, such answers were ‘merely subjective’ or ‘opinion’. He said many times that his ‘one right answer’ thesis was merely ‘defensive’; he assumed that, when people believed something, they believed it to be true, even when they believed—without the possibility of demonstration or proof—that it was true that what Dworkin believed was wrong. The issue followed him throughout his career and, he said, it 'wasted a lot of time' in seminars.

The unity of value, and religion

Dworkin's great work, Justice for Hedgehogs (2011), is a paean to the rationality of value, relegating subjectivity to a minor place (echoing his early comments that Devlin's account of morality licensed majority disgust). He urged confidence in justifying our value judgments by reference to more abstract values we hold; we also have a personal responsibility for making our judgments coherent. It follows, he believed, that our ordinary non-deterministic view of free will is right. He claimed it is wrong to assume, as Isaiah Berlin did, that ‘external’ forces could force conflict between moral values on us. Together, these ideas formed what he called the ‘unity of value’ thesis, the ‘big thing’ that the hedgehog knows in Archilochus's comparison of the fox and hedgehog, a quotation famously employed by Berlin.

Dworkin further distilled his thinking on human dignity into two principles of dignity: that each life is equally valuable and that each person has responsibility for realizing value in their life. These principles merged personal ethics with morality; broadly it is an endorsement of Kant on morality, with a plausible and original addition (or imaginative extrapolation): that ‘living well’ could include a trade-off between personal ethics and morality.

In Religion Without God (2013), his Einstein lectures at the University of Bern, Dworkin argued that it is irrational to think God is a physical being because that contradicts what we ordinarily accept about physical existence. The supposition of a non-physical God is also unnecessary for living our lives well. If God respects our dignity, and since coercion–even His coercion – is insufficient to create our duties, then we must be able to choose and endorse our own lives; so we can live a spiritual life of self-fulfilment, moral worth, wonder and beauty without God. Dworkin compared the spiritual life with the idea of the Romantic poets that we should live our lives as works of art:

When you do something smaller well–play a tune or a part or a hand, throw a curve or a compliment, make a chair or a sonnet or love – your satisfaction is complete in itself. Those are achievements within life. Why can't a life also be an achievement complete in itself, with its own value in the art in living it displays?

Justice for Hedgehogs, 198–9

True to his belief that making such value judgments could be objectively true he said in the last few pages of his last book, Religion Without God: 'What matters most fundamentally to the drive to live well is the conviction that there is, independently and objectively, a right way to live' (155).

Public engagement, honours, and assessment

Dworkin took up his Oxford chair just at the time of proposals for a bill of rights to be adopted in the UK's uncodified constitution. His plea, in different forums, to take rights seriously provided an important theoretical underpinning to that movement, which eventually resulted in the Human Rights Act 1998. He would have preferred that Act to permit courts to strike down statutes that contravened rights, rather than merely to issue a ‘declaration of incompatibility’ and thus retain the opportunity for parliament still to trump those rights. Rarely for legal philosophers, his work has been cited by judges, such as Lord Hoffmann (who had been a fellow don at Oxford), on matters that require a theoretical underpinning (such as euthanasia, or the respective roles of the legislature and the judiciary).

Dworkin wrote more than fifty articles for the New York Review of Books, often about cases already argued but in advance of judgment. These articles were uniquely persuasive and often successfully aimed at the one judge who was likely to swing a minority of justices into a majority.

Dworkin was elected a fellow of the British Academy and of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, both in 1979, an honorary QC in 1998, an honorary bencher of the Middle Temple in 1999, and an honorary fellow of University College London in 2004. He was a member of the council of the Writers and Scholars Educational Trust, and of the programme committee of the Ditchley Foundation, both from 1982. A longstanding supporter of the US Democratic Party, he was co-chairman of US Democratic Party Abroad in 1972–6, and listed his ‘club’ in Who's Who as the Oxford American Democrats.

Dworkin was an original thinker, outside of his time. He demanded reason for all arguments of value and was critical of the popular mood of subjectivism and relativism. He believed in equality of wealth, not happiness, and he thought ambition could be rewarded. He argued that democracy follows from equality, not only justifying the different roles of legislature and judges, but amongst other things prohibiting corporate donations to election campaigns. His legal theory, emphasising the argumentative force of political rights within the courtroom, required legal rights to integrate with the past. The ambition of his theory, together with the impressive range of his arguments for its different parts, qualify him as one of the outstanding legal and political philosophers of the past 150 years.

After the death of his first wife in 2000 Dworkin became close to Irene (Reni) Brendel, née Semler (b. 1944), the former wife of the pianist Alfred Brendel; they later married in 2012. He died of acute myeloid leukaemia at his home in London on 14 February 2013, following a few weeks confined to his bed at home where his admirers came from New York and elsewhere to say goodbye. He was survived by his wife, Reni, and his two children.


  • A. Liptak, ‘The lawyer transcendent’, The Law School [magazine of New York University School of Law] (autumn 2005), 13–23
  • The Guardian (15 Feb 2013)
  • Financial Times (15 Feb 2013)
  • The Independent (16 Feb 2013)
  • Daily Telegraph (18 Feb 2013)
  • New Republic (18 Feb 2013)
  • Times Higher Education Supplement (21 Feb 2013)
  • Bioethical Inquiry, 10 (2013), 283–5
  • Harvard Law Review, 127/2 (Dec 2013), 489–511
  • Reason and imagination: the selected correspondence of Learned Hand, ed. C. Jordan [with preface by R. Dworkin]
  • WW (2013)
  • personal knowledge (2017)
  • private information (2017)
  • d. cert.



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  • T. Spencer, photograph, 1970, Getty Images, London [see illus.]
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