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Procedure [article]
Stanford Law Review
26 Stan. L. Rev. 1009 (May 1974)
Goldstein, Abraham S.;
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Citation: 26 Stan. L. Rev. 1009 1973-1974
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Reflections on Two Models: Inquisitorial
Themes in American Criminal Procedure
Abraham S. Goldstein*
In Two Models of the Criminal Process,' Herbert Packer captured bril-
liantly the tension between substance and procedure in enforcing criminal
law. Using "due process" and "crime control" to describe normative models
of criminal procedure, he explored in meticulous detail the implications of
those models for the several stages from arrest to conviction At each of
the stages, he found an intense competition between the advocates of crime
control, preoccupied with managerial efficiency, and those who would
use due process to set procedural limits On efficiency. In tracing the inter-
action of norm and practice, he opened new and promising lines of
inquiry.
Criminal law scholars owe Packer a great debt which can best be re-
paid by pressing further along the lines he cast. In this essay, I shall make a
preliminary effort to do so. But first I shall place Packer's contribution,
historically and conceptually, in the literature of American criminal law.
I shall then suggest that additional models might be useful and that one
might be drawn from inquisitorial themes in American criminal procedure.
* B.B.A. 1946, C.C.N.Y.; LL.B. 1949, Yale University. Dean, Yale Law School and William
Nelson Cromwell Professor of Law.
I. 113 U. PA. L. REv. i (x964). A revised version is in H. PACKER, THE Lnmrrs op T E CRIMINAL
S m-arxoN 49-246 (968).
2. 113 U. PA. L. REv. at 24-61.
1010 STANFORD LAW REVIEW [VOL. 26: Page 1oo 9
announced what later became known as the "fruit of the poisonous tree"
doctrine;7 and in Justice Brandeis' prescient dissent in Olmstead v. United
States, in which he warned that advancing technology would bring in-
creased eavesdropping and surveillance.8 But it probably drew its strongest
support from the rash of field studies conducted by the Wickersham Com-
mission and by others in police stations, prosecutors' offices, and throughout
the criminal justice system.
These field studies tended to favor the idealist position, but they pro-
vided fuel for both idealists and realists. To the former, they confirmed
fears and showed how much would have to be done to bring legal insti-
tutions up to the constitutional standard. To the latter, they proved
constitutional law was out of tune with those who knew best how to deal
with crime. The conflict between the two positions accounted for the
terms of the subsequent debates over extending to the states the exclu-
sionary rules regarding search and seizure, interrogation, the rights of
the indigent to appointed counsel, the role of counsel before trial, and
the place of discovery in criminal cases.
Each group sometimes claimed the position of the other, depending
upon the audience it was addressing. The realists believed that efficient
crime control would best preserve personal and social discipline, tradi-
tional values, and the American character. The idealists felt they were
dealing realistically with crime and criminals-that better character and
an improved social order would follow from a, consummately fair proce-
dure. The reasons offered by the competing groups made plain, of course,
that neither was more idealistic or realistic than the other; each assigned
different weights to the values protected by various procedural provisions.
Nevertheless, a division remained which justifies use of the idealist-realist
distinction. Idealists were willing to sacrifice efficiency in the criminal pro-
cess in order to prevent abuse of official power and found in the Constitution
a codification of their position; realists wanted to repress crime with as
few procedural restrictions as possible.
Attitudes formed during World War II reinforced the idealist position.
As the American public learned about totalitarian police practices in
Hitler's Germany and Stalin's Russia, it developed a heightened sensitivity
to police excesses at home. In addition, as ever greater numbers felt the
impact of criminal law-through price controls and rationing, and, more
7. 251 U.S. 385, 392 (192o); see Nardone v. United States, 308 U.S. 338, 341 (x939).
8. 277 U.S. 438, 473 (1928).
9. See, e.g., CLEVELAND FOUNDATION, CRIMINAL JUSTICE IN CLEVELAND (R. Pound & F. Frank-
furter eds. 1922); R. MOLEY, OUR CRIMINAL COURTS (1930); U.S. NAT'L COMM'N ON LAW OBSER-
VANCE AND ENFoRCEmENr, REPORTS, Nos. 1-6 (1971); Morse, supra note 5. See generally G.
MUELLER, CRI E, LAw AND THE SCHOLARS 95-O8 (Cambridge Studies in Criminology, Vol. XXVI,
x969).
STANFORD LAW REVIEW [VOL. 26: Page ioo9
recently, through the civil rights movement, war protests, and drug use
-new and especially intense constituencies swelled the ranks.
The Warren Court responded to the new pressures by affirming that the
federal judiciary intended to raise practice to the constitutional ideal. In a
series of decisions dealing with searches,1" use of the body, 1 interrogation,'
counsel," and publicity, " the court set largely national standards for state
criminal procedure. The arguments of the realists were rejected, except in
a few areas such as "stop and frisk," where the Court acquiesced in the as-
sertion that police sometimes needed authority to detain and to search, even
when they had no cause to arrest'
Though some saw the work of the Warren Court as finally realizing the
constitutional promise, realist forces were only temporarily halted. Having
lost in the judicial arena, they spread their message in political campaigns
through appeals for "law and order." These political efforts proved success-
ful, and the tide has once again turned. In the decisions of the Burger Court
and the actions of other officials, we are witnessing a resurgence of the realist
position, particularly in the area of police practices, bail, and plea bar-
gaining'
The competition between the two positions has been so persistent and
so influential that it demanded explanation in terms transcending particular
cases. Yet until Packer's Two Models, few such explanations were available,
probably because of our commitment to a common law tradition. That tra-
dition is antitheoretical and open-ended, built up case by case as appellate
courts respond to particular fact situations and remedial settings. There
were, however, several currents pointing toward a broader theory. These
came principally from sociological jurisprudence and legal realism and
from the codification movement. They prepared the way for Packer, even
as they were affecting the legal developments already described.
Sociological jurisprudence and legal realism emerged in the ig2o's as
a reaction against the nearly exclusive concerns of lawyers with appellate
opinions and with doctrinal analysis based mostly on superficial history.
And criminal law, as "people's law," was among the first to feel the effects. 7
io. See Mapp v. Ohio, 367 U.S. 643 (i96i); Berger v. New York, 388 U.S. 4r (1967).
It. See Schmerber v. California, 384 U.S. 757 (x966); United States v. Wade, 388 U.S. 218
(1967).
12. See Miranda v. Arizona, 384 U.S. 436 (1966); Malloy v. Hogan, 378 U.S. r (1964).
13. See Gideon v. Wainwright, 372 U.S. 335 (1963).
14. See Sheppard v. Maxwell, 384 U.S. 333 (x966).
15. See Terry v. Ohio, 392 U.S. 1 (1968).
I6. On plea bargaining, see Santobello v. New York, 404 U.S. 257 (97r); Brady v. United
States, 397 U.S. 742 (970). On police practices, see United States v. Robinson, 42 U.S.L.W. 4055
(U.S. Dec. ii, 1973). On bail, see the District of Columbia statute providing for preventive detention,
D.C. CODE ANN. §§ 23-132X to -1332 (x973); Mitchell, Bail Reform and the Constitutionality of
PretrialDetention, 55 VA. L. Rsv. 1223 (1969).
17. See sources cited note 9 supra.
May 1974] INQUISITORIAL THEMES 101 3
Legal scholarship rapidly shifted to include the full range of judicial insti-
tutions, trial and appellate, and administrative processes in which decisions
were made about invoking and declaring criminal law. To most observers,
the content of criminal law and the elements of criminal liability seemed
less important, in practical terms, than the manner in which the law was
administered: how police and prosecutors exercise their discretion to
charge; the extent to which the bail decision may be administered in dis-
regard of legal norms; the remarkable degree to which the guilty plea domi-
nates the system and is itself often dominated by "plea bargaining" between
the parties; the attitudes, perceptions, and value systems of the decision-
makers and of the persons affected by them.
The approach was, in the first instance, descriptive but as the factual
outlines were filled in and criminal law was studied in the context of its
administration, bridges had to be built between the newly acquired facts
and a body of doctrine which rested on an older and narrower empirical
base. Legal doctrine had to be evaluated in terms of the relation between
the decisionmakers and the functions they were expected to perform: Do
law enforcement officials correctly select for prosecution persons who have
committed crimes? Are those persons charged with the offenses which
properly describe their conduct? Are they tried in a manner which assures
that only the guilty are convicted? Are sentences imposed which bear a
sensible relation to the objectives set by the legislature? Such questions led
to inquiries into how the several parts of the system affect each other: Do
they work smoothly as part of an interconnected whole? Are there internal
dissonances as the separate parts serve conflicting objectives and the par-
ticipants reflect different values? Are legal doctrines being distorted by in-
stitutional failures or personal misunderstanding or corruption?
Inevitably, lawyers and judges began to view the legal system as com-
plex and dynamic, but understandably so and therefore susceptible to stra,
tegic thinking. More than in the past, legal questions were approached with
an eye to choosing institutions and doctrines which would provide the most
effective levers for accomplishing change. The elaboration of exclusionary
rules, which began as declarations of what the Constitution or the cases
required, became an instrument for reshaping the administration of crimi-
nal justice. Illegally obtained evidence was kept from the trial in the hope
that exclusion would persuade police and prosecutors that they must obey
procedural as well as substantive law. Rights to counsel were enlarged, not
only to enhance truth-finding but also to assure that the defendant had full
opportunity to monitor the procedural norms-whether they related to his
culpability or to that of police or prosecutor or court. In short, many legal
STANFORD LAW REVIEW [VOL. 26: Page I009
The polar opposite of crime control, which expresses the principle of effi-
ciency, is the principle of legality. That principle is often referred to by
European writers and divides into subordinate rules which affect both sub-
stance and procedure: the degree of specificity with which crime must be
defined, whether advance notice must be given, the nature and severity of
sanctions, the extent to which informal procedures may be used, how per-
sons are arrested and tried. The due process model articulated by Packer is
a very particular application of the legality principle. It is heavily infected
with American values about judges and juries, police and prosecutors-in-
corporating much of the idealist position described earlier!' Its major
premises are adversary and accusatorial but it sometimes assumes other
forms, as, for example, when administrative processes are used to satisfy
the "due process" of the moment'
The principal difficulty with Packer's models is that crime control is
not a procedural model but an end towards which all models are directed
and by which they may be measured. Due process, on the other hand, is
one set of producers for achieving the end and may be more or less effi-
cient than others, more or less consistent with values other than efficiency.
If we are to understand in detail the consequences of using one system
rather than another to enforce criminal law, it may be useful to return to
an older mode of analysis which is more explicitly procedural and which
offers the possibility of choosing among systems rather than between a sys-
tem and a tendency. I shall begin by considering the premises underlying
the two best-known procedural expressions of the principle of legality, the
accusatorial and the inquisitorial systems. I shall then analyze the extent to
which American procedure is a mixed system and some of the implications
of crossing theoretical lines.
American criminal procedure is usually regarded as "accusatorial" and
"adversary," with the two terms being treated as virtual equivalents. On
close examination, however, it is apparent that the words have quite differ-
ent meanings. "Adversary" refers to a method of resolving disputes and
takes its contours from the contested trial. Counsel for state and accused
play an aggressive role in presenting and examining witnesses and in shap-
ing legal issues. The judge is a relatively neutral participant who assures that
rules of evidence are satisfied and that the jury is properly instructed on
26. Compare the "family" model discussed in Grifliths, Ideology in Criminal Procedure, 79
YALE L.U. 359 (1970). For comments on the relation among Griffiths, Llewellyn, and Socialist thought,
see Damaska, Evidentiary Barriersto Conviction and Two Models of Criminal Procedure:A Compara-
tive Study, i2 U. PA. L. REv. 506, 571-73 (i973). Professor Damaska also has some perceptive ob-
servations on Packer's models. Id. at 574-77-
27. See, e.g., Morrissey v. Brewer, 408 U.S. 471 (972) (parole); Sostre v. McGinnis, 442 F.2d
X78 (2d Cir. 1971), cert. denied, 404 U.S. 1049 (1972) (prison); cf. In re Gault, 387 U.S. I (z966)
(juveniles).
May i974] INQUISITORIAL THEMES 1o1 7
the law. This adversary trial is so integral a part of our tradition that
we often treat it as the exclusive approach to procedure. When appellate
opinions refer to "judge' or "magistrate" or "counsel," it is widely as-
sumed they will bring with them the attitudes, workways, and doctrines
of adversary criminal procedure.
An adversary method, however, is merely one way of finding facts and
implementing norms. Though we have a good deal of faith that it is the
best method, at least for the contested criminal trial, there is nothing in-
herent in it which assures the kind of criminal procedure we take for
granted. An adversary process does not, without more, protect the accused
from interrogation or search or use of his body for evidentiary purposes.
Nor does it necessarily include the judge-jury relationship as we have de-
fined it, or the role of prosecutor and grand and petit jury, or the right to
release before trial. For those, we must turn to a normative tradition par-
tially incorporated into constitutional law.
This tradition is reflected in the word "accusatorial," which is a classic
procedural model that encompasses not only an adversary trial procedure
but also other fundamental premises. An accusatorial system assumes a so-
cial equilibrium which is not lightly to be disturbed, and assigns great
social value to keeping the state out of disputes, especially when stigma
and sanction may follow. As a result, the person who charges another
with crime cannot rely on his assertion alone to shift to the accused the
obligation of proving his innocence. The accuser must, in the first instance,
present reasonably persuasive evidence of guilt. It is in this sense that the
presumption of innocence is at the heart of an accusatorial system. Until
certain procedures and proofs are satisfied, the accused is to be treated
by the legal system as if he is innocent and need lend no aid to those who
would convict him.
An accusatorial system is basically reactive, reflecting its origins in a
setting in which enforcement of criminal laws was largely confined to
courts. Police and prosecutors had hardly developed; the initiative was left
to the complaining party to invoke criminal sanctions by gathering his
proofs and presenting them at trial. Before trial, the state played a relatively
passive role, doing only what was minimally required to enable the com-
plainant to present his case. If arrests were sought, then "probable cause"
had to be established to the satisfaction of a magistrate, but the magistrate
would not investigate on his own. If indictments or informations were
sought, the grand jury or prosecutor would approach the matter as a
screening agency rather than as an investigator. In such a system, it
seemed entirely proper that pretrial release on bail should be common
and that it should be administered by private bondsmen. In sum, the
STANFORD LAW REVIEW [VOL. 26: Page TO0 9
or to share in protecting the public interest. The judge must serve those func-
tions himself, particularly since there is a risk that the prosecutor will fall
into an adversary role and present matters in a partisan fashion. He must
not only question closely the legal sufficiency of the affidavits presented; he
must also probe the credibility of the factual assertions and demand access to
other materials and witnesses. Unfortunately, however, practice does not
conform to theory. It is a commonplace conclusion that judges "rubber
stamp" warrant applications and barely supervise the process."
The reason usually advanced to explain judicial passivity when receiving
the guilty plea or when passing on warrants is that judges are too busy to
do more. But an adequate explanation probably has deeper roots in funda-
mental postulates of the accusatorial model. The American judge assumes
that he is to react to matters presented to him and that if initiatives are to be
taken, counsel will take them. Experienced trial lawyers who become judges
slip quickly into the expectations and work habits associated with the judi-
cial role. Even when only one side is represented, as with warrants, or when
counsel are more collegial than adversary, as with guilty pleas, the Amer-
ican judge tends in practice to be reactive. He has come to rely on the parties
and their counsel to define and develop issues. And there is little in our
experience to guide him in a more active role; he is being asked, while
judge, to engage in a species of administrative supervision which is ordi-
narily left to the executive branch because of our deep commitment to the
separation of powers.
Perhaps the most dramatic evidence of this phenomenon is the confusion
surrounding Judge Sirica and the grand jury investigating Watergate. The
grand jury is an arm of the court, convened and instructed by a judge and
assisted by a prosecutor. Yet when a judge is drawn by extraordinary cir-
cumstances into working closely with the grand jury or when a grand jury
genuinely seeks to make the prosecution its instrument, many of us are
uncomfortable and confused about the seeming shift in roles. We experience
these feelings because we are held captive by models built on the adversary
trial. Yet it makes little sense to carry the idea of a reactive judge in an ad-
versary trial to the quite different context of the judge who must supervise
administrative processes. Adversary processes and accusatorial premises may
be inapplicable to a system which has changed its shape and which increas-
ingly casts the judge in a proactive role. We might better be served by prac-
tices drawn from inquisitorial systems, in which judges are routinely as-
signed tasks which are administrative and supervisory.
40. See, e.g., AMERICAN BAR FOUNDATION, LAw ENFORCEMENT IN A METROPOLIS, supra note ig,
at 34-36; W. LAFAVE, supra note ig, at 502-03; Rebell, The Undisclosed Informant and the Fourth
Amendment: A Search for Meaningful Standards, 8i YALE LJ. 703, 71o n.41 (1972).
May 1974] INQUISITORIAL THEMES 102 5
IV. CONCLUSION