Legal education is monumentally difficult. Legal “rules” are not “rules” in the sense most people understand them; they are, instead, formulations intended to reach just results based on the evidence in individual lawsuits.

In making the point set forth in the title of my post, it is worth repeating the message I sent this morning to my Contracts students, who are in the midst of studying for the first semester exams. My students are in the midst of making the transition from the lay understanding of legal “rules” as “rules” of the sort that govern the outcome of scientific experiments to the professional understanding that legal “rules” are professional terms of art used to articulate arguments intended to achieve justice in individual cases. It is not an easy transition to make, and it is a transition from a way of perceiving rules that seems to dominate the thinking of the vast majority of mankind to a way of perceiving rules as man-made constructs intended most of all to do justice to individuals.

As I wrote to my students, focusing on legal issues relating to the interpretation of disputed contract terms (the last subject of our semester’s study):

In trying to understand the law we are applying, consider the teachings of the teachings of the Chuang-tzu, a collection of writings from the fourth, third and second centuries B.C.:

Great understanding is broad and unhurried; Little understanding is cramped and busy.

Trying to understand the rules that pertain to contract interpretation will not come through a cramped and busy effort to memorize the “parol evidence rule” and the rules regarding when evidence outside of a writing is permitted to interpret the writing.

Instead, understanding contract interpretation will come first from from a broad and unhurried consideration of what language the parties are disputing the interpretation of. Then you must understand why each party considers his interpretation the correct one. What evidence does each party have that his interpretation is correct? How persuasive do you consider that evidence?

If one side’s interpretation is more persuasive, that will likely be the correct one. One must first consider the writing setting forth the purported agreement, the purposes of the purported agreement, the situations of the parties, and any other evidence that may bear on the meaning of the written agreement. Only after considering all these matters (which can range far and wide) and coming to some individual, human understanding of whether one person’s interpretation or the other’s is more persuasive can on go back to the rules to and use those rules to show how the rules and the evidence together will lead to that more persuasive result.

Thus, for example, in Thompson v. Lilly, 26 N.W. 1 (Minn. (1885), the buyer of logs insisted the seller did not supply logs of as high a quality as the parties had agreed the seller would provide. The parties had written the following brief agreement:

AGREEMENT.

Hastings, Minn., June 1, 1883.

I have this day sold to R. C. Libby, of Hastings, Minn., all my logs marked ‘‘H. C. A.,’’ cut in the winters of 1882 and 1883, for ten dollars a thousand feet, boom scale at Minneapolis, Minnesota. Payments cash as fast as scale bills are produced.

[Signed] J. H. Thompson,

Per D. S. Mooers.

R. C. Libby.

The Minnesota Supreme Court concluded that “[t]he written agreement . . . , as it appears on its face, . . . purports to be a complete expression of the whole agreement of the parties as to the sale and purchase of these logs, solemnly executed by both parties.” Thus, the court concluded that the buyer could not prevail on his claim that he and the seller had in fact agreed that the logs he had purchased were supposed to be of a higher quality than those logs the seller actually supplied.

But there really is nothing in the written agreement itself to preclude the reasonable possibility that the parties had also agreed that the logs marked “H.C.A” would be of the higher quality the buyer had not received. What is it about that 3 line agreement that suggests that it is the exhaustive statement of all the terms the parties agreed to?

Admittedly, there are a few things you might point to to support the court’s conclusion: the writing states price, it states the identifying marks on the buyer’s logs, and it states the delivery place and times. We might infer that if it includes all of those things it must include everything the parties had agreed upon.

But are we to suppose that in 1883 Minnesota in a sale between a logging company and a lumber buyer the technical requirements of the parol evidence rule were foremost in the buyer’s and seller’s minds? And are we to suppose the 3 line agreement was intended as the height of formality. And when, for example, would “winter” begin in Minesota — November, December 21, at first frost? To suppose the seller of logs and the buyer of logs would have put into the writing something they considered important is to be naive about how commercial transactions really take place (even today in the vast majority of commercial transactions, and even among investment bankers in the high flying world of Wall Street finance in which I once practiced).

In other words, if you merely start with the proposition that the parol evidence rule excludes the consideration of evidence regarding the content of a contractual agreement that is not contained in a final and complete written record of the agreement, you hardly have a convincing argument that the decision in Thompson v. Lilly must have been correct.

But if you look at the evidence recounted in the opinion (and the absence of certain evidence) the wisdom of the result (if not the clarity of the reasoning) becomes much, much more apparent — the buyer is claiming the agreement included a promise that the logs the seller was providing would be of a higher quality than the logs that were delivered. And while the writing in and of itself doesn’t inherently exclude that possibility in any conclusive way I can fathom, what evidence does the buyer have that the agreement included a promise of higher quality logs? Only the buyer’s own self-serving testimony. There is no corroborating testimony from, say,  others in the logging trade in 1883 Minnesota that an agreement on quality like that insisted upon the buyer would be expected. There is no documentary evidence outside of the 3 line agreement regarding the parties’ negotiations. There is no evidence that the buyer’s purposes for buying the logs should have indicated to the seller that higher quality logs were what the buyer expected. There is no indication the price the buyer agreed to pay reflects a market price for logs of a higher quality than that which he received.

In short, apart from the buyer’s self-serving testimony, there is no evidence of any sort that any agreement on the quality of the logs had been reached. In the absence of any evidence other than the buyer’s self-serving testimony in support of his position, the court conclusion that the three-line agreement contains all the material terms of the agreement does in fact seem convincing. If, on the other hand, others in the trade suggested the quality of the logs would not have been included in the written agreement or that the price in the agreement reflected a price for higher quality logs, the court would have had a much more difficult time suggesting the three line agreement contained all the material terms of the agreement.

Thus, the parol evidence rule does its job in this case — it prevents the dispute from ending up as a trial in which the buyer’s uncorroborated and self-serving sworn statements will be weighed by a jury against the writing and the seller’s sworn statements. But if we merely considered the 3 line agreement without considering what other evidence the buyer had (or did not have) in support of his position, the parol evidence rule in and of itself would have provided a very poor guide to determining whether there would be any justifiable basis for a trial on the buyer’s claims.

To engage in the extra effort of trial in Thompson v. Lilly would have been unreasonable as a matter of the administration of justice in that there seems no persuasive reason in the first place to believe the buyer. Trials are expensive and burdensome affairs. And keeping the case from trial prevents a jury from being persuaded by improper factors (such as preferring the buyer as a person to the seller). Thus, the court invoked the technical rule — the parol evidence rule — to produce an outcome that seems fair, just, and in accord with a common sense view of the evidence.

In other words, the legal rules and their proper application arise from the evidence the parties bring to bear. The rules do not predetermine disputes that are predictable before they arise. Instead, they provide the legal language (developed over the centuries’ long development of the common law) in which to couch the just conclusions compelled by the evidence.

So, as I explained to my students, when you are trying to figure out on an exam how to answer a question, consider first: what question you are you trying to answer. Then consider what evidence you have from each side of the dispute that helps persuade one way or another in answering that question. Then weigh that evidence and consider what we are primarily trying to determine in contract law: what the parties intended to agree to.

Then, and only then, use the rules to structure the presentation of your understanding of the proper resolution to the dispute. You are likely being asked to present your personal and human understanding as an intelligent adult being asked to solve a previously unsolved problem for the first time in your life. You are not merely being asked to repeat material your professor asked you to learn but to apply that learning to resolve new problems in a creative and original way no one other than you can be relied on to answer — that’s what you’re going to be doing as a lawyer!

I do not mean to minimize the importance of knowing the rules. You must know the rules. The rules are the language the law uses to structure the presentation of your persuasive explanations. Merely to give a recitation of your personal reaction to the evidence without reference to the rules is not to act as a lawyer. But the rules will only make sense to you if you use them to come to a result that makes sense to you as a human being.

You also have to keep in mind that rules in contract law sometimes serve purposes other than merely giving effect to what the parties intended. Rules such as the statute of frauds, for example, will in the absence of clear and convincing evidence of agreement avoid the administrative difficulties and expense of full-blown trial in certain types of important cases in which the parties have not supplied either the formal requirements evidencing such agreements or can supply other evidence as convincing as those formal requirements.

Again, this is not to discount the importance of the rules. You must know the rules to articulate your arguments in a manner that makes sense to lawyers, judges, and law professors. You are now a member of a profession, and you must communicate in the language of the profession. But you will never persuasively apply those profession-specific rules without first understanding the human disputes, the evidence, and the ways that evidence persuades human beings as to the merits of the disputes. Then, and only then, can you begin to structure your arguments in a manner that usefully employs the technical legal rules.

As a final note, my disquisition here should put to rest the myth — even one propounded by the Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court as a means of obtaining confirmation in the course of a farcical political show — that applying legal rules to resolve legal disputes is the same as calling balls and strikes.

Richard Posner too knows empathy is a component of good judging.

Richard Posner “is considered to be one of the most respected judges in the United States, and “although generally considered a man of the right, Posner’s pragmatism, his qualified moral relativism and moral skepticism, and his affection for the thought of Friedrich Nietzsche set him apart from most American conservatives.” Posner is a judge on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 7th Circuit, and he quite plainly recognizes that empathy is a fundamental component of good judging. As he writes in How Judges Think (at 117; emphasis added):

Another . . . major factor in judicial decisions in the open area [that is, where the language of the law does not prescribe a clear answer] is “good judgment,” an elusive faculty best understood as a compound of empathy, modesty, maturity, a sense of proportion, balance, a recognition of human limitations, sanity, prudence, a sense of reality and common sense. . . . It is another of the means that people have for maneuvering in situations of uncertainy. If law were logical, “good judgment” would not be an admired quality in judges – as it is even by legalists. 

Yes, Kevin, empathy is part of judging well, and Oliver Wendell Holmes thought so too.

Kevin O’Brien of the Plain Dealer expresses the view of many who mock President Obama’s desire that his Supreme Court nominee have “empathy”:

I have scoured my pocket copy of the Constitution. Couldn’t find a single reference to “empathy,” though. I tried searching an online version, too, but when I typed “empathy” in the search window, the only answer I got back was, “Did you misspell something?”

I looked up the oath of office that Souter’s successor will take. I don’t see “empathy” there, either, . . . 

O’Brien and his ilk have a stunted view of what it means to be a judge. Applying the law is not like doing algebra; instead, it is far more often (at least in cases so contested they get to the Supreme Court) a matter of making difficult judgments that involve weighing values and consequences in the real world. It hardly is ridiculous to consider “empathy” a valuable quality in making these judgments. One need not look far into the past to see a case where an inability to empathize with what Congress plainly intended led to a ridiculous (and soon overturned) outcome.

But you need not take my word for it.  Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., Supreme Court justice and one of the most influential intellects in U.S. legal history, made clear in The Path of the Law that it is a fallacy to think judges can apply only logic to the law and that a keen sense of the social impact of one’s decisions is fundamental to sound judging (emphasis added):

The fallacy to which I refer is the notion that the only force at work in the development of the law is logic. . . . The danger of which I speak is not the admission that the principles governing other phenomena also govern the law, but the notion that a given system, ours, for instance, can be worked out like mathematics from some general axioms of conduct. . . .

This mode of thinking is entirely natural. The training of lawyers is a training in logic. The processes of analogy, discrimination, and deduction are those in which they are most at home. The language of judicial decision is mainly the language of logic. And the logical method and form flatter that longing for certainty and for repose which is in every human mind. But certainty generally is illusion, and repose is not the destiny of man. Behind the logical form lies a judgment as to the relative worth and importance of competing legislative grounds, often an inarticulate and unconscious judgment, it is true, and yet the very root and nerve of the whole proceeding. You can give any conclusion a logical form. You always can imply a condition in a contract. But why do you imply it? It is because of some belief as to the practice of the community or of a class, or because of some opinion as to policy, or, in short, because of some attitude of yours upon a matter not capable of exact quantitative measurement, and therefore not capable of founding exact logical conclusions. Such matters really are battle grounds where the means do not exist for the determinations that shall be good for all time, and where the decision can do no more than embody the preference of a given body in a given time and place. We do not realize how large a part of our law is open to reconsideration upon a slight change in the habit of the public mind. No concrete proposition is self evident, no matter how ready we may be to accept it, not even Mr. Herbert Spencer’s “Every man has a right to do what he wills, provided he interferes not with a like right on the part of his neighbors.”

. . . There is a concealed, half conscious battle on the question of legislative policy, and if anyone thinks that it can be settled deductively, or once for all, I only can say that I think he is theoretically wrong, and that I am certain that his conclusion will not be accepted in practice semper ubique et ab omnibus [always, everywhere, and for everything]. . . .

I think that the judges themselves have failed adequately to recognize their duty of weighing considerations of social advantage. The duty is inevitable, and the result of the often proclaimed judicial aversion to deal with such considerations is simply to leave the very ground and foundation of judgments inarticulate, and often unconscious, as I have said. . . . I cannot but believe that if the training of lawyers led them habitually to consider more definitely and explicitly the social advantage on which the rule they lay down must be justified, they sometimes would hesitate where now they are confident, and see that really they were taking sides upon debatable and often burning questions.

Surely you’re joking. I can tell by that ridiculous price.

On Friday I mentioned the case of a radio contest winner who successfully sued the radio station for the value of a Renaul Clio after she’d won a contest offering the car to the contest’s winner.  When she’d shown up to the station to claim her prize, the station had given her a tiny model of a Renault instead of an actual car.  This type of case turns on whether a reasonable person would believe the offer is a serious one.  Radio stations do offer cars as prizes.  In contrast, check out the following:

After seeing the ad, John Leonard, then a 21-year-old business student, discovered he could purchase individual Pepsi points from the company for 10¢ each.  After sending Pepsi $700,008.50 — representing money he had raised from five investors for 6,999,985 Pepsi Points, fifteen of his own Pepsi Points, and a little extra for “shipping and handling” — Leonard demanded his jet. Pepsi laughed off the claim, pointing out the Harrier had never been offered in the Pepsi Points catalogue and was just in the commercial to provide a humorous completion to the piece.

As indicated by Snopes.com, “If we have to put disclaimers on spots that are obviously farces, where does it end?” Pepsi spokesman Jon Harris said. Well, it didn’t end there. Leonard filed suit in Miami against Pepsi for breach of contract, fraud, deceptive and unfair trade practices, and misleading advertising.

Leonard lost.  In the opinion dismissing Leonard’s lawsuit, Judge Kimba Wood (speaking from personal experience, an excellent judge, though not immune from notoriety), did what lawyers often have to do — spell out in painstaking detail what most people accept as gut feelings.  In this case, she had to spell out that a reasonable person viewing the commercial would know that Pepsi was joking about the Harrier Jet:

Plaintiff’s understanding of the commercial as an offer must also be rejected because the Court finds that no objective person could reasonably have concluded that the commercial actually offered consumers a Harrier Jet. . . .

In evaluating the commercial, the Court must not consider defendant’s subjective intent in making the commercial, or plaintiff’s subjective view of what the commercial offered, but what an objective, reasonable person would have understood the commercial to convey. . . .

If it is clear that an offer was not serious, then no offer has been made . . .  An obvious joke, of course, would not give rise to a contract. . . . On the other hand, if there is no indication that the offer is “evidently in jest,” and that an objective, reasonable person would find that the offer was serious, then there may be a valid offer.

Plaintiff’s insistence that the commercial appears to be a serious offer requires the Court to explain why the commercial is funny. Explaining why a joke is funny is a daunting task; as the essayist E.B. White has remarked, “Humor can be dissected, as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process….” The commercial is the embodiment of what defendant appropriately characterizes as “zany humor.”

First, the commercial suggests, as commercials often do, that use of the advertised product will transform what, for most youth, can be a fairly routine and ordinary experience. The military tattoo and stirring martial music, as well as the use of subtitles in a Courier font that scroll terse messages across the screen, such as “MONDAY 7:58 AM,” evoke military and espionage thrillers. The implication of the commercial is that Pepsi Stuff merchandise will inject drama and moment into hitherto unexceptional lives. The commercial in this case thus makes the exaggerated claims similar to those of many television advertisements: that by consuming the featured clothing, car, beer, or potato chips, one will become attractive, stylish, desirable, and admired by all. A reasonable viewer would understand such advertisements as mere puffery, not as statements of fact, see, e.g., Hubbard v. General Motors Corp., 95 Civ. 4362(AGS), 1996 WL 274018, at *6 (S.D.N.Y. May 22, 1996) (advertisement describing automobile as “Like a Rock,” was mere puffery, not a warranty of quality), . . . and refrain from interpreting the promises of the commercial as being literally true.

Second, the callow youth featured in the commercial is a highly improbable pilot, one who could barely be trusted with the keys to his parents’ car, much less the prize aircraft of the United States Marine Corps. Rather than checking the fuel gauges on his aircraft, the teenager spends his precious preflight minutes preening. The youth’s concern for his coiffure appears to extend to his flying without a helmet. Finally, the teenager’s comment that flying a Harrier Jet to school “sure beats the bus” evinces an improbably insouciant attitude toward the relative difficulty and danger of piloting a fighter plane in a residential area, as opposed to taking public transportation.

Third, the notion of traveling to school in a Harrier Jet is an exaggerated adolescent fantasy. In this commercial, the fantasy is underscored by how the teenager’s schoolmates gape in admiration, ignoring their physics lesson. The force of the wind generated by the Harrier Jet blows off one teacher’s clothes, literally defrocking an authority figure. As if to emphasize the fantastic quality of having a Harrier Jet arrive at school, the Jet lands next to a plebeian bike rack. This fantasy is, of course, extremely unrealistic. No school would provide landing space for a student’s fighter jet, or condone the disruption the jet’s use would cause.

Fourth, the primary mission of a Harrier Jet, according to the United States Marine Corps, is to “attack and destroy surface targets under day and night visual conditions.” . . . Manufactured by McDonnell Douglas, the Harrier Jet played a significant role in the air offensive of Operation Desert Storm in 1991. . . . The jet is designed to carry a considerable armament load, including Sidewinder and Maverick missiles. See id. As one news report has noted, “Fully loaded, the Harrier can float like a butterfly and sting like a bee–albeit a roaring 14- ton butterfly and a bee with 9,200 pounds of bombs and missiles.” . . . In light of the Harrier Jet’s well-documented function in attacking and destroying surface and air targets, armed reconnaissance and air interdiction, and offensive and defensive anti-aircraft warfare, depiction of such a jet as a way to get to school in the morning is clearly not serious even if, as plaintiff contends, the jet is capable of being acquired “in a form that eliminates [its] potential for military use.”

Fifth, the number of Pepsi Points the commercial mentions as required to “purchase” the jet is 7,000,000. To amass that number of points, one would have to drink 7,000,000 Pepsis (or roughly 190 Pepsis a day for the next hundred years–an unlikely possibility), or one would have to purchase approximately $700,000 worth of Pepsi Points. The cost of a Harrier Jet is roughly $23 million dollars, a fact of which plaintiff was aware when he set out to gather the amount he believed necessary to accept the alleged offer. . . . Even if an objective, reasonable person were not aware of this fact, he would conclude that purchasing a fighter plane for $700,000 is a deal too good to be true.

Plaintiff argues that a reasonable, objective person would have understood the commercial to make a serious offer of a Harrier Jet because there was “absolutely no distinction in the manner” in which the items in the commercial were presented. Plaintiff also relies upon a press release highlighting the promotional campaign, issued by defendant, in which “[n]o mention is made by [defendant] of humor, or anything of the sort.” These arguments suggest merely that the humor of the promotional campaign was tongue in cheek. Humor is not limited to what Justice Cardozo called “[t]he rough and boisterous joke … [that] evokes its own guffaws.” Murphy v. Steeplechase Amusement Co., 250 N.Y. 479, 483, 166 N.E. 173, 174 (1929). In light of the obvious absurdity of the commercial, the Court rejects plaintiff’s argument that the commercial was not clearly in jest.

Leonard v. Pepsico has become a favorite of Contracts professors.  There are several good reasons why.  First, it plainly states the applicable rule: an offer is an offer if a reasonable person would take it as an offer, regardless of what the person making the offer subjectively intends.  Second, of course, it allows us to use in-class video, which makes us feel as if we’re somehow staying in touch with our students’ desires.  Third, Judge Wood does a good job at the skill that is so central to good lawyering — articulating feelings that most people are satisfied at merely feeling, not explaining.  In this case, the feeling is the feeling of humor (that Pepsi was just joking), but more often judges are required to explain why something is “just” when most non-lawyers would be satisfied with merely asserting “I just think it’s fair” or “I just think it’s not fair.”

Good lawyers, in short, begin their work where most people end their thinking.  Good lawyers take what people “feel” and make explicity and clear the reasons for those feelings.

Leonard v. Pepsico is an excellent case to illustrate one more very important principal.  What people intend is often embodied in and expressed by the price they are offering.  No one could take seriously an offer to buy a Harrier Jet for $700,000.  In fact, I might say (and often do to my Contracts students) that nothing is as expressive as price.

The life of the law is a life of art

Last night, I came back across the words(pdf) of my former professor, James Boyd White, that express eloquently my view of the common ground shared by artists and lawyers:

As I conceive it, the life of the law is . . . a life of art, the art of making meaning in language with others. Its goal, like that of other arts always imperfectly attained, is the integration into meaningful wholes of the largest and most contradictory truths – the incorporation into the case of what can be said on both sides of it, the recognition in our discourse of other ways of talking – all under the ruling requirement that what we say makes sense. The lawyer must know what the literary person knows, that he or she is always one person speaking to others in a language that is contingent and imperfect. And the excellence of mind required of the lawyer, like the excellence of the composition the lawyer makes, is integrative: a putting to work in the same text of as many of one’s resources and capacities as possible in an meaningful way.

What’s so wrong about looking to foreign law?

An Australian correspondent writes, in response to my post yesterday

What’s surprising to me as an Australian is that there is any controversy at all. There’s a huge difference between looking at various sources for examples of reasoning and acknowledging established local precedent as representing the law. From 1st year our students are taught the difference between persuasive and binding authority. Isn’t it healthier to be transparent about the reasoning process rather than pretending that judges aren’t sometimes influenced by personal ideology or politics or God forbid, high level judicial reasoning from othe jurisdictions with a common legal heritage?

He also reminds me of a law review article written here in the States over ten years ago that, on the same grounds, questions the basis for any objection to using foreign law for guidance in making U.S. law.  In “All the World’s a Courtroom, Judging in the New Millennium,” 26 Hofstra L. Rev. 273 (Winter 1997), Shirley S. Abrahamson and Michael J. Fischer opened with the description of an oral argument in a case before the Wisconsin Supreme Court:

In the . . . case, the defendant, a one-time farmer who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, struck and injured the head nurse in a health care center where he was confined. The court was asked to resolve one issue: Should the farmer be judged by the traditional tort standard of the reasonable person, or given that he was not capable of either controlling or appreciating his conduct, should he be absolved from civil liability altogether? 

In most states, including Wisconsin, the courts ha[d previously] concluded that a mentally disabled person must be held to the same objective standard of care as someone without such a disability. Thus the mentally disabled are generally held liable for their acts under the reasonable person standard.

American legal scholars have sharply criticized this traditional American rule. They point out that applying the reasonable person rule to people with mental conditions, in effect, imposes liability without fault, even though the law of negligence is ordinarily grounded in fault, and even though liability is incompatible with modern views and treatment of the mentally ill. 

Counsel for the farmer urged the Wisconsin Supreme Court to adopt a rule that persons should be held liable only when they know what they are doing.  And like most lawyers urging a court to adopt a new rule, counsel for the farmer sought to reassure the court of the wisdom of change by pointing to law from other jurisdictions, specifically Florida  and Canada, which seemed to buttress her point. If the new rule works there, her reasoning went, then surely it could work in Wisconsin.

Florida, the Canadian case was an entirely different matter altogether. “Petitioner is not aware,” the brief noted archly, “if Canadian case law has precedential value in the United States.” 

Counsel, of course, knew quite well that it does not. But by the same token, neither does Florida law have precedential value in Wisconsin. Why then did the nurse’s counsel single out Canada? Probably because the law of foreign countries is treated today with the suspicion that may have once marked some state courts’ approach toward the law of their sister states.

Today our state courts accept the logic behind Justice Cardozo’s famous remark, in a case involving New York and Massachusetts law. New York is “not so provincial,” Cardozo wrote, “as to say that every solution of a problem is wrong because we deal with it otherwise at home.” But while state courts routinely look to the decisions of their sister jurisdictions for the insights and persuasive value they potentially possess, the nurse’s counsel obviously 

viewed looking across our national borders as an “inherently suspect activity.” 

I was perplexed. Why did the farmer’s counsel’s citation of Canadian law signal desperation and trigger derision? Why, I wondered, should case law from Canada–an English-based, commonlaw jurisdiction geographically closer to Wisconsin than Florida–not be considered persuasive?

Professor Johns and I ask the same question, but now of several members of our country’s Supreme Court, including its Chief Justice.  As far as I can tell, there’s no good reason other than a pandering to the jingoism running strong through our current politics.  One correspondent has taken strong exception to me in essence calling Chief Justice Roberts a xenophobe, and I don’t think he personally is.  Nevertheless, his political support depends on pandering to xenophobia.  I can think of no other reason to close off consideration of arguments and reasoning that may be helpful to resolution of difficult legal questions.

Foreign law and legal argument

I wrote a post over two years ago on the point, but the legitimacy of U.S. courts referring to foreign law is an issue again today because the New York Times published a front page article discussing the waning influence of the U.S. Supreme Court’s decisions on the court decisions of other nations.  One reason, according to the article, is the steady outcry from some quarters against any reference to foreign law in the U.S. courts. 

I find this outcry absurd and positively contrary to the tradition of Anglo-American law.  The common law system, unique to the Anglo-American world, is one that builds law case by case, recognizing that to achieve justice the unique facts of each case require consideration of the arguments of the parties directly affected by those facts.

The key to my point is that the courts hear arguments.  They consider prior precedents, the views of experts, and even the rantings of political idealogues.  There’s nothing wrong with doing so.  There should be no limit on what courts can refer to and rely on; rather, faced with deficient evidence or authority, the answer is correct evidence or authority.  Thus, as I explained two years ago, when a judge relies on the above-referenced political idealogue’s screed about the purported litigation explosion in reaching her decision, the answer isn’t to forbid her from doing so.  The answer is for lawyers and judges to point out that the facts don’t support her argument, that in fact 86% of trial judges surveyed consider frivolous litigation anything from “no problem” to a “small problem,” while only 2% consider it a “big problem.”

Thus, when Anthony Kennedy wrote the majority opinion in the Supreme Court case holding that executing juveniles is “cruel and unusual punishment” under the 8th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, it was perfectly legitimate of him to point out in support of his conclusion that ”evolving standards of decency that mark the progress of a maturing society” could be measured in part by the fact that no other Western industrialized country executes juveniles.  One may  disagree that U.S. standards are identical to those in other countries.  Justice O’Connor did so in that decision, arguing that “too few states had recently enacted such laws to convince her that the country generally had ‘set its face’ against the juvenile death penalty.”

The disagreement between Kennedy and O’Connor is the kind of disagreement courts resolve every day, but to not merely disagree with Kennedy but seek to entirely cut off reference to any source for one’s legal arguments is contrary to any notion of law I understand.  I expect it from (influential) right-wing wackos who think judges should be impeached for even considering foreign law in reaching their decisions.  I don’tf from our most recently appointed and confirmed Supreme Court Justices, John Roberts and Samuel Alito:

At their confirmation hearings, Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. and JusticeSamuel A. Alito Jr. indicated that they were opposed to the citation of foreign law in constitutional cases. Chief Justice Roberts noted that foreign judges were not accountable to the American people and said that allowing the use of foreign precedent expanded judicial discretion.

“Foreign law, you can find anything you want,” Chief Justice Roberts said. “Looking at foreign law for support is like looking out over a crowd and picking out your friends.”

You can just as easily find “anything you want” in virtually any source courts regularly cite.  As I stated above, the answer to bad argument is good argument, not censorship.  There is nothing special about foreign court decisions except, it seems, an ever-growing U.S. fear of everything “foreign.”

The wars are over! The wars are over!

Interpretation, of course, is a creative endeavor, whether it’s Biblical hermeneutics or statutory interpretation. Last week, the United States District Court for the District of Massachusetts in U.S. v. Prosperi (pdf) needed to determine whether the term “war” in a federal statute includes the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan. Interestingly, the court found that they are not now “wars,” though they “were.” The defendant was arguing that they never were “wars,” that Congress intended the statute (which stops the running of the statute of limitations applicable to the crime the defendants were being tried for) to apply only to conflicts in which Congress had declared war. Congress has authorized the President to use force in Afghanistan and Iraq but never declared war.

The court determined, essentially, that the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq were “wars” because they constituted armed conflicts of sufficient size and scope. In essence, they were wars because they looked like wars, talked like wars, and walked like wars.

The court also determined, however, that the wars have ended. The court had to do so because under the statute the applicable statute of limitations begins to run again “three years after the termination of hostilities as proclaimed by the President . . . .” The court noted that it is very unclear when these wars ended or will end: “Traditionally, the end of a war is marked by the signing of a formal peace treaty. However, formal surrenders like those of Germany and Japan at the end of World War II, like formal declarations of war, are the modern exceptions.” The court also admitted that “a strong case can be made, given the continuing expenditures and loss of life in Iraq and Afghanistan, that the United States remains at war.” Nevertheless, the court finally decided the wars ended, respectively, with the recognition of the government of Hamid Karzai in Afghanistan and with Bush’s “Mission Accomplished” speech in Iraq:

On December 22, 2001, the United States formally recognized and extended full diplomatic relations to the new government of Hamid Karzai.37 That recognition signaled the cessation of a state of war with Afghanistan. Accordingly, the statute of limitations with respect to the Afghan conflict, expired on December 22, 2004. Similarly, on May 1, 2003, President Bush, while aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln, proclaimed that “[m]ajor combat operations in Iraq have ended. In the Battle of Iraq, the United States and our allies have prevailed. And now our coalition is engaged in securing and reconstructing that country.” Consequently, with regards to the Iraq conflict, the statute of limitations expired on May 1, 2006. (footnotes omitted)

I thought you’d like the good news.

p.s. The government apparently argued, but not very strenuously, that the ongoing “war on terror” constitutes a war as well. Of course, that would mean we’ll forever be at war. It’s not the first time the Bush Administration has made this argument; it has done so continuously since 2001. The court, like any body I’ve heard of presented with the argument, didn’t take it seriously:

At the hearing on the motion, there was also discussion of a global “war” on terrorism, waged principally against Osama bin Laden and al Qaeda. The use of the metaphor of war to describe the struggle against terrorism has been criticized. See Sir Adam Roberts, The ‘War on Terror’ in Historical Perspective, 47 SURVIVAL 101-130 (Summer 2005). I do not understand the government to be pressing the argument that the United States is “at war” with al Qaeda, at least in any traditional legal sense.

Novelty alone is not creativity, whether in the legal strategy for the war on terror or the invention of the Segway

One measure of creativity must be its effectiveness rather than its mere novelty. On that score, as Jane Mayer noted back in the July 3, 2006 issue of the New Yorker, the Bush Administration’s legal strategy for the war on terror might have been radical, even unprecedented, but can hardly be called creative:

[T]he Administration’s legal strategy for the war on terror[,] [k]nown as the New Paradigm, . . . rests on a reading of the Constitution that few legal scholars share—namely, that the President, as Commander-in-Chief, has the authority to disregard virtually all previously known legal boundaries, if national security demands it. Under this framework, statutes prohibiting torture, secret detention, and warrantless surveillance have been set aside.

. . . The overarching intent of the New Paradigm, which was put in place after the attacks of September 11th, was to allow the Pentagon to bring terrorists to justice as swiftly as possible. Criminal courts and military courts, with their exacting standards of evidence and emphasis on protecting defendants’ rights, were deemed too cumbersome. (emphasis added)

Over two years since Mayer’s article, nearly seven years since September 11, 2001, what have we got? As the Christian Science Monitor puts it:

One conviction, of Salim Ahmed Hamdan, the personal driver of Al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden. After a two-week-long trial and three days of deliberations, the military court in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, convicted Mr. Hamdan of providing material support for terrorism by driving Mr. bin Laden around Afghanistan. In spite of the conviction, legal debate regarding the trial rages on.

I’m not merely ranting about a war in Iraq I’ve opposed since its inception, or of the fraudulent legal analysis that produced this Administration’s conclusions regarding what constitutes torture. I’m pointing out that results count, and what is more telling than an utter and complete failure to meet the very purpose of a radical departure from existing norms? It doesn’t take a cognitive psychologist to recognize the differences between mere novelty and genuine creativity, but it’s plain Arthur J. Cropley does:

The cognitive approach to creativity emphasizes the processes involved in producing effective novelty, as well as the control mechanisms that regulate novelty production, and the structures that result. Merely novel structures display surprisingness and incongruity, to be sure, but they must also be meaningful and practicable to be effective.

Do you remember the Segway? (That’s Dick Cheney, of all people, riding one up there in the upper right of this post.) As Jeff Foust wrote two years ago in The Space Review, in 2001 (before 9/11, of course),

the question being pondered by millions was simple: “what is IT?” “IT” was the codename for the invention that had reportedly been developed by famed inventor Dean Kamen. Details about IT (also known as “Ginger”, its internal codename) were scant . . . .

What was known was that IT was some kind of transportation technology. The Inside report . . . said that the device had wowed over luminaries like venture capitalist John Doerr, who invested in the project while claiming it was as revolutionary as the Internet; Steve Jobs, the Apple co-founder who reportedly claimed that “cities would be architected” around the device; and Amazon.com founder Jeff Bezos, whose trademark laugh could be heard echoing through the halls of Kamen’s New Hampshire headquarters as he tried out the device during a June 2000 visit. The potential upside of this device was seemingly limitless, providing a sharp and hopeful contrast to the dot.com world, which was crashing to Earth at the same time. The speculation spawned a web site, theITquestion.com, where visitors traded the latest rumors on just what IT might be.

Kamen officially unveiled the Segway on the ABC TV show “Good Morning America” in December 2001. The response was… underwhelming, in many quarters. “I’m tempted to say, ‘That’s it?’” co-host Diane Sawyer blurted out when the sheet covering the Segway was pulled away. “But that can’t be it.”

But that was it. From a technological standpoint Segway was a revolutionary invention: a computer-controlled, self-balancing “human transporter” that was highly maneuverable yet easy and safe to use. However, to the public, whose expectations had bloomed in hothouse of hype fueled by the media and the Internet over the last year, the Segway seemed more like an odd-looking scooter than the device that was as revolutionary as the Internet and would force people to rearchitect cities. . . .

It’s little surprise, then, that Segways failed to sell at anywhere near the levels its backers hoped. When the company issued a recall notice in September 2003 to correct a software problem, it said only 6,000 devices had been manufactured to date. Kemper, in his book Reinventing the Wheel (the softcover version of the book about the development of the Segway that was originally published under the title Code Name Ginger), reported that as of summer 2004—the last date sales figures had been released—less than 10,000 Segways had been sold. (Segway’s media relations office failed to respond to a request last week for updated sales figures.) That’s a far cry from the pre-release belief, voiced by Doerr, that Segway would make its first billion dollars faster than any other company in history. No one seems to be in a hurry these days to redesign cities around the Segway; after all, when was the last time you saw a Segway rolling down the sidewalk?

Creativity and Civilization Require Constraints

Creativity, paradoxically, requires constraint. As the poet George Szirtes put it in a piece in the February 2006 issue of Poetry, “I would contend that the constraints of form are spurs to the imagination: that they are in fact the chief producers of imagination.”

Szirtes, whose family fled Hungary as refugees in 1956, clearly is not concerned only with aesthetics. He makes clear that negotiating the tension between form and anarchy not only underlies the poetic “triumph of meaning and structure over chaos and meaninglessness,” but also “the triumph of civilized values over barbarity.”

Legal reasoning, if it is in fact reasoning, also requires respect for constraints. Though there is of course considerable debate about the proper nature of the constraints to be applied, there is little debate that without any constraints legal interpretation is nothing but the assertion of raw power. Thus, as the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy’s article on “Interpretation and Coherence in Legal Reasoning” puts it,”[m]uch jurisprudential writing on interpretation in legal reasoning is concerned with how to strike the right balance between the conserving and creative elements in interpretation, and with the constraints which are and/or should be operative upon judges as they undertake this balancing act.

Thus, on the one hand, Owen Fiss argues that “judges are constrained both by the need to be faithful to the original legal text which they are interpreting, and by supplementary norms of interpretation which are constitutive of the judicial role.” Stanley Fish, on the other hand, would argue that the texts Fiss identifies as constraints upon interpretation cannnot serve that purpose because those texts themselves “do not have meanings in advance of particular interpretations of them.” Nevertheless, as the Stanford Encyclopedia article makes clear, Fish is not arguing for a radical, unconstrained indeterminacy in legal interpretation:

This seemingly radical indeterminacy is deceptive, however, for although Fish removes the constraints on interpretation provided by legal texts or supplementary norms of the judicial profession, he replaces them with the conditioning and training processes of ‘interpretive communities’, which ensure that, ‘…readers are already and always thinking within the norms, standards, criteria of evidence, purposes and goals of a shared enterprise’, such that, ‘the meanings available to them have been preselected by their professional training.’ (Fish 1989, 133).

In short, there must be some intellectually sound justification for a legal interpretation; else it ceases to be an interpretation and is reduced to mere edict.

Lying about the law removes all constraint, and there is no milder way to characterize the 2002 Department of Justice memorandum (the “Torture Memo”)(pdf), drafted by John Yoo and signed by Jay Bybee. The Torture Memo limited the definition of “torture” to treatment causing pain “equivalent in intensity to the pain accompanying serious physical injury, such as organ failure, impairment of bodily function, or even death.” (Torture Memo at 1) Thus, treatment that did not cause that high intensity of pain and suffering was, according to Yoo and Bybee, perfectly legal.

In drafting the memo, Yoo genuinely was constrained by existing law that prohibited subjecting prisoners to “severe pain.” But how did he come to define “severe pain” as “the pain accompanying serious physical injury, such as organ failure, impairment of bodily function, or even death”?

He did two things: he tried to derive a definition of “severe pain” from a federal statute that had nothing to do with the subject matter or the purposes of his analysis, and he lied about what that federal statute actually stated.

The statute from which he sought guidance governed benefits under the “Medicare + Choice” plan. (Torture Memo at 5-6) In other words, in trying to determine the proper treatment of prisoners under U.S. law, he looked to law that sought to ration payouts from an insurance fund in order to maintain the solvency and effectiveness of that fund. One would expect Congress to define the benefits it grants and the circumstances under which it grants them narrowly; U.S. taxpayers would demand it.

But Yoo did not merely seek a definition of “severe pain” from an absurdly inappropriate place. He made his definition up out of whole cloth. The statute does not define the term “severe pain.” Rather, it defines the circumstances that constitute an “emergency medical condition” requiring coverage under the Medicare + Plan:

The term “emergency medical condition” means a medical condition manifesting itself by acute symptoms of sufficient severity (including severe pain) such that a prudent layperson, who possesses an average knowledge of health and medicine, could reasonably expect the absence of immediate medical attention to result in-

(i) placing the health of the individual (or, with respect to a pregnant woman, the health of the woman or her unborn child) in serious jeopardy,

(ii) serious impairment to bodily functions, or

(iii) serious dysfunction of any bodily organ or part.

Somehow a justice department lawyer who is now a tenured professor at Boalt Hall Law School at U.C. Berkeley, along with his boss, who is now a judge on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit, thought they could get away with this utterly fictional definition of “severe pain.” And they did. Plainly, though, Yoo does not believe in constraints. In December 2005 he stated in a Chicago debate that there is no law that could prevent the President from theoretically ordering the torture of a child of a suspect in custody – including by crushing that child’s testicles.”

Unconstrained, and thus without any scintilla of creative imagination, law is merely barbarity. I hate to start writing about creativity in law from this dark abyss, but it is going to take creativity and imagination to overcome the barbarity the Yoos and Bybees (and the long line of banal technocrats from whom they intellectually descend) have loosed upon the world.