Anonymous online writing: bad writing that wouldn’t see the light of day if the writer knew readers could match the words to the person.

Wow. I apparently touched a nerve the other day when I blogged on this post and the thread of comments following it and expressed my preference for Dan Hull’s view that anonymous blogging is cowardly.

At the risk of offending one anonymous commenter who desperately wants me to condemn Dan’s insistence on insulting him and forget what I care about — writing words that one is willing to stand behind and justify — I will try to clarify and expand upon what I wrote:

I never said one cannot write anonymously. Quite plainly I don’t ban anonymous comments on my blog. Quite plainly I’ll never be Lord of the Internet with the power to ban anonymous writers. Nor, if I were Lord of the Internet, would I ban anonymous writing. I believe in the freedom of speech, even speech that expresses views I despise. Views I think are stupid are another tolerable phenomenon.

But I do care deeply about the quality of writing. I teach law students how to write as lawyers, and the vast majority of my professional life as a law professor and a lawyer depends on the effectiveness of what I write. One thing I am convinced of and try passionately to convince my students of is that that you cannot be an effective writer if you do not have the courage to own your words. By that I mean, among other things, that you must believe in your words, believe those are the  best words you could come up with under the circumstances to express your point of  view. If you don’t do so, you’re just parroting things you haven’t truly thought through. Your failure to think them through typically means you haven’t entirely grasped what it is you’re trying to say (and what the writer of what you’re parroting meant to say). It also means your words will not convince the intelligent reader who isn’t already convinced that you’re right.

One necessary implication of my belief in the necessity of owning your words is that anonymous online writing loses a lot of its credibility by the very fact that it is anonymous.

My view does not mean that anonymous writing entirely lacks credibility.The anonymous author’s character (and an anonymous author has a character, one that makes an alert reader wonder why he isn’t willing to claim his words as his own) detracts from the reader’s valuation of that anonymous author’s writing. But a myriad of factors go into influencing a given text’s persuasive force. The author’s character is only one, albeit an important one.

The point that really seems to have hit a nerve is that it seems plain to me that choosing to write anonymously is for all relevant purposes grounded in fear. Sometimes that fear justifies the anonymity because (a) the author’s fear is of sufficient immediate and substantial harm and (b) the message is so important that even if it is compromised by anonymity it is worth getting out. Where those so offended by my views and I differ is in the amount of courage we think is appropriate. They have fears of the consequences of identifying themselves online when they write and they’re deeply offended that I don’t believe those fears justify their ways of using anonymity.

Thinking he had caught me questioning the courage of one of my colleagues (whose views, not courage, I question) one anonymous commenter pointed out that Jonathan Adler blogged anonymously on the Volokh Conspiracy as “Juan non-Volokh” prior to being granted tenure. At the time, Jonathan had a legitimate fear that the mere act of blogging would jeopardize his shot at tenure. As a general matter at that time, blogging was not only considered beneath legal scholars, but also to be an actual drain on time better devoted to “real” scholarship. (While blogging is no longer a negative in the eyes of most professors, it still is considered by most entirely irrelevant to scholarly achievement). I have absolutely no reason to believe Jonathan chose anonymity to hide the substance of the views he expressed on the Volokh Conspiracy. Those views were quite well known among his colleagues (and to the public) and in substance were entirely of a piece with the public writing he did under his own name. Nonetheless, I do believe that Jonathan’s writing under his own name has more force than his writing did under his chosen pseudonym. Nor do I have any reason to believe he would disagree.

To take one of Dan Hull’s more obvious examples of non-cowardly fear justifying anonymity, an Iranian dissident has good reasons for writing under a pseudonym. But one question his anonymous identity might raise, among others is this: is he really a dissident or is he in fact a CIA or Saudi plant? All sorts of credibility problems arise when one chooses to separate one’s writing from one’s identity.

Ken, who chooses anonymity, has written that he prefers to remain anonymous because his favorite styles are, as he describes them, “satire, sarcasm, and ridicule.” Ken also believes that “these are potent weapons in the fight over ideas.” But, unfortunately, poor Ken is too subtle for most people and he therefore fears their reactions:

People don’t like being made fun of. Moreover, some people are functionally incapable of understanding irony, sarcasm, and satire. Other people are offended easily, and particularly by pop culture, sexual references, and the various forms of juvenile self-indulgence occasionally featured here to the extent it amuses us.

I would suggest to Ken words he so proudly identifies as satire, sarcasm, and ridicule are not really the “potent weapons” he believes they are. It is well known that online writing in particular is a very poor medium for the effective use sarcasm. Effective satire that actually persuades someone previously unconvinced of the writer’s point of view is a very rare thing. Far more often, satire is just the words of someone seeking affirmation from others who share the writer’s contempt for the object of the satire. And ridicule? Ridicule amuses your toadies. To everyone else, it’s just name-calling.

But Ken is no Jonathan Swift, and I think he knows it. In fact, Ken’s “satire, sarcasm, and ridicule” are, to my mind (and to the mind of those who are convinced by me, but plainly not to Ken and his anonymous colleagues), merely the lazy expression of hostility and disagreement.

But, regardless of how we characterize the writing that Ken believes to be a “potent weapon in the war of ideas,” what he fears is the risk those “functionally incapable” of understanding his meaning would pose to him. Who are these people? Well, he once worked for big firms that would so dislike what he wrote he feared his employment would be threatened. He has clients he fears he’d lose if they knew the truth of his views on social issues. He fears needing to justify his writing to opposing lawyers or judges who might use those words against him. He fears he or his family will be stalked or threatened like other bloggers have been. And he bravely wrote critically once about a white supremacist who lived just one town over from him.

Are these fears the legitimate fears of a brilliant writer wielding potent tools in the war of ideas? You can judge for yourself. The fear of the law firms, the clients, and opposing counsel and judges seems to me more likely fears of being busted for using stupid words by people to whom one has the responsibility to express oneself intelligently. The fear of being stalked seems to me the fear of something so unlikely (even though it does happen, of course) that it’s really nothing but an empty rationalization. The fear of the white supremacist? I might grant Ken that one, but then why does all of his writing need to be anonymous?

To address the question more generally: are your political views so inconsistent with your employment that your job would be threatened if you really expressed them? Are you so desperate for a job you need to keep that one despite the fact it is inconsistent with true expression of what you believe? Are you writing online about your employer despite an employment policy that forbids you to do so? Is that a legitimate exercise of anonymity? If you’re Karen Silkwood or Daniel Ellsberg, it would be, but I have grave doubts that the people complaining to me are in that league.

And if it’s your clients’ reactions you fear, why would they not like what you write? Would they like it if they knew you were hiding your real thoughts from them? Why do you represent them if legitimate expression of what you really believe would offend them? Are you really capable of representing them zealously if you harbor secret thoughts that, if known, would cause them to retain different lawyers? Is a blog really an appropriate place for telling stories about how dumb your clients are? You enjoy doing it. You want to do it. But does being able to do that justify anonymous blogging?

I AM NOT suggesting that  fears are always illegitimate. What I am suggesting is that a free-floating fear of being stalked as a result of online writing is pretty far off the wall. And I’ve worked for big law firms and clients of all sorts. It’s not the everyday law firm or client who would fire you for thoughtful writing online. There would have to be something really atrocious about the employer. And clients care far more about courage, skill, and passion than they do about disagreements on social issues that are irrelevant to their representation, especially if those views are expressed cogently and the lawyer is willing to stand behind those views. The last thing clients want is a lawyer who’s afraid to let the world know that he believes in and will stand behind his words.

And are these fears so real that they justify anonymity on everything a blogger writes? Selective, tactical anonymity is an option, guys. And choosing to remain silent on matters that you can’t write about in ways that won’t endanger you with people who matter to you is an option too. That of course, is a whole other topic: a good lawyer takes a lot of really interesting stuff to his grave with him.

And, honestly, I don’t see substance on Popehat (the site I originally linked to and from which the hostile commenters came) that would usually be the sort of thing that would threaten the livelihood of its authors or commenters. They’re a bunch of guys who might like to romanticize the subversiveness of what they write, but, really, they’re not exactly a threat to anyone or anything.

Nor am I.

Then again, while the content at Popehat is pretty run of the mill, the words themselves do not really do that substance a lot of justice. And that indeed is a major part of the problem. As Charles wrote, anonymity allows you to write that a cop was a “fascist” without people who know you and would be offended by those words know that you wrote them. But merely writing that a cop is a “fascist” is just nasty name-calling, not credible writing. And Patrick, in the very first comment responding to my blog post – writing anonymously, of course — explained that he’s never heard about me but that if he really cared he could “write a blogpost mocking [me], that would stick to the front page of a Google search for [my] name forever.”

A put down and a threat as an opening move? That’s a perfect example of why I called anonymous writing online cowardly. If one is going to insult and threaten, one ought to have the courage to let one’s employers, clients, loved ones, and targets know that being a bully is what one is in the business of doing.

Or one could claim to use insults rhetorically, to highlight a point, but that’s a dangerous game, and it takes a special person to get away with it, and Dan Hull happens to be a special person.

But the most important thing about Dan Hull for purposes of this discussion (though quite plainly Patrick and his Popehat People want to make anyone who happens upon this post or the last one on this point think otherwise) is that Dan Hull wrote those insults under his own name! He’s willing to own and justify those insults. And doing so has benefited him immensely. Clients love lawyers who make the work their own. And it sure doesn’t seem that the Popehat guys are big believers in political correctness, so I can’t believe they were genuinely hurt by his words except to the extent the substance behind his insults hit home.

My point is that if you don’t own your writing you cannot truly be persuasive. That’s why I emphasized that my students, as lawyers in training, must learn to own their words, to be ready to justify the choices they made in writing the words they wrote.

And Charles happens to be right about one thing — outside the law (and too much within it, truth be told) the courage to own one’s words is sorely lacking. I think that’s a real shame and a major loss for the quality of any discourse, be it about politics, literature, science, religion, etc. Charles, I guess, expects less of people than I do. I also think that people would be surprised how much they’d benefit from saying what they mean in ways they’d be proud to claim as their own to anyone.

Finally, I am making no demands. I am stating my point of view. Yes, I am an Associate Professor of Legal Writing, but that’s just a title. And I hardly use it to put on airs. Anyone who knows anything of the status wars within academia or has read much into my archives knows I write quite openly, under my own name, about (1) the fact my title is reflective of a remarkably low status and an absence of job security and (2) my opinion that (contra Patrick) law professors are NOT an elevated class.

Am I a nobody? Well, Mike (whoever he might be) certainly things so. One thing I do know — anyone with access to an internet connection has about as good an opportunity to determine that for themselves as they would for anyone who writes openly under his own name.

And they can take that information and factor it into their judgment whether and the extent to which they agree with me.

Here’s my suggestion to everyone, including the Popehat guys: try writing under your own names. You might find your words and views become far more compelling not only to your readers but also, far more importantly, to yourselves. But be careful: being thoughtful and precise — writing things that you’re willing to justify to those who challenge them — might make you rethink some of the stuff you hold to so passionately.

Or you can ignore me entirely. That’s entirely your prerogative. You can even, if you wish, go on thinking of me as a narcissistic nobody who doesn’t matter, and I’ll go on thinking of of most anonymous bloggers as a bunch of cowards who write to please themselves and don’t persuade anyone who hasn’t already bought into their point of view.

And when it gets down to it, tthe vast majority of anonymous online writing is simply bad writing that wouldn’t see the light of day if the writer knew everyone he knows could match the words to the person.

Own your words. Anonymity is cowardice, and cowards aren’t known for their wisdom.

An important lesson for my legal writing students: you must own your words to be genuinely persuasive.

By that, of course, I do not mean that their words are their property. There’s a lot of confusion about that issue, but that’s not today’s lesson.

What I mean is that it’s not enough to parrot words you believe are authoritative to make your case. You must use words you know in your heart state what you mean. Parroting the words of others, even if they are authoritative, won’t do that. Which is why one of my favorite quotes is Ralph Waldo Emerson’s: “I hate quotations. Tell me what you know.” (I love paradox too.)

But in order to own your words you have to have the courage to stand behind them too. It’s one reason I bemoan the influence of anonymous student evaluations. It’s why too I’m all in with Dan Hull in this insane exchange about his insistence that anonymity is the death of productive discussion on the internet.

What possible conviction can you hold in your words if you’re not even willing to put your name to them? As Dan makes clear, there are of course exceptions to this rule — there are times anonymity is necessary to preserve one’s safety. But legitimate fear for one’s safety for stating disagreement is a rare thing that we don’t encounter terribly often in 2010 on the internet in the United States. It’s almost hilarious to find people disputing Dan under the pseudonyms “Publius” and “Marcus Agrippa.” Almost hilarious. Really, it’s pathetic.

If you can’t own your words, put yourself forward as the authority behind your words and rely on the force of those words and your own integrity for their persuasive effects, you cannot be a lawyer. I’ve said it recently: a good thing about being a lawyer is there is always someone telling you your wrong. You have to be willing to put your ideas and words to the test, and you have to be willing to adapt and adjust when your words have been successfully challenged. To hide behind a pseudonym is nothing but cowardice, and cowards aren’t known for their wisdom.

How do we explain human beings?

Annette Gordon-Reed, the author of The Hemingses of Monticello: An American Family, is a lawyer as well as a historian. The two avocations mesh well, especially in trying to give coherence to seemingly incoherent ideas. As pointed out in Newsweek, for example, people have floundered in the face of the seemingly inexplicable, including “the idea that Jefferson, a lifelong proponent of emancipation, could own slaves and sustain an intimate relationship with a woman who was not only his property but his dead wife’s half-sister.” Gordon-Reed’s training as a lawyer is the ideal preparation for developing persuasive explanations for what seems “crazy” because when it gets down to it we’re all a bit crazy:

“‘The first thing you learn in law school is people are crazy,’ says [Gordon-Reed], who also teaches history at Rutgers and law at New York Law School. ‘They’ll come into your office and explain their motivation, and it will be totally a lie. They don’t even understand themselves what their motivations are. It’s not all going to fit.’ Historians may think that because their subjects are dead, ‘you don’t have to deal with the consequences of their shattered lives if you’re not for real.’ Lawyers don’t have this luxury. ‘We’re training people to deal with people’s lives. Somebody’s going to go to jail, somebody’s going to lose a child. You have to be for real.’ Which may be how Gordon-Reed takes the stuff of Sally Hemings’s life-the quotidian and the epic-and makes it indelibly real.”

What is creativity in law?

In “Creativity and Law: Can they Live Together?” (pdf), Margaret A. Boden, a cognitive scientist in Great Britain, identifies three main ways in which creativity informs the law:

(1) Combinational Creativity: putting familiar ideas together in unfamiliar ways.

(2) Exploratory Creativity: exploring, navigating, and testing the potential and boundaries of some pre-existing way of thinking.

(3 Transformational Creativity: changing one or more dimensions of the current conceptual space so that things can now be thought which were impossible to think before.

In the coming days, I hope to explore each of these categories, both in terms of Boden’s discussion and of my own experience as a practitioner and professor.  For now, I have two points to make: plainly, in answer to the question posed by the title of Boden’s article, both she and I feel creativity and law not only can live together but are inextricably intertwined.  Anyone who thinks that applying law to real life is merely a matter of finding the right law to apply to the right situation has no appreciation for the infinite complexity of life, the ways that — while history repeats itself — history never repeats itself in precisely the same ways, and the ways that everyone brings their own perspective to events.  We never, as I have previously written here, have “God’s video tape” of events.  We only have the fragmentary pieces of individual testimony, documentary and physical evidence, and the intelligence we can bring to bear on putting those fragments together in a coherent and persuasive way.

Which brings me to the last point I have for today.  Boden describes creativity as the “ability to generate ideas that are new, surprising, and valuable.”  I have no particular reason to question that definition.  But she goes on to explain:that in law, “valuable” can mean a whole host of different things.  I’d like to suggest one simple definition of what is valuable in law: is the product persuasive?  If so, it will make its impact on the outcome of cases, the outcome of negotiations, the outcome of counseling, the outcome of judicial decisions.  If the legal product is not convincing, no matter how elegant, daring, or radical it might be, it has little legal value.