Lawyers' work needs to be effective, not necessarily original

I wrote recently that legal writing is a quintessentially collaborative enterprise. That in part is why I think copyright is not an issue with respect to legal documents. A more important reason legal documents are not accorded copyright protection is that what matters with respect to a legal document is its effectiveness, not its originality. If a lawyer could copy an existing document that would do an as effective a job as it could for his client, he would be violating his professional code of ethics not to copy it. It thus boggles my mind when people write seriously that legal documents that duplicate others might constitute copyright violations.

It’s simple reality (and good business): lawyers and judges cut and paste from one another’s documents every day, and it would be absurd to impose a regime of copyright designed to promote original creativity if it undercut a legal regime designed to promote effective representation. Similarly, it is absurd to accuse lawyers of “plagiarism” in the documents they produce as lawyers. There have been cases which have spoken in terms of lawyer plagiarism, but they all can be better understood as fraud (charging clients for research that was nothing but the copying of pre-existing work) or malpractice (excessive copying that produces a document that bears little relationship to what the specific representation demands, as opposed to effective cutting and pasting of pre-existing work into newly written work) than as plagiarism.

Plagiarism is passing off someone else’s work as your own. But, again, in legal practice (as opposed to legal scholarship or law school work), the point of the work is its effectiveness, not its source or its originality.

In other words, all you students of mine, plagiarism in school is not allowed. It is an unethical act that can and will result in expulsion and disqualification from the practice of law. But let’s not confuse contexts: some contexts, specifically academic practices, produce in their audiences the expectation of originality; in others, specifically legal practice, originality can be effective, but effectiveness is the bottom line.

A little change can make a great transformation

Henry McKervey and Declan Long, in "Makers and Takers: Art and the Appropriation of Ideas:

[I]t is the expression of an idea which is subject to legal protection. While perhaps this has meant that an artist such as Gillian Wearing can be faced with difficulties over the unattributed re-application of her work, the law also could be said to give artists a relative amount of freedom to take and re-use material in any number of subtly different ways without the spectre of plagiarism remaining ever-present. In a work such as Douglas Gordon's 24 Hour Psycho, for instance, there is in one sense very little of the artist's 'own' work (Hitchcock's classic thriller being merely re-played at a radically slowed-down pace) yet Gordon's intervention makes for a powerful, transformative artistic statement. The question of "knowing originality when you see it" is almost beside the point in cases such as this: artists' strategies of appropriation prompt questions of originality to become thematically intriguing on, one level, while also being critically irrelevant and, on occasion, inappropriate, on another.

What is an author?

From Peter Jaszi, Case Western Reserve's own Martha Woodmansee, and their collaborators, an excerpt from Beyond Authorship: Refiguring Rights in Traditional Culture and Bioknowledge:

An "author" in the modern sense is the creator of unique literary, or artistic, "works" the originality of which warrants their protection under laws of intellectual property -- Anglo American "copyright" and European "authors' rights." This notion is so firmly established that it persists and flourishes even in the face of contrary experience. Experience tells us that our creative practices are largely derivative, generally collective, and increasingly corporate and collaborative. Yet we nevertheless tend to think of genuine authorship as solitary and originary.

This individualistic construction of authorship is a relatively recent invention, the result of a radical reconceptualization of the creative process that culminated less than two centuries ago in the heroic self-presentation of Romantic poets. In the view of poets from Herder and Goethe to Wordsworth and Coleridge genuine authorship is originary in the sense that it results not in a variation, an imitation, or an adaptation, and certainly not in a mere reproduction, but in a new, unique -- in a word, "original" -- work which, accordingly, may be said to be the property of its creator and to merit the law's protection as such.

With its emphasis on originality and self-declaring creative genius, this notion of authorship has functioned to marginalize or deny the work of many creative people: women, non-Europeans, artists working in traditional forms and genres, and individuals engaged in group or collaborative projects, to name but a few. Exposure of these exclusions -- the recovery of marginalized creators and underappreciated forms of creative production -- has been a central occupation of cultural studies for several decades. But the same cannot be said for the law. Our intellectual property law evolved alongside of and to a surprising degree in conversation with Romantic literary theory. At the center -- indeed, the linchpin -- of Anglo-American copyright as well as of European "authors' rights" is a thoroughly Romantic conception of authorship. Romantic ideology has also been absorbed by other branches of intellectual property law such as the law of patent and trademark; and it informs the international intellectual property regime. In patent it survives today both in figurations of the inventor and in the emphasis, which this body of law shares with copyright, on the "transformative" moment in the creative process.

Richard Posner on Art, Plagiarism, and Copyright Infringement

Richard Posner, from Atlantic Magazine:

We must distinguish in the first place between a plagiarist and a copyright infringer. They are both copycats, but the latter is trying to appropriate revenues generated by property that belongs to someone else—namely, the holder of the copyright on the work that the infringer has copied. A pirated edition of a current best seller is a good example of copyright infringement. There is no copyright infringement, however, if the "stolen" intellectual property is in the public domain (in which case it is not property at all), or if the purpose is not appropriation of the copyright holder's revenue. The doctrine of "fair use" permits brief passages from a book to be quoted in a book review or a critical essay; and the parodist of a copyrighted work is permitted to copy as much of that work as is necessary to enable readers to recognize the new work as a parody. A writer may, for that matter, quote a passage from another writer just to liven up the narrative; but to do so without quotation marks—to pass off another writer's writing as one's own—is more like fraud than like fair use.

"Plagiarism," in the broadest sense of this ambiguous term, is simply unacknowledged copying, whether of copyrighted or uncopyrighted work. (Indeed, it might be of uncopyrightable work—for example, of an idea.) If I reprint Hamlet under my own name, I am a plagiarist but not an infringer. Shakespeare himself was a formidable plagiarist in the broad sense in which I'm using the word. The famous description in Antony and Cleopatra of Cleopatra on her royal barge is taken almost verbatim from a translation of Plutarch's life of Mark Antony: "on either side of her, pretty, fair boys apparelled as painters do set forth the god Cupid, with little fans in their hands, with which they fanned wind upon her" becomes "on each side her / Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, / With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem / To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool." (Notice how Shakespeare improved upon the original.) In The Waste Land, T. S. Eliot "stole" the famous opening of Shakespeare's barge passage, "The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, / Burn'd on the water" becoming "The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, / Glowed on the marble."

Mention of Shakespeare brings to mind that West Side Story is just one of the links in a chain of plagiarisms that began with Ovid's Pyramus and Thisbe and continued with the forgotten Arthur Brooke's The Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet, which was plundered heavily by Shakespeare. Milton in Paradise Lost plagiarized Genesis, as did Thomas Mann in Joseph and His Brothers. Examples are not limited to writing. One from painting is Edouard Manet, whose works from the 1860s "quote" extensively from Raphael, Titian, Velásquez, Rembrandt, and others, of course without express acknowledgment.

If these are examples of plagiarism, then we want more plagiarism. They show that not all unacknowledged copying is "plagiarism" in the pejorative sense. Although there is no formal acknowledgment of copying in my examples, neither is there any likelihood of deception. And the copier has added value to the original—this is not slavish copying. Plagiarism is also innocent when no value is attached to originality; so judges, who try to conceal originality and pretend that their decisions are foreordained, "steal" freely from one another without attribution or any ill will.

Artistic Influence v. Theft

From Jonathan Lethem, "The Ecstasy of Influence: A Plagiarism":

In a courtroom scene from The Simpsons that has since entered into the television canon, an argument over the ownership of the animated characters Itchy and Scratchy rapidly escalates into an existential debate on the very nature of cartoons. “Animation is built on plagiarism!” declares the show's hot-tempered cartoon-producer-within-a-cartoon, Roger Meyers Jr. “You take away our right to steal ideas, where are they going to come from?” If nostalgic cartoonists had never borrowed from Fritz the Cat, there would be no Ren & Stimpy Show; without the Rankin/Bass and Charlie Brown Christmas specials, there would be no South Park; and without The Flintstones—more or less The Honeymooners in cartoon loincloths—The Simpsons would cease to exist. If those don't strike you as essential losses, then consider the remarkable series of “plagiarisms” that links Ovid's “Pyramus and Thisbe” with Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet and Leonard Bernstein's West Side Story, or Shakespeare's description of Cleopatra, copied nearly verbatim from Plutarch's life of Mark Antony and also later nicked by T. S. Eliot for The Waste Land. If these are examples of plagiarism, then we want more plagiarism.

From Open Source:

Nearly every word of [Lethem's] essay about cultural borrowing and reworking was stolen — er, appropriated — from some other source and then cobbled together with a big dose of Lethem magic to form a cohesive whole. Even the “I”s aren’t Jonathan Lethem; they’re Jonathan Rosen writing in The Talmud and the Internet about John Donne, or William Gibson in a Wired article about William Burroughs, or David Foster Wallace on a grad school seminar, or Brian Wilson in a Beach Boys song.

But this is more than a stunt. It’s a passionate salvo in the copyright wars, a crowd of voices coralled together to say, basically: without borrowing, stealing, cribbing, remixing, mashing-up, collaging and compiling — without influences great and small, in other words — there is no “creating.” No hip hop, sure, but also no blues, no Disney, no Shakespeare. No Lolita or “I have a dream.” We’d be reduced to staring at campfires and barking at one another.

So how to think about the joys, perils, and contradictions of influence in our intellectual property age? Lethem wonders himself:

"The dream of a perfect systematic remuneration is nonsense. I pay rent with the price my words bring when published in glossy magazines and at the same moment offer them for almost nothing to impoverished literary quarterlies, or speak them for free into the air in a radio interview. So what are they worth? What would they be worth if some future Dylan worked them into a song? Should I care to make such a thing impossible?"

Here is a podcast (mp3) of a discussion between novelist Jonathan Lethem, author Siva Vaidhyanathan, and musicians Mark Hosler (of Negativland) and Mike Doughty (of Soul Coughing) about the politics of plagiarism and originality.

A digital simulacrum is not creative enough to be copyrighted

In a decision entered today in Meshwerks, Inc. v. Toyotal Motor Sales, Inc., No. 06-422 (10th Cir. June 17, 2008)(pdf), the 10th Circuit Court of Appeals affirmed an order granting summary judgment and dismissing the copyright infringement case brought against Toyota by Meshwerks, which had created digital models of Toyota cars for use in Toyota's advertising. As the court explained, "[t]hese digital models have substantial advantages over the product photographs for which they substitute. With a few clicks of a computer mouse,the advertiser can change the color of the car, its surroundings, and even edit its physical dimensions to portray changes in vehicle styling; before this innovation, advertisers had to conduct new photo shoots of whole fleets of vehicles each time the manufacturer made even a small design change to a car or truck." Professor Patry strongly criticized the lower court's decision and will no doubt be unpersuaded by the 10th Circuit's affirmance. The court concluded, however, that the digital models did not have a sufficient degree of creativity to entitle them to copyright protection because

Meshwerks’ digital wireframe computer models depict Toyota’s vehicles without any individualizing features: they are untouched by a digital paintbrush; they are not depicted in front of a palm tree, whizzing down the open road, or climbing up a mountainside. Put another way, Meshwerks’ models depict nothing more than unadorned Toyota vehicles – the car as car. See Appendix A. And the unequivocal lesson from Feist is that works are not copyrightable to the extent they do not involve any expression apart from the raw facts in the world. As Professor Nimmer has commented in connection with the predecessor technology of photography, “[a]s applied to a photograph of a pre-existing product, thatbedrock principle [of originality] means that the photographer manifestly cannot claim to have originated the matter depicted therein . . . . The upshot is that the photographer is entitled to copyright solely based on lighting, angle, perspective, and the other ingredients that traditionally apply to that art-form.” Nimmer on Copyright § 3.03[C][3]. It seems to us that exactly the same holds true with the digital medium now before us: the facts in this case unambiguously show that Meshwerks did not make any decisions regarding lighting, shading, the background in front of which a vehicle would be posed, the angle at which to pose it, or the like – in short, its models reflect none of the decisions that can make depictions of things or facts in the world, whether Oscar Wilde or a Toyota Camry, new expressions subject to copyright protection.

THE MANUAL - full text online

The Manual (How to have a Number One the Easy Way), the Justified Ancients of Mu Mu reveal their zenarchistic method used in making the unthinkable happen.

An excerpt:

Every Number One song ever written is only made up from bits from other songs. There is no lost chord. No changes untried. No extra notes to the scale or hidden beats to the bar. There is no point in searching for originality. In the past, most writers of songs spent months in their lonely rooms strumming their guitars or bands in rehearsals have ground their way through endless riffs before arriving at the song that takes them to the very top. Of course, most of them would be mortally upset to be told that all they were doing was leaving it to chance before they stumbled across the tried and tested.

The relationship between factor 3 and factors 1 and 4

Some have suggested that even if KLF’s version of K Cera Cera (1) is a genuinely creative and original work (i.e., a “transformative work”) and (2) has no effect on the primary or derivative markets for Que Sera, Sera, the fact that it appropriates virtually all of Que Sera, Sera militates against a finding of fair use. This argument, grounded in the third first use factor – “the amount and substantiality of the portion used in relation to the copyrighted work as a whole” – is, in essence, as follows:

K Cera Cera could have evoked the meaning it draws from Que Sera, Sera (a distinctly American naïve and fatalistic optimism expressed both in the song’s lyrics and in its identification with Doris Day’s public persona) by simply appropriating one chorus, not the entire work. Since K Cera Cera instead used virtually the entirety of Que Sera, Sera, it fails the third fair use factor and therefore cannot be fair use regardless of its originality and market impact

There quite plainly are statements by courts that the third fair use factor suggests that appropriation of copyrighted works must be limited to the amount necessary to accomplish the purpose of the appropriating work. Thus, for example, in Bill Graham Archives LLC v. Dorling Kindersley Ltd., 386 F. Supp. 2d 324, 330 (S.D.N.Y. 2005), the court stated that “[t]his ‘inquiry must focus upon whether “the extent of . . . copying” is consistent with or more than necessary to further 'the purpose and character of the use.’ Castle Rock Enter. v. Carol Publishing Group, 150 F.3d 132, 144 (2d Cir. 1998), citing Campbell, 510 U.S. at 586-87, 114 S. Ct. 1164, 127 L. Ed.2d 500.”

I would suggest, however, that, once if it is conceded that K Cera Cera appropriates the heart of Que Sera, Sera, whether it quotes one verse, half the song, or the entire song is irrelevant as long as K Cera Cera is (1) genuinely transformative and (2) has no impact on Que Sera, Sera’s primary and derivative markets.

If in fact K Cera Cera is genuinely transformative and has no impact on Que Sera, Sera’s markets, it makes no difference to Que Sera, Sera’s copyright holders whether one verse or the entire song is appropriated. If it makes no difference, why should the amount matter?

I think too my view is confirmed by the Supreme Court in Campbell v. Acuff-Rose Music, Inc., 510 U.S. 569, 586 (1994)(emphasis added), in which the Court stated:

The third factor asks whether “the amount and substantiality of the portion used in relation to the copyrighted work as a whole,” § 107(3) (or, in Justice Story's words, “the quantity and value of the materials used,” Folsom v. Marsh, supra, at 348) are reasonable in relation to the purpose of the copying. Here, attention turns to the persuasiveness of a parodist's justification for the particular copying done, and the enquiry will harken back to the first of the statutory factors, for, as in prior cases, we recognize that the extent of permissible copying varies with the purpose and character *587 of the use. See Sony, supra, 464 U.S., at 449-450, 104 S.Ct., at 792-793 (reproduction of entire work “does not have its ordinary effect of militating against a finding of fair use” as to home videotaping of television programs); Harper & Row, supra, 471 U.S., at 564, 105 S.Ct., at 2232 (“[E]ven substantial quotations might qualify as fair use in a review of a published work or a news account of a speech” but not in a scoop of a soon-to-be-published memoir). The facts bearing on this factor will also tend to address the fourth, by revealing the degree to which the parody may serve as a market substitute for the original or potentially licensed derivatives. See Leval 1123.

Finally, I know of no case holding that a work constituted an infringement based on the appropriation of too great a portion of the copyrighted material in which that appropriation did not have an impact on the markets for the copyrighted work. Harper & Row v. Nation Enterprises, 471 U.S. 539 (1985), and Salinger v. Random House, Inc., 811 F.2d 90 (2d Cir. 1987), are two examples of such cases. In both, the infringing use plainly hurt the copyrighted work’s primary market. In Harper & Row, The Nation published the chapter of President Ford’s autobiography that discussed his pardon of Richard Nixon. Since the public had by far more interest in that aspect of Ford’s life than any other, the publication hurt the sales of the autobiography. Why buy the book when the magazine gives you everything you’re interested in at a much lower price? In Salinger, a biography quoted long portions of J.D. Salinger’s letters. The infringement was not merely a result of the fact the excerpts from the letters far exceeded what was necessary to supporting the book’s biographical points. It was because there was an audience of Salinger fans so hungry for any new writing by Salinger (who had not published a word since 1965) that they would buy the book simply to read new Salinger. The biography, in short, was exploiting Salinger’s primary market for his own copyrighted works.

How to profit without risking infringement: appropriate creations unprotected by our intellectual property laws

More from the Manual, the KLF's how-to book on making a number one pop hit. Here they note that the first component part of the song is its "groove," and that "Black American records" are always a reliable source for effective ones. Oh, and they point out that the grooves on those records aren't even considered part of the copyrighted music:

The first of the component parts you are going to need to find is the irresistible dance floor groove.

Before we go any further we had better define "groove". It is basically the drum and bass patterns and all the other musical sounds on the record that are neither hummable or singalongable to. . . .

Black American records have always been the most reliable source of dance groove. These records down through the years have inevitably laid so much emphasis on the altar of groove and so very little into fulfilling the other Golden Rules that they very rarely break through into the U.K. Top Ten, let alone making the Number One spot. A by-product of this situation is that gangsters of the groove from Bo Diddley on down believe they have been ripped off, not only by the business but by all the artists that have followed on from them. This is because the copyright laws that have grown over the past one hundred years have all been developed by whites of European descent and these laws state that fifty per cent of the copyright of any song should be for the lyrics, the other fifty per cent for the top line (sung) melody; groove doesn't even get a look in. If the copyright laws had been in the hands of blacks of African descent, at least eighty per cent would have gone to the creators of the groove, the remainder split between the lyrics and the melody. If perchance you are reading this and you are both black and a lawyer, make a name for yourself. Right the wrongs.

The KLF aren't the only ones who have detected racial and cultural bias in Western intellectual property laws. As the Authorship Collective in the English Department right here at Case Western Reserve explains (footnotes omitted):

With its emphasis on originality and self-declaring creative genius, this notion of authorship has functioned to marginalize or deny the work of many creative people: women, non-Europeans, artists working in traditional forms and genres, and individuals engaged in group or collaborative projects, to name but a few. Exposure of these exclusions -- the recovery of marginalized creators and underappreciated forms of creative production -- has been a central occupation of cultural studies for several decades. But the same cannot be said for the law. Our intellectual property law evolved alongside of and to a surprising degree in conversation with Romantic literary theory. At the center -- indeed, the linchpin -- of Anglo-American copyright as well as of European "authors' rights" is a thoroughly Romantic conception of authorship. Romantic ideology has also been absorbed by other branches of intellectual property law such as the law of patent and trademark; and it informs the international intellectual property regime. In patent it survives today both in figurations of the inventor and in the emphasis, which this body of law shares with copyright, on the "transformative" moment in the creative process.

The Authorship Collective goes on to cite examples of "biopiracy," the appropriation by pharmaceutical companies of native knowledge in medicinal plants. The companies then patent synthetic versions of the plants' effective ingredients and profit from the sale of the "new" drug. For example:

The Hoodia cactus, native to South Africa, has recently come to the fore of the debate surrounding bioprospecting and intellectual property rights. The Hoodia cactus, native to the Kalahari Desert, has been used for centuries by the hunter-gatherer San speaking tribes of the region (in the past they were commonly referred to as "Bushmen", although now this designation is recognized as being pejorative, inaccurate and outdated). The San peoples have long recognized the appetite suppressant qualities of the Hoodia cactus, and have traditionally chewed the stem to stave off hunger and thirst during long hunting expeditions in the desert. Scientists from the South African Council for Scientific and Industrial Affairs learned of the Hoodia's properties and began to study the cactus. In scientific tests, animals given the cactus lost weight rapidly without any apparent negative side effects. According to scientists from the South African Council for Scientific and Industrial Affairs (CSIR), the Hoodia works by "mimicking the effect glucose has on the nerve cells in the brain, in effect telling us we're full…thus curbing the appetite." (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/correspondant/2947810.stm) Scientists at the CSIR dubbed the appetite suppressant molecule in the Hoodia "P57". Recognizing the enormous potential market for the Hoodia outside South Africa, CSIR placed a patent on P57 and sold the licensing rights to an English biopharmaceutical firm, Phytopharm, in 1997. Phytopharm then sold the license to American pharmaceutical giant Pfizer for 25 million dollars. Throughout the whole process, however, the San peoples were completely unaware of what was occurring.

Is Coldplay original?

This whole question of originality can make one's head spin. It may not help Coldplay's situation that Chris Martin has been quoted in the past as saying "We're definitely good, but I don't think you can say we're that original," he notes. "I regard us as being incredibly good plagiarists."



Addendum, from Techdirt:

[T]he guy from Creaky Boards later not only retracted his accusation, but suggested that perhaps both bands were actually "inspired" by the "Fairy Theme" in the Legends of Zelda. In a world of strict copyright, of course, that might make both songs "illegal," though I doubt anyone would think that would be the optimal outcome.

. . . The thing is, part of the point we keep trying to make around here is that, for the most part, that's true of just about everyone. It's the overly aggressive use of copyright law that prevents that sort of "goodness" from showing up. Oh, and it's also worth mentioning, that this little story has definitely increased the profile of The Creaky Boards -- proving one of the points we recently made about plagiarism. Even if the plagiarist is "bigger" than you, the original creator can use that to their advantage as well.