New APPS

The House budget bill is deeply stupid.  No, I don’t mean the massive tax cut extensions for people who don’t need them, done on the backs of food and medical care for the poor, although it also does that and it’s stupid.  I mean the provision that bans states from regulating AI.  Tucked inside is a provision that says “no state or political subdivision may enforce any law or regulation regulating artificial intelligence models, artificial intelligence systems, or automated decision systems during the 10-year period beginning on the date of the enactment of this Act.”  This is making the news if you’re in the right circles, but like so much of the deluge coming out of Washington these days, it’s not getting the national attention it deserves.  Over on Lawfare, Katie Fry Hester and Gary Marcus have the details.  The key point is that the law attempts to pre-empt all state AI regulations.  It would probably also take out big chunks of state privacy laws, just as we’re starting to see some of them.

Hester and Marcus emphasize some of the problems: the bill likely violates the 10^th Amendment, it is absolutely a policy change of the sort that the Senate Parliamentarian should rule out-of-bounds for a reconciliation bill, and it’s deeply unpopular: the public is worried about AI and wants it regulated.  A standard debate about state vs. federal regulation cites the Brandeis “laboratories of democracy” vs. the need for uniform federal rules.  This is a reasonable debate, and it probably depends on the topic which you’d favor.  They are not necessarily exclusive choices either, as federal regulation can set floors and ceilings that states may go above/below, and sometimes federal regulations develop out of state rules.  Federal copyright law preempts state, and that system makes obvious sense.  State laws around gambling or alcohol make sense given the diversity of local cultures.

That debate from your civics class is however not what this is about.  The problem of course is not that we’d have federal policy instead of state.  The problem is that there is absolutely no chance that this Congress will pass meaningful AI regulation, so the choice is between a patchwork of state rules and nothing.  Congress hasn’t even passed meaningful privacy regulation yet, and right now they’re in thrall to an autocrat who issued an Executive Order in his first week in office directing agencies to “suspend, revise, or rescind such actions, or propose suspending, revising, or rescinding such actions” taken in compliance with the Biden Administration’s (bare minimum) efforts at AI regulation, in the name of “revok[ing] certain existing AI policies and directives that act as barriers to American AI innovation, clearing a path for the United States to act decisively to retain global leadership in artificial intelligence.”

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Last time, I set up a topic by reading Brett Frischmann’s and Paul Ohm’s “Governance Seams.”  Governance seams are frictions and inefficiencies that can be designed into technological systems for policy ends.  In this regard, “Governance seams maintain separation and mediate interactions among components of sociotechnical systems and between different parties and contexts” (1117).  Here I want to suggest that governance seams have a very close relation to phenomenological ones.  To get there, let me take a detour into an older philosophy of technology paper, Albert Borgmann’s “Moral Significance of the Material Culture.”  Borgmann is concerned with what he takes to be the way that moral and ethical theory ignore material culture, whether they emphasize theory or practice.   Via a paper by Csikszentmihalyi and Rochberg-Halton, he arrives at a distinction between things that he calls “commanding” and “disposable.”  The moral complaint is about the “decline of commanding and the prominence of disposable reality” (294).  Following them, Borgmann distinguishes between a musical instrument and a stereo.

“A traditional musical instrument is surely a commanding thing,” he writes:

“It is such simply as a physical entity, finely crafted of wood or metal, embodying centuries of development and refinement, sometime showing the very traces of its service to many generations. An instrument particularly commands the attention of the student who, unless she is a prodigy, must through endless and painstaking practice adjust her body to the exacting requirements of this eminently sensitive thing.” (294)

After some more similar description, emphasizing the multisensory experience of witnessing someone play an instrument, he turns to the stereo.  Certainly a “stereo produces music as well or, in fact, much better” and some stereos are big.  Nonetheless, “as a thing to be operated, a stereo is certainly not demanding. Nor do we feel indebted to its presence the way we do when we listen to a musician.  We respect a musician, we own a stereo” (295).  The stereo is on the rise, perhaps because “the history of the technology of recorded music is the history of obliging ever more fully the complaint about the burden and confinement of live music,” or “more positively” it is a “promise to provide music freely and abundantly” which is tied to “the promise of general liberty and prosperity – the promise that inaugurated the modern era” (295).

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As a final installment of reviewing some older “injury in fact” cases, I’d like to look at a few older state libel cases, because the distinction emerges especially clearly in them.  A North Carolina case, for example, noted that “he who publishes slanderous words even as those of a third person with the intent, (to be collected from the mode, extent and circumstances of the publication,) that the charges should be believed, does an injury in fact to the person slandered and ought to answer for it” (Hampton v. Wilson, 15 N.C. 468, 470 (1834).  Here’s a few cases in more detail.  The 19c gender politics is really helpful in seeing how their minds worked on defamation per se.

(a) Chastity in Iowa

A pair of Iowa cases are particularly clear.  In Abrams v. Foshee, the Court was asked to rule whether accusing a woman of having an abortion was actionable as slander.  The Court lays out its reasoning particularly clearly:

“To maintain an action of slander, the consequence of the words spoken, must be to occasion some injury or loss to the plaintiff, either in law or fact. As the declaration in this case, claims no special damages, or a loss or injury, in fact, we are left to inquire whether the charges referred to in the instructions refused, was of such a character as to amount to an injury in law. To determine this, it becomes material to ascertain in what cases this action may be maintained, without proof of special damages. Starkie, in his work on Slander, page 9, lays down the rule, that such action may be maintained "when a person is charged with the commission of a crime; when an infectious disorder is imputed; and when the imputation affects the plaintiff in his office, profession, or business." In this case, we only need examine the rule so far as it relates to the charge of a crime. And what is that rule? In Cox and wife v. Bunker and wife, Morris, 269, the Supreme Court of this territory, recognized the rule laid down in Miller v. Parish, 25 Mass. 384, 8 Pick. 384, as the proper one. And in that case it is said, that " whenever an offense is charged, which if proved, may subject the party to a punishment, though not ignominious, but which brings disgrace upon the party falsely accused, such an accusation is actionable. And this is, perhaps, as correct, and at the same time as brief a statement of the general rule, as has been given. For while the rule is variously stated, by different authors and judges, yet in all of them, it is laid down as necessary that the charge shall impute a punishable offense.” (Abrams v. Foshee, 3 Iowa 274, 277-8 (1856)).

That is, if the false statement would have subjected the victim to legal punishment if true, it was considered libel per se – actionable as an act, independent of any damages sustained.  In 1843, “willful killing of an unborn quick child, by an injury, etc., was made manslaughter” (278).  This statute was repealed in 1851. So abortion was not a crime. Plaintiffs urged that the fetus was a “human being” and thus subject to murder.  The Court, at length, disagreed, citing both statute and common law precedents (including Coke and Blackstone) to the effect that abortion was not “murder” even if it were a misdemeanor or otherwise bad.

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I’ve been indirectly pursuing the question of the problems faced by privacy plaintiffs in data cases by looking at the origins of the Supreme Court’s standing doctrine.  Basically, plaintiffs have to show an “injury in fact,” and courts often find privacy harms not to meet this standard.  Although presented as dating from time immemorial, the injury in fact requirement was actually announced rather abruptly in 1970 (all of this is part 1).  I’ve been exploring the historical antecedents that will help understand what that language implies – in a very early Supreme Court case (part 2), in other federal case law (part 3), and in federal cases about the Administrative Procedure Act (part 4).  Here I want to extend the genealogy into some early state cases; I’ll draw a somewhat arbitrary cutoff at 1930.  This time I’ll look at a general potpourri of cases. Next time I want to specifically look at a few libel cases because the language is especially clear in them.  I don’t claim this to be exhaustive (and I’m ignoring some of the cases around trusts and deeds because the facts in them are often very confusing, but I think it collectively paints a pretty good picture of what “injury in fact” connoted in Data Processing.

On the whole, the cases point to the legal vs non-legal harm distinction I’ve been developing, As the New Jersey Supreme Court used the concept in an estate case, “there was no injury, in fact or in contemplation of law, to prevent in this case the merger” of the estates (Den ex dem. Wills v. Cooper, 25 N.J.L. 137, 159 (1855).

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In a recent piece on Lawfare, Simon Goldstein and Peter N. Salib make the case that AI with cooperation is better than attempting some sort of AI race, unlike what virtually all of the relevant policymakers in the US advocate.  Thus, in response to the Chinese DeepSeek model, US policymakers are doubling down on the idea that the US must “dominate” AI and win against its geopolitical rival.  Goldstein and Salib write:

“In any high-stakes competition to obtain powerful military technology, the closer the game, the more sense it makes to declare a truce and cooperate. Cooperation can help to ensure that both superpowers obtain transformative AI around the same time. This preserves the current balance of power, rather than unsettling it and inviting extreme downside risks for both nations.”

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By Gordon Hull

I’ve been pursuing (first, second) what it means for standing law – basically, the determination that someone has a case that can be addressed by an Article III court – to require that plaintiffs show an “injury in fact,” a requirement that emerged suddenly in the Supreme Court’s Data Processing decision in 1970.  The requirement is at considerable odds with the caselaw before it, and it has puzzled commentators.  Last time, I looked at the Supreme Court’s first use of the term, an early 19^th Century case called Hepburn and Dundas v. Auld.  There I suggested that the court’s application of the term to a contract – looking for whether someone suffered harm, outside of the bare violation of a contract terms – wasn’t unlike what the Data Processing court seemed to be doing, in arguing that plaintiffs could demonstrate either legal injury (because of statutory violation) or harm of some other sort (injury in fact).  Here I want to dig into some of the earlier caselaw; what I think that caselaw establishes is that the concept of “injury in fact” generally works to emphasize material harm, as opposed to some sort of statutory or “merely” legal injury.  That sort of contrastive usage isn’t enormously common, but I do think it’s pretty consistent.

There’s three areas where you could talk about this – older cases, regulatory cases, and those relating to the Administrative Procedure Act (APA).  I’ll look at the first two this time, and divide them into Supreme Court and lower court decisions.

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