the Zealous

30 Apr 26


This is the third in an occasional Zealous series exploring major legal philosophers, with the aim of demonstrating why their ideas should matter to anyone who currently practices law. The previous entry on H.L.A. Hart ended with a teaser for a true clash of titans: before Dworkin picked up the gauntlet, Hart faced an earlier challenger who insisted that law, by its very nature, embodies a morality of its own. That challenger was Lon Fuller.

Lon Luvois Fuller (1902-1978) came out of Stanford with a law degree and never stopped working both sides of the line between theory and practice. He taught contracts at Oregon, then at Duke (where a young Richard Nixon sat in his class), and in 1940 joined the Harvard Law School faculty, eventually holding the Carter Chair of Jurisprudence until he retired in 1972. But Fuller was never an isolated academic. While teaching at Harvard, he simultaneously practiced as a labor lawyer at Ropes, Gray, Best, Coolidge & Rugg in Boston, and served for years as a labor arbitrator, including a five-year stint with Bethlehem Steel. His contracts casebook drew on that experience. He knew what it felt like to sit across the table from a counterparty, to advocate for your client's position and cause with zeal and skill.

That real practice background shaped everything Fuller thought about the law. Hart and Dworkin were preoccupied with judges deciding hard cases. Fuller was preoccupied with the rest of us. He saw lawyers not just as officers of the court, but as what he called "architects of social structure": the people who design contracts, build institutions, and create the frameworks within which human beings actually cooperate. He coined a term for this work: "eunomics," the study of good order and workable social arrangements.

14 Apr 26


Your client processes biometric data and needs a rather unusual indemnity that runs from the customer to the vendor if the customer's end users bring claims under state privacy laws. You draft the clause. It's tailored, defensible, and your client signs off. Then the counterparty's counsel sends it back, redlined to oblivion, with a note that says "this is non-standard."

The problem is not that the clause is non-standard. It is unexplained.

Contracts don't show their work. The operative text says what the parties must do, but it never says why. That silence is where negotiation friction lives. A provision that looks aggressive in isolation often looks reasonable once you understand the business rationale behind it.

DC Toedt, Redline (redline.net) member since 2013, floated an idea in a discussion on selling reverse indemnity to counterparties that deserves more attention than it gets: the use of footnotes. Attach a footnote to the operative clause explaining why it's drafted the way it is. Not a recital. Better than a side letter. A footnote, right there on the page, tethered to the provision it explains.

31 Mar 26


Legal AI provokes a crisis of confidence and a crisis of conscience at the same time, within the same lawyer. Its sometimes jaw-dropping power paradoxically instills an inchoate feeling of dread.

Feelings of guilt and concern over use of a tool that could very well reduce the need to hire associates and staff, or even the lawyer using it, has not truly been reckoned with. And yet, there's no turning back.

The capabilities of this technology in the legal space can be easily predicted - where it's heading seems obvious as its capabilities improve on an exponential basis. Lawyers are replaced by AI replicas. Then what? Court staff? Judges? What happens when the legal system is entirely composed of machines - no human input or even visibility?