Chapter 36
Intellectual Property
seana vale n t i n e sh i f f r i n
Intellectual property theory grapples with intriguing questions about the political and
personal significance of our mental labour and creativity, the metaphysics of art
and expression, the justifications for private property, and conflicts between property
and free expression rights. This chapter begins with an introduction to the nature
of intellectual property, comparing intellectual property to physical property. It
continues with an overview of some arguments for, and criticisms of, the legal
protection of intellectual property, and concludes with some ethical issues about illegal
downloading.
What is Intellectual Property?
‘Intellectual property’ is used ambiguously. Sometimes it refers to the system of legal
protection over useful or expressive inventions, expressions and products the generation of which typically involves the creative use of the mental faculties. Others use the
term, as I will, to refer to inventions and products themselves – those things, schemes,
objects and ideas – that may in turn be the subject of strong legal protection. I will
use ‘intellectual property rights’ to refer to private forms of legal protection and
power given over intellectual property, such as the rights conferred by copyright. (For
convenience, I will mine the particulars of US intellectual property law for concrete
examples.)
The forms of intellectual property are diverse, including letters, books, essays, other
written materials, musical compositions, recordings, plays, films, sculptures, paintings,
photographs, other forms of artwork, architectural blueprints, logos, inventions, computer programs, and perhaps even visages, names and features of a person’s life history,
personality and reputation. More controversially, some include biological materials
that have been humanly manipulated or whose discovery depended on complex investigative processes, such as some genes, cell lines, genetically altered bacteria, mice and
human proteins (Munzer, 2002). Abstractly conceived, much intellectual property
consists of those goods, roughly speaking, whose production or specific identification
depends primarily upon human cognition and imagination, and only secondarily upon
raw materials and physical exertion (see also Becker, 1993). Intellectual property often
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involves rendering concrete and external the unique contents of a human mind so that
they may be made accessible to and usable by others. By contrast, land – quintessential
physical property – does not depend for existence on cognition and imagination; neither
do minerals, water, air, nor many animals and plants.
However, the existence of many physical goods, such as particular flat brooms,
chairs, pies, and bred animals and plants, does partly depend on the exertion of human
labour guided by mental efforts. What distinguishes intellectual property? Or, as some
may pose the question, what distinguishes the intellectual property component of a
particular physical good? Intellectual property is typically distinguished by its being a
type for which there may be many tokens and by the labour involved in its production.
When referring to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, one may either refer to the ordered
collection of words that together compose a narrative of characters and a story, or to
a particular, perhaps well-worn, physical copy of the book. Roughly, the ‘intellectual
property’ component of the book consists of the ordered collection of words that make
up the work Pride and Prejudice, or perhaps the story line, characters, and some major
subset of the ordered collection of words contained within an authoritative edition.
Once these words have been ‘fixed’, collected together in a format that may be adverted
to at different times (e.g. in writing or an oral recording), they may be replicated into
many physical token copies. Human labour generates both the ordered collection and
the physical copies. The primary labour involved in intellectual property’s production
is the exercise of the creative faculties supplemented by some physical labour to make
these thoughts tangible, publicly accessible, and usable by others. The product itself,
though, may be abstract, like the number 5. It may lack a specific spatio-temporal location, but may be partly or fully instantiated or represented in different locations, partly
or fully replicated, transformed in whole or part, and used in a variety of ways. An
indefinite number of copies of a book may be printed; a book may be excerpted, translated, parodied or made into a film; many physical copies of a particular musical recording may be made; a musical composition may be multiply recorded, transposed or
sampled in another composition; many tokens of an invention may be produced; the
underlying innovation of an invention may be used as a component of yet another
invention. So, to return to the broom, no particular flat broom in your closet is intellectual property, but each instantiates a particular invention; the invention of the flat
broom marks the creation of intellectual property, although its Shaker-inventor generously did not seek a patent on it (Hooper, 2003).
Generally, intellectual property rights give the creator control over who uses the
intellectual property, and under what conditions. With important qualifications, these
rights are usually transferable. Copyright and patent typically have restricted terms;
currently, copyright lasts seventy years after the author’s death and patent lasts twenty
years. After the term expires, the work enters the public domain for unrestricted use.
In most jurisdictions, intellectual property rights divide into the categories of copyright,
patent, trademark, rights of publicity, trade secret law and ‘moral rights’.
Copyright typically covers original written expressions such as books, articles, poems
and musical compositions, but also printed images such as paintings, photographs and
drawings. Subject to some exceptions for fair use, copyright affords the right-holder the
ability to prevent use, copying and sampling in whole or in part, performance and
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distribution of a work. Copyright also empowers the right-holder to prevent others from
making ‘derivative’ works; in recent years, this right had been more expansively and,
thereby controversially, interpreted. Derivative works are distinct, ‘spin-off’ works,
inspired by the original. Examples include Brokeback Mountain, the film version of E.
Annie Proulx’s short story; a novel’s sequel; and comic books that imagine alternative
universes from the original, such as the Dark Empire Series, which explores the consequences of Luke Skywalker’s joining the Dark Side. Some derivative works involve
perspectives on the original work of which the copyright owner disapproves, such as
The Wind Done Gone, a retelling of Gone with the Wind from the perspective of the slaves
(see Suntrust Bank v. Houghton Mifflin Co., 2001).
Patent covers novel, useful and non-obvious inventions such as the telephone and
the phonograph, but also chemical formulas and compositions, some computer programs, designs, some biological and chemical methods and processes, and, more controversially, some biological products and materials created or discovered through
these processes. A patent holder is enabled to prevent others from using, generating or
distributing tokens of the invention, or distributing variations and improvements on it.
Usually, the holder will exact payment for the invention’s use, although patent law
permits the holder to refuse to license use no matter what payment is offered, for no
reason in particular. An inventor may wish to be the exclusive manufacturer of her
invention or for it not to be made at all, perhaps for perverse reasons or perhaps to avoid
its competition with another, more profitable product of the same inventor’s. A drug
to cure cancer may compete with more expensive drugs that treat the symptoms over
time; patent holders have the power to suppress all use of the cure, even though suppression may harm many patients.
Trademark standardly covers commercial names and logos, such as the name ‘Nike’
and the famous swoosh symbol, and permits the owner to police and prevent their use
by others. Loosely, the right of publicity is the personal counterpart to trademark. The
right permits a public figure, e.g. a celebrity, to exert control over others’ commercial
use of her name, visage and other distinctive characteristics. Because of his objection
to commercial endorsements, Tom Waits used the right against a Doritos advertisement that featured singing imitative of his distinctive voice.
Trade secret empowers its holders to police the use and exposure of confidential
information within an organization, typically a business, about that organization’s
methods, databases, formulas and production designs. The formula for Coca-Cola is
perhaps the most famous trade secret.
Finally, ‘moral rights’ legislation enables creators to protect the integrity of their
work (e.g. to forbid alterations to the structure of a sculpture or building), to require
attribution (that copies of the work bear the creator’s name), and sometimes to reclaim
specific tokens of the work from their owners upon offering compensation. Moral rights
are stronger and more common in Europe than in the USA.
Diverse issues arise with respect to these different protections and kinds of intellectual property. The chapter’s remainder will focus on issues common to them and some
issues that arise predominantly for copyright. Even so, space considerations preclude
tackling many interesting issues that emerge out of the complexities of copyright (the
angels in the details, so to speak).
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Justifications
Roughly labelled and classified, three main schools of justifications are offered for strong
intellectual property protection: Lockean theories; personality-based theories; and consequentialist, incentive-oriented theories (Waldron, 1993; Fisher, 2001). In brief, Lockean
theories contend that creators deserve to own and control intellectual works because
they laboured to create them. Personality theories, sometimes (controversially) referred
to as ‘Hegelian,’ appeal to the creator’s expressive and dignity interests. Consequentialist
theories do not, by contrast, locate the justification for strong intellectual property protection in creators’ individual rights. They advocate strong protections to provide necessary
incentives for the creation of intellectual works that serve the general public interest.
Before investigating these justifications, it is worth making explicit what is at stake
in the debates about intellectual property. Although this is often overlooked, the real
issue is not whether those who make intellectual property should receive compensation
for their labour and production costs. In the contemporary debate, both proponents
and opponents of strong intellectual property protection concur that creators of intellectual property (and those who publish, distribute or otherwise make it useful or
accessible) should receive fair compensation for their training, labour and material
costs. Most also agree that consumers may reasonably be charged fees for the use of
intellectual works to cover the costs, if any, associated with production and use. What
is at stake is the appropriate form of compensation, specifically: (1) whether the creator
has a distinct rights-based claim to exclusive control over her works’ use, distribution
and price; and (2) whether, rights aside, granting creators this exclusive control is for
other reasons the optimal form of compensation. Opponents of strong intellectual property protections advocate using alternative mechanisms that afford financial compensation and recognition to creators without also granting strong control to private
parties over the price and use of works. Creators could instead be compensated through
salaries, stipends, or through more complex methods that are sensitive to the level of
use, such as compulsory licensing systems or taxes on ancillary products used for
making copies such as blank CDs. Compulsory licensing, the system that governs the
recording of musical covers, allows anyone to use a work but requires payment of a
nominal set fee per use; this access fee is set at a non-prohibitive level to encourage use
while providing fair compensation to providers. Such systems prise apart compensation
for labour from private discretionary control over works, facilitating freer use of these
works.
Thus, the central justificatory issue about intellectual property is whether private
parties should have monopoly control over these resources for significant periods of
time. Of most interest are private legal rights: to have broad (and sometimes complete)
discretion over the conditions and prices of access to intellectual works; and to control
or prohibit the production of a wide range of derivative works.
Lockean Theories
Some regard intellectual property as the most promising application of (loosely labelled)
Lockean arguments about property (Locke, [1690] 1994). One popular version of
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Lockean property arguments starts from the position that, initially, resources are commonly owned: ex ante, no one has any intrinsic claim to any particular resources. An
individual may remove resources from the common and privately appropriate them,
however, through exerting her self-owned labour merely to grasp or perhaps also to
improve them. She may thereby generate a claim over these particular resources
so long as she leaves ‘enough and as good for others’ and does not waste what
she takes.
There is a traditional concern that given resource scarcity, private appropriations of
physical property cannot straightforwardly satisfy the proviso that one leave enough
and as good for others, whether to use or to appropriate. Appropriation of intellectual
property may seem different. First, one may think that intellectual property does not
belong in the original common but comes into existence already attached to individual
creators. It may be appropriated even without satisfying the proviso. Many regard
some intellectual works, such as science fiction or abstract art (as opposed perhaps
to historical works or to chemical processes) as ‘pure’ creations of intellectual sweat
and genius. Because they are unique products of mental labour, their creators are not
bound by the limits on private appropriation because those limits only attach to
goods that exist, in whole or in part, independently of the appropriator’s labour.
More sophisticated versions of this argument recognize that certain ideas, e.g. the
notion of unconditional love, are part of the common and are not due to any particular
mind, but hold that particular expressions of those ideas may be due to their
creator, such as Shakespeare’s 116th Sonnet. Copyright reflects this distinction between
ideas and expressions, protecting only the latter. Second, some may think the appropriation of intellectual works easily satisfies the proviso, whatever their origin or metaphysical status, because their supply is not scarce, unlike the supply of physical
resources. Even if all intellectual works belong initially to the common, its expanse may
be indefinitely vast; perhaps this also enables the permissible appropriation of physical
property as well, assuming the different kinds of property are commensurable, since
appropriation of physical resources will leave plenty of intellectual property behind
for others.
Some take these sorts of considerations to form a strong prima facie case for recognizing strong intellectual property rights as an appropriate way to respect or reward creators’ valuable labour (Hughes, 1988; Child, 1990; Gordon, 1993; Moore, 1997). Even
so (as on all accounts), further questions would have to be resolved, including: whether
these rights have indefinite or temporally restricted extension; what sorts of property
qualify; whether and why originality, creativity or non-obviousness should be prerequisites for appropriation; whether others may have need-based claims to use some
works; and whether there are significant externalities associated with these rights that
generate restrictions on their exercise.
One may worry, though, that appropriation is morally more complicated than has
been so far suggested: intellectual works should be considered part of the common; they
are therefore subject to the proviso that one not appropriate without leaving as much
and as good for others; but this proviso is not so simply satisfied.
Why might they belong in the common? Some products may be thought to exist
independently of our labour. Therefore, they are a common resource. Some inventions
have been independently discovered by different people, after all. Those who regard
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expressions as ordered collections of words, or music as ordered collections of notes,
may think these sets of words and notes exist independently of any particular person’s
contemplation of them, although they are unearthed through creative labour. Others
observe that even if expressions are pure mental creations, any individual’s intellectual
product is rarely entirely her own (Hettinger, 1989; Gordon, 1993; Waldron, 1993).
Authors build on prior works and cultural influences, whether consciously and explicitly or not. Further, the intelligibility and value of their intellectual products depends
partly on others’ contributions and cultural features for which they are not responsible.
There are also the further issues, familiar from other discussions in political philosophy,
about whether one’s talents have predominantly social sources or whether, for other
reasons, their fruits should be considered social resources. Given the high degree of
interweaving mutual influences, some conclude that intellectual products should be
regarded as part of our commonly owned intellectual heritage. Just as they are created
by borrowing from and reacting to prior materials, so they should be available to others
as the raw materials from which to generate new variations and works.
On these views, private appropriations of intellectual products might then be challenged because they remove materials from the common but do not leave as much and
as good for others. Not all intellectual works are equal; in some contexts, they may not
have adequate substitutes. For example, in many cultural contexts, even at the time of
their initial writing, it would be difficult to claim that private appropriation of the Bible
or the Koran could be justified merely because others could ‘discover’ different works
such as expressions of astronomical reports and children’s stories; there may be no
works ‘as good’ as the perceived directives of God. To take a more quotidian example,
in the USA there may be no news resource as authoritative or ‘as good’ as the New York
Times; to restrict access to it may, for certain purposes, leave others without a resource
as good as what has been appropriated (Gordon, 1993).
A more foundational challenge to the ‘Lockean’ argument may be mounted (Shiffrin,
2001). So far, we have focused on the fairness of particular appropriations. But no
strong positive argument was given as to why intellectual works should be privately
ownable at all. Such an argument may be necessary given one understanding of the
initial Lockean assumption of common ownership. That starting point need not be
interpreted as an assertion about the metaphysics of intellectual works, as being independent of human creation, but rather as embodying a political view about our mutual
standing. That each of us has an equal moral claim to resources in which we all have
interests may be understood as a manifestation of our equal moral standing. The question of private property, then, is the question how, if at all, can any exclusive claims to
goods that are useful to all or many be justified?
If privatization of some resources is necessary to make adequate use of them, perhaps
it is therefore justified. For instance, one could not make any use of foodstuffs without
private appropriation. To deliver nutrition, an apple must be taken from the common
and ingested by a single party. In places, Locke seems to suggest that the same may be
true for real property; its full and effective use requires agricultural development and
controlled manipulation by a single or co-ordinated will. Land could not be put to
its full use if it could not be subjected to planned direction and protected from
disruption by the uncoordinated use of others. Hence, at least some of it must be
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privately owned. On this account, the labour of an appropriator does not provide the
justification for the institution of private property in a sort of thing; rather, it explains
how, given the justification for the institution of private property, one individual rather
than another has a claim to a particular piece of property among those forms of property that are appropriately made private.
Intellectual property does not easily fit this framework. As Thomas Jefferson (the first
head of the US Patent Office and a Lockean) put the point:
He who receives an idea from me, receives instruction himself without lessening mine; as
he who lights his taper at mine, receives light without darkening me. That ideas should
freely spread from one to another over the globe, for the moral and mutual instruction of
man, and improvement of his condition, seems to have been peculiarly and benevolently
designed by nature, when she made them like fire, expansible over all space, without
lessening their density in any point, and like the air in which we breathe . . . incapable of
confinement or exclusive appropriation. Inventions then cannot, in nature, be a subject
of property. (Jefferson, [1813] 1943)
That is, many uses of intellectual property are ‘non-rivalrous’: one party’s use of the
resource need not compete with another’s. I can read Austen’s Pride and Prejudice at the
same time as you, but I cannot use a plot of land for a concert at the same time that you
use it for quiet meditation. Moreover, simultaneous use of intellectual property often
enhances others’ use. My enjoyment of a book or a piece of music is often enhanced by
others’ ability to converse about it, to understand references to it, and to reveal virtues
or expose flaws I failed to see. Full, effective use of intellectual property often depends
upon mutual, uncoordinated use in a way that differs from many uses of physical property; intellectual property is not merely non-rivalrous but anti-rivalrous. If the argument for privatization of some physical property is that exclusive use is necessary for full,
effective use, then that justification does not easily encompass many sorts of intellectual
property. To the contrary, an interest in facilitating full, effective use would suggest a
system of common property in most intellectual works in which anyone could make use
of a work – whether to consume or to use to make another work – without the original
creator’s permission. Original creators might use stronger rights of exclusive control to
quash criticism of their work or to suppress imitators whether for reasons of ego or to
stifle real or perceived economic competition. These motivations, while often humanly
understandable, may impede full, effective use of a work.
At least two qualifications should be registered. First, some intellectual works may
require exclusive use for effective use. Works in progress may not come to their full
fruition if they are published before the author consents. Unwanted input or exposure
may disrupt the creative process. Some works, such as diaries or personal letters, may
be intrinsically private; their proper use may be reliably ensured only by affording the
author exclusive control over access to them. Second, some worry that overuse may
result if intellectual property is left in common. Although most intellectual property is
not exhaustible, its overuse could affect its quality (see Landes and Posner, 2003; but
see Lemley, 2004). Songs may lose their resonance, poignance or appeal when they
are over-played or put to tiresome, repetitive commercial use. But, it is unclear what
force such an argument should exert in a free-speech culture. Usually, we do not find
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it a good argument for the wholesale restriction of (non-commercial) speech that the
speech will annoy some listeners or that they will come to dislike it.
Personality-based Theories
If Lockean justifications falter because of the non-rivalrous and anti-rivalrous qualities
of many intellectual works, are there other individual-rights arguments for strong
intellectual property rights? Some argue that because intellectual works express
authors’ personalities and reflect their characters, authors deserve control over them,
whether to protect their reputations, their personhood or their communicative
activities (Netanel, 1993; Beitz, 2005). Mickey Mouse’s creator should be able to
block another’s portrayal of Mickey as a swashbuckler not because his mental labour
gave rise to Mickey, but because either: (a) Mickey represents him and it maligns his
character if Mickey engages in crime; or, (b) as part of the general project of developing
and maintaining an identity, individuals need to have property over which they
exert exclusive control, defining themselves through and against these objects
(Radin, 1982), and intellectual works suit these purposes well; or, (c) because, through
Mickey, the creator is engaged in a specific communicative enterprise that the additions
and transformations of others may distort or alter (Walt Disney Productions v. Air
Pirates, 1978).
Personality-based arguments are associated with ‘moral rights’ legislation and
rights of publicity. Mickey’s mischief may reflect on his creator, so perhaps he should
have a tight rein on Mickey’s shenanigans. It might be asked, though, why the creator’s
reputational interests cannot be satisfied instead by merely directing that ‘off-licence’
transformative works be clearly labelled as ‘non-authorized’ by the original creator. In
any case, such considerations do not provide much support for allowing the creator to
transfer rights of control to others whose reputation and character are less bound up
with Mickey. These arguments also suggest a shorter tenure than copyright currently
provides. Terms that extend long past the author’s life fit awkwardly with the argument
that one needs control over property in order to develop and assert one’s personality
publicly. True, we do care about the reputations and the communicative intentions
of the dead, but they may not provide sufficient reason to impede the expressive,
personality-building opportunities of the living.
More generally, personality defenders of strong intellectual property rights must
explain why priority should be given to the expressive interests of original creators over
others (and for how long). Others may wish to express themselves through the unimpeded use of intellectual works. Effective self-expression may require or be significantly
facilitated by using culturally familiar icons like Mickey, whether critically, creatively,
or just by reference. Although creators of non-published works may have understandable privacy concerns that may support strong control over their works, authors of
published works occupy a more precarious position. They introduce works into the
public sphere that may have a strong influence on others’ lives and personalities. Why
may they attempt both to exert an influence on others and to retain strong control over
how their audience deploys its own agency and expression to use these materials in
response?
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Incentives
Another prominent justification for intellectual property rights appeals to the general
social interest in facilitating innovation and expression. Some contend that intellectual
property rights provide authors and innovators with necessary incentives to create.
The initial production process can be arduous and costly; once a work is created,
though, it is often relatively easy and inexpensive for others to copy and use the work.
This makes it easy for competitors (and consumers) to ‘steal’ a work and undercut the
creator’s price. This vulnerability may deter creators from generating intellectual
works. Offering periods of monopoly control may offer potential producers the incentives of secured profits and control over works that may compensate for these risks.
This argument depends on often repeated, but ill-studied, empirical claims about the
need for, and overall net effect of, these particular incentives on the climate of intellectual property production and consumption (for doubts, see Heller and Eisenberg,
1998; Barnett, 2004). It is important, again, to distinguish the desire to recoup costs
and to compensate for production from the more specific desire to exert monopolistic
control, whether for maximal profit or power. The incentive argument must apply
specifically to the latter if it is to provide a justification for strong intellectual property
rights. (For an argument preferring market incentives to patronage and state subsidies,
see Netanel, 1996.)
Some wonder whether granting a monopoly generates the best set of incentives for
production and consumption, because monopolies hamper competition and other productive uses. One may also worry that the incentives argument underappreciates the
degree to which many write and innovate for reasons other than money or power,
including a native sense of curiosity and interest, the aim to create art, the urge to
engage in self-expression and communication with others, the interest in prestige and
acclaim, and the general interest in helping others and improving the world. Many
inventors and writers, including the Shakers, Martin Luther, Benjamin Franklin, and
many academic authors, have created and made their works freely available for pleasure, to serve others and for the other joys of sharing intellectual advances. In some
circumstances, financial incentives may even diminish creativity (Hennessey and
Amabile, 1998). (The incentives account may, however, better describe the profile of
publishers and manufacturers whose collaboration with creators is often essential. The
internet, however, has enabled some viable alternative forms of publication, distribution and co-operative collaboration.)
The diversity of motives for creation may generate problems for strong versions of
the incentives argument’s claim that a monopoly to creators provides necessary incentives that in turn generate the optimal environment of innovation and public use.
Affording monopoly control to many authors and inventors may be unnecessary and
suboptimal. It may grant economically inefficient and stultifying windfall powers to
creators that merely serve as obstacles to consumers and other potential creators who
would benefit from freer or cheaper access (Shavell and Van Ypersele, 2001). First,
many innovators who would not require incentives of this strong sort to create may
still take advantage of them if they are offered. Jeff Bezos, founder of amazon.com,
reports that Amazon would have developed the ‘1-click’ technology whether or not it
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was patentable, although Amazon took out a patent on it nonetheless (Lessig, 2001a,
p. 211). Further, if enough take advantage of monopoly rights, an environment may
be created in which others must as well, whether they would like to or not, in order to
remain economically competitive and to remain attractive to necessary partners – e.g.
publishers and manufacturers who will demand transfer of these rights.
Second, even where these incentives are necessary for some creators, they function
in ethically questionable ways (see Cohen, 1992 on incentive arguments generally).
They do not merely provide a carrot for a person to create a work rather than engaging
in leisure or another activity. Rather, one party, who I will call the upstream speaker, is
incentivized to produce by the fact that other parties, the downstream speakers, are
deterred from copying, performing, producing and distributing both extant intellectual
works and also new, transformative, derivative works. In the case of copyright and the
derivative works protection, according to the incentive argument, expression is suppressed because its suppression is the precondition of another party’s willingness to
engage in expression (Tushnet, 2001).
This structure provokes some distinctive free speech concerns, representing only one
of the many fruitful points of contact between free speech theory and intellectual property theory. First, suppose it is true that upstream speakers, in essence, require, as a
condition of their speaking, that downstream speakers be suppressed. Is it permissible to
suppress downstream speakers for this purpose? Second, if it can be permissible, should
we prefer the upstream speakers over the downstream speakers? In some contexts, the
answer to the first question seems straightforwardly ‘no’. For instance, our commitment
to free speech precludes suppressing a controversial speech because a hostile audience
wishes it to stop; we should not accede to their demands, even should audience members
threaten violence if their demands are not met. A free speech system must permit
unpopular speech, whether the state or members of the public oppose it. Should it really
make a difference if hostile audience members, instead of threatening violence, allowed
that they were more likely to speak if the speakers they disliked were silenced?
Perhaps copyright differs. Typically, the upstream speaker does not respond to the
incentive of others’ suppression because she is hostile to the content of their speech but
because their speech putatively threatens the economic returns to her original. (Some
copyright enforcement, however, is directed at particular content disfavoured by the
original author, whether because it is critical of the original or for other reasons. Using
copyright, Hitler successfully prevented Alan Cranston, later a Senator, from distributing a more accurate translation of Mein Kampf than Hitler wished the English-speaking
world to see; Netanel, 2001.) In such cases, does the economic motive for suppresion
make all the difference? Is it legitimate to suppress one party’s speech because its appreciation will make another party’s speech less profitable? That principle seems overbroad,
impinging on the ability to write critical reviews. Perhaps what matters is that some
speech reduces profits by competing directly with the original speech, rather than, like a
review, convincing people not to purchase the original speech. Regulating the former may
seem innocuous, comparable to restricting hecklers from using megaphones to drown
out an invited speaker. But copyright regulations do not merely suppress speech on
certain occasions to make the original speech easier to understand on those occasions;
rather, they suppress others’ speech in all contexts for a prolonged period of time.
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Even if suppression can sometimes be permissible on these grounds, what reason do
we actually have to prefer the upstream speech over the downstream speech? Is this
question idle because the downstream speech depends for its existence on the upstream
speech? For, either we have no speech or we have the original, upstream speech. But
this is an exaggeration. We can divide original creators into three categories: (a) those
who will create (and publish and distribute) without requiring or using intellectual
property protections; (b) those who would create without intellectual property protections but will take advantage of them if they exist; or (c) those who will not create
without intellectual property protections and will enforce them if they exist. Incentive
arguments favour the speech of those who fall in category (c) at the expense of those
who would produce derivative works of those who fall in category (b) (as well as those
who would produce derivative works of (a) but are deterred from creation because they
are unsure whether the original creators fall into category (a) or if they fall into the
more unsafe categories (b) and (c)).
Why should we privilege speakers in category (c) who require intellectual property
incentives over the downstream producers whose work will be chilled? It is difficult to
decide on sheer grounds of quantity. It’s awfully hard to know who falls in category (b)
and who falls in category (c) because it serves the financial interests of those in category
(b) to bluff. Further, it is difficult to assess how many downstream speakers are chilled
by copyright.
One may be tempted to prefer original works over derivative works on grounds of
quality; an original work may be considered more precious or significant. It is hard to
assert this with broad confidence, though. Many derivative works improve dramatically on original works or take off in an entirely different creative direction. Think of
Macbeth and King Lear as against Raphael Holinshed’s Chronicles of England, Scotland,
and Ireland; the film Pirates of the Caribbean as against the theme park ride; the Peggy
Lee song ‘Is That All There Is?’ as against the Thomas Mann short story ‘Disillusionment’;
Negativland’s ‘The Forbidden Single: A Cappella Mix’ as against U2’s ‘Still Haven’t
Found What I’m Looking For’; etc. Given the vast range of potential works, it seems
difficult at best to predict which class is superior: upstream works as a class or downstream works as a class.
One might return to what many find an irresistible thought, namely that the original producers are more deserving. Their work is the catalyst and should be privileged
over downstream, derivative speech. But note that by reintroducing the idea of desert,
the putatively independent incentives argument for copyright protection would now
depend on vindicating the previously discussed non-consequentialist arguments.
A further worry may be raised. It is not clear that the relevant upstream speakers
who require incentives are more deserving than those creators who would be chilled
by copyright. We are attempting to decide whose work to elicit – those who will only
speak if they are guaranteed a monopoly versus those who would be suppressed by the
monopoly. The former threaten to speak only if the latter do not; by hypothesis, the
latter make no similar demands on others’ speech. One might hazard that the downstream producers are more deserving because they act more co-operatively. They are
willing to speak without making the ability to compel others’ silence a condition of their
speech.
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Freedom of Speech and Related Objections to Intellectual
Property Protection
As this discussion amply demonstrates, free speech issues permeate intellectual property arguments. There are yet further connections between freedom of speech and
intellectual property. Some assert strong individual free speech rights against certain
forms of intellectual property protection, whatever the strengths of its justifications.
Copyright powers that forbid others from performing a play, quoting lengthy passages
from a book or creating a new derivative work enable private parties to suppress or
punish others’ speech. Some take the view that however innocent the purpose of these
restrictions, they violate the uninfringeable rights of all individual speakers to express
whatever content they wish (Baker, 2002; Rubenfeld, 2002; but see Eisgruber, 2003).
Others worry that strong intellectual property rights may enable private parties to
constrain the social communicative environment, thereby threatening our interests in
a flourishing democracy of timely, responsive, free exchange, evaluation, and critical
reflection (Netanel, 2001; Lessig, 2001b; Benkler, 2003; Balkin, 2004).
On the other hand, many copyright advocates argue that these legitimate free speech
concerns can be comfortably accommodated within copyright (Nimmer, 1970).
Copyright only precludes the copying and distribution of particular expressions, e.g.
particular books or articles. It does not permit anyone to own an idea. Anyone may
communicate an idea so long as they use their own words (or those for which they
receive permission). (Derivative works raise knotty questions for this distinction because
they are not mere copies of the original expression. Yet, they are somehow to be conceived as extensions of that expression rather than different expressions of the original’s
underlying idea.) Further, most copyright systems include rights of fair use: roughly
put, they allow others to use small portions of copyrighted work, e.g. to quote for purposes of commentary, criticism or education, so long as the use does not displace the
market for the original material. Some defend fair use rights on the grounds that even
if creators have special rights to their own work, they also have responsibilities to their
audiences to allow them to use the works to prevent any harm associated with exposure
to them or, more broadly, to permit them to fully digest these materials (Gordon, 1993;
O’Neil, 2006). The accommodations within copyright still seem insufficient to some
free speech advocates. Those who are not articulate or creative have significant interests in self-expression and participation in public dialogue; these interests may be better
advanced through endorsing and using others’ exact expressions as a vehicle rather
than making clunky efforts of one’s own (Tushnet, 2004). Ongoing issues in copyright,
then, include what sort of use and how much must be allowed to be fair and whether
fair use rights can ever be sufficient to satisfy free speech interests.
Other Issues: Illegal Downloading etc.
I have been discussing whether institutions of intellectual property rights are just. Do
the objections made to them, if sound, provide moral support for individuals who wish
to download or copy legally protected materials without permission? Illegal copying of
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music and videos for pure consumption (and resale) are, it is said, widespread. Some
copy purely for profit or convenience, without much ethical deliberation. Others act
more deliberately on the grounds that copyright law or its use are unjust – whether
because copyright intrinsically violates free speech rights or because copyright holders,
in practice, overcharge or wrongfully restrict use of copyrighted material.
These activities raise interesting issues about when one may violate a law one
regards as unjust. Consider sheer downloading just for consumption. Most who regard
copyright as unjust, in essence or in practice, nonetheless affirm that creators of intellectual property (et al.) deserve some compensation. Most who download would admit
they are free-riding off the producers and the consumers who do comply. May one freeride when one’s reason is that the system of production and distribution of an important
good is itself unjust and there is no easily accessible alternative mode of access?
Were disagreement with institutional approaches to social problems sufficient
grounds for disobedience, no political system that relies on mutual compromise could
thrive among free-thinking people. On the other hand, disobeying deeply unjust political decisions such as racially discriminatory laws is often well justified. How should
we regard illegal downloading?
If the downloader’s objection centres on the prices of intellectual products, the situation resembles more general dissatisfactions with high prices set by owners of capital.
However, it seems questionable to take and refuse to pay the grocer for an unreasonably
priced litre of Coca-Cola, especially if one could agitate politically within a functional
political system for price controls, freer trade or other methods to ensure fairer terms
of exchange. Perhaps it is wrong to take the Coke because the grocer will lose the sale
and what she paid for it. By contrast, illicitly downloaded intellectual property does not
preclude bona fide consumer sales of the same property to willing, paying consumers.
Still, other things equal, it seems wrong to stow away on an empty bus that overcharges, even if the stowaway will not increase operating costs or displace paying
passengers.
Perhaps matters differ if the price were so high that it interfered with people’s ability
to fulfil basic needs, e.g. if the beverage were scarce water or milk, or the bus were the
sole means of transportation. Is intellectual property like scarce milk or water? Those
who regard intellectual property as common property, or expression and communication as basic human needs, may view high charges on intellectual property as akin to
commandeering the public well and charging high prices for (publicly owned) water.
Some may distinguish between communication for pure entertainment from communication of (other) socially, politically or personally significant facts or opinions. Illicit
downloading of the latest Jackie Chan action film may differ from photocopying readings for purely educational use or downloading ‘Eyes on the Prize’, the seminal documentary series about the civil rights movement, long unavailable due to obstacles posed
by copyright (Brown and Harris, 2005). Others resist this idea, pointing out that many
intellectual products have rough substitutes. A particular product’s underlying idea
may be otherwise expressed; other means and works may be found or generated for
entertainment and education.
Two further contrasts between illicit downloading and historical forms of civil
disobedience may be drawn. First, even if illicit downloading of (some) intellectual
works importantly differs from mere free-riding for convenience, it nonetheless inflicts
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disadvantages on some relatively innocent people, e.g. those whose work may not get
distributed or produced because the systemic costs of free-riding reduce production of
riskier works, and those paying consumers whose costs are higher because some freeride. By contrast, many of those disadvantaged by civil disobedience to apartheid and
Jim Crow laws were either more actively complicit in or benefited by the system of
injustice. Second, simultaneous efforts to effect political change have standardly accompanied conscientious civil disobedience. Some illicit downloaders download as a form
of public protest while actively pushing for reform – e.g. shorter, more permissive
periods of intellectual property protection or alternative methods of funding production
and distribution. Others, though, merely download for convenience on the grounds
that the current system is unjust but do not make efforts towards a larger permanent
solution. (Although, sufficiently widespread indifference to the rules may itself engender enough disrespect or despair over their inefficacy to trigger or facilitate others’
efforts at social change.)
This raises the interesting question: can it be a sufficient reason to disobey the law
that it is unjust, even when there are relative innocents who are (sometimes only
mildly) disadvantaged, or must one also participate in positive efforts to establish a just
solution? Others create unauthorized derivative works but make these works freely
available to others for consumption and further transformative use. These and other
practices of reciprocity nicely pose the question of whether it makes a difference to the
permissibility of illicit use that it is not done to gain advantage or seek profit and that
one makes one’s own work available on the same basis that one takes.
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public domain’, New York University Law Review, 74 (1999), 354–446.
Breyer, S.: ‘The uneasy case for copyright: a study of copyright in books, photocopies, and computer programs’, Harvard Law Review, 84 (1970), 281–355.
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encouragement theory’, Stanford Law Review, 41 (1989), 1343–469.
Hegel, G. W. F.: Elements of the Philosophy of Right (1821), ed. A. W. Wood and trans. H. B. Nisbet
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991).
Landes, W. M. and Posner, R. A.: The Economic Structure of Intellectual Property Law (Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2003).
Lemley, M. A.: ‘Property, intellectual property, and free riding’, Texas Law Review, 83 (2005),
1031–75.
Lessig, L.: Free Culture: The Nature and Future of Creativity (New York: Penguin Books, 2004).
Levinson, J.: ‘What a musical work is’, Journal of Philosophy, 77 (1980), 5–28.
Litman, J.: ‘The public domain’, Emory Law Journal, 39 (1990), 965–1023.
Machlup, F.: An Economic Review of the Patent System (Washington, DC: US Government Printing
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American Economic Review, 95 (2005), 1215–36.
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Van Houweling, M. S.: ‘Distributive values in copyright’, Texas Law Review, 83 (2005), 1535–
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