16. Ibid., 199.
17. Ibid., 198-199.
18. Graham v. John Deere, 383 U.S. 1, 7-11 (1966).
19. Adam Mossoff, "Who Cares What Thomas Jefferson Thought about Patents? Reevaluating the Patent 'Privilege' in Historical Context," Cornell Law Review 92 (2007): 953-1012. In a thoughtful, carefully reasoned, and provocative article, Professor Mossoff argues that Jefferson's views have been misused by the courts and legal historians, and that if we understand the use of the word "privilege" in historical context, we see that the "patent privilege" was influenced by a philosophy of natural rights as well as the antimonopolist utilitarianism described here. I both agree and disagree.
Professor Mossoff 's central point—that the word "privilege" was not understood by eighteenth-century audiences as the antonym of "right"—is surely correct. To lay great stress on the linguistic point that the patent right is "merely" a "privilege" is to rest one's argument on a weak reed. But this is not the only argument. One could also believe that intellectual property rights have vital conceptual and practical differences with property rights over tangible objects or land, that the framers of the Constitution who were most involved in the intellectual property clause were deeply opposed to the confusion involved in conflating the two, and that they looked upon this confusion particularly harshly because of an intense concern about state monopolies. One can still disagree with this assessment, of course; one can interpret Madison's words this way or that, or interpret subsequent patent decisions as deep statements of principle or commonplace rhetorical flourishes. Still it seems to me a much stronger argument than the one based on the privilege-right distinction. I am not sure Professor Mossoff would disagree.
Professor Mossoff is also correct to point out that a "legal privilege" did sometimes mean to an eighteenth-century reader something that the state was duty-bound to grant. There was, in fact, a wide range of sources from which an eighteenth-century lawyer could derive a state obligation to grant a privilege. Eighteenth-century legal talk was a normative bouillabaisse—a rich stew of natural right, common law, utility, and progress—often thrown together without regard to their differences. Some lawyers and judges thought the common law embodied natural rights, others that it represented the dictates of "progress" and "utility," and others, more confusingly still, seemed to adopt all of those views at once.
Nevertheless, I would agree that some eighteenth-century writers saw claims of common-law right beneath the assertion of some "privileges" and that a smaller number of those assumed common- law right and natural right to be equivalent, and thus saw a strong state obligation to grant a particular privilege based on natural right, wherever that privilege had been recognized by English or U.S. common law. But here is where I part company with Professor Mossoff.
First, I do not believe that the most important architects of the intellectual property clause shared that view when it came to patents and copyrights. Jefferson, of course, was not one of those who believed the state was so bound. "Society may give an exclusive right to the profits arising from [inventions], as an encouragement to men to pursue ideas which may produce utility, but this may or may not be done, according to the will and convenience of the society, without claim or complaint from any body" (Letter to McPherson, 334, emphasis added). More importantly, Jefferson's thinking about patents was infused by a deeply utilitarian, antimonopolist tinge. So, I would argue, was Madison's.
The quotations from Madison which I give later show clearly, to me at least, that Madison shared Jefferson's deeply utilitarian attitude toward patent and copyright law. I think there is very good reason to believe that this attitude was dominant among the Scottish Enlightenment thinkers whose writings were so influential to the framers. I do not think it is an exaggeration to say that the American Revolution was violently against the world of monopoly and corruption that was the supposed target of the English Statute of Monopolies (itself hardly a natural rights document). Yes, those thinkers might fall back into talking about how hard an inventor had worked or construing a patent expansively. Yes, they might think that within the boundaries of settled law, it would be unjust to deny one inventor a patent when the general scheme of patent law had already been laid down. But that did not and does not negate the antimonopolist and, for that matter, utilitarian roots of the Constitution's intellectual property clause.
Second, while I agree that there were strands of natural right thinking and a labor theory of value in the U.S. intellectual property system, and that they continue to this day— indeed, these were the very views that the Feist decision discussed in Chapter 9 repudiated, as late as 1991—I think it is easy to make too much of that fact. Is this signal or noise? There are conceptual reasons to think it is the latter. Later in this chapter I discuss the evolution of the droits d'auteur tradition in France. Here, at the supposed heart of the natural rights tradition, we find thinkers driven inexorably to consider the question of limits. How far does the supposed natural right extend—in time, in space, in subject matter? It is at that moment that the utilitarian focus and the fear of monopoly represented by Jefferson and Madison—and, for that matter, Locke and Condorcet—become so important.