David M. Skover – författare

There is no book of political strategy more canonical than Niccolò Machiavelli's The Prince, but few ethicists would advise policymakers to treat it as a bible. The lofty ideals of the law, especially, seem distant from the values that the word "Machiavellian" connotes, and judges are supposed to work above the realm of politics. In The Judge, however, Ronald Collins and David Skover argue that Machiavelli can indeed speak to judges, and model their book after The Prince. As it turns out, the number of people who think that judges in the U.S. are apolitical has been shrinking for decades. Both liberals and conservatives routinely criticize their ideological opponents on the bench for acting politically. Some authorities even posit the impossibility of apolitical judges, and indeed, in many states, judicial elections are partisan. Others advocate appointing judges who are committed to being dispassionate referees adhering to the letter of the law. However, most legal experts, regardless of their leanings, seem to agree that despite widespread popular support for the ideal of the apolitical judge, this ideal is mere fantasy.This debate about judges and politics has been a perennial in American history, but it intensified in the 1980s, when the Reagan administration sought to place originalists in the Supreme Court. It has not let up since. Ronald Collins and David Skover argue that the debate has become both stale and circular, and instead tackle the issue in a boldly imaginative way. In The Judge, they ask us to assume that judges are political, and that they need advice on how to be effective political actors. Their twenty-six chapters track the structure of The Prince, and each provides pointers to judges on how to cleverly and subtly advance their political goals. In this Machiavellian vision, law is inseparable from realpolitik. However, the authors' point isn't to advocate for this coldly realistic vision of judging. There ultimate goal is identify both legal realists and originalists as what they are: explicitly political (though on opposite ends of the ideological spectrum). Taking its cues from Machiavelli, The Judge describes what judges actually do, not what they ought to do.

There is no book of political strategy more canonical than Niccolò Machiavelli''s The Prince, but few ethicists would advise policymakers to treat it as a bible. The lofty ideals of the law, especially, seem distant from the values that the word "Machiavellian" connotes, and judges are supposed to work above the realm of politics. In The Judge, however, Ronald Collins and David Skover argue that Machiavelli can indeed speak to judges, and model their book after The Prince. As it turns out, the number of people who think that judges in the U.S. are apolitical has been shrinking for decades. Both liberals and conservatives routinely criticize their ideological opponents on the bench for acting politically. Some authorities even posit the impossibility of apolitical judges, and indeed, in many states, judicial elections are partisan. Others advocate appointing judges who are committed to being dispassionate referees adhering to the letter of the law. However, most legal experts, regardless of their leanings, seem to agree that despite widespread popular support for the ideal of the apolitical judge, this ideal is mere fantasy.This debate about judges and politics has been a perennial in American history, but it intensified in the 1980s, when the Reagan administration sought to place originalists in the Supreme Court. It has not let up since. Ronald Collins and David Skover argue that the debate has become both stale and circular, and instead tackle the issue in a boldly imaginative way. In The Judge, they ask us to assume that judges are political, and that they need advice on how to be effective political actors. Their twenty-six chapters track the structure of The Prince, and each provides pointers to judges on how to cleverly and subtly advance their political goals. In this Machiavellian vision, law is inseparable from realpolitik. However, the authors'' point isn''t to advocate for this coldly realistic vision of judging. Their ultimate goal is identify both legal realists and originalists as what they are: explicitly political (though on opposite ends of the ideological spectrum). Taking its cues from Machiavelli, The Judge describes what judges actually do, not what they ought to do.

There is no book of political strategy more canonical than Niccolò Machiavelli''s The Prince, but few ethicists would advise policymakers to treat it as a bible. The lofty ideals of the law, especially, seem distant from the values that the word "Machiavellian" connotes, and judges are supposed to work above the realm of politics. In The Judge, however, Ronald Collins and David Skover argue that Machiavelli can indeed speak to judges, and model their book after The Prince. As it turns out, the number of people who think that judges in the U.S. are apolitical has been shrinking for decades. Both liberals and conservatives routinely criticize their ideological opponents on the bench for acting politically. Some authorities even posit the impossibility of apolitical judges, and indeed, in many states, judicial elections are partisan. Others advocate appointing judges who are committed to being dispassionate referees adhering to the letter of the law. However, most legal experts, regardless of their leanings, seem to agree that despite widespread popular support for the ideal of the apolitical judge, this ideal is mere fantasy.This debate about judges and politics has been a perennial in American history, but it intensified in the 1980s, when the Reagan administration sought to place originalists in the Supreme Court. It has not let up since. Ronald Collins and David Skover argue that the debate has become both stale and circular, and instead tackle the issue in a boldly imaginative way. In The Judge, they ask us to assume that judges are political, and that they need advice on how to be effective political actors. Their twenty-six chapters track the structure of The Prince, and each provides pointers to judges on how to cleverly and subtly advance their political goals. In this Machiavellian vision, law is inseparable from realpolitik. However, the authors'' point isn''t to advocate for this coldly realistic vision of judging. Their ultimate goal is identify both legal realists and originalists as what they are: explicitly political (though on opposite ends of the ideological spectrum). Taking its cues from Machiavelli, The Judge describes what judges actually do, not what they ought to do.

In this innovative book, the authors persuasively argue that the First Amendment to the Constitution has risen in the late twentieth century, like an ill guided individual with knife in hand, to murder a longstanding tradition of fine and meaningful discourse in the United States. We are bombarded with the cacophony of advertisement, the luridity of pornography, and the pointlessness of prime timepoor substitutes for intelligent consideration of ideas. }In this innovative book, the authors persuasively argue that the First Amendment to the Constitution has risen in the late twentieth century, like an ill-guided individual with knife in hand, to murder a long-standing tradition of fine and meaningful discourse in the United States. What has died is the essential kind of political discourse which promotes democracy; informs citizens; enlivens debate; and carries reason, method, and purpose. Instead, we are bombarded with the cacophony of advertisement, the luridity of pornography, and the pointlessness of prime time.With satirical spirit and wityet to a very serious purpose the narrative of this lively study calls upon many of the very tricks it criticizes. The text is augmented by amusing tales, poetry, tv zaps, eyebites, and boxes of aphorisms resonating between high and low culture, between Plato and Geraldo and Madonna and Mahler to make its points, the discussion reveals how discourse in contemporary America has lost its integrity and its soul.

In this innovative book, the authors persuasively argue that the First Amendment to the Constitution has risen in the late twentieth century, like an ill guided individual with knife in hand, to murder a longstanding tradition of fine and meaningful discourse in the United States. We are bombarded with the cacophony of advertisement, the luridity of pornography, and the pointlessness of prime timepoor substitutes for intelligent consideration of ideas. }In this innovative book, the authors persuasively argue that the First Amendment to the Constitution has risen in the late twentieth century, like an ill-guided individual with knife in hand, to murder a long-standing tradition of fine and meaningful discourse in the United States. What has died is the essential kind of political discourse which promotes democracy; informs citizens; enlivens debate; and carries reason, method, and purpose. Instead, we are bombarded with the cacophony of advertisement, the luridity of pornography, and the pointlessness of prime time.With satirical spirit and wityet to a very serious purpose the narrative of this lively study calls upon many of the very tricks it criticizes. The text is augmented by amusing tales, poetry, tv zaps, eyebites, and boxes of aphorisms resonating between high and low culture, between Plato and Geraldo and Madonna and Mahler to make its points, the discussion reveals how discourse in contemporary America has lost its integrity and its soul.

In this innovative book, the authors persuasively argue that the First Amendment to the Constitution has risen in the late twentieth century, like an ill guided individual with knife in hand, to murder a longstanding tradition of fine and meaningful discourse in the United States. We are bombarded with the cacophony of advertisement, the luridity of pornography, and the pointlessness of prime timepoor substitutes for intelligent consideration of ideas. }In this innovative book, the authors persuasively argue that the First Amendment to the Constitution has risen in the late twentieth century, like an ill-guided individual with knife in hand, to murder a long-standing tradition of fine and meaningful discourse in the United States. What has died is the essential kind of political discourse which promotes democracy; informs citizens; enlivens debate; and carries reason, method, and purpose. Instead, we are bombarded with the cacophony of advertisement, the luridity of pornography, and the pointlessness of prime time.With satirical spirit and wityet to a very serious purpose the narrative of this lively study calls upon many of the very tricks it criticizes. The text is augmented by amusing tales, poetry, tv zaps, eyebites, and boxes of aphorisms resonating between high and low culture, between Plato and Geraldo and Madonna and Mahler to make its points, the discussion reveals how discourse in contemporary America has lost its integrity and its soul.

In this innovative book, the authors persuasively argue that the First Amendment to the Constitution has risen in the late twentieth century, like an ill guided individual with knife in hand, to murder a longstanding tradition of fine and meaningful discourse in the United States. We are bombarded with the cacophony of advertisement, the luridity of pornography, and the pointlessness of prime timepoor substitutes for intelligent consideration of ideas. }In this innovative book, the authors persuasively argue that the First Amendment to the Constitution has risen in the late twentieth century, like an ill-guided individual with knife in hand, to murder a long-standing tradition of fine and meaningful discourse in the United States. What has died is the essential kind of political discourse which promotes democracy; informs citizens; enlivens debate; and carries reason, method, and purpose. Instead, we are bombarded with the cacophony of advertisement, the luridity of pornography, and the pointlessness of prime time.With satirical spirit and wityet to a very serious purpose the narrative of this lively study calls upon many of the very tricks it criticizes. The text is augmented by amusing tales, poetry, tv zaps, eyebites, and boxes of aphorisms resonating between high and low culture, between Plato and Geraldo and Madonna and Mahler to make its points, the discussion reveals how discourse in contemporary America has lost its integrity and its soul.

America values dissent. It tolerates, encourages and protects it. But what is this thing we value? That is a question never asked. 'Dissent' is treated as a known fact. For all that has been said about it - in books, articles, judicial opinions, and popular culture - it is remarkable that no one has devoted much, if any, ink to explaining what dissent is. No one has attempted to sketch its philosophical, linguistic, legal or cultural meanings or usages. There is a need to develop some clarity about this phenomenon, for not every difference of opinion, symbolic gesture, public activity in opposition to government policy, incitement to direct action, revolutionary effort or political assassination need be tagged dissent. In essence, we have no conceptual yardstick. It is just that measure of meaning that On Dissent offers.

In every era of communications technology - whether print, radio, television, or Internet - some form of government censorship follows to regulate the medium and its messages. Today we are seeing the phenomenon of 'machine speech' enhanced by the development of sophisticated artificial intelligence. Ronald K. L. Collins and David M. Skover argue that the First Amendment must provide defenses and justifications for covering and protecting robotic expression. It is irrelevant that a robot is not human and cannot have intentions; what matters is that a human experiences robotic speech as meaningful. This is the constitutional recognition of 'intentionless free speech' at the interface of the robot and receiver. Robotica is the first book to develop the legal arguments for these purposes. Aimed at law and communication scholars, lawyers, and free speech activists, this work explores important new problems and solutions at the interface of law and technology.

In every era of communications technology - whether print, radio, television, or Internet - some form of government censorship follows to regulate the medium and its messages. Today we are seeing the phenomenon of 'machine speech' enhanced by the development of sophisticated artificial intelligence. Ronald K. L. Collins and David M. Skover argue that the First Amendment must provide defenses and justifications for covering and protecting robotic expression. It is irrelevant that a robot is not human and cannot have intentions; what matters is that a human experiences robotic speech as meaningful. This is the constitutional recognition of 'intentionless free speech' at the interface of the robot and receiver. Robotica is the first book to develop the legal arguments for these purposes. Aimed at law and communication scholars, lawyers, and free speech activists, this work explores important new problems and solutions at the interface of law and technology.

In every era of communications technology - whether print, radio, television, or Internet - some form of government censorship follows to regulate the medium and its messages. Today we are seeing the phenomenon of ''machine speech'' enhanced by the development of sophisticated artificial intelligence. Ronald K. L. Collins and David M. Skover argue that the First Amendment must provide defenses and justifications for covering and protecting robotic expression. It is irrelevant that a robot is not human and cannot have intentions; what matters is that a human experiences robotic speech as meaningful. This is the constitutional recognition of ''intentionless free speech'' at the interface of the robot and receiver. Robotica is the first book to develop the legal arguments for these purposes. Aimed at law and communication scholars, lawyers, and free speech activists, this work explores important new problems and solutions at the interface of law and technology.

In every era of communications technology - whether print, radio, television, or Internet - some form of government censorship follows to regulate the medium and its messages. Today we are seeing the phenomenon of ''machine speech'' enhanced by the development of sophisticated artificial intelligence. Ronald K. L. Collins and David M. Skover argue that the First Amendment must provide defenses and justifications for covering and protecting robotic expression. It is irrelevant that a robot is not human and cannot have intentions; what matters is that a human experiences robotic speech as meaningful. This is the constitutional recognition of ''intentionless free speech'' at the interface of the robot and receiver. Robotica is the first book to develop the legal arguments for these purposes. Aimed at law and communication scholars, lawyers, and free speech activists, this work explores important new problems and solutions at the interface of law and technology.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s name does not appear in any First Amendment treatise or casebook. And yet when the best-selling poet and proprietor of City Lights Books was indicted under California law for publishing and selling Allen Ginsberg’s poem, Howl, Ferglinghetti buttressed the tradition of dissident expression and ended an era when minds were still closed, candid literature still taboo, and when selling banned books was considered a crime. The People v. Ferlinghetti is the story of a rebellious poet, a revolutionary poem, an intrepid book publisher, and a bookseller unintimidated by federal or local officials. There is much color in that story: the bizarre twists of the trial, the swagger of the lead lawyer, the savvy of the young ACLU lawyer, and the surprise verdict of the Sunday school teacher who presided as judge. With a novelist’s flair, noted free speech authorities, Ronald K. L. Collins and David Skover tell the true story of an American maverick who refused to play it safe and who in the process gave staying power to freedom of the press in America. The People v. Ferlinghetti will be of interest to anyone interested the history of free speech in America and the history of the Beat poets.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s name does not appear in any First Amendment treatise or casebook. And yet when the best-selling poet and proprietor of City Lights Books was indicted under California law for publishing and selling Allen Ginsberg’s poem, Howl, Ferglinghetti buttressed the tradition of dissident expression and ended an era when minds were still closed, candid literature still taboo, and when selling banned books was considered a crime. The People v. Ferlinghetti is the story of a rebellious poet, a revolutionary poem, an intrepid book publisher, and a bookseller unintimidated by federal or local officials. There is much color in that story: the bizarre twists of the trial, the swagger of the lead lawyer, the savvy of the young ACLU lawyer, and the surprise verdict of the Sunday school teacher who presided as judge. With a novelist’s flair, noted free speech authorities, Ronald K. L. Collins and David Skover tell the true story of an American maverick who refused to play it safe and who in the process gave staying power to freedom of the press in America. The People v. Ferlinghetti will be of interest to anyone interested the history of free speech in America and the history of the Beat poets.