“Stuff expands to fill the space available.” If you’ve ever owned a closet, basement or garage at some point in your life, you know how true that is. The corollary, of course, is that the less space you have, the less stuff you find you really need. I once moved six times in the space of 4 1/2 years, and by the last move the contents of my life could fit comfortably in the back of a small van. What it comes down to is that we’ll always make room for the essentials, and that we’ll cram any remaining room with as many non-essentials as we can get.
Two interesting posts about knowledge management by Mary Abraham and Greg Lambert got me thinking about this. Greg’s article described the futility of capturing all knowledge available to you — you’ll end up with so much data that you’ll inevitably lose something important, or you won’t be able to find a key item as easily as you assumed you would. But because storage is so easy and so cheap — cheaper, in some cases, to store the data than to have it destroyed — we end up collecting far more knowledge than we’ll ever really need. “I’d wager that 90% of the emails, electronic documents, or paper documents we keep, we do because we are implementing the ‘CYA’ rule.” Mary expands upon Greg’s post by pointing out that “the first step to organizing stuff is — get rid of what you don’t need.” She questions the longstanding lawyer habit of filing everything away in the event it’s needed down the road. Not even Google, she notes, indexes everything.
I think both Greg and Mary are right, and their points touch upon a larger issue within the law — that deadly combination of perfectionism and risk-aversion that has made lawyers afraid to overlook or throw away anything. I still recall, as an articling student, opening a client file deeper than it was long, rifling through copies of memos, faxes, pink phone-message sheets, document drafts, etc., and thinking: Is all this stuff really necessary? I spent a summer working as a library archivist and came away from it both with an appreciation of acid-free paper and plastic paper clips, but more importantly, with a sense of the needlessness of preserving the irrelevant. And that was in the antediluvian days before email. What percentage of emails archived the world over are simply replies with the one word “Thanks”?
So I think the rise of “good enough,” already well underway in the client realm, could and should be transposed to the law firm world as well. We don’t need to search for, locate, bring back and keep everything, or even close to everything. Is it possible that an unturned stone or a discarded file could be the key to winning a case or defending a malpractice claim? Of course. It it even remotely probable? In most cases, no. There’s a cost-benefit analysis at play, and lawyers need to look seriously at the benefits of exhaustiveness before continung to incur its costs.
What concerns me, though, is that we’re actually headed in the opposite direction. And ironically, the source of the problem is in the very innovations that are introducing such efficiencies into the rest of the legal services industry. New developments like automated document assembly and offshore lawyers are lowering the costs of carrying out routine legal functions. And while that’s good for clients (and down the road, will be good for lawyers), one negative side effect is that these routine tasks are becoming more affordable by the day. And the cheaper something is, the easier it is to order up huge batches of it — just in case we need it.
Greg and Mary point out that the approaching-zero cost of storage means that there are almost no upfront cost penalties associated with filing something away. The same could start to apply to, say, due diligence and document review: in an increasingly frictionless cost environment, neither clients nor lawyers have much incentive to streamline, discern, or otherwise cut back on the types of things lawyers have traditionally done for clients. When costs are so low, benefits don’t have to be much higher to surpass them.
This is a significant issue for innovation in the law, because many existing innovations have come about in large part because the cost of doing things the old way was becoming prohibitive. If trials had remained concise and affordable, relative to what they are today, would the entire ADR system, which meets many more human needs than litigation, ever have developed?
We’re used to thinking that lower costs breed efficiencies, expand access, and generally serve as a force for good. And in many cases, they do. But they can also stall the natural process of reform by which all our legal institutions move forward. Near-infinite storage capacity has not made us wiser or happier — it’s only given us more stuff to keep track of. As the cost of routine legal work also continues to plummet, we could be in danger of a similar outcome for the law and lawyers: a legal system more cluttered, more complicated, and more weighed down by trivia than it needs to be.