Over
the
past
year,
the
century-and-a-half
old
Jevons
Paradox,
which
postulates
that
increased
efficiencies
lead
to
a
rise
rather
than
fall
in
consumption,
has
morphed
into
a
defiant
rallying
cry
for
lawyers
worried
that
AI
will
render
them
obsolete.
Like
a
celebrity
with
a
new
movie
release,
Jevons
has
made
guest
appearances
everywhere
from
scholarly
journals
to
Substack
musings
to
X
(fka
Twitter),
where
commenters
have
arrived
at
the
same
self-satisfied
conclusion:
AI
will
usher
in
an
era
of
increased
legal
workload.
Preliminary
data
backs
the
hype.
A
recent
study
by
Anand
Shah
(MIT)
and
Joshua
Levy
(University
of
Southern
California)
found
that
cases
where
parties
are
represented
by
counsel
generated
23
percent
more
docket
entries
per
case
during
the
study
period
than
they
did
before
AI.
The
authors
conclude
that
“this
can
be
explained
by
attorneys
using
LLMs
too,”
which
suggests
that
LLMs
are
having
an
important
intensive-margin
effect
by
lowering
drafting
costs.
But
here’s
the
thing:
are
more
filings
really
what
we
want?
The
legal
profession’s
near-universal
embrace
of
Jevons
Paradox
rests
on
an
unexamined
assumption
that
an
increase
in
legal
output
is
inherently
beneficial.
More
motions.
More
briefs.
More
discovery
requests.
More
redlining
rounds.
More
administrative
filings.
Yet
quantity
and
value
are
not
the
same
thing.
If
AI
reduces
the
cost
of
producing
legal
work,
the
real
question
is
not
whether
lawyers
will
generate
more
of
it,
but
instead,
whether
they
should.
Legal
practice
when
the
sky’s
the
limit.
Historically,
a
client’s
budget
functioned
as
a
form
of
discipline
for
nearly
all
lawyers
except
those
at
the
hoity-est
law
firms
(yes,
the
ones
billing
legal
assistants
out
at
$790/hr).
Although
law
school
trains
lawyers
to
prize
quantity
(spotting
more
issues
earns
a
higher
grade),
in
practice,
lawyers
can
only
pursue
as
many
issues
as
a
client
can
afford.
Cost
has
always
forced
prioritization.
Which
discovery
requests
are
worth
pursuing?
Which
filings
will
actually
advance
the
client’s
interests?
AI
weakens
that
discipline
because
it
makes
it
possible
to
generate
legal
work
at
near-zero
marginal
cost.
So
what
does
law
practice
look
like
when
the
sky’s
the
limit?
Short
answer:
it’s
not
pretty.
Take
a
look
at
some
of
the
recent
filings
coming
to
light
as
a
result
of
ongoing
investigation
of
former
immigration
attorney
Alexandra
Lozano
and
her
disciples
for
running
high
volume
immigration
law
practices
that
allegedly
steered
clients
into
immigration
applications
for
which
they
were
not
qualified.
Services
also
apparently
included
immigration-related
FOIA
requests
with
records
showing
that
the
Ohio-based
Lisinski
firm
filing
over
10,000
requests
between
June
and
August
2025,
while
the
Lozano
firm
filed
more
than
2500.
(similar
filing
frenzies
occurred
during
other
timeframes).
The
missing
resource:
judgment
Whether
every
one
of
those
requests
was
justified
is
ultimately
beside
the
point.
The
sheer
volume
illustrates
what
happens
when
legal
processes
become
scalable.
If
a
FOIA
request
generates
even
a
modest
$200
fee,
then
10,000
requests
translates
into
$2
million
in
revenue
in
just
two
months.
The
economic
incentive
is
obvious.
The
public
benefit
is
less
so.
And
that,
dear
readers,
is
the
real
paradox
behind
the
Jevons
Paradox
in
law.
The
profession
has
seized
on
Jevons
as
proof
that
AI
will
not
eliminate
lawyers
because
cheaper
legal
work
will
create
more
legal
work.
But
that
response
dodges
the
harder
question:
more
work
for
whom,
at
whose
expense,
and
to
what
end?
Courts,
agencies,
adversaries,
clients,
and
the
public
all
operate
within
systems
of
finite
attention.
Every
motion
must
be
reviewed,
every
discovery
request
answered
or
objected
to.
Every
new
legal
filing
consumes
time
somewhere,
even
if
AI
makes
it
effortless
for
the
lawyer
to
generate.
In
that
sense,
AI
does
not
eliminate
cost;
it
simply
redistributes
it.
What’s
even
more
frightening
is
that
when
lawyers
no
longer
have
budget
as
a
natural
constraint,
judgment
becomes
the
only
remaining
discipline.
That
should
make
us
nervous.
Sad
to
say,
Alexandra
Lozano
was
hardly
the
only
lawyer
preaching
the
gospel
of
scale.
The
legal
industry
is
awash
in
coaches,
consultants,
and
influencers
promising
lawyers
greater
profits
through
higher
volume,
premium
pricing,
and
relentless
efficiency.
Some
teach
lawyers
to
monetize
every
client
interaction.
Others
encourage
lawyers
to
package
routine
services
into
repeatable,
high-margin
products.
Against
that
backdrop,
AI
is
arriving
on
the
scene
when
our
profession
is
increasingly
shaped
by
a
culture
that
celebrates
output,
growth,
and
revenue
as
ends
in
themselves.
In
this
environment,
AI
functions
as
a
perverse
superpower
that
does
not
simply
make
lawyers
more
efficient
but
instead
amplifies
scale
for
the
sake
of
scale.
AI
untethered
crowds
out
judgment.
The
Jevons
Paradox
may
well
prove
true.
AI
may
unleash
a
flood
of
new
legal
work.
But
if
that
work
consists
of
redundant
filings,
marginal
motions,
bloated
discovery,
mass-generated
administrative
requests,
and
endless
rounds
of
AI-assisted
redlining,
then
we
lawyers
should
be
careful
about
declaring
victory.
A
profession
saved
by
generating
more
paperwork
has
not
been
saved
in
any
meaningful
sense.
It
has
merely
found
a
way
to
keep
itself
busy.
The
better
measure
of
AI’s
value
is
not
how
much
more
legal
work
it
allows
us
to
produce,
but
whether
it
helps
us
produce
work
that
is
more
targeted,
more
strategic,
more
affordable,
and
more
just.
The
future
of
law
should
not
belong
to
the
lawyers
who
can
generate
the
most
filings
but
to
those
who
retain
the
judgment
and
the
discipline
to
know
when
enough
is
enough.
And
not
coincidentally,
that’s
the
space
that
my
beloved
solo
and
small
law
firms
occupy.
For
generations,
we
have
lived
with
constraints
that
force
us
to
exercise
judgment,
prioritize
relentlessly,
and
focus
on
outcomes
rather
than
activity
for
activity’s
sake.
In
a
world
where
AI
makes
unlimited
legal
production
possible,
the
lawyers
who
thrive
may
not
be
those
who
can
do
the
most,
but
the
solos
and
smalls
who
do
what
matters
when
it
matters
most.