It’s a day that ends in “y” so we have another story about a lawyer filing fake citations with a court after Skynet trolled him with phony research. The first public hallucination humiliation should’ve nipped this in the bud and yet — somehow — the problem seems to be accelerating. The latest out of New York is, in a lot of ways, par for the course. Some non-existent case citations and misattributed quotations, but no wrong legal theories. And the lawyer responded swiftly upon learning of the mistake.
We’ve said before that sanctions need to keep ratcheting up to reflect that as these stories become more pervasive, lawyers still making these mistakes are running out of excuses. Still, if a lawyer responds quickly and contritely, they can enjoy some grace if only to draw a line between boneheaded errors and doubling down and citing more fake cases to defend the first set of fake cases.
So this story should sit comfortably in the “oops, my bad” category. But then he decided to write his apology straight out of the deleted scenes from Dead Poets Society:
My professional practice has always been guided by the principle that legal advocacy is not mere mechanical execution, but a craft that demands the gardener’s touch—a careful, lasting engagement that leaves something of oneself behind. Each citation, each argument, each procedural decision is a mark upon the clay, an indelible impression that may one day be studied, critiqued, or serve as a cautionary tale.
My eyes rolled so hard that I’m dizzy. Come on, man! The profession is pretentious enough as it is without calling every citation an indelible mark upon the clay.
In this spirit, I recognize that the work we do as advocates—our filings, our citations, our choices—are not ephemeral. They endure, shaping the legal landscape and, in their own way, becoming part of the record of our professional lives. My aspiration is always to be the gardener, not the lawn-cutter: to leave a mark that is careful, thoughtful, and lasting, even as I acknowledge and learn from my errors.
Ephemeral? You’re not a goth kid trying to score a spot in the 8th grade literary magazine — you can just say “sorry” without going all Albert Camus. There’s a reason no one’s writing: “Verily, my failure to comply with the court’s page limit has left me in a state of deep despondence not unlike that of the majestic black swan….”
Thankfully, the brief gets back on track to recount the steps that led to the error, noting that he had employed cross-verification tools but that those had failed. He also identifies a breakdown in the legal technology landscape itself:
The primary source of citation inaccuracies stems from database migration complications wherein (i) many problematic citations originated from research conducted in December 2024 using Casetext with CoCounsel, (ii) when Casetext was subsequently acquired by Thomson Reuters and integrated into Westlaw, I discontinued my subscription due to prohibitive cost constraints, thereby losing verification access to previously compiled authorities, and (iii) this technological disruption created a verification gap that my alternative research methods failed to adequately bridge.
There’s a lot of grumbling out there about Casetext’s final absorption into Thomson Reuters. Multiple small and solo lawyers have expressed frustration about TR’s pricing structure and it touches on access to justice issues if legal AI becomes a force multiplier only accessible to the deepest Biglaw pockets. On the other hand, AI is expensive — or at least all the work required to keep the product from hallucinating up fake cases is expensive — and companies have to get that money somewhere. TR paid over $600M for Casetext and they’re going to have to get that money back.
But all that aside, this explanation should raise red flags — see what I did there — because if the Casetext/TR migration issue tripped up “Michelangelo of the Motion” over here, it’s going to happen to someone else too. Casetext was too beloved of a platform for this to be an isolated situation.
Then the response outlines the attorney’s plans for the future:
Note how there’s a plan that doesn’t run away from AI. It’s too trite and almost definitely bad policy to say, “I promise I’ll never use AI again.” It’s basically a high school abstinence pledge: noble, doomed, and going to involve gratuitous Bible quotes. That analogy might’ve gotten away from me, but I’m sticking by it. First of all, it’s a lie because AI will weasel its way into everything before too long so there’s no way to avoid it. And second, it’s actually a useful tool as long as lawyers understand what it can and can’t accomplish. The legal profession is going to use AI… figure out how to do it without injecting ethical disasters into the workflow.
Honestly, attorneys who find themselves on the wrong end of a hallucination matter should look to this response as a template. Take immediate action, apologize, explain the problem so future lawyers know exactly what happened, and proactively forge an AI plan for the future. The substance of this response should be taught in CLEs.
OK, maybe don’t follow everything from this template:
Your Honor, in the ancient libraries of Ashurbanipal, scribes carried their stylus as both tool and sacred trust—understanding that every mark upon clay would endure long beyond their mortal span. As the role the mark (x) in Ezekiel Chapter 9, that marked the foreheads with a tav (x) of blood and ink, bear the same solemn recognition: that the written word carries power to preserve or condemn, to build or destroy, and leaves an indelible mark which cannot be erased but should be withdrawn, let it lead other to think these citations were correct.
Oh my GOD, STOP! If the case isn’t about repatriating an archaeological find, the word “Ashurbanipal” should not be in the brief. It’s a court filing, not lore for the next Assassin’s Creed.
But hey… the gratuitous Biblical citation made it in there!
(Full brief on the next page…)
Joe Patrice is a senior editor at Above the Law and co-host of Thinking Like A Lawyer. Feel free to email any tips, questions, or comments. Follow him on Twitter or Bluesky if you’re interested in law, politics, and a healthy dose of college sports news. Joe also serves as a Managing Director at RPN Executive Search.
The post Lawyer Cites AI Hallucinations, Responds With Pretentious Meditation On Nature Of Being appeared first on Above the Law.
It’s a day that ends in “y” so we have another story about a lawyer filing fake citations with a court after Skynet trolled him with phony research. The first public hallucination humiliation should’ve nipped this in the bud and yet — somehow — the problem seems to be accelerating. The latest out of New York is, in a lot of ways, par for the course. Some non-existent case citations and misattributed quotations, but no wrong legal theories. And the lawyer responded swiftly upon learning of the mistake.
We’ve said before that sanctions need to keep ratcheting up to reflect that as these stories become more pervasive, lawyers still making these mistakes are running out of excuses. Still, if a lawyer responds quickly and contritely, they can enjoy some grace if only to draw a line between boneheaded errors and doubling down and citing more fake cases to defend the first set of fake cases.
So this story should sit comfortably in the “oops, my bad” category. But then he decided to write his apology straight out of the deleted scenes from Dead Poets Society:
My professional practice has always been guided by the principle that legal advocacy is not mere mechanical execution, but a craft that demands the gardener’s touch—a careful, lasting engagement that leaves something of oneself behind. Each citation, each argument, each procedural decision is a mark upon the clay, an indelible impression that may one day be studied, critiqued, or serve as a cautionary tale.
My eyes rolled so hard that I’m dizzy. Come on, man! The profession is pretentious enough as it is without calling every citation an indelible mark upon the clay.
In this spirit, I recognize that the work we do as advocates—our filings, our citations, our choices—are not ephemeral. They endure, shaping the legal landscape and, in their own way, becoming part of the record of our professional lives. My aspiration is always to be the gardener, not the lawn-cutter: to leave a mark that is careful, thoughtful, and lasting, even as I acknowledge and learn from my errors.
Ephemeral? You’re not a goth kid trying to score a spot in the 8th grade literary magazine — you can just say “sorry” without going all Albert Camus. There’s a reason no one’s writing: “Verily, my failure to comply with the court’s page limit has left me in a state of deep despondence not unlike that of the majestic black swan….”
Thankfully, the brief gets back on track to recount the steps that led to the error, noting that he had employed cross-verification tools but that those had failed. He also identifies a breakdown in the legal technology landscape itself:
The primary source of citation inaccuracies stems from database migration complications wherein (i) many problematic citations originated from research conducted in December 2024 using Casetext with CoCounsel, (ii) when Casetext was subsequently acquired by Thomson Reuters and integrated into Westlaw, I discontinued my subscription due to prohibitive cost constraints, thereby losing verification access to previously compiled authorities, and (iii) this technological disruption created a verification gap that my alternative research methods failed to adequately bridge.
There’s a lot of grumbling out there about Casetext’s final absorption into Thomson Reuters. Multiple small and solo lawyers have expressed frustration about TR’s pricing structure and it touches on access to justice issues if legal AI becomes a force multiplier only accessible to the deepest Biglaw pockets. On the other hand, AI is expensive — or at least all the work required to keep the product from hallucinating up fake cases is expensive — and companies have to get that money somewhere. TR paid over $600M for Casetext and they’re going to have to get that money back.
But all that aside, this explanation should raise red flags — see what I did there — because if the Casetext/TR migration issue tripped up “Michelangelo of the Motion” over here, it’s going to happen to someone else too. Casetext was too beloved of a platform for this to be an isolated situation.
Then the response outlines the attorney’s plans for the future:
Note how there’s a plan that doesn’t run away from AI. It’s too trite and almost definitely bad policy to say, “I promise I’ll never use AI again.” It’s basically a high school abstinence pledge: noble, doomed, and going to involve gratuitous Bible quotes. That analogy might’ve gotten away from me, but I’m sticking by it. First of all, it’s a lie because AI will weasel its way into everything before too long so there’s no way to avoid it. And second, it’s actually a useful tool as long as lawyers understand what it can and can’t accomplish. The legal profession is going to use AI… figure out how to do it without injecting ethical disasters into the workflow.
Honestly, attorneys who find themselves on the wrong end of a hallucination matter should look to this response as a template. Take immediate action, apologize, explain the problem so future lawyers know exactly what happened, and proactively forge an AI plan for the future. The substance of this response should be taught in CLEs.
OK, maybe don’t follow everything from this template:
Your Honor, in the ancient libraries of Ashurbanipal, scribes carried their stylus as both tool and sacred trust—understanding that every mark upon clay would endure long beyond their mortal span. As the role the mark (x) in Ezekiel Chapter 9, that marked the foreheads with a tav (x) of blood and ink, bear the same solemn recognition: that the written word carries power to preserve or condemn, to build or destroy, and leaves an indelible mark which cannot be erased but should be withdrawn, let it lead other to think these citations were correct.
Oh my GOD, STOP! If the case isn’t about repatriating an archaeological find, the word “Ashurbanipal” should not be in the brief. It’s a court filing, not lore for the next Assassin’s Creed.
But hey… the gratuitous Biblical citation made it in there!
(Full brief on the next page…)
Joe Patrice is a senior editor at Above the Law and co-host of Thinking Like A Lawyer. Feel free to email any tips, questions, or comments. Follow him on Twitter or Bluesky if you’re interested in law, politics, and a healthy dose of college sports news. Joe also serves as a Managing Director at RPN Executive Search.
