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What the Hell is the Major Questions Doctrine?

What the Hell is the Major Questions Doctrine?

Jul 10, 2025 Jack BeermannAdd a Comment

Anita S. Krishnakumar, What the New Major Questions Doctrine Is Not, 92 Geo. Wash. L. Rev. 1117 (2024).
Jack Beermann

Jack Beermann

When the sun sets in New York City, it rises in Tokyo. Okay, maybe not exactly, but you get the idea: setting somewhere, rising somewhere else. Now substitute Chevron for N.Y.C. and the Major Questions Doctrine for Tokyo. For the past forty years, administrative law scholars have been arguing over Chevron, and now that the sun has set on that doctrine, it’s time to turn our attention to the new rising sun, the Major Questions Doctrine (“MQD”). The sudden emergence and prominence of the MQD in administrative law has led scholars to ask just what kind of legal doctrine the MQD is. If the voluminous scholarship on Chevron is any indication, there will be much, much more to come.

Sometimes, to figure out what something is, you first have to figure out what it isn’t. That is what Professor Anita Krishnakumar has helped us do with her excellent article What the New Major Questions Doctrine is Not. In this article, Professor Krishnakumar persuasively argues that neither scholars nor jurists have provided convincing characterizations of the doctrine. After illustrating how all attempts thus far to categorize the MQD have failed, she offers her own tentative characterization, recognizing that a definitive answer is impossible because it’s relatively early in the life of the current MQD and because the Court’s opinions invoking the MQD are somewhat inconsistent and unclear, making a definitive characterization impossible. Remind anyone of Chevron scholarship?

Professor Krishnakumar tells us that scholars and Supreme Court justices have offered at least four potential characterizations of the MQD: (1) a proxy for the nondelegation doctrine; (2) a textualist device requiring that statutory language be read in its ordinary context as understood by the reasonable reader; (3) a linguistic canon; and (4) a return to purposivist or intentionalist statutory construction. Professor Krishnakumar offers two possible characterizations of her own: (1) a standard of judicial review concerning the implementation of statutes and (2) “old-fashioned pragmatic reasoning akin to the absurd results doctrine. (P. 1120.)”

Professor Krishnakumar’s explanation for why the MQD is not a proxy for or even a “close cousin” of the nondelegation doctrine is as simple as it is insightful. She shows, using the two vaccine-mandate cases as examples (one in which the Court rejected a mandate for all workers and another in which the Court upheld a mandate for health care workers), that the MQD is concerned with agency overreach while the non-delegation doctrine is concerned with the clarity of delegations. Professor Krishnakumar’s analysis compels the conclusion that an explicit statutory delegation to an agency to do “whatever the agency finds necessary no matter how major” might violate the nondelegation doctrine, but a court would be unlikely to be able to invalidate agency action under that statute based on the MQD.

Professor Krishnakumar also examines and rejects “Justice Barrett’s attempt to characterize the major questions doctrine as part of the ‘common sense’ context surrounding congressional delegations of power to administrative agencies. (P. 1130.)” Professor Krishnakumar notes that others have criticized Justice Barrett’s view on two grounds, first that “her definition of ‘context’ is ‘so broad’ that it leaves no distance between textualism and the more capacious interpretive approaches,” and second that “judges can easily accomplish policymaking under the label of ‘context.’ (P. 1130.)” Professor Krishnakumar adds to these critiques that “Justice Barrett’s ‘common sense’ context consists of a lot of background considerations that far exceed the capacity or awareness of most ‘reasonable readers’ or users of English—the textualist guidepost for determining a statute’s ordinary meaning. (P. 1131.)” In other words, the MQD cannot be textualist if ordinary readers do not understand the text in the ways that the MQD requires.

Professor Krishnakumar also refutes Ilan Wurman’s characterization of the MQD as a linguistic canon by noting that the MQD “does not share the usual features of a linguistic canon in that it is not triggered by sentence structure or grammar, and that it leaves courts too much wiggle room to determine what counts as “‘important.’ (Pp. 1121-1122.)” Importance, Professor Krishnakumar argues, is not a linguistic matter; it’s a practical understanding of the situation addressed by the statute on which there is likely to be significant disagreement. As she puts it “what counts as ‘important’ is a subjective, open-ended, often difficult to define inquiry—different in kind from the more straightforward determination that a statute contains a particular grammatical device or sentence structure. (P. 1137.)”

Finally, in the “what it’s not” portion of the article, Professor Krishnakumar rejects the notion that the MQD is a return to a more purposivist and less textualist form of statutory interpretation. She acknowledges that this characterization appears facially sensible, but she finds a fatal flaw. She explains that the Court’s MQD cases do not rest on any “objective historical or legislative record (P. 1145)” to establish the relevant statutes’ purposes. Rather, they appear to be based on the Justices’ own intuitions about what powers Congress would have likely delegated to an agency in language that at least plausibly does so. Further, she argues that the Court focuses on the wrong congressional purposes because the Court looks not at the legislative purpose of the enacting Congress but rather seems more concerned about what powers the current Congress would want the agencies to exercise. This, again, seems more about the Justices’ views than the purposes underlying the statutes involved in the cases.

Okay, so now we know what it’s not. What is it? Here, Professor Krishnakumar admirably admits that it is a bit early to come to a definitive answer to this question, especially in light of the numerous factors the Court invokes when it applies the MQD. She offers a couple of possibilities and encourages us to stay tuned as the courts elaborate the MQD in future cases. For now, her most plausible tentative characterization of the MQD is that it is a form of “practical consequences reading” similar to the absurdity canon, which counsels against reading statutes in a way that produces absurd results. Her support for this view lies in the way the Court has deployed the MQD: it “is open-ended, leaving it entirely up to courts to determine what counts as economic or political ‘significance,’ or as a matter of ‘robust’ political debate, or a ‘novel’ as opposed to typical agency practice. (P. 1158.)” Finally, the fact that the Court has been inconsistent in how and when it applies the MQD supports the theory that the doctrine most closely resembles a practical-effects-based test.”

I have to confess that ordinarily I have little patience for statutory construction scholarship, probably because I have never been convinced that any of the traditional principles of statutory construction, rather than the policy views of the deciding judges, explain the results in interesting cases. Professor Krishnakumar’s article is a refreshing exception to my usual aversion to this sort of scholarship. It was a pleasure to read and I learned a great deal from it. My advice: read it!

Cite as: Jack Beermann, What the Hell is the Major Questions Doctrine?, JOTWELL (July 10, 2025) (reviewing Anita S. Krishnakumar, What the New Major Questions Doctrine Is Not, 92 Geo. Wash. L. Rev. 1117 (2024)), https://zetasec.jotwell.com/what-the-hell-is-the-major-questions-doctrine-2/.

What the Hell is the Major Questions Doctrine?

Jun 10, 2025 Jack BeermannAdd a Comment

Anita S. Krishnakumar, What the New Major Questions Doctrine Is Not, 92 Geo. Wash. L. Rev. 1117 (2024).
Jack Beermann

Jack Beermann

When the sun sets in New York City, it rises in Tokyo. Okay, maybe not exactly, but you get the idea: setting somewhere, rising somewhere else. Now substitute Chevron for N.Y.C. and the Major Questions Doctrine for Tokyo. For the past forty years, administrative law scholars have been arguing over Chevron, and now that the sun has set on that doctrine, it’s time to turn our attention to the new rising sun, the Major Questions Doctrine (“MQD”). The sudden emergence and prominence of the MQD in administrative law has led scholars to ask just what kind of legal doctrine the MQD is. If the voluminous scholarship on Chevron is any indication, there will be much, much more to come.

Sometimes, to figure out what something is, you first have to figure out what it isn’t. That is what Professor Anita Krishnakumar has helped us do with her excellent article What the New Major Questions Doctrine is Not. In this article, Professor Krishnakumar persuasively argues that neither scholars nor jurists have provided convincing characterizations of the doctrine. After illustrating how all attempts thus far to categorize the MQD have failed, she offers her own tentative characterization, recognizing that a definitive answer is impossible because it’s relatively early in the life of the current MQD and because the Court’s opinions invoking the MQD are somewhat inconsistent and unclear, making a definitive characterization impossible. Remind anyone of Chevron scholarship?

Professor Krishnakumar tells us that scholars and Supreme Court justices have offered at least four potential characterizations of the MQD: (1) a proxy for the nondelegation doctrine; (2) a textualist device requiring that statutory language be read in its ordinary context as understood by the reasonable reader; (3) a linguistic canon; and (4) a return to purposivist or intentionalist statutory construction. Professor Krishnakumar offers two possible characterizations of her own: (1) a standard of judicial review concerning the implementation of statutes and (2) “old-fashioned pragmatic reasoning akin to the absurd results doctrine. (P. 1120.)”

Professor Krishnakumar’s explanation for why the MQD is not a proxy for or even a “close cousin” of the nondelegation doctrine is as simple as it is insightful. She shows, using the two vaccine-mandate cases as examples (one in which the Court rejected a mandate for all workers and another in which the Court upheld a mandate for health care workers), that the MQD is concerned with agency overreach while the non-delegation doctrine is concerned with the clarity of delegations. Professor Krishnakumar’s analysis compels the conclusion that an explicit statutory delegation to an agency to do “whatever the agency finds necessary no matter how major” might violate the nondelegation doctrine, but a court would be unlikely to be able to invalidate agency action under that statute based on the MQD.

Professor Krishnakumar also examines and rejects “Justice Barrett’s attempt to characterize the major questions doctrine as part of the ‘common sense’ context surrounding congressional delegations of power to administrative agencies. (P. 1130.)” Professor Krishnakumar notes that others have criticized Justice Barrett’s view on two grounds, first that “her definition of ‘context’ is ‘so broad’ that it leaves no distance between textualism and the more capacious interpretive approaches,” and second that “judges can easily accomplish policymaking under the label of ‘context.’ (P. 1130.)” Professor Krishnakumar adds to these critiques that “Justice Barrett’s ‘common sense’ context consists of a lot of background considerations that far exceed the capacity or awareness of most ‘reasonable readers’ or users of English—the textualist guidepost for determining a statute’s ordinary meaning. (P. 1131.)” In other words, the MQD cannot be textualist if ordinary readers do not understand the text in the ways that the MQD requires.

Professor Krishnakumar also refutes Ilan Wurman’s characterization of the MQD as a linguistic canon by noting that the MQD “does not share the usual features of a linguistic canon in that it is not triggered by sentence structure or grammar, and that it leaves courts too much wiggle room to determine what counts as “‘important.’ (Pp. 1121-1122.)” Importance, Professor Krishnakumar argues, is not a linguistic matter; it’s a practical understanding of the situation addressed by the statute on which there is likely to be significant disagreement. As she puts it “what counts as ‘important’ is a subjective, open-ended, often difficult to define inquiry—different in kind from the more straightforward determination that a statute contains a particular grammatical device or sentence structure. (P. 1137.)”

Finally, in the “what it’s not” portion of the article, Professor Krishnakumar rejects the notion that the MQD is a return to a more purposivist and less textualist form of statutory interpretation. She acknowledges that this characterization appears facially sensible, but she finds a fatal flaw. She explains that the Court’s MQD cases do not rest on any “objective historical or legislative record (P. 1145)” to establish the relevant statutes’ purposes. Rather, they appear to be based on the Justices’ own intuitions about what powers Congress would have likely delegated to an agency in language that at least plausibly does so. Further, she argues that the Court focuses on the wrong congressional purposes because the Court looks not at the legislative purpose of the enacting Congress but rather seems more concerned about what powers the current Congress would want the agencies to exercise. This, again, seems more about the Justices’ views than the purposes underlying the statutes involved in the cases.

Okay, so now we know what it’s not. What is it? Here, Professor Krishnakumar admirably admits that it is a bit early to come to a definitive answer to this question, especially in light of the numerous factors the Court invokes when it applies the MQD. She offers a couple of possibilities and encourages us to stay tuned as the courts elaborate the MQD in future cases. For now, her most plausible tentative characterization of the MQD is that it is a form of “practical consequences reading” similar to the absurdity canon, which counsels against reading statutes in a way that produces absurd results. Her support for this view lies in the way the Court has deployed the MQD: it “is open-ended, leaving it entirely up to courts to determine what counts as economic or political ‘significance,’ or as a matter of ‘robust’ political debate, or a ‘novel’ as opposed to typical agency practice. (P. 1158.)” Finally, the fact that the Court has been inconsistent in how and when it applies the MQD supports the theory that the doctrine most closely resembles a practical-effects-based test.”

I have to confess that ordinarily I have little patience for statutory construction scholarship, probably because I have never been convinced that any of the traditional principles of statutory construction, rather than the policy views of the deciding judges, explain the results in interesting cases. Professor Krishnakumar’s article is a refreshing exception to my usual aversion to this sort of scholarship. It was a pleasure to read and I learned a great deal from it. My advice: read it!

Cite as: Jack Beermann, What the Hell is the Major Questions Doctrine?, JOTWELL (June 10, 2025) (reviewing Anita S. Krishnakumar, What the New Major Questions Doctrine Is Not, 92 Geo. Wash. L. Rev. 1117 (2024)), https://zetasec.jotwell.com/what-the-hell-is-the-major-questions-doctrine/.

Heavily Footnoted Test Post

Dec 3, 2024 Test UserzetasecAdd a Comment

Robert L. Rabin, Stand Alone Emotional Harm: Old Wine in New Bottles, 73 DePaul L. Rev., 733 (2024).
Test User

Test User

As an early-career beneficiary of Jotwell, I often use my annual platform to spotlight the work of emerging or underappreciated scholars. Robert Rabin is emphatically not a member of that group. Why, then, is Stand Alone Emotional Harm: Old Wine in New Bottles by Robert L. Rabin, the thing I like lots right now? The piece elegantly observes – and joins – an incipient movement to recenter in tort non-physical injuries that tarnish American social life. These claims have long been ridiculed by mainstream tort, so they need a prominent champion like Rabin.

Rabin’s contribution to the 2023 Clifford Symposium on Tort Law and Social Justice1 is compact but undeniable. In eleven short pages, he makes the case that much maligned non-physical injuries actually have a centuries-long pedigree in tort. The drunken hatcheteer in I de S. v. W de S.,2 for example, was made to pay the tavernkeeper who escaped the blade because assault doctrine recognized a personality interest extending beyond the body. The same expansive notion of personality, he observes, has been driving judges since the nineteenth century to order compensation for those suffering “serious emotional distress” at the hands of others.3 Over time, he suggests, these exceptions have come to look a lot like a new rule, one willing to stigmatize one-on-one behavior that inflicts non-physical social harm.

He begins with the nineteenth century expansion of consortium claims to cover not just a husband’s loss of a wife’s services but any spousal loss of companionship.4 From there, he identifies turn-of-the-century forerunners to the intentional infliction of emotional distress tort (IIED), including the chestnuts Wilkinson v. Downton5 and Nickerson v. Hodges,6 in which women ridiculed by community jokes won compensation for their long-term trauma. He sees the tort of negligent infliction of emotional distress as a cousin to IIED in its willingness to forego a physical injury requirement and instead compel compensation for “pure unadulterated distress and grief” experienced by those who narrowly escape harm or watch loved ones suffer it.7

Rabin next documents how even torts that do not allude to emotional distress legitimate it as an interest. For example, twentieth century privacy law treats as worthy of legal recognition a personal interest in dignity and control over one’s physical surroundings and intimate information.8 And twenty-first century privacy law has attempted to deter revenge pornography and sexualized deepfake imagery.9 Finally, given his expertise in health care and compensation systems, it is unsurprising that Rabin finds tributaries of emotional harm protection emerging in both arenas, via intensified informed consent requirements and the introduction of emotional distress as a component of workers compensation awards.10

This history shows the length and breadth of tort’s concern for non-physical injury; it neatly refutes the canard that tort has limited itself to body and property. That alone, coming from Rabin, should afflict the comfortable. But he is not content to simply offer an alternate history of psychic harms in tort. He also aims to offer a theoretical justification for placing these harms in the modern mainstream. Here, too, his voice is critical and welcome. Body and property are physical artifacts, knowable to all and bearing objective properties, so there is general agreement on the equity of holding actors liable for injuring them. In contrast, non-physical injury does not take up space in the observable world. Thought to reside exclusively in a plaintiff’s psyche, it is often condemned as too “subjective” and “untethered” to deserve tort recognition.11

Rabin takes this objection seriously. He responds by offering an unusually precise taxonomy of tort’s non-physical interests, extracted from both doctrine and caselaw. So, for example, loss of consortium and bystander NIED awards treat, as real tort injuries, “grief and despair” at the loss of expressive family relationships.12 The various privacy actions treat as real tort injuries invasions of “personal inviolability” and “dignity.”13 Informed consent, too, protects patient dignity and individual autonomy.14 Workers’ compensation awards for non-physical harm reflect a legal interest in avoiding the depression, fear, and occasional guilt that may arise from accidents and injuries in the modern workplace.15 Finally, Rabin tackles the least bounded tort of all, IIED. He acknowledges that tort is wary of declaring an interest in deterring “rude” or “uncivil” behavior but suggests that in the twenty-first century, the tort expresses the law’s rejection of the “abuse” that is too often visited on women and people of color.16

Will this sincere attempt to concretize tort’s interests in non-physical harm satisfy the emotional injury naysayers? Plaudits to Rabin aside, I’m not sure. It is true that a new generation of tort scholars, myself included, are entirely sympathetic to the idea that non-physical injury is real and that tort duties are not limited to the physical world.17 But we, and Rabin, too often draw from a menu of soft, aspirational words like “dignity,” to describe the preferred interest; and equally soft condemnatory words like “distress” or “abuse,” to describe the wrongs at issue. Once tort ventures into the intangible, skeptics pounce.

Luckily, these words do have meaning. A right to “dignity” can be understood as an expectation of equal worth,18 while “abuse” is arguably a wrong because it connotes a “using up” of someone else’s worth.19 Of course, in life generally, and American capitalist life specifically, we use others with some regularity. When does the “implied license of the playground”20 exhaust itself? Hard to know.21 Perhaps, contra Rabin,22 the concept of “insult” does have a useful role to play in identifying the line between rightful gumption and wrongful aggression. Insult originally meant to “trample on,”23 and, later, identified behavior that was considered “exulting” or “arrogant.”24 It conjures an actor who assumes he is “up here,” while others – often by virtue of socially constructed hierarchies – are “down there.”25

Notably, this concept aligns almost precisely with the cases Rabin uses to illustrate the past, present, and future law of non-physical wronging. The barkeep expected to open her tavern at the whim of a tippler?26 A woman. A spit-upon battery plaintiff?27 A man whose net worth was one percent of his assailant’s. The proto-IIED plaintiffs?28 A would-be widow, and a mentally fragile spinster. The NIED plaintiffs?29 A frightened child and two mothers grieving offspring killed by malfunctioning machinery. The privacy plaintiffs?30 A quadriplegic woman filmed for a reality television show and a teenaged girl whose portrait was used unbeknownst to her to advertise flour. In virtually every case, the plaintiff belonged to a gender, class, or race identity group with limited access to economic or social capital, while the defendant belonged to a corresponding identity group with generous access to those resources. And in almost every case, the defendant seemed to assume this status gap justified the intentional or careless treatment of the plaintiff as unworthy in relation to him. Thus, the dignitary injuries in each case are grounded in status hierarchies and might more plausibly be called tortious insults than tortious indignities or abuses.

Friendly amendments notwithstanding, Rabin’s typically incisive commentary comes at a crucial time. The American Law Institute is deep into work on the Remedies and the Defamation and Privacy sections of the Restatement (Third) of Torts,31 and if they pay attention to it, Rabin’s powerful work of history and theory has the potential to modernize tort’s approach to interpersonal wrongs and remedies for the current age.

  1. 29th Annual Clifford Tort Symposium Discusses New Torts, Clifford L. Off.
  2. Id. at 733 (citing I de S. v. W de S., Y.B. Lib. As. Folio 99, placitum 60 (Assizes 1348)).
  3. Id. at 734.
  4. Id. at 735.
  5. Id. at 736 (citing Wilkinson v. Downton, 2 Q.B. 57 (1897)).
  6. Id. (citing Nickerson v. Hodges, 146 La. 735 (1920)).
  7. Id. at 738.
  8. Id. at 738-40.
  9. Id. (citing, inter alia, Samuel D. Warren & Louis D. Brandeis, The Right to Privacy, 4 Harv. L. Rev. 193 (1890)).
  10. Id. at 741-43.
  11. See, e.g., Cristina Carmody Tilley, The Tort of Outrage and Some Objectivity about Subjectivity, 12 J. Tort L. 283 (2019).
  12. Rabin, supra note 1, at 736.
  13. Id. at 738.
  14. Id. at 741.
  15. Id. at 742-43.
  16. Id. at 736-37.
  17. See, e.g., Scott Skinner-Thompson, Anti-Subordination Torts, 83 Ohio St. L.J. 427 (2022).
  18. Dignity, Online Etymology Dictionary (last visited Oct. 1, 2024).
  19. Abuse, Online Etymology Dictionary (last visited Oct. 1, 2024).
  20. Vosburg v. Putney, 50 N.W. 403, 404 (Wis. 1890).
  21. See, e.g., Anita Bernstein, Reciprocity, Utility, and the Law of Aggression, 54 Vand. L. Rev. 1, 8-9 (2001).
  22. See, e.g., Restatement (Second) of Torts § 46 cmt. d (Reporter William L. Prosser noting that “mere insults” and “petty oppressions” are “trivialities” to which recipients must simply “harden” themselves in a society with “rough edges”). See also Rabin, supra note 1, at 737, (ruling out “rudeness” as wrongful).
  23. Insult, Online Etymology Dictionary (last visited Oct. 1, 2024).
  24. Id.
  25. See, e.g., Jeffrie G. Murphy, Forgiveness and Resentment, in Jeffrie G. Murphy & Jean Hampton, Forgiveness and Mercy 25 (1990).
  26. Rabin, supra note 1, at 733.
  27. Id. at 734 (citing Alcorn v. Mitchell, 63 Ill. 553 (1872)).
  28. Id. at 736 (citing Wilkinson v. Downton, 2 Q.B. 57 (1897); Nickerson v. Hodges, 146 La. 735 (1920)).
  29. Id. at 737-38 (citing Dillon v. Legg, 441 P.2d 912, 914 (Cal. 1968); Porter v. Jaffee, 417 A.2d 521 (N.J. 1908)).
  30. Id. at 738-40 (citing Shulman v. Group W. Prods, Inc., 955 P.2d 469 (Cal. 1998); Robertson v. Rochester Folding Box Co., 64 N.E. 442 (1902)).
  31. See, e.g., Restatement (Third) of Torts: Remedies Tent. Draft No. 2 (April 2023) §§ 21-22 (discussing emotional distress and dignitary harm).
Cite as: Test User, Heavily Footnoted Test Post, JOTWELL (December 3, 2024) (reviewing Robert L. Rabin, Stand Alone Emotional Harm: Old Wine in New Bottles, 73 DePaul L. Rev., 733 (2024)), https://zetasec.jotwell.com/heavily-footnoted-test-post/.

3rd FWP Test–After Upgrade to WP 6.7.1

Nov 21, 2024 Michael FroomkinzetasecAdd a Comment

Not John Hart Ely, The Wages of Crying Wolf: A Comment on Roe v. Wade, 82 Yale L.J. 920 (1973).
Michael Froomkin

Michael Froomkin

Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry’s standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum.13

Why do we use it? It is a long established fact that a reader will be distracted by the readable content of a page when looking at its layout. The point of using Lorem Ipsum is that it has a more-or-less normal distribution of letters, as opposed to using ‘Content here, content here’, making it look like readable English. Many desktop publishing packages and web page editors now use Lorem Ipsum as their default model text, and a search for ‘lorem ipsum’ will uncover many web sites still in their infancy. Various versions have evolved over the years, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose (injected humour and the like).

Contrary to popular belief,14 Lorem Ipsum is not simply random text. It has roots in a piece of classical Latin literature from 45 BC, making it over 2000 years old. Richard McClintock, a Latin professor at Hampden-Sydney College in Virginia, looked up one of the more obscure Latin words, consectetur, from a Lorem Ipsum passage, and going through the cites of the word in classical literature, discovered the undoubtable source. Lorem Ipsum comes from sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 of “de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum” (The Extremes of Good and Evil) by Cicero, written in 45 BC. This book is a treatise on the theory of ethics, very popular during the Renaissance. The first line of Lorem Ipsum, “Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet..”, comes from a line in section 1.10.32.

The standard chunk of Lorem Ipsum used since the 1500s15 is reproduced below for those interested. Sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 from “de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum” by Cicero are also reproduced in their exact original form, accompanied by English versions from the 1914 translation by H. Rackham

  1. I am a footnote.
  2. I am a footnote.
  3. I am a footnote.
Cite as: Michael Froomkin, 3rd FWP Test–After Upgrade to WP 6.7.1, JOTWELL (November 21, 2024) (reviewing Not John Hart Ely, The Wages of Crying Wolf: A Comment on Roe v. Wade, 82 Yale L.J. 920 (1973)), https://zetasec.jotwell.com/3rd-fwp-test-after-upgrade-to-wp-6-7-1/.

2nd FWP Test 1/19/24 — After WP Upgrade

Nov 19, 2024 Michael FroomkinzetasecAdd a Comment

Michael Froomkin

Michael Froomkin

Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry’s standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum.

Why do we use it? It is a long established fact that a reader will be distracted by the readable content of a page when looking at its layout. The point of using Lorem Ipsum is that it has a more-or-less normal distribution of letters, as opposed to using ‘Content here, content here’, making it look like readable English. Many desktop publishing packages and web page editors now use Lorem Ipsum as their default model text, and a search for ‘lorem ipsum’ will uncover many web sites still in their infancy. Various versions have evolved over the years, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose (injected humour and the like).

Contrary to popular belief, Lorem Ipsum is not simply random text. It has roots in a piece of classical Latin literature from 45 BC, making it over 2000 years old. Richard McClintock, a Latin professor at Hampden-Sydney College in Virginia, looked up one of the more obscure Latin words, consectetur, from a Lorem Ipsum passage, and going through the cites of the word in classical literature, discovered the undoubtable source. Lorem Ipsum comes from sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 of “de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum” (The Extremes of Good and Evil) by Cicero, written in 45 BC. This book is a treatise on the theory of ethics, very popular during the Renaissance. The first line of Lorem Ipsum, “Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet..”, comes from a line in section 1.10.32.

The standard chunk of Lorem Ipsum used since the 1500s is reproduced below for those interested. Sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 from “de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum” by Cicero are also reproduced in their exact original form, accompanied by English versions from the 1914 translation by H. Rackham

FWP Test Nov. 19, 2024

Nov 19, 2024 Michael FroomkinzetasecAdd a Comment

Michael Froomkin

Michael Froomkin

Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry’s standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum.

Why do we use it? It is a long established fact that a reader will be distracted by the readable content of a page when looking at its layout. The point of using Lorem Ipsum is that it has a more-or-less normal distribution of letters, as opposed to using ‘Content here, content here’, making it look like readable English. Many desktop publishing packages and web page editors now use Lorem Ipsum as their default model text, and a search for ‘lorem ipsum’ will uncover many web sites still in their infancy. Various versions have evolved over the years, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose (injected humour and the like).

Contrary to popular belief, Lorem Ipsum is not simply random text. It has roots in a piece of classical Latin literature from 45 BC, making it over 2000 years old. Richard McClintock, a Latin professor at Hampden-Sydney College in Virginia, looked up one of the more obscure Latin words, consectetur, from a Lorem Ipsum passage, and going through the cites of the word in classical literature, discovered the undoubtable source. Lorem Ipsum comes from sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 of “de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum” (The Extremes of Good and Evil) by Cicero, written in 45 BC. This book is a treatise on the theory of ethics, very popular during the Renaissance. The first line of Lorem Ipsum, “Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet..”, comes from a line in section 1.10.32.

The standard chunk of Lorem Ipsum used since the 1500s is reproduced below for those interested. Sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 from “de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum” by Cicero are also reproduced in their exact original form, accompanied by English versions from the 1914 translation by H. Rackham