In 1178, a man named Martin the Narrator stepped forward in Westminster Palace and spoke the first recorded words of the legal profession. He spoke them in Law French — a dialect no commoner could understand. For eight centuries, the law would remain locked behind language, credentials, and cost. But at every turn, reformers fought to open the gates.
We follow Abraham Lincoln reading Blackstone by candlelight in an Illinois cabin, teaching himself law with less than a year of formal schooling — and becoming the greatest lawyer-president in American history. We visit Indiana's bold 1851 constitution, which declared that any citizen of good moral character could practice law. We meet Rosemary Furman, the Florida grandmother who spent her retirement typing $50 divorce papers for people who couldn't afford attorneys — and whose courage helped spark a national conversation about legal access.
We trace how the Magna Carta's promise — "to no one will we sell, to no one deny or delay right or justice" — inspired generation after generation to demand that law serve everyone. How the Legal Information Institute made federal law free for the first time in 1992. How LegalZoom survived years of legal challenges to reach a $7 billion public offering, proving that millions of Americans wanted affordable legal help and would embrace technology to get it.
Then we arrive at March 2023, when GPT-4 scores in the 90th percentile on the Uniform Bar Exam — better than nine out of ten human test-takers. For the first time in history, the core competency of legal reasoning became replicable at scale. The dream that Lincoln lived — that legal knowledge belongs to whoever has the determination to claim it — suddenly had a delivery mechanism.
Now Arizona has opened law firm ownership to innovators. Utah is running a regulatory sandbox for legal technology. AI-powered tools are answering legal questions at three in the morning for people who could never afford an attorney. The single mother facing custody finally has an advocate. The small business owner can understand a contract before signing it.
From Westminster Palace to Lincoln's firelight to the AI revolution, this is the story of humanity's longest struggle to make justice accessible — and the extraordinary moment when technology, reform, and determination are finally converging to fulfill that 800-year-old promise.

In 1720 London, Thomas Rawlings operated from a single shop on Fleet Street. With one razor, he would shave your beard, pull your rotted teeth, lance your boils, and amputate your gangrenous limbs. The red and white barber pole still spinning outside modern shops? That's blood and bandages—the universal answer to every question a human body might ask.
This is the story of how that world ended. How humanity discovered that complexity exceeded what any individual could master. And how our response—specialization—is now reshaping artificial intelligence itself.
We begin in 1540 when Henry VIII signed a charter binding barbers and surgeons together. We witness the 1745 divorce when surgeons declared independence. We meet John Hunter, the illiterate Scottish "dunce" who transformed surgery from craft to science with 14,000 specimens. We follow Adam Smith into a pin factory where ten workers produced 48,000 pins per day—240 times more than they could make individually.
We stand on Ford's assembly line. We enter Johns Hopkins where Halsted created the residency system. We arrive at Mission Control on July 20, 1969, where 400,000 specialists coordinated in real time to land humans on the Moon—and a 26-year-old guidance officer's split-second decision, based on specialized knowledge no generalist could possess, saved the mission.
Then we enter Marvin Minsky's office in 1985, where his "Society of Mind" proposed something unsettling: there is no unified intelligence. The mind is a collection of specialized agents, each mindless by itself, producing intelligence through coordination. "You can build a mind from many little parts, each mindless by itself."
The AI community ignored him for forty years—until 2023, when Stanford researchers discovered that large language models suffer from "Lost in the Middle": they forget information in the middle of long contexts. The promise of one giant model doing everything was hitting the same wall that broke the barber-surgeon. The solution? Multi-agent AI systems: research agents, analysis agents, writing agents, fact-checking agents—coordinated specialists achieving what single models cannot.
"No one knows everything; together, they know enough."
From Thomas Rawlings' single razor to AI agent swarms, from Adam Smith's pin factory to Mission Control to microservices architecture, we trace humanity's greatest organizational insight—and watch artificial intelligence rediscover it in real time.

September 17, 1862. Antietam Creek runs red with the blood of ten thousand men. A musket ball tears through Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.'s neck, missing his carotid artery by the width of a human hair. As he lies dying in a Maryland farmhouse, watching confident men die randomly beside him, the certainties of his youth bleed out along with his blood.
Thirty-five years later, Holmes will stand before a Boston lecture hall and deliver the most influential legal essay ever written: "The prophecies of what the courts will do in fact, and nothing more pretentious, are what I mean by the law."
But Holmes's insight was ancient. For four thousand years before that musket ball, humans facing the mysteries of justice had sought the same thing: prediction.
• The Baru Priests of Babylon (1766 BCE): Reading sheep livers for King Hammurabi, maintaining humanity's first legal database on clay tablets
• The Oracle Bones of Shang China: Pyromancers carving questions into ox scapula, tracking predictions against outcomes across 150,000 fragments
• The Pythia at Delphi: A woman breathing volcanic gases, running the ancient world's most sophisticated intelligence network disguised as divine prophecy
• Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.: Three times wounded, three times within inches of death, emerging to declare that law is prediction, not principle
• Lee Loevinger (1949): The Minneapolis lawyer who coined "jurimetrics" fifty years before anyone would listen
• Lex Machina: Stanford researchers building the first systematic database of judicial behavior
• The AI Revolution: Algorithms achieving 79% accuracy predicting European Court of Human Rights decisions
The methods changed. The hunger did not.
In ancient Babylon, they consulted entrails. In Shang China, they read crack patterns in heated bone. In Greece, they paid handsomely for the cryptic utterances of a woman breathing ethylene. In our time, machine learning analyzes millions of judicial decisions to identify patterns no human could perceive.
"Certainty generally is illusion," Holmes wrote, "and repose is not the destiny of man."
The oracle endures. The forms change. The need remains.
This is the story of humanity's oldest legal question—and the technologies we've built to answer it.

August 1602. Amsterdam. A servant named Aeltje Jansdr walks into a notary's office and invests fifty guilders in a company that will change the course of human history. She is not wealthy. She is not powerful. She is about to become a shareholder in the Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie—the Dutch East India Company.
This episode traces the corporation from its ancient origins to its modern dominance—the legal fiction that transformed human civilization.
• Roman societates publicanorum: Ancient tax-farming companies that foreshadowed corporate structure two thousand years ago
• Kongo Gumi (578-2006 CE): The world's oldest company, surviving 1,428 years through 50 generations of builders
• The VOC revolution: How Dutch merchants invented permanent capital, transferable shares, and limited liability
• The first shareholders: Servants, widows, and merchants who bought into the world's first public company
• The Amsterdam Beurs: The world's first stock exchange, where shares traded like commodities
• The legal fiction that conquered the world: How an "invisible person" gained rights, obligations, and immortality
• Corporate personhood: From Roman law to Citizens United—the evolution of an idea
• The separation of ownership and control: The innovation that made modern capitalism possible
Aeltje Jansdr's fifty guilders became part of sixty-four tons of gold—the largest initial capital formation in history to that point. She didn't just invest money. She invested in an idea: that strangers could pool resources, share risks, and create something none of them could build alone.
The corporation is humanity's most powerful organizational technology. It has built railroads and hospitals, funded research and art, employed billions and shaped nations. It has also colonized continents, corrupted governments, and concentrated wealth beyond the dreams of ancient kings.
But the experiment isn't over. Today, new organizational forms challenge the corporate model itself: DAOs operating through smart contracts with no managers or headquarters, benefit corporations that legally obligate directors to consider more than profit, platform cooperatives owned by users rather than investors. Patagonia restructured to make "Earth our only shareholder."
We created the invisible person. Now we must decide what kind of person it will be.
This is the story of humanity's most powerful organizational technology—and the open question of what it should become.

The year is 868 CE. In a cave near Dunhuang on the edge of the Silk Road, a man named Wang Jie prints a scroll and adds five words that would resonate across a millennium: "Reverently made for universal free distribution."
For most of human history, knowledge belonged to everyone. Then we invented copyright.
This episode traces the extraordinary journey from Wang Jie's gift to humanity through the birth of intellectual property—and asks whether AI will return us to universal distribution.
• The Diamond Sutra (868 CE): The world's oldest dated printed book, created for "universal free distribution"
• The House of Wisdom: How Baghdad's scholars preserved and advanced human knowledge without ownership
• Gutenberg's Revolution: The printing press that made copying effortless—and terrified the powerful
• The Stationers' Company (1557): How copyright began as censorship, not authors' rights
• Milton's Areopagitica: The first great argument for freedom of the press
• The Statute of Anne (1710): The world's first copyright law—and its forgotten 14-year limit
• Donaldson v. Beckett (1774): The House of Lords decision that copyright is statutory, not eternal
• The Berne Convention: How nations agreed on intellectual property—except America, the pirate republic
• The Mouse That Roared: Disney's lobbying triumph and the copyright term that only ever expands
• Sampling Wars: How hip-hop's golden age was legally destroyed—and creatively reborn
• The Permission Society: When creativity requires lawyers
Wang Jie didn't think he owned the Buddha's words. Medieval monks saw themselves as custodians, not owners. For centuries, the dominant assumption was that knowledge is common heritage—restricting it harms everyone.
Then came printing, then piracy panic, then the guilds who traded censorship for monopoly. Copyright was invented not to reward creators, but to control information. Only later was it reframed as "authors' rights."
Now AI can generate text, images, and code at near-zero cost. The scarcity that justified copyright is evaporating. What comes next may look less like the twentieth century—and more like Wang Jie's ninth.
This is the story of how we invented the idea that ideas can be owned—and why that invention may be reaching its end.

June 17, 2016, 3:34 AM UTC. A screen glows in darkness. Lines of code execute in sequence. Sixty million dollars begins to move—not stolen, but transferred according to the rules. The code is doing exactly what it was told to do. No one realized what they were telling it.
This episode traces humanity's longest continuous engineering project: the 3,700-year quest to reduce justice to calculation, to make agreements self-enforcing, to remove human discretion from human promises.
• Hammurabi's Code (1754 BCE): The world's first source code—282 laws carved in stone, each following the same structure: If this, then that
• The Roman Protocol: How jurists invented legal abstractions that map directly to modern programming concepts
• The Twelve Tables: Rome's first public laws and the birth of legal transparency
• Medieval merchants and the Lex Mercatoria: Private law systems that enforced themselves through reputation
• Nick Szabo's vision: The cryptographer who imagined "smart contracts" decades before blockchain existed
• The DAO hack: When $60 million vanished because the code allowed it—and the community had to choose between immutability and justice
Law and code are not analogous. They are isomorphic. Same structure. Different substrate. Every contract you've ever signed follows the same if-then-else logic that Hammurabi carved in diorite 37 centuries ago.
The question that took us millennia to answer—and then spectacularly un-answer—is whether code should be law. This is the story of that question, and the sixty million dollars that proved we hadn't thought it through.

Five thousand years ago, a Sumerian scribe pressed a reed stylus into wet clay, recording a simple transaction: barley for silver. He didn't know he was inventing negotiation.
This episode traces the complete history of deal-making—from the first contracts in ancient Mesopotamia to the Cuban Missile Crisis, from Hammurabi's Code to modern hostage negotiation. Along the way, we meet the kings, orphans, generals, and professors who developed the techniques we still use today:
• The Sumerian scribes who invented written contracts—and made trust between strangers possible
• Hammurabi, whose stone stele established that negotiation requires enforceable law
• Demosthenes, the stammering orphan who sued his corrupt guardians and invented fiduciary duty
• Hannibal Barca, who recognized a false deadline when he saw one
• The Roman jurist Gaius, whose legal categories still structure contract law
• Roger Fisher and William Ury, whose "Getting to Yes" revolutionized modern negotiation theory
• The FBI hostage negotiators who discovered that listening beats demanding
The principles haven't changed in five millennia. But the tools are about to.
We explore where negotiation is headed: AI systems that can analyze thousands of contracts in seconds, algorithms that detect deception better than humans, and the coming world where your AI negotiates with their AI while you sleep. Will technology make deals fairer—or just faster? Will human judgment remain essential—or become obsolete?
Whether you're negotiating a billion-dollar merger or splitting household chores, the lessons are the same: separate people from positions, focus on interests, generate options, insist on objective criteria—and always, always prepare more than the other side expects.
This is the story of humanity's greatest invention—the ability to solve problems with words instead of fists—and how that invention is evolving in the age of artificial intelligence.

In 1858, Abraham Lincoln returned half a client's fee because the work didn't warrant it. That gesture of professional integrity launched a question we're still answering: what is legal work actually worth?

This episode journeys from Lincoln's Springfield office through the rise of BigLaw, the ABA's 1958 efficiency revolution, and the billable hour's reign over modern practice. But the story doesn't end there. We explore how AI, alternative fee arrangements, and a new generation of lawyers are finally breaking free from the six-minute increment—returning to something Lincoln would recognize: billing for value, not just time.

The past taught lawyers to measure everything. The present is teaching them what actually matters. And the future? It looks a lot like lawyers getting back to what they do best: solving problems, not watching clocks.