The Luddite worked in the coal plant for years. Convinced that the machines destroyed his lungs, and, indeed, the lives of so many of his friends, he dedicated himself to a simpler life.

“We failed,” the Luddite lamented. “They give no heed to our warnings, and technology proceeds apace. People now depend on the machines, and even enjoy them. I see no way to halt it.”

“There is a way,” said the Luddite’s lawyer. “But first, you must paint.”

“I don’t understand,” the Luddite asked. “How can painting stop the machines?”

“First, you paint,” said the lawyer, turning a knowing smile. “Then, I write writs.”

Confused, but trustful, the Luddite painted. He painted furiously. He painted from his heart and soul. He painted with his all, trying to express how the machines have ruined us. Alas, he was no artist.

The Luddite bowed his head in dismay. Despite his passions, the works were vapid, dull and derivative. He knew this at once. Every theme, every motif, every stroke came from the far more enlightened works of those who have come before him. Every idea embodied in the work was that of another.

“That does not matter,” said the Lawyer. “All of that may be true, but these works are original, at least in the technical sense of originating from you. Since you have put them on that canvas yourself, we have done what we set out to do.”

A work of original authorship was fixed in tangible media. A copyright was born.

The Luddite’s lawyer wrote writs. He sued machines. He sued the makers of the machines, and he sued the sellers of the machines. He sued and served them all.

“Cease and desist!” he cried. “The machines must be enjoined, for they permit reproduction of the Luddite’s art! They permit distribution of the Luddite’s art. They permit derivation. They contribute to the infringement of a miner.”

I accuse the television, for transmitting images of his work! I accuse the VCR for recording the work! I accuse the DVD! The Digital Camera! The Internet! These devices may stand, lest the Luddite’s works be taken with impunity.

Counsel for the machines were indignant. “The Luddite invented nothing, designed nothing, conceived nothing,” they said. “And yet the Luddite seeks to enjoin their manufacture and sale as though he had a patent on the technology itself. He is not asking us to stop copying, for we do not copy. He is asking us to stop using machines. And, to be frank, these works are wholly unworthy of protection sufficient to stop the flow of progress.”

It did not matter. The work may be vapid, but it was original enough. The amount of infringement might be nominal, but one copy was enough. The elements of infringement were made out, and that was that.

The Luddite’s lawyers prevailed at the District Court. He prevailed at the Circuit Court.

And then, at the last minute, the Supreme Court saved the machines from the Luddites:

“These machines do not exist to infringe — but they also have, or at least are capable of, other substantial, non-infringing uses. They are tools of infringement, but also tools valuable for other things. If you want to stop their use, you will have to sue the users who use them to infringe”

And with that, the Supreme Court told the Luddite that he cannot regulate machines just because he paints, so long as the machines can be used legitimately otherwise.

It seemed reasonable enough. It seemed right. It was, so we thought, the law. Again, the Luddite lamented.

His lawyer, however, was not troubled. “Bide your time, my friend. The technology is moving apace, and with it, soon, there will be other laws to help us. The Digitial Millenium is upon us, and circumvention is an evil. Soon, once more, we can stop the machines.”