Rights cumulative: Difference between revisions
Amwelladmin (talk | contribs) No edit summary |
Amwelladmin (talk | contribs) No edit summary |
||
Line 1: | Line 1: | ||
{{boileranat|rights cumulative|}}Somewhere, once upon a time, one of our learned friends must have had a near-death experience, psychotic episode, or somehow hit on the paranoid thought that a contract conferred by contract might inadvertently squish one arising at common law or under statute. | {{boileranat|rights cumulative|}}Somewhere, once upon a time, one of our learned friends must have had a near-death experience, psychotic episode, or somehow hit on the paranoid thought that a contract conferred by contract might inadvertently squish one arising at common law or under statute. I might pass you my manuscript under a confidentiality agreement: your publication of it to the world in breach of that agreement may entitle me [[contractual damages]], but my direct losses as a result — the traditional measure of damages — might add up to a lot less than your resulting profits as a result. No matter: because I hold the copyright in the manuscript, I can exercise my ''statutory'' right to have you [[Account for profits|account to me for those profits]] too — but where my damages and your profits coincide, I can only recover once. | ||
There is no suggestion that a fellow waives her [[copyright]] by signing a [[contract]] (except on with that express intent), so she should hardly need a [[rights cumulative]] clause to satisfy herself of that fact. | |||
In some cases that is inevitable, you should embrace it, and a hastily injected [[rights cumulative]] clause is a chocolate teapot anyway: there is no [[concurrent liability]], for example, in [[contract]] and [[tort]], because they are yin and yang: [[tort]] is the system of rights and obligations that are presumed to exist between otherwise unconnected people whose existences interfere with each other — who are neighbours, in Lord Atkin’s well-oiled phrase, but not lovers (in mine) — who haven’t directly agreed what the rights and obligations between should be. | In some cases that is inevitable, you should embrace it, and a hastily injected [[rights cumulative]] clause is a chocolate teapot anyway: there is no [[concurrent liability]], for example, in [[contract]] and [[tort]], because they are yin and yang: [[tort]] is the system of rights and obligations that are presumed to exist between otherwise unconnected people whose existences interfere with each other — who are neighbours, in Lord Atkin’s well-oiled phrase, but not lovers (in mine) — who haven’t directly agreed what the rights and obligations between should be. |
Revision as of 15:33, 30 June 2020
Boilerplate Anatomy™
|
Somewhere, once upon a time, one of our learned friends must have had a near-death experience, psychotic episode, or somehow hit on the paranoid thought that a contract conferred by contract might inadvertently squish one arising at common law or under statute. I might pass you my manuscript under a confidentiality agreement: your publication of it to the world in breach of that agreement may entitle me contractual damages, but my direct losses as a result — the traditional measure of damages — might add up to a lot less than your resulting profits as a result. No matter: because I hold the copyright in the manuscript, I can exercise my statutory right to have you account to me for those profits too — but where my damages and your profits coincide, I can only recover once.
There is no suggestion that a fellow waives her copyright by signing a contract (except on with that express intent), so she should hardly need a rights cumulative clause to satisfy herself of that fact.
In some cases that is inevitable, you should embrace it, and a hastily injected rights cumulative clause is a chocolate teapot anyway: there is no concurrent liability, for example, in contract and tort, because they are yin and yang: tort is the system of rights and obligations that are presumed to exist between otherwise unconnected people whose existences interfere with each other — who are neighbours, in Lord Atkin’s well-oiled phrase, but not lovers (in mine) — who haven’t directly agreed what the rights and obligations between should be.