Background: The oral argument of Bob v. Algorithm Savings & Loan (2014), p. 6:
JUSTICE HÄAGEN-DAZS: Imagine King Tut lounging outside his pyramid, surrounded by gold and bad financial instincts. He's handing out chits left and right, "Good for one unit of gold, redeemable later." He's got an abacus guy furiously moving beads to keep up. Eventually, the abacus guy says, "Uh, dude, you've promised more gold than you actually have." So Tut yells, "Stop!" Crisis averted. Or take my mother—she didn't need a computer. Just one glance at my checkbook and she'd declare, "Hey, you've overdrawn. Stop!" So now I ask you what, exactly, is less abstract about a computer saying "stop" instead of my mom or a Bronze Age accountant with a bead toy?
Scene: A quiet conference room at a law and technology symposium. An experienced patent attorney with a degree in computer engineering sits across from retired U.S. Supreme Court Justice Häagen-Dazs. They are discussing technology in the context of patent law.
Justice Häagen-Dazs: I've always been skeptical about software patents. I recall, in Bob, we noted that using a computer to perform an abstract idea isn't enough. After all, isn't a computer just a very fast abacus?
Patent Attorney: With respect, Justice Häagen-Dazs, I would argue that's a profound oversimplification. An abacus is a passive mechanical tool. It requires a human operator to interpret, manipulate, and extract meaning. It doesn't process anything on its own. A microprocessor, on the other hand, is an active, autonomous computing engine capable of executing millions of logic operations per second according to programmed instructions. It doesn't just assist a person's calculation, it performs the calculation.
Justice Häagen-Dazs: But aren't both merely performing arithmetic?
Patent Attorney: The distinction lies in functional capacity and architecture. A microprocessor implements a general-purpose model of computation, like a Turing machine. It can simulate any algorithmic process, given enough time and memory. In practice, an abacus has no such versatility. It can't run an operating system, control a spacecraft, or manage a distributed database on its own or even with the assistance of a human. It doesn't have conditional logic, memory registers, or instruction sets. When patent law considers eligibility, this matters because we're not just talking about number crunching. Computers are dynamic, programmable systems that change state and manage complex workflows.
Justice Häagen-Dazs: You mean my King Tut hypothetical from Bob was wrong?
Patent Attorney: Your analogies conflate what is being done with how it is being done. Yes, the goal of preventing overspending is the same. But the mechanism for achieving that goal in a computer is entirely different from a human using common sense or manually tallying numbers. As a more tangible example, if the only known method of binding two pieces of wood together is a nail, then that should not prevent the inventor of the screw from obtaining a patent.
Justice Häagen-Dazs: But couldn't a human operating an abacus do anything a microprocessor could do? Isn't it just a generic tool like a pen and paper or a handheld calculator?
Patent Attorney: No one has ever used an abacus to stream a video or encrypt HTTPS traffic, much less train a large language model -- for good reason. The analogy breaks down because an abacus can only be used to perform simple mathematical operations to solve small scale problems. It would be absurd to contend that you could replace a modern graphical processor with even thousands of humans armed with abacuses. The problems being solved and the solutions are fundamentally different.
Justice Häagen-Dazs: But the concern I had -- and still have -- is that merely implementing a longstanding human practice on a computer shouldn't suffice for patent eligibility. Otherwise, we'd be monopolizing abstract ideas with trivial technological dressings.
Patent Attorney: The key question is whether the computer implementation is trivial. If it merely automates a human practice using generic computing steps, such as storing, retrieving, and displaying, then forget about § 101 -- it's not patentable as obvious. But in many cases, the implementation is non-trivial in that the inventors aren't just using the computer as a faster pencil. They are solving technical problems that arise only in the context of computer implementation. Take for example a method of organizing human activity, say, a known manual accounting method. If someone's claim is so broad that it covers that method, it's clearly unpatentable. But if the same concept is implemented in a way that changes how the problem is solved because of the unique constraints or capabilities of the computing environment, and further the claim reflects this difference, then the computer is inseparable from this solution. The notion of the abstract idea from Bob fails to reflect this fundamental fact. Going back to a pre-Bob regime of patentability would not result in thousands of low-quality patents, especially if the USPTO properly applies the principles of obviousness, functional claiming, and definiteness from the patent statute.
Justice Häagen-Dazs: So in your view, the difference is not merely one of speed or convenience but of computational capability?
Patent Attorney: Precisely. A microprocessor embodies a flexible, programmable platform capable of executing a vast range of machine-readable instructions. It's not just an electronic abacus. It is a fundamentally different class of tool. Comparing it to an abacus is like comparing a steam engine to a horse.
Justice Häagen-Dazs: I see. Perhaps I underestimated how much abstraction and logic can be embedded in hardware. But I've been told over and over that there's something special happening under the hood in software patents, yet I can't see what's happening. I'd rather err on the side of caution than risk giving twenty-year monopolies to ideas that should remain in the public domain.
Patent Attorney: Um, there's this thing called "discovery" where parties can produce evidence, such as source code, system architectures, and technical declarations from programmers, to show exactly what's happening "under the hood." The courts don't have to guess.
Justice Häagen-Dazs: Yes, yes, I'm aware of discovery. But even then, I see lines of code, flowcharts, declarations by experts with PhDs in computer science . . . and I still don't see a machine. I see words. Diagrams. Assertions that something is "faster" or "more efficient." To me, it's all just squiggly nonsense in a box labeled "processing unit." It might as well be alchemy.
Patent Attorney (getting visibly annoyed): Justice Häagen-Dazs . . . Steve . . . a microprocessor is neither alchemy nor it is an abacus. As my Gen Z kids like to tell me, this is what happens when you let old people make the important decisions . . . .
Justice Häagen-Dazs (looking at a sundial strapped to his wrist): Oh dear, is that the time? I'm late for pickleball. Toodles!
Justice Häagen-Dazs stands up and hurries toward the exit, only to collide with an attendee entering the room. The attendee's mobile phone (which happens to be running an investment app) slips from their hand and lands squarely on Justice Häagen-Dazs' foot. He winces and curses the "abstract idea" that just fractured his toe and cost him six weeks of pickleball.
End Scene
[View source.]
