"Ben-Shahar and Schneider have written what for a long time will be the definitive work on regulations that require sellers of goods and services to provide information about their products that sellers will not voluntarily provide but that the regulators believe will help the consumers to make intelligent choices. Apparently these 'mandated disclosures' are ignored by the vast majority of consumers. The authors are unrelievedly negative about the efficacy of mandated disclosures. They are right to be. Their analysis is clear, comprehensive, and convincing."--Judge Richard A. Posner, United States Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit

"I read this book with rapt attention. It is magnificent. Ben-Shahar and Schneider have done a masterful job of setting out their case clearly, plainly, and persuasively."--Tom Baker, University of Pennsylvania

"Ben-Shahar and Schneider present a compelling argument. They contend that mandated disclosure is a policy failure that is not easily remedied."--Zev J. Eigen, Northwestern University

"Significant and original. The research is prodigious. I am not aware of another treatment of disclosure that crosses disciplinary lines to this extent, and the analysis is all the more worthwhile for it. Ben-Shahar and Schneider show how disclosures have become pervasive in our society yet are largely ignored and misunderstood."--Clayton Gillette, New York University

"Ben-Shahar and Schneider have written what for a long time will be the definitive work on regulations that require sellers of goods and services to provide information about their products that sellers will not voluntarily provide but that the regulators believe will help the consumers to make intelligent choices. Apparently these 'mandated disclosures' are ignored by the vast majority of consumers. The authors are unrelievedly negative about the efficacy of mandated disclosures. They are right to be. Their analysis is clear, comprehensive, and convincing."--Judge Richard A. Posner, United States Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit

"I read this book with rapt attention. It is magnificent. Ben-Shahar and Schneider have done a masterful job of setting out their case clearly, plainly, and persuasively."--Tom Baker, University of Pennsylvania

"Ben-Shahar and Schneider present a compelling argument. They contend that mandated disclosure is a policy failure that is not easily remedied."--Zev J. Eigen, Northwestern University

"Significant and original. The research is prodigious. I am not aware of another treatment of disclosure that crosses disciplinary lines to this extent, and the analysis is all the more worthwhile for it. Ben-Shahar and Schneider show how disclosures have become pervasive in our society yet are largely ignored and misunderstood."--Clayton Gillette, New York University

MORE THAN YOU WANTED TO KNOW

THE FAILURE OF MANDATED DISCLOSURE

PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS

Contents

INTRODUCTION

Publicity is justly commended as a remedy for social and industrial diseases. Sunlight is said to be the best of disinfectants; electric light the most efficient policeman. And publicity ... must, in the impending struggle, be utilized in many ways as a continuous remedial measure.

—Louis Brandeis, Other People's Money

"Mandated disclosure" may be the most common and least successful regulatory technique in American law. It aspires to help people making unfamiliar and complex decisions while dealing with specialists by requiring the latter (disclosers) to give the former (disclosees) information so that disclosees choose sensibly and disclosers do not abuse their position.

For example: You are mortgaging your new house. Or considering prostate-cancer surgery. Or buying software on line. Or being questioned by the police. You've never faced your choice before. It turns on much you do not understand. The specialists you're dealing with—lenders, doctors, vendors, and police—understand it well. Mandated disclosure requires the specialists to tell you what you must know to choose well. Thus truth-in-lending laws oblige your lender to describe its credit terms. Informed-consent doctrine obliges your doctor to describe treatments for prostate cancer. Contract law obliges your vendor to reveal terms like warranties and mandatory arbitration. Miranda obliges the police to recite your rights. Thus informed, you are supposed to understand your choices well enough to make sound decisions about your credit, your cancer, your computer, or your confession.

Mandated disclosure has been the principal regulatory answer to some of the principal policy questions of recent decades. A core response to financial crisis is to ratchet up (already considerable) disclosure mandates. Much health-care reform requires that patients be told about health plans, insurance, doctors, hospitals, treatments, and costs so that they can choose thoughtfully and thriftily. Much Internet commerce is regulated by disclosure mandates. So are many kinds of privacy. Several constitutional rights are guarded through disclosures like the Miranda warning. Campaign-finance regulation is now largely about disclosure.

These are just a few peaks in a mountain range. Undisclosed contract terms are generally unenforceable—hence fine print. So every "I agree" clicked, every dotted line signed is a disclosure moment. Vast stretches of consumer-protection law mandate disclosures. Mortgages, savings accounts, checking accounts, retirement accounts, credit cards, pawnshops, and rent-to-own plans are subject to disclosure mandates. Health law abounds in disclosures—in informed consent, drug labeling, research regulation, health insurance, living wills, and medical privacy. Mandated disclosures adorn food labels, travel tickets, leases, copyright warnings, time-share agreements, house sales, store return policies, school enrollment and graduation data, college crime reports, flight-safety announcements, parking-garage stubs, product and environmental hazards, and car and home repairs.

Nevertheless, mandated disclosure is a Lorelei, luring lawmakers onto the rocks of regulatory failure. This book hopes to silence its siren song. First, by identifying mandated disclosure as a distinctive regulatory method. Second, by describing its almost incontinent use. Third, by showing that it routinely fails to achieve its goals. Fourth, by explaining why it fails and cannot be fixed.

Mandated disclosure is alluring because it addresses a real problem: Modernity showers you with unfamiliar and complex decisions. Knowing little, you depend on specialists. Only a few decades ago, you made fewer choices about fewer things. You got a black telephone from AT&T. You got a mortgage from the First Local Bank, which offered only a few kinds of mortgages on quite limiting conditions. You got (often) the medical treatment your doctor thought you needed. You got a pension only if you worked many years for one company, and you got the pension the company designed.

Today, phones come in landline, cell, and VOIP versions from many manufacturers making many models for many service providers offering many plans. National lenders proffer mortgages in a medley of forms with a cornucopia of conditions. Your doctor must describe the various treatments for your ills and their effects. Pensions are portable, come in numberless forms, and may let you choose among thousands of securities.

This is largely excellent news: You have not just more, but often better, choices. Yet proliferating choice requires increasingly elaborate and arcane knowledge. So mandated disclosure addresses the problem of a world in which nonspecialists must make choices requiring specialist knowledge. Its solution is alluringly simple: if people face unfamiliar and complex decisions, give them information until the decision is familiar and comprehensible. Don't people want to make decisions for themselves, want to make them well, and try to do so? Isn't more information axiomatically better than less? Won't people gratefully take and earnestly use information they are offered?

Mandated disclosure is alluring because it resonates with two fundamental American ideologies. The first is the free-market principle. Markets work best when buyers are informed; disclosures inform them. Buyers fear sellers' rapacity and the perils of caveat emptor; disclosures protect them without distorting markets by specifying prices, quality, and terms. The second ideology is the autonomy principle. People are entitled as a matter of moral right and of practical policy to make the decisions that shape their lives. Disclosures equip them to do so.

Mandated disclosure is alluring because it seems to regulate lightly. Direct regulation of economic behavior—imposing safety and quality standards or restricting sales of products or services—can be clumsy and costly; can reduce freedom, innovation, and efficiency; can inspire burden some bureaucracy and regulations. Mandated disclosure lets sellers sell and buyers buy, as long as buyers know what sellers are selling.

Mandated disclosure is alluring because it is relatively easy to enact. With its ecumenical ideology and apparent modesty, it provokes relatively slight political opposition. Regulated entities often prefer it to more intrusive techniques, and lawmakers know it costs the fisc peanuts.

Mandated disclosure is alluring because its failures are little noticed and soothingly explained. It has been too little recognized as a regulatory technique, and most lawmakers and many commentators do not realize that it is a method with standard characteristics and consequences that has been intensively and extensively tried. So a mandate's failures can readily be attributed to the particular way it was implemented to respond to a particular social problem rather than to defects of the regulatory form: a mandate fails because it was too narrow, disclosures were unnoticed, or forms were obscure. Mandated disclosure is a god that cannot fail.

Finally, mandated disclosure is alluring because even if it does little evident good, it does little obvious harm. If disclosures seem to burden anyone, it is the sophisticated parties to transactions who already have information and may have a moral duty to disseminate it.

So alluring is mandated disclosure—so plainly does it seem to be good regulation—that many lawmakers that enact it and commentators who urge it simply assume that its benefits exceed its costs. Some sophisticated lawmakers and commentators have begun to see it as a distinctive regulatory method. But while they acknowledge its failures, they assume that care, ingenuity, and effort can fix them. We need a term for the lawmakers and commentators who, implicitly or explicitly, favor the method. "Disclosurite" seems direct and descriptive. It includes people and institutions with varying views and faith, for it is a generalization as, say, "environmentalist" is. But it is a useful generalization because so many lawmakers and commentators embrace some version of mandated disclosure.

Mandated disclosure is alluring, but it routinely fails to achieve its ambitious goals. It is not doomed to fail, but empirical studies rarely report that disclosures lead disclosees to good decisions. For example, Lauren Willis concludes that "disclosures currently mandated by federal law for home loans neither effectively facilitate price shopping, nor do they result in good deliberate decision making about risk." The National Research Council acknowledges that "[d]espite decades of research" there has been "little progress" toward "achieving informed consent." More broadly, Winston's review of the empirical evidence on "federal and state information policies, including but not limited to disclosure policies, suggests that they have not made consumers significantly better informed and safer."

Mandated disclosure's failure is as plausible as its success. Who has not derided disclosures as "fine print"? Who has not joked—ruefully or resentfully—about clicking "I agree" without reading the terms? Who has not competed to tell the most damning disclosure story? The mortgage closing, the car-rental counter, and the pharmacy checkout have become iconic moments when we all have declined to read disclosures, have failed to understand them when we tried to read them, and signed anyway.

The reason is that mandated disclosure is ill suited to its ends. Exactly because the choices for which it seeks to prepare disclosees are unfamiliar, complex, and ordinarily managed by specialists, novices cannot master them with the disclosures that lawmakers usually mandate. Consider the arcana the Federal Reserve Board thinks consumers should understand to select adjustable-rate mortgages: "indexes, margins, discounts, caps on rates and payments, negative amortization, payment options, and recasting (recalculating) your loan." Similarly, to begin evaluating prostate-cancer treatments, you must understand the various therapies, why it may be best to reject them, and what their side effects are. When so much must be explained, mere disclosures rarely equip people for a well-considered decision.

Mandated disclosure fails because it depends on a long chain of fragile links. It works only if three actors—lawmakers, disclosers, and disclosees—play demanding parts deftly. Rarely can each actor meet all the part's demands. Lawmakers must correctly conclude that a problem needs a regulatory solution and that disclosure is a good one. They must correctly gauge what disclosure to mandate. They must articulate the mandate correctly and comprehensibly. Each step is hard; managing all four is uncommon, especially under the pressure that often drives lawmakers. Disclosers also face challenges. Even under the sweetly optimistic assumption that disclosers truly try to obey mandates, they must read, understand, and heed the mandate, create or assemble data, and explain them effectively.

But the lawmaker's and discloser's roles look blessedly simple next to the disclosee's. Suppose that people really make decisions the way that disclosurites imagine—that they want to make them and that they want to assemble the relevant information, identify the possible outcomes, assess their own preferences, and determine which choice best serves those preferences. Disclosees would still need to understand disclosures. But even experts can struggle. Elizabeth Warren, former special advisor for the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, said of a credit-card disclosure: "I teach contract law at Harvard, and I can't understand half of what it says."

In truth, many people cannot read most disclosures. Over forty million adults are functionally illiterate; another fifty million are only marginally literate. In one study, 40 percent of the patients could not read instructions for taking pills on an empty stomach. Innumeracy is worse. In a test of basic numeracy, only 16 percent could answer three (really) simple questions (like, how much is 1 percent of $1000?). Yet financial-and medical-privacy notices are generally written at a college level, and only a tiny percent of the population can understand ordinary contractual language. (Even eBay's users' contract—a document written in lay language—contains sentences like this: "When you give us content, you grant us a non-exclusive, worldwide, perpetual, irrevocable, royalty-free, sublicensable (through multiple tiers) right to exercise the copyright, publicity, and database rights (but no other rights) you have in the content, in any media known now or in the future.")

Disclosurites count on simpler and better disclosure—"targeted transparency" and "smart disclosure" and "behaviorally informed" reform and "heightened" and "meaningful" disclosures tested in labs. But disclosures are unreadable and unread because you can't describe complexity simply. The problem is not just illiteracy and innumeracy. It is also the "quantity question," which comprises the "overload" problem and the "accumulation" problem. The overload problem arises when a disclosure is too copious and complex to handle. The accumulation problem arises because disclosees daily confront so many disclosures and yearly confront so many consequential disclosures that they cannot attend to (much less master) more than a few. Disclosures, recall, should prepare people for unfamiliar and complex decisions. Decisions are complex because so much must be learned well and used capably. But it is hard to organize and present masses of information cogently. It is hard to remember, interpret, and apply even cogent presentations. Unfamiliarity exacerbates these problems: the less you know about a choice, the more you must learn.

The disclosurite demand for simplification is in tension with the disclosurite goal of thorough information. How might you simplify? If you disclose less, disclosees can learn less. If people have a right to know how private data are used, how can a Web site tell them less than the full truth? If patients' consent to prostate-cancer treatment is to be "informed," how do you delete information? What information should a physician omit? A treatment option? A side effect? A description of the side effect? An estimate of a side effect's likelihood? A review of the factors affecting the risk of a side effect?

Or do you simplify by summarizing? Scores summarizing information, like a loan's APR, can sometimes be devised. But can that score both describe problems accurately and be understood and used by the naïve? Such problems afflict even the APR, on which lawmakers and scholars have labored for decades. The disclosurite poster child has been restaurant hygiene grades: A, B, or C. But it turns out that much is omitted or distorted in those grades and that their success is dubious.

Disclosurites also swear by simple language. But specialized words summarize complex ideas. Explanations are shorter if "brachytherapy" replaces "a form of radiotherapy where a radiation source is placed inside or next to the area requiring treatment." But because disclosees are nonspecialists, these are the very terms they don't know.

Even if simple words and ideas could efficiently describe unfamiliar and complex issues, novices lack the background to understand those issues. For example, you can't evaluate the arguments against PSA screening if, as many men do, you conflate screening and prevention. Worse, to use information adeptly you need skills in processing and evaluating it that come from practice, not disclosure. As Iyengar puts it, "When we learn, through study and practice, to simplify, prioritize, and categorize elements and to recognize patterns," we can "create order in seeming chaos."

We have been assuming that people want to make decisions and to make them in the disclosurite way. But many people avoid making decisions. Patients take their doctor's advice instead of reasoning to their own conclusion; employees duck retirement planning. This may be imprudent, but people are not deciding machines. Their family, friends, work, play, and prayer more than fill their lives. Mastering just one complex and unfamiliar choice is a struggle and a distraction; taking on even a trickle of the flood of disclosures can mean drowning.

Furthermore, many people make decisions with scant information and slight deliberation. They overlook, skip, or skim disclosures. Far from gathering information, people strip it away to make choices manageable. Thus many women base their choice of breast cancer treatment on a single factor. Furthermore, experience teaches people how little they may gain from studying disclosures and how little they may lose by ignoring them. In short, people often calculate that a well-informed decision's benefits poorly justify its costs.