Morally Binding: The Super Intelligence Accord and the Problem of Self-Certified Power

By JD DuRie, in collaboration with AI Matters

On September 29, President Trump invited six of the most powerful people in technology to lunch. Afterward he took them outside to sign a document. Present were Sundar Pichai of Google, Dario Amodei of Anthropic, Mark Zuckerberg of Meta, Greg Brockman of OpenAI, Elon Musk of xAI, and Jensen Huang of Nvidia. The document was titled the White House Accord on Super Intelligence: Joint Commitment on Frontier Responsibilities. The President called it “morally binding.” The next day he signed an executive order directing federal agencies to call artificial intelligence “super intelligence.” The order says the new term covers exactly the same technologies as the old one.

It is tempting to dismiss the whole affair as theater. That would be a mistake. The accord is worth reading closely, because what it leaves out tells us more than what it says.

What it says

The text runs about 300 words. It asks each company building frontier AI models to adopt four layers of safeguards:

  • internal controls to monitor what their systems can do, with attention to cybersecurity, biological and chemical threats, and models that “hack or access technical systems in unintended ways”;
  • an internal team to confirm those controls actually work;
  • an independent outside auditor or evaluator;
  • an independent committee of the board of directors to receive the reports and make sure problems get fixed.

Anyone who has sat on a corporate board will recognize the structure. It borrows from how public companies police their financial statements. As governance design, it is sensible. If every frontier lab truly built all four layers and staffed them with people willing to say no, the world would be somewhat safer than it is today.

What it leaves out

The accord has no enforcement mechanism, no penalties, no funding, and no timeline. It does not say who the auditors will be, what they must test, or whether anyone outside the company will ever see their findings. It creates no regulator. It sets no definition of “safe.” Instead, it promises that the participating companies “will meet regularly to establish standards and best practices.” Those are the same companies whose products are being judged.

It also offers the companies no legal protection. There is no indemnification, no safe harbor, and no preemption of state law. Their legal exposure is exactly what it was the day before. But the accord ends by suggesting that “over time, it may make sense to codify these steps into laws or regulations.” House Speaker Mike Johnson has already floated it as a basis for legislation. The real question is what that future law would contain. A statute that turns these four voluntary steps into a liability shield or a ceiling on state regulation would be a very different thing from the accord itself.

We have seen this before. In July 2023 the Biden administration announced voluntary AI commitments from seven companies, several of them the same firms. Critics said then that no one could hold the companies to their word. Three years later, the record largely proved them right.

Who answers when something goes wrong?

Under this accord, the honest answer is: the companies answer to themselves. The board committee at the top of the structure is accountable to shareholders, not to the public. Citizens have no seat at the table, no access to the audits, and no remedy beyond the ordinary courts, which existed before the accord.

A compassionate libertarian reading

Those of us who distrust concentrated power usually aim our suspicion at the state. It is fair to note that this accord is not a government power grab. It imposes no new mandates and builds no new bureaucracy. Some readers will count that as a virtue.

But the libertarian case against concentrated power has never been only about government. It is about any arrangement in which a small number of actors hold great power while answering to no one. The accord creates exactly that arrangement and puts the White House seal on it. It is not the free market at work, because the public cannot comparison-shop between AI labs on catastrophic-risk safeguards it cannot see. It is not distributed, voluntary coordination among equals. It is six firms that together control most of the world’s frontier AI capability, certifying their own conduct, with the President as witness.

A genuinely liberty-minded framework would push power outward. It would require audit results to be made public, so customers, insurers, and investors can judge for themselves. It would let independent evaluators, not the companies alone, set testing standards. It would preserve the right of states, including Connecticut, which has debated its own AI legislation in recent sessions, to experiment with their own rules rather than having a voluntary federal pledge used as an argument to silence them. It would make whistleblower protection for AI workers explicit. None of this requires a new federal agency. All of it requires transparency, which the accord does not provide.

The case for the defense

To be fair, the accord has defenders, and their arguments deserve a hearing. Binding regulation of a fast-moving technology can freeze today’s assumptions into law and favor incumbents who can afford compliance departments. A voluntary framework can be revised as the science improves. Public commitments also carry some weight: a company that signed this document and then skipped the audits has handed future plaintiffs a ready-made exhibit. And not every signatory wants the same thing. Anthropic, for one, has publicly supported real safety legislation, while others in the room have lobbied against it. For some signatories the accord may be a floor, not a ceiling.

Those are reasonable points. But a floor that no one inspects is only a promise, and the public has been asked to accept such promises before.

The bottom line

The accord describes good practices. The companies deserve credit if they follow them. But in its current form it gives the most powerful firms of our time a government blessing, costs them almost nothing, and gives the rest of us nothing we can enforce. Before anyone turns it into law, citizens should insist on three things: audits we can read, auditors the companies do not choose alone, and no liability shields bought with voluntary pledges.


This post was written in collaboration with AI Matters, an editorial process combining human judgment with AI-assisted research and drafting. Disclosure: the AI system used in preparing this post is made by Anthropic, one of the accord’s signatories.

Conscience, Incorporated — and the Machine That Came After

A review of Conscience Incorporated: Pursue Profits While Protecting Human Rights by Michael H. Posner (NYU Press, 2024)

Some books are worth reading precisely because they are wrong in instructive ways. Michael Posner’s Conscience Incorporated is not one of them. It is worth reading because it is largely right about the disease and only half-right about the cure — and the gap between those two halves is where the most important argument of our moment is being fought.

Posner is no bomb-thrower. He is the Jerome Kohlberg Professor of Ethics and Finance at NYU’s Stern School of Business, founder and chair of the Fair Labor Association, and Assistant Secretary of State for Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor under President Obama. He has spent a career in the room where the compromises get made, and the book carries the calm authority of someone who has watched a lot of corporate promises curdle. His thesis is bracingly simple: the old story that pits profit against ethics is a false binary, and the firms that thrive over the long run will be the ones that build human-rights diligence into their core operations rather than quarantining it in a corporate social responsibility department that exists to issue glossy reports. He builds the case through familiar defendants — Nike, Coca-Cola, Walmart, Meta — and argues, persuasively, that public awareness alone has never been enough to discipline a global supply chain.

I want to start by giving the man his due, because there is more common ground here than a libertarian reader might expect.

What Posner gets right

A compassionate libertarian and a human-rights lawyer should agree on one foundational point: concentrated power is dangerous to the people on the wrong end of it, and it tends to escape accountability unless something forces the issue. Posner’s catalog of abuses — the contractor four time zones away whose labor never appears on an org chart, the moderator absorbing the worst of the internet for a subcontractor’s wage, the supplier whose conditions the brand prefers not to inspect too closely — is not a fantasy. These are real harms done to real people, and a philosophy that takes individual dignity seriously cannot wave them away with an invisible hand and a shrug.

Better still, Posner’s central operational insight is, in spirit, anti-bureaucratic. Embedding diligence into how a company actually buys, builds, and ships — rather than bolting on a compliance theater — is exactly the kind of bottom-up, incentive-aligned reform that should appeal to anyone skeptical of box-checking. When he frames human-rights risk as business risk — reputational, operational, eventually financial — he is speaking the market’s own language. A firm that treats its workers and users as means to an end, and gets caught, pays for it. That is not a regulatory truth; it is a competitive one.

So far, so good. The trouble begins when Posner reaches for the lever.

The machine he didn’t fully see coming

The book went to press just as the ground shifted. Artificial intelligence does not break Posner’s diagnosis — if anything, it vindicates it — but it stress-tests his prescription nearly to failure.

Consider his core concern, the worker rendered invisible by distance and subcontracting. AI has manufactured an entirely new version of that worker: the data labeler. The large models now reshaping white-collar work were trained, in part, by a “tasker underclass” in the Global South — workers in Kenya, Uganda, and India paid on the order of thirteen to sixteen dollars a day to sort, rate, and sanitize the raw material of machine intelligence, including the disturbing content the rest of us never have to see. This is Posner’s chapter on outsourced labor, rewritten for a new decade, and it is arriving faster than any framework designed for garment factories can track.

At the same time, the displacement has climbed the ladder. The anxiety is no longer confined to the loading dock; it has reached the analyst’s cubicle and the junior associate’s desk. The fear among serious people is not science fiction — the chief executive of one leading AI lab has warned that the technology could eliminate a large share of entry-level white-collar jobs and push unemployment into the double digits. Whether or not that forecast proves accurate, the human stakes Posner cares about have expanded, not contracted.

And on the question he spends real ink on — platform content and online harm — AI now sits on both sides of the ledger. It lets companies moderate at a scale no human staff could match, and it spares flesh-and-blood moderators some of the trauma of the job. It also amplifies the bias baked into its training, hallucinates with confidence, and hands every troll and propagandist a generative firehose. The technology is simultaneously the best tool we have for the problem and a powerful new source of it.

In other words: the moral case Posner makes is more urgent in 2026 than it was in 2024.

Where the libertarian parts company

But Posner’s instinctive remedy is government, and his preferred model is Europe — mandatory due-diligence regulation, enforced from above. Here the compassionate libertarian has to register a respectful dissent, and AI is the cleanest illustration of why.

First, the pacing problem. Regulation moves at the speed of committee; AI moves at the speed of capital. In the time it takes a legislature to define a harm, the technology that produces it has been superseded twice. This is not a hypothetical complaint. The United States has spent the period since the book’s publication moving away from the regulatory approach — a December 2025 executive order now directs the Justice Department to identify and challenge state AI laws and to assemble a federal framework explicitly designed to preempt them. Europe, the model Posner holds up, has proposed delaying the high-risk obligations of its own AI Act from 2026 to 2027. The remedy he prescribes is in political retreat on both continents precisely because the thing it was meant to govern outran it.

Second, the capture problem. Mandatory regulatory regimes are written, in practice, by the largest incumbents — the only players with the lawyers and lobbyists to be in the room. A compliance burden that a trillion-dollar platform absorbs as a rounding error can be a moat that drowns the smaller competitor who might otherwise have done the work better. Rules sold as a check on corporate power have a way of entrenching the most powerful corporations of all. Posner is admirably suspicious of concentrated corporate power; he is notably less suspicious of concentrated state power, even though the historical record gives ample reason to fear both.

Third, and most fundamentally: the book is more confident than I am that the conscience belongs in the statute book. The mechanisms that have actually moved corporate behavior — investors who reprice risk, customers who walk, employees who refuse to build the thing, journalists and researchers who drag the subcontract into daylight — are distributed, voluntary, and fast. They are also, not incidentally, the mechanisms Posner himself spent a career using to good effect before he concluded the answer was a mandate. The Fair Labor Association is a voluntary association. The shaming of bad actors is a market and civil-society process. The most effective tools in his own toolkit are the ones that don’t require a regulator at all.

An honest accounting

None of this makes Conscience Incorporated a bad book. It makes it an important and incomplete one. Posner has correctly identified that scale plus distance plus opacity equals abuse, and that “the market will sort it out eventually” is cold comfort to the person being harmed right now. That is a serious moral point and it deserves a serious answer.

But the answer, I’d argue, is not to transfer the conscience to the one institution with a monopoly on force and a documented record of being captured by the very interests it claims to police. The answer is to make the distributed mechanisms sharper — radical transparency, genuine liability for genuine harm, the freedom of workers and users and investors to exit and to expose. Treat people as ends rather than means, yes. Posner and I agree on the destination. We disagree about who should be holding the map, and AI has made that disagreement the central economic question of the decade rather than a footnote to it.

Read the book. Argue with the second half. The first half will have already won you over, and the argument over the rest is the one worth having.


JD DuRie writes on Connecticut civic life, political philosophy, and the long argument between liberty and power at CT Capital. This review was developed in collaboration with AI Matters.