The challenges courts face in dealing with the demand for justice in the digital age have increased considerably in the last thirty years. These actors have always been under the spotlight as the traditional institutional mechanism to protect rights and ensure the rule of law, but have been increasingly confronted with limited resources and expertise, and an overwhelming amount of judicial workload. Digitalisation and automation have been seen as a possibility for political decision-makers to sort out new strategies and tools that ease judicial activity. This chapter argues that the increasing digitalisation of justice has resulted in two constitutional trends, respectively towards an increasing internalisation of AI and digital technologies into the judicial field, and externalisation of judicial functions to private actors and administrative authorities which also implement AI technologies. Both internalisation and externalisation raise constitutional challenges for judicial activities, touching the core of digital constitutionalism, primarily the protection of rights and the limits of power in the digital age.

Accountability is a foundational judicial value and a tenet of the rule of law. Drawing on contemporary examples from the UK, EU, USA, Latin America, Taiwan, and China, this chapter examines how artificial intelligence (AI) is being used to assist judicial decision-making at varying stages – ranging from case-sorting tools and legal research aids to fully automated ‘smart courts’. By categorising these judicial uses by level of AI intervention, the chapter interrogates two common claims: (1) that greater AI involvement increases threats to judicial accountability, and (2) that judicial oversight ensures such accountability is preserved. Contrary to these common claims, we argue that accountability is compromised at all levels of AI integration. This occurs because AI systems: (1) obscure transparency and open justice; (2) erode judicial independence and reasoning by amplifying cognitive biases; and (3) hinder appellate review, thus limiting opportunities to contest decisions. While governments often assert that judicial supervision and discretion are sufficient safeguards, the chapter argues that such protections are increasingly ineffective amid pervasive and elusive AI systems.

AI applications are increasingly deployed in the judiciary for a wide array of tasks, denoted as ‘judicial AI’. The implications for the legal system are vast. In this chapter, I focus on the effects of judicial AI on the rule of law, given the judiciary’s essential role in safeguarding this value. After examining what is meant by the rule of law, three sets of questions guide my analysis. First, how does the turn from text-driven to code- and data-driven legal interpretation affect the nature of law? Is there a risk that instead of fostering the rule of law, this leads to algorithmic rule by law? Second, since AI applications are designed by human beings, delegating judicial tasks to AI implies a delegation to the coders developing it. To what extent can this result in a rule of coders? And last, what impact does judicial AI have on the separation of powers, given that the executive and legislative branch of power control the judiciary’s resources? Can it undermine the judiciary’s ability to check and balance the other branches of power? The answers to these questions force me to conclude that many concerns must be addressed prior to judicial AI’s wide-scale adoption.

This chapter focuses on the legal framework for the use of AI in courts in Croatia and Slovenia, which results from their legal traditions as well as their membership in the Council of Europe and the EU. It also aims to discuss AI systems, either operational or in development, in both countries, and to evaluate their impact on fundamental rights and ethics. The findings demonstrate that while both countries experience a slow but gradual introduction of AI initiatives, in Slovenia this is happening without pre-existing or rigorous regulatory oversight.

Can AI adjudicative tools in principle better enable us to achieve the rule of law by replacing judges? This chapter argues that answers to this question have been excessively focused on ‘output’ dimensions of the rule of law – such as conformity of decisions with the applicable law – at the expense of vital ‘process’ considerations such as explainability, answerability, and reciprocity. These process considerations do not by themselves warrant the conclusion that AI adjudicative tools can never, in any context, properly replace human judges. But they help bring out the complexity of the issues – and the potential costs – that are involved in this domain.

Artificial intelligence (AI) has started to make its way into Spanish court practice, especially in criminal justice. Furthermore, this trend has been accompanied by two new regulations: the EU AI Act, the world’s first comprehensive law on the topic, and the Spanish Royal Decree-Law No. 6 of 2023. At present, there are already several AI-based tools used by Spanish courts and the application of them proves highly beneficial, in particular in certain areas of criminal justice. Nevertheless, AI use can pose serious problems related to conflict with different fundamental rights of the accused. Therefore, its use should be considered with great caution.

This chapter focuses on AI and its impact on transparency in judicial decision-making. Transparency is one of the core values of the rule of law, and essential for maintaining the trust and accountability of the judiciary and justice system as a whole. Drawing upon semi-structured expert interviews with members of judiciary and legal profession, case law and real-life examples of AI tools, the chapter considers four questions: why transparency matters in the context of judicial decision-making; the information that judges must have and communicate to satisfy the demands of transparency; whether they have access to this information; and, if not, what we might do about this deficit. We argue that two complementary solutions can strengthen judicial transparency in the age of AI: (1) a regulatory framework that mandates disclosure of specific information pertaining to the code and variables used in AI tools; and (2) robust use of the due process duty to provide adequate reasons for a judicial decision that depends upon the output of a predictive tool. These steps are essential to reconcile judicial use of AI with the need for transparency, as a foundational aspect of justice and rule of law.

Say an AI program passes a Turing test because it can converse in a way indistinguishable from a human. And say that its developers can then teach it to converse – and even present an extended persuasive argument – in a way indistinguishable from the sort of human we call a ‘lawyer’. The program could thus become an AI brief-writer, capable of regularly winning brief-writing competitions against human lawyers. If and when that happens, this chapter argues, the same technology can be used to create AI judges, judges that we should accept as no less reliable than human judges, and more cost-effective. If the software can create persuasive opinions, capable of regularly winning opinion-writing competitions against human judges, we should accept it as a judge, even if the opinions do not stem from human judgment.

The judiciary must reflect the diversity of the population it serves to ensure justice is both impartial and perceived as fair. This chapter examines how AI in courts influences judicial diversity and legitimacy. While AI can uncover unconscious biases and enhance case analysis, judicial diversity remains essential to prevent AI from reinforcing existing prejudices. The chapter also explores identity awareness and institutional legitimacy. Like other democratic institutions, courts using AI must uphold representativeness. AI can foster collaborative constitutionalism by incorporating diverse perspectives in constitutional debates, helping address concerns about judicial legitimacy when unelected judges overturn decisions by elected representatives. Finally, the chapter considers how judges’ engagement with AI- driven social media affects transparency and public trust. As these technologies shape perceptions of the judiciary, they must be carefully managed to support judicial diversity and legitimacy. This is particularly important for judges from diverse backgrounds, who face greater risks of digital harassment, potentially undermining institutional trust and judicial integrity.

The role of the judiciary as a check on the legislative and executive branches was believed necessary to the effectiveness of the horizontal separation of powers as a check on political factions. The nature of the judicial power was generally agreed to include the power of judicial review, but selection and tenure in office were thought to be important to limiting abuses of power.

This concluding chapter affirms that the integration of AI into courts is no longer a question of if, but how. Courts, as constitutional institutions, face profound normative questions: how does AI affect transparency, impartiality, and public trust? While AI improves court operations in many jurisdictions, it also risks eroding judicial values and the rule of law. Global examples show diverse adoption paths, yet shared challenges, such as AI opacity, lack of judicial AI literacy, and accountability gaps, demand coordinated oversight. Ultimately, a human-centred approach to judicial AI is essential. Rather than rejecting AI or accepting it uncritically, the authors advocate a balanced path that preserves the human and interpretive role of judging.

Judicial systems, long considered the most tradition-bound of public institutions, are at a critical juncture. From Strasbourg to São Paulo, from Delhi to Wellington, courts around the globe confront a shared challenge: how to navigate justice in an era redefined by artificial intelligence (AI). The question is no longer whether courts will engage with AI – but how, and on whose terms. This Handbook is the first global and comparative volume that systematically examines the use of AI and digital technologies in courts. It provides an interdisciplinary and cross-jurisdictional perspective on how judicial institutions are responding to the opportunities and risks posed by AI – from e-filing systems and predictive tools to ‘robo-judging’ and AI- supported decision-making. The forty-five contributions of the Handbook are arranged across ‘Part I: AI and Courts: Context and Normative Positions’, ‘Part II: AI and Courts: Disciplinary Perspectives’, ‘Part III: AI & Tech Challenges to Judicial Values’, and ‘Part IV: AI in Courts across the Globe: Jurisdictional Perspectives’, with each part offering a distinct analytical lens on justice and judging in the age of AI. The Handbook examines not just what AI can do for courts, but also what courts must do to ensure AI enhances, rather than erodes, their fundamental role in democratic societies.

Pablo Neruda lived in the crossroads of the cultural Cold War and its influence in Latin America. At once an ardent defender of the Soviet Union and the policies dictated from the Politburo, but also falling prey to the tensions that those directions generated in Latin America, the Chilean poet made the attempt (and ultimately failed to bring it to completion) to reconcile his views on democracy with the more radical members of Salvador Allende’s government. After the coup, amid the raids against all members of the political left, Neruda became a thorn in the side of the junta, and a potential menace that needed to be neutralized. The ensuing controversy regarding the judicial process to find the real cause of his death, not complete in its totality as of yet, contextualizes the rest of this essay.

Centring the devastating case of five-year-old Michael Komape’s drowning in a pit latrine at school, this chapter discusses the ‘dis/empowerment paradox’ inherent in South Africa’s ‘transformative constitutionalism’. Through the example of the Komapes’ 2018 case against the Minister of Basic Education (2018), it reveals the limitations of transformative constitutionalism rooted in Euro-American liberalism, which resonates with a neoliberal political economy that has failed to relieve the impoverished majority of their dehumanising precarity. While the chapter highlights the failure of the South African government to relate and respond to the suffering of the people it is meant to serve, more profoundly, it exposes the limitations of transformative constitutionalism due to its inability to even ‘see’ (let alone, validate) the world-sense of its majority population as legitimate law-sense. The Komape case thus reveals three key insights: (1) the resistance of private law to transformative ideals, (2) the reluctance of South Africa’s legal culture to embrace decolonial transformation and pluralism, and (3) the tension(s) between the legal consciousness of ordinary South Africans and the dominant legal culture. The case therefore underscores the need for Ntu Constitutionalism: a system grounded in indigenous normative priorities and robustly representative of South Africa’s marginalised communities and their needs.

In 1788, John Marshall made a prediction that was more prescient than he realized: The federal courts the new Constitution called for would be “the means of preventing disputes with foreign nations.” Marshall could not have known it, but for the next several decades international disputes over persons, ships, and goods caught up in maritime war would wash onto American shores, and into federal courtrooms. The courts’ decisions were essential to the United States’ emergence as a sovereign and independent nation. But preoccupation with Marshall’s famous constitutional rulings has obscured this story of judicial nation-building at sea. And while we have grown accustomed to the idea that “foreign affairs” are the domain of the legislative and executive branches, the political leaders who first tried to solve the puzzle of constitutional governance did not hew to such rigid notions of institutional responsibility. If Marshall’s legacy is the establishment of both judicial and national authority, this book shows that he and his contemporaries did so, first and foremost, at sea.

The chapter analyzes the nature and evolution of the administration of criminal justice in the Islamic Republic of Iran. Although current Iranian law incorporates a range of provisions intended to protect the rights of the accused in criminal prosecutions, in practice these provisions are routinely violated. It is argued that the violations of due process in the Islamic Republic of Iran are the result of several factors. First, the criminal justice system has been configured to deal with political opposition as an existential threat to the state, resulting in frequent executive interference in the judicial process and arbitrary trials in revolutionary courts. Second, the structural subordination of the judiciary to the effective power of the Supreme Leader and specific executive agencies has eroded the rule of law. Third, the ideological imperative to Islamize the judicial system after the 1979 Revolution has led to the adoption of judicial procedures that have given judges very wide discretion in the conduct and outcome of cases, notably in criminal law.

The independence of the legal profession suffered immeasurably when the bar associations were dissolved after the 1979 Revolution. They only gradually recuperated and reorganized in the 1990s, being allowed to hold internal elections again in 1997 and regain a degree of political independence. Since the early 2000s, however, hardliners have ensured that regimist lawyers dominate the bars’ boards, with the effect that the human rights work of the bar associations came to a halt. What has undermined the work of the bar associations most, however, is the parallel training and examination mechanisms set up in the judiciary for a different kind of lawyer, so-called Article 187 legal advisors. These do not take a bar exam and also otherwise are not organized by the Bar. They are required to seek renewal of their accreditation from the judiciary every year, thus making them highly dependent on the judiciary’s goodwill.