An opening musing on legal education
Well, several days later than planned, here I am with my inaugural post as May’s guest blogger here at Concurring Opinions. Thanks to Gerard for the flattering invitation. This is my first venture as a blogger, so I’m not quite sure I’ll strike the right note. But here goes.
I’ve been thinking a good deal about the structure of American legal education lately. This bout of introspection has been prompted by the national mood of unease in the profession, and more personally, by Missouri’s three-year rollercoaster ride in the US News rankings — from 60-something to 100-something and now back up to 70-something — and by my work as chair of a curriculum committee debating whether we have to reinvent ourselves for our own and our students’ sakes. Here, in short form suitable for the blogosphere, are some of my tentative conclusions:
1) So long as US News rankings remain the primary indicator of institutional quality in the eyes of student consumers, the top 20 or perhaps 30 law schools are at liberty to change or stand pat, as suits them. So long as they continue taking in and spending a lot of money per student on whatever it is they do, the combination of reputational inertia and a US News algorithm in which most of the supposed measures of educational quality are actually proxies for money, these schools will remain on top and free to deliver legal education however they like. Their high ranking will guarantee a constant stream of the statistically best students willing to pay top tuition dollar. The raw intellectual talent of their graduates (regardless of how well or badly they were educated) will guarantee employment of those graduates by the most elite employers. And so the cycle will continue, forever and ever. Amen.
2) This model cannot work for the rest of us. In a generally stagnant economy with a legal market offering fewer jobs at less pay, we cannot continue to compete with each other in what amounts to an endless race to drive up per-student costs. Legislatures will not fund perennial increases for state-supported schools like mine. For both public and private schools, philanthropic funding is not bottomless. And trying to fund our academic arms race with ever-rising tuition is neither economically sustainable nor, frankly, moral.
3) Exacerbating the stress on non-elite institutions is the emerging emphasis on producing more practice-ready graduates. I happen to favor this trend. Indeed, over thirty years ago I wrote my third-year paper at Harvard on how to restructure upper-division legal education to achieve this end. But any serious effort to enhance practice-readiness runs head-on into the economics and sociology of law schools:
a) Increasing practice-readiness requires more training in the skills performed by actual lawyers. This in turn requires either more “experiential learning” (basically various forms of clinical education) or more in-house simulation-based skills training or some combination of both.
b) Skills training, whether experiential or simulated, requires much lower teacher-student ratios than doctrinal courses. Therefore, at least if the law school is to maintain quality control and not simply farm the whole thing out to adjuncts, it is probably more expensive.
c) I say that increasing skills training is “probably” more expensive if we conceive of the additional skills training capacity as an add-on to what we already do, and if we assume that the doctrinal faculty of law schools will continue to do what they now do in the same way they’ve grown accustomed to doing it. In other words, if law schools continue hiring the same number of doctrinal tenure-track faculty with the same set of entering qualifications, give them the same teaching loads, pay them in roughly the same way, and set the same standards for type and quantity of scholarship, then adding the staff and programs required to make graduates more practice-ready will necessarily increase the cost of legal education. And I’ve just argued that the vast majority of law schools can’t keep raising costs.
d) There are only two obvious ways out of this box. Either we abandon the objective of making our graduates more practice-ready or we rethink the role of doctrinal tenure-track faculty.
The first option is not crazy. One could fairly argue that law schools should never have gotten into the skills training business in the first place. What was good enough for Langdell should be good enough for us. Teach ’em basic legal doctrine and the intellectual skill of legal analysis and leave the rest to the first years of practice. Or, less dogmatically, we’ve added a lot of skills training options over the last three decades (legal writing, clinics, trial advocacy) and what we have is enough.
But if you think we could and should do a better job of preparing our students for legal work, then that requires an uncomfortable self-analysis by the tenured and tenure-track class at the top of the law school hierarchy. As a conversation starter, let me suggest several changes in our comfortable lives that would make law schools better for our students, and for matter, for the legal communities of which law schools are a part:
- Reverse the trend toward competing for faculty by offering ever-lower teaching loads to tenure-track professors. I like working less for more money as well as the next guy, but paying law professors premium salaries in relation to virtually everyone else in the university for teaching 11 or 10 or 9 hours per year is increasingly hard to justify. In the Bizzarro World of US News rankings, this practice makes weird sense because reducing professors’ teaching loads requires hiring more of them, which reduces the student-teacher ratio and increases the overall expenditures per student, which raises a school’s ranking. If, however, one is trying to increase skills training without cripplingly raising costs, an obvious means of doing so is by covering the curriculum with fewer faculty and thus freeing budgetary space for the additional staff required for more skills training.
- Rethink the constellation of preferred qualifications for entry-level tenure-track law professors. Right now, we tend to hire young people with high grades from a handful of elite law schools whose work experience consists of a judicial clerkship and a couple of years at a fancy big-city law firm. With all these youngsters’ potential, in practice, no sensible senior lawyer would entrust them with unsupervised responsibility for any matter of real importance. But law schools confer on them the mantle of wisdom that comes with the title “professor” and not only ask them to educate students about a world they themselves have barely experienced, but also to write authoritative “scholarship” about that world. Because they are surpassingly talented people, newby law professors figure out their jobs, teach well enough (and sometimes brilliantly), and churn out law review articles as required. In a Langdellian model of legal education, this approach to hiring works well enough since the core subject matters are legal doctrine and legal reasoning, subjects those in our hiring pool have self-evidently mastered. And if the legal scholarship produced by professorial rookies is not profound, well, no one is much hurt. But if law schools are reimagined as institutions devoted to producing practice-ready graduates, then the practical inexperience of most of the professoriate becomes a problem. Professors with little real-world experience are ill-suited either to teach skills-rich courses themselves or to supervise or assess the content of such courses taught by others.
- Reconsider the role of “legal scholarship” in American law schools. An immediate (and horrified) objection to the suggestion of increased teaching loads will surely be the decreased time available for scholarship. And the idea of hiring more tenure-track faculty with real practice experience will surely be rejected by those who view exposure to the law in action as an irremediable pollution of the mind of the young scholar. To which I say, “Fiddlesticks!” There is far too much “legal scholarship” now. Most of it is mediocre or worse. Much of its mediocrity stems from the naivete of inexperienced professorial authors. Even if it were far better than it is, the sheer number of law review articles spewed forth each year means that only the tiniest fraction of them will ever be read by anyone other than their author’s immediate relatives or P&T committees. In saying this, I cast no aspersions on the talents of my academic fellows. To the contrary, law schools are brimming with brilliant minds, but the odd conventions of our trade often force them to opine too soon about subjects of which they know relatively little and to channel much of their creative energies into the writing of law review articles — an exercise customarily equal in practical effect to shouting down a well. As a class, law professors should probably write less, not more. If possible, they should write about subjects they have some practical familiarity with. If professors come to the academy without such familiarity, they should find ways to gain it. This means we should hire more people with more real-world experience and encourage those already hired to gain it, not only to assist in producing practice-ready graduates, but in order to improve legal scholarship. And, finally, we should most often write with a conscious view to influencing real-world legal actors.
In short, the move to restructure law schools so their graduates are better prepared to practice presents a fundamental challenge to the existing comfortable world of the tenure-track law professor. I think that is a good thing, one that would make our students and the legal profession a good deal better off. But I imagine others may differ…