According to
this report, a proposed curriculum change at the Harvard Law School curriculum would shift the approach of teaching law from the almost ancient study of appellate cases to one that emphasizes "a more practical, problem-solving approach." Hurray! Well, hurray that Harvard is catching up with what a few faculty at some other law schools have been doing. Presumably, once Harvard puts its imprimatur on what is now the object of more than a few frowns and not-so-quiet criticism, the problem approach will become all the rage in legal education. I've been advocating the problem method since I started teaching, but my name isn't Harvard.
It usually comes as a surprise to people who've not been to law school to learn that what transpires in many law school courses is only remotely connected with what most lawyers do in their daily practice of law. Quoting
the report"Many law schools, with their century-old teaching methods, do not prepare graduates for the day-to-day realities of law practice." There have always been exceptions, but those who have tried to turn law teaching from what worked in the late 1800s when the appellate case study method was adopted have consistently encountered resistance. For example, though today most law schools have clinical programs, in which law students assist impoverished clients under the tutelage of faculty members with practical legal experience, the battle to institute those programs was almost literally a battle. The debate over the tenure eligibility of "clinical track faculty" would be humourous were it not so embarrassing. The same sorts of battles have been fought with respect to the creation of legal writing programs, the imposition of a practical writing requirement for graduation to supplement the decades-long theoretical seminar paper graduation requirement, and even the adoption of a legal ethics course requirement. Though seemingly won, attempts to integrate legal ethics and other legal skills into doctrinal courses have been relatively unsuccessful.
For my entire teaching career, I have used the problem method to educate law students. I blend into that approach awareness of overarching jurisprudence, policy considerations, and ethical concerns. In other words, I try to replicate the intellectual challenges that students will encounter when they graduate and enter law practice. Whether they begin or end up in a law firm, a corporation's legal department, a government agency's counsel office, or a judge's chambers, or even in some non-law field, law graduates will be doing two primary tasks: solving problems and preventing problems.
So why are law schools so reticent to synchronize legal education with law practice? Several reasons have been offered at different times.
One explanation is that it is not obligation of law schools to teach lawyers. I've been told that we have an obligation to train "legal philosophers." Why? What do they do and who needs them? How many of the 30,000-plus law students who graduate each year will become legal philosophers? The notion that law schools are not responsible for training law practitioners is a vestige of the days, long gone, when law graduates served in what essentially could be called apprenticeships under the guidance of a practitioner. The economics of law practice and changes in bar admission requirements, chiefly the removal of the apprenticeship requirement, transformed the law practice side of the education equation but law schools did not respond. As a consequence, to quote from
the report, "Young lawyers often find that law practice is starkly different from law school, contributing to high attrition at many law firms," and "The cost to firms of associate attrition is substantial: more than $300,000 per departing lawyer in unrecoverable recruiting, training, and replacement costs." Reading between the lines, law firms are bringing even more pressure on law schools to be relevant to law practice. Despite the emergence of "bridge the gap" programs funded by practicing lawyers, the reality is that during the first few years of practice, law graduates are very limited in what they can offer to law firms. Law firms expect something more for the $130,000 salaries they are dishing out to top students than a facility with appellate cases, oral argument (which few lawyers ever do), and legal theories. It is not coincidence that students who manage to get one of the highly coveted and short-supplied clinic positions progress far more quickly early in their practice experience. Again from
the report, "'The case method..... falls pretty far short of actually training people to know how to be a lawyer,.."
Another explanation is the long-touted adage that "law schools are not trade schools." Though it makes sense not to worry about teaching law students how to find courthouses, the principal example rolled out by the "we're not a trade school" advocates, how does teaching law students to approach client problems as though they were problems going to turn law schools into trade schools? If by "trade" one means the ability to do something useful, every school should be a trade school. The whole point of the problem method is to teach students how to look at a new set of facts and apply principles in order to solve or prevent a problem. The problem method is not, and ought not be viewed as, the insertion of a "don't think for yourself" list of problems and solutions. The bottom line, again quoting
the report, is that "law schools ought to be aware that they're training people for practice."
I don't buy those explanations, though I do understand that some law faculty sincerely believe they are teaching legal philosophers and not legal practitioners. I understand the concern that a focus on the practical might diminish the law school in the eyes of other University departments, many of which are very disconnected from the world beyond education. For the most part, I think those explanations are excuses.
So what do I think is the cause of the disconnect between legal education and legal practice?
The first explanation is what I call perpetuation. Though law faculty technically are hired by deans and University presidents, those officials act on the recommendations of law faculties or law faculty committees. Law faculty look for people like themselves (which is why faculty hiring can be a contentious process at law schools where the faculty is not overwhelmingly of like mind). Thus, hiring law faculty who will reform the curriculum is unlikely, because candidates with such an agenda will be considered too much of a threat to the existing way of life.
The second explanation is what I call faculty experience limitation. Some law faculty have little or no law practice experience. A few have never represented a client. Many have had a law practice experience limited to clerking for an appellate judge. This is what they know, namely, appellate cases and appellate practice. Never mind that the overwhelming majority of lawyers never argue an appellate case. For every trial level course or competition, there are at least as many and usually more appellate level courses and competitions. It's easy to teach that with which one is familiar. My courses, and those of some of my colleagues, are peppered with questions such as, "So what would you now ask of the client?" or "What would you tell the client?" Several years ago a student in one of my courses emailed me, on behalf of the class or at least a substantial number of the students in the course. He wrote, "You are scaring [the daylights] out of us. This is the first time we've heard the word client in a law school class. We don't have a clue what you are trying to get us to do." I suppose he was exaggerating, for surely they had heard the word client in some other course. No matter, the point is that what I was trying to get the students to do was so unfamiliar it was causing stress.
The third explanation is what I call faculty competence limitation. Almost all law faculty have limited competences. By that I mean most law faculty "specialize" in a narrow area of the law. One member of the faculty might teach torts and evidence, the competence of a personal injury lawyer, though perhaps from a jurisprudential rather than practical perspective. Another member of the faculty might teach business organizations and securities regulation. Both would admit that to teach the other's courses would be a daunting challenge. In a world of doctrinal education, this is a wonderful arrangement. Ideally, it permits the faculty member to do his or her "scholarly writing" in the same area. Supposedly there is reinforcement of the teaching by the research, and vice versa, though recent studies cast doubt on that assumption. Years ago, one of my colleagues was asked to teach five courses that had no coherent relationship to one another in terms of area of doctrinal competence. It was far from an ideal situation under the circumstances but yet it had the seeds of where legal education needs to go. The problem method focuses on the reality of what clients bring to their lawyers, namely transactions and events that have occurred or that need to be planned. The expertise required to assist a client in setting up a business ranges from tax law to securities regulation, across environmental and property law, and into employment and discrimination law. The expertise required to handle a divorce includes not only domestic relations law, but tax, business organizations, criminal law, negotiation skills, and familiarity with the law of wills and trusts, to name some. Few faculty have such expertise. Most law schools deal with this situation by hiring adjuncts, who almost always are, not surprisingly, practicing lawyers or judges. As
the report explains: ''When a human being walks through a lawyer's door, they don't say, 'I have for you a tort problem' 'They say, 'I was walking to the office this morning and a car came by and knocked over this garbage can and it hit me and I fell off the sidewalk and I twisted an ankle and what are you doing to do about it?'"
The fourth explanation is what I call the invasion of the philosophers. In recent years there has been a rush on the part of many law schools to bring a "multi-disciplinary" focus to legal education. So into the curriculum come courses such as law and economics, law and politics, law and literature, law and history, law and religion, law and music, ok, I haven't seen law and music yet. To teach these courses, law schools are hiring "interdisciplinary scholars" who almost always have a Ph.D. in some discipline along with a J.D., though often with little or no client contact experience. The classroom context in these courses is much closer to that of a graduate philosophy department than to law practice. It's not that these courses are inadequate or inappropriate. They're not. It's that they displace other courses in the students' schedules. Is it valuable to bring a multi-disciplinary focus to legal education? Definitely. Why? Because law students enter law school with so many educational deficiencies that the law schools are compelled to provide remedial education. Good lawyers need to understand economics, history, literature, culture, and similar disciplines in order to understand the context in which law operates. Squeezing this remedial education into an already crowded three-year program is foolish. The addition of a fourth year, with half of it devoted to clinical experiences for all law students, would go a long way in delivering a better law graduate to the practice world.
The fifth explanation is what I call the curse of the J.D. degree. The J.D. degree is the only doctorate that is awarded to students who lack both a bachelors and a masters degree in the discipline. The fact that a J.D. degree is a prerequisite to the LL.M. degree, and that the LL.M. is followed by the S.J.D. degree is proof enough of the distortion. The distortion arises from a surrender to the demands of law students in the late 60s that their degree be a doctoral degree because "our college classmates are getting doctorates and we're only getting this lousy LL.B. degree." Pressed to explain, the argument was made that "after spending seven years of post-secondary education we deserve a doctorate just as our friends are getting." Rather than offending anyone, law schools gave in to these demands. Why law schools did not respond, "Ah, but your friends earned bachelors degrees in their discipline and entered the combined masters-doctoral program already educated in their discipline. You, however, aren't yet ready for a doctoral program." Well, there's no turning back from this supposedly "change in the letters" but there needs to be a turning back from the impression many law faculty have that because the principal programs at law schools are "doctoral" in nature, the education should be doctoral. Accordingly, much of what one would expect to be done in an S.J.D. program is being transferred into J.D. programs, at the expense of the LL.B. education that is being eroded. In the rush to make up for doctrinal deficiencies and to inculcate multi-disciplinary features into the J.D. programs, little time is left for problem solving and problem prevention.
The sixth explanation is what I call the downside of passive learning. During the past few decades, more and more law school courses have come to resemble the "feed and regurgitate" courses prevalent in many undergraduate programs. Whether so designed, or a consequence of faculty acceptance of student pressure for lectures in order to obtain favorable evaluations, the concept of passive learning is wholly inconsistent with the active style of law practice. I annoy my students, and even fuel dislike, when I ask a question and in response to quiet say, "So you're going to stare at the client and say nothing? Look in a book to see what I told you to say only to discover I didn't tell you because the client has told you one of the ten million possibilities we didn't have time to cover in this course?" Some faculty avoid that approach because they didn't like it, or the faculty member using it, when they were in law school and they have resolved to avoid using it because they don't want to be disliked. I'd rather be liked by my students after they graduate. Using the problem method triggers active learning because it puts the student into a real, rather than theoretical situation, where the constraints of practice must come to bear on the analysis. Students quickly learn that there are more questions than answers, and that the demand for "telling us what the law is" can accordingly be muted.
Note that these explanations are not separate and distinct features, but feed one upon the other. Experience limitation feeds perpetuation. The curse of the J.D. degree contributes to the invasion of the philosophers. The downside of passive learning reflects in part an attempt to deal with the curse of the J.D. degree. And so on.
Introducing the problem method into law school education isn't the issue. It has been introduced. The challenge is making it ubiquitous. Encountering the problem method in one or two courses does not change the way law students think, because they see those course as aberrations or, for some, as models of what they'd like to see in the rest of their course load. Only by making the problem method an every-day experience throughout all three years of law study can law schools attain the goal that one person quoted in
the report said, ''If we get them to think of themselves as problem-solvers, that brings them closer to the realities of law practice." That, of course, requires law faculties to become convinced that the goal is to get their students "closer to the realities of law practice." That's one reason it will be interesting to see what the Harvard faculty does when the proposal comes to it for approval. I wonder how many will think, "Sure, I don't mind other faculty doing this, but I'm not going to change" (something I've heard spoken aloud more than once). The risk to those who think in that manner is that once a critical mass of law faculty adopt the problem method, students will wonder why the rest of the faculty isn't getting with the program.
But even a pervasive adoption of the problem method is insufficient. Faculty who use the problem method well will discover that it requires them to bring other areas of law into their discussion. I find it useless to teach the law of wills and trusts without considering the impact of divorce, or the general effect of taxation. Ultimately, the problem method will cause too much overlap between courses with an unavoidable decrease in depth and scope of coverage. That result would be no less counter-productive to the goal of preparing law students to be lawyers. What needs to happen is another of my favorite proposals, namely, the realignment of law school curriculum along transactional rather than doctrinal lines. Why not a first-year course that focuses on signing a lease and purchasing real property? At present, the applicable rules and analytical processes necessary to handle a real property purchase in practice are spread throughout courses in property, contracts, income taxation, state and local taxation, domestic relations law, wills and trusts, environmental law, torts, jurisdiction, remedies, negotiation, modern land transactions, drafting for real property transactions, secured transactions, and a few others. Rarely can the combination of requirements and course scheduling permit a law student to enroll in all those courses. Imagine the preparation for practice-world client assistance that can be provided by a course that integrates all the relevant doctrine. The problem? Who would or could teach it? The tax component alone deters almost all faculty. Or consider a course that dealt with the purchase and ownership of a boat or vehicle. Again, the lawyer needs to consider a wide range of issues that are not confined to one of the traditional first-year doctrinal courses that made sense when they were constructed in the late nineteenth century. But again, who would or could teach it? The proposal to arrange law curriculum in a transactional manner is a threat to many law faculty. Some would take it as a welcome challenge and bring themselves up to speed. Some.
All in all, bringing the problem method into its course array is, to paraphrase my email to my colleagues a few days ago, "a brilliant strategic move because it doesn't let anyone else take over as lead dog." Although other schools have been increasing the use of the problem method, Harvard is positioned to take credit for making it the wave of the future. That's the advantage of being Harvard. It's also the responsibility of being Harvard, and it's nice to see that school, after several decades of turmoil and false starts into other changes, live up to that responsibility.
The cynic in me must note that what ultimately will drive curricular change is the U.S. News and World Reports ranking. If the editors see fit to make use of the problem method and even transactional-focused curriculum positive factors in its convoluted equation, the bandwagon will fill rapidly. Can that happen? Yes. U.S. News surveys judges and practitioners, many of whom, because of their post-law-school client experiences, are supporters of the problem method and transactional-focused curriculum. How do I know? I communicate with law graduates almost every day. That's what I have heard and continue to hear. Harvard, it seems, is listening, too. Are the others?