First comes this quotation from Pierre Schlag, Spam Jurisprudence, Air Law, and the Rank Anxiety of Nothing Happening (A Report on the State of the Art), 97 Geo. L.J. 803 (2009):
American legal scholarship today is dead—totally dead, deader than at any time in the past thirty years. It is more dead, vastly and exponentially more dead, than critical legal studies was ever dead during its most dead period. ...To this responded Daniel R. Ortiz in Get a Life?, 97 Geo. L.J. 837 (2009):
Now it’s true that we’re producing at a vastly faster rate than ever before. More papers. More conferences. More panels. More symposia. More blogs. And faster and faster too. More and faster. Over seven thousand American legal academics—and all of them cranking out those talks and papers as fast as possible. The speed of legal scholarship is just off the charts right now.
And yet, nothing’s happening.
How could this possibly be? The short answer is that, all around us, there is more, vastly more, of nothing happening than ever before.
What a depressing prospect! Many years short of retirement, I’m condemned, Schlag says, to generate necessarily (but, I hope, excellently) mediocre “legally cognizable material” at an ever-increasing pace. Like a hamster spinning on a wheel, my only hope is that my audience—and that’s probably only my dean—will applaud my display of energy as I move ever more quickly nowhere.And to that lament came Richard Posner's proposed remedy, in The State of Legal Scholarship Today (A Comment on Schlag), 97 Geo. L.J. 845 (2009):
Might it not be a good idea for law schools, just as they have separate clinical departments, with clinical faculty whose credentials, job descriptions, and career tracks differ substantially from those of the “regular” faculty, to have a department of legal analysis? The members would be legal doctrinalists, and their salaries would probably exceed those of the other professors in the law school (because lucrative private practice would be a close substitute for what they would be doing in law school, which is not the case for more “academic” law professors), but they would have somewhat higher teaching loads and the school would have different and lower expectations with regard to their scholarly publication. The practice of law has become a team effort—so has medicine— so why not legal education? Already regular law professors and clinical law professors work side by side in general amity. Why not have a third group of specialists, the legal analysts, working alongside them?Posner's suggestion deserves attention, not only because it presupposes some conditions that are questionable but also because it raises serious questions that need to be addressed. His suggestion deserves attention because, as Mike Livingston points out in his comment to Paul Caron's posting, law schools seem to be heading in that direction, but haphazardly and not deliberatively, creating an arrangement different in critical respects from the one envisioned by Posner.
The first concern is Posner's assertion that "law schools … have separate clinical departments, with clinical faculty whose credentials, job descriptions, and career tracks differ substantially from those of the 'regular' faculty," which may be true at some institutions but certainly isn't the case at all institutions. That fact proves the axiom that it need not be the case at any institution. Faculty at my law school are treated in the same way regardless of whether they are teaching a clinic or not. The hiring process may focus a bit more on certain credentials, namely, practice experience in a clinic's substantive area, but clinic faculty are not relegated to some "second class" membership in the faculty. They vote, they are subject to the same tenure review standards, they are not on a different pay scale, etc. There are faculty who teach both a clinic and a "regular" course, which would compound the many problems that would arise from separating clinicians from non-clinicians. Posner's point, though, survives despite the seeming universality of his assertion. His point is that separating law faculty into two (or more) groups would solve a problem.
My second concern is the idea that creating another "class" of law faculty is, in some way, a solution to the problem that threatens to transform law schools, and to do so in ways beyond the schools' control if their administration and faculty don't start focusing on the realities of the current recession and its long-term impact on legal education, as I discussed in How A Transformative Recession Affects Law Practice and Legal Education. It's not just the creation of a separate class of faculty that is disturbing. It's the proposed disparity in treatment, and, worse, the economic justification for the proposed dichotomy.
Posner suggests a "department of legal analysis" that would hire or take over "legal doctrinalists." Presumably, these would be the faculty who teach legal doctrine to law students. Law students, however, need more than legal doctrine. They need the ability to interview clients and dig out relevant facts. They need to learn how to negotiate and bargain. They need to learn compliance and planning techniques. They need to learn how to write, how to teach themselves, how to organize their thoughts, and how to express their reasoning and conclusions. They need to learn how to react to ever-changing legal landscapes. Posner describes what these faculty would be doing as something for which "lucrative private practice would be a close substitute." Yet not all great practitioners are in lucrative practices, because some great practitioners toil in public service organizations, in prosecutors' offices, or in government agencies, serving well their constitutencies and clients and yet not becoming the second coming of Midas. Ideally structured, most law faculty would be teaching clinics and other courses, making the divide between clinician and non-clinician a thing of the past. But that issue distracts from the chief problem with Posner's idea.
Posner suggests that the legal doctrinalists would earn higher salaries than the "'academic' law professors" and would have higher teaching loads than would the "academic law professors." This could mean two things. It could mean that legal doctrinalists would teach, for example, 16 credits during the year, and earn, let's say, $140,000, whereas the academic law professor would teach 8 credits during the year, and earn $70,000. Presumably, that would give the academic faculty more "free time" to devote to "legal scholarship." But it also could mean that that legal doctrinalists would teach, for example, 16 credits during the year, and earn, let's say, $140,000, whereas the academic law professor would teach 8 credits during the year, and earn $125,000. The former interpretation means that academic faculty would be compensated economically for their scholarship only if they found someone willing to pay for it, a proposition extremely unlikely to materialize. The latter interpretation means that law student subsidization of legal scholarship would continue. If that is what Posner envisions, I disagree with his proposal.
To ask the critical question is to ask why law students should subsidize legal scholarship. The replies from the defenders of this practice are interesting. They argue that the legal scholarship done by faculty at Law School A enhance the reputation of that school and thus enhance the employment prospects of its graduates. Yet graduates of law schools that have generated significant increases in "scholarly output" by their faculties haven't gained in the marketplace because those increases in scholarly output haven't diminished the employment prospects of Law School A's graduates. Advocates of student subsidization of legal scholarship also argue that the scholarship contributes to the development of the law, in the legislative arena, through administrative pronouncements, and in judicial decision making. Yet that is far more the exception than the rule. Members of Congress rarely, if ever, read the academic journals. Administrative agencies rely on those practicing in front of them or submitting comments, and rarely does a law review article turn up as an agency submission. Judges turn to the law reviews with ever-decreasing frequency. Practitioners subscribe to services that keep them current in the law, which means that their subscriptions to academic journals has withered away to de minimis numbers. It may be sad from the wider perspective of legal philosophy, but clients pay for what solves and prevents their problems today, and aren't all that interested in how things would turn out for them if Professor X were the czar of the legal world.
How did this come to pass? Years ago, the Supreme Court, in Griswold v. Connecticut, 381 U.S. 479 (1965), cited a law review article written by a law school professor and dean, Erwin N. Griswold, The Right to be Let Alone, 55 Nw. U. L. Rev. (1960). No, I don't think the two Griswolds were related, at least not in terms of considering themselves members of the same family. The appeal of being cited by the Supreme Court resonated with the egos of many a law school faculty member and many more wanting to be law school faculty. And so the race was on to pen the definitive analysis that would lift its author, and the author's school, into prominence when it was cited by the Supreme Court. The irony is that Erwin N. Griswold tackled a practical problem and dealt with it in practical ways that made it useful to the court. So much of today's "dead" legal scholarship plays upon a theoretical landscape offering impractical ideas that it's no wonder the judiciary finds less and less value in the pages of the academic journals. In contrast, practical writing that guides lawyers as they seek to assist their clients also gives judges a good road map to working through a case. When I do write what is considered "true legal scholarship," and I do that from time to time, I focus on practical problems and address a question that has come up in practice and that is near or already in litigation. My practical writing, which is what principally author, ends up being cited with some regularity, particularly in judicial briefs. I doubt the Supreme Court ever will cite me, and yet that in no way diminishes my conclusion that I've been helpful with my writing. My point is that one can both teach and write, in ways that are harmonious, without needing to wander into the places legal scholarship has taken itself during the past twenty or thirty years, apparently, according to some, to places where it will die or already has died.
And that brings us to yet another argument made by those who support the idea that law faculty should be cranking out scholarly article after scholarly article. They claim that these articles will contribute to the betterment of society, by influencing the development of law in a beneficial direction. Yet, as I've pointed out, they're more likely to achieve this result if they focus on practical problems in practical ways rather than trying to justify positions on abstract conceptualizations. Not long ago, a professor from another school came here to present a paper. The issue was important, the analysis was interesting, but for me the paper ended too soon. I asked the author if the goal was to produce something to guide legislatures in framing a statutory solution, to help judges decide the seemingly inevitable case, or to provide practitioners with arguments and planning approaches to use in litigation and planning work. The answer floored me. "I'm not writing for them. I'm writing for other scholars." I bit my tongue. I wanted to ask, "On whose dime?" Why should law students undertake debt in order to fund this sort of production? The answer, of course, is that they are easy targets, riding on a bubble of education debt that made it a no-brainer to increase law school tuition every year to fund more and more faculty scholarship as average teaching loads declined, made possible by expanding the size of law school faculties.
Mike Livingston, in his his comment to Paul Caron's posting, notes that law schools already are "substituting non-tenure track (and primarily nonscholarly) faculty for the more traditional variety" and he characterizes that as a ruse. Indeed it is. These non-tenure track faculty, cost law schools far less than do "regular" faculty and yet their increasing presence doesn't yield tuition discounts or rebates for law students. Why? Because more and more regular faculty demand reduced teaching loads, in order to generate legal scholarship, law schools end up needing to hire non-tenure track faculty, and even adjuncts, to teach courses, including core courses. Here's the catch. These non-tenure track faculty and adjuncts earn less, not more, than the "academic law professor." Law schools have it backwards. They're slip-sliding into an inversion of Posner's suggestion. They will end up, if the trend continues, as institutions paying high salaries to academicians writing legal scholarship and lower salaries to faculty doing the teaching. And law students will continue to borrow money to pay for this experience, why?
What law schools, and their parent universities, need to do is to become honest. The law school is a school. Its tuition should fund teaching, and by teaching I mean not only doctrinal pedagogy but also clinical and other experiential classes, planning courses, practical writing exercises, and all of the other skills that lawyers need. The university, if it so chooses, can establish institutes, or think tanks, that hire people who want to ponder and engage in discourse on topics of interest, to themselves, to the university, to the institute, to whomever, as the university chooses to support. Funding? Consult the think tanks and learn how they obtain money. Think tanks aren't charging tuition. A person who wants to teach and write could be given the opportunity to take a part-time appointment in the law school and a part-time appointment in the think tank, with salary set accordingly. A person who wants to write, and there are law faculty who would invest all their time writing if they could and who view teaching as a necessary distraction, could seek an appointment in the institute. A person who wants to teach, and who doesn't want to engage in the academic scholarship game, could seek an appointment in the law school. None of this would prevent the law school faculty member from writing practical material. None of this would prevent the law school and the institute from collaborating on programs of interest to law students and the practice world, though I predict there would be much experimentation before these organizations figured out how to do it in a way that works.
If law schools don't make these adjustments, they will continue on the slip-slide until the day the faculty wakes up, realizes students are heading for those much less expensive educational organizations established by the practice world, a possibility I suggest in How A Transformative Recession Affects Law Practice and Legal Education, and notices that the revenue required for their incomes has shrunk considerably. The law school will have become the institute, after dismissing most of the faculty, its building will be taken over by the university, to be rented to the new law teaching organization, in some sort of cooperative venture with the practicing bar and perhaps the state judicial system. The outcome will be far less pleasant than the one that can be obtained by a careful and deliberative process of reforming and re-forming legal education. The post-2010-recession economy will not be hospitable to the current arrangement. It truly is a simple choice. What will happen to it?