The exam period begins today at the law school. Anxiety and stress, particularly among first-year students but also among the more seasoned upper-year students, is rampant. One of the "exam preparation" techniques most favored by students is to get their hands on a previous semester's exam in the same course with the same professor. Somehow, students think, by looking at the old exam they will have a better chance of doing well on their upcoming exam. Unless the exam comes with a model answer, an description of erroneous answers and why they don't earn credit, and an explanation of how to think through the facts of the question to get to the correct answer or answers, the old exam is of little value. Surely a student looking at an old exam and thinking to himself or herself, "Oh, yeah, I know the answer to this one" gathers as much positive reinforcement as I do when I look at a basketball hoop and think, "Oh, yeah, I can dunk the ball." Of course, some students will then bring the old exam to the professor and ask for the answers. At this stage students ought to be trying to answer the question to see if they can do so, and at best should be bringing to the professor the answer that the student has already worked out.
It's clear why students want to dig out old exams. For whatever reason, many law students continue to approach legal problems with the notion that there is a finite set of possible questions, and if they can find all of them in a setting that provides the answers to all of them, when they get to the exam that counts, they can dial up whichever one matches the question on the exam. The flaw in this reasoning, of course, is the idea that there are a finite set of possible questions. I know that students do this, because they tell me that they do this. Not long ago, a student approached me about a semester exercise -- think of a short-answer question extracted from what otherwise would be an exam and presented to the students as a stand-alone graded assignment -- with the concern that he had looked everywhere and could not find an example (facts and solution) that matched the assignment. Of course he wouldn't find it, and he was wasting his time looking for it. I explained that he needed to identify the issues for each of the four very short question within the exercise, and then apply the process for resolving that issue. The process could be in the form of a checklist, a chart, a Harvard outline, a Venn diagram, whatever. Eventually he returned, and was delighted that he had figured it out. On many occasions, when I get the point across to a student that the key is the process and not the information, the reaction is along the lines of "I wish I had figured this out during my first year." So do I. But that's another topic, a highly sensitive one, and I will leave to another day the question of why students come into upper-year courses, or even get through law school and into an LL.M. Program, without having grasped the "secret" to thinking -- no, not thinking like a lawyer, but simply thinking -- that is the key to doing well not only in law but in numerous other professions, trades, and activities.
The analogy I use is the solving of crossword puzzles. What many students try to do when learning law is to acquire a set of all possible crossword puzzles and their solutions, so that when they encounter a puzzle, the solution is at hand. The flaw in this approach is the fact that there are an infinite number of crossword puzzles. There is no way one can have an inventory of all possible crossword puzzle solutions. Instead, the secret to solving a crossword puzzle is to have a methodical process of working through the puzzle, analyzing each factor that is relevant, such as the number of letters, letters already in place from having worked out another clue, possible letters already in place from having identified tentative resolutions of other clues, understanding the theme of the puzzle if there is one, etc. I wrote about this issue five years ago in
Doing Puzzles While Learning & Practicing Law, which appeared in the law school's weekly newsletter. I wrote this essay not only to explain to law students why the thinking involved in solving puzzles is almost identical to the thinking required to solve legal problems, but also to encourage students to question whether their alleged dislike for doing puzzles meshed well with their expressed interest in pursuing a career of solving problems. The flip side, preventing problems, is more similar to creating crossword puzzles, which is, as anyone who has tried to do so understands, far more challenging than solving one. I have come to understand the comments made to me by more than a few of my law school faculty who later became my colleagues to the effect that preparing and designing an exam is far more challenging than taking one. I plan to write about that particular challenge at some later date.
In my tax courses, there is yet another reason to discourage students from digging into old examinations. Tax law changes so frequently that what was a good question on last year's examination may have become obsolete. Or perhaps the answer has changed. Or perhaps the choices are no longer valid, either as correct answers or as plausible erroneous answers. Or perhaps the issue has gone from one that is easily resolved using general principles to one that must be wrung through a maze of new statutory or regulatory provisions, such that without additional or different facts, the question is close to useless. Or perhaps the question addresses a topic no longer covered in the course because it became too complex, or needed to be removed in the on-going triage of finding space for the new "tax goodies" bestowed on tax students by the Congress. Going through an old exam, explaining why a question is obsolete, or explaining why the choices are misleading, ends up confusing the student by filling his or her head with more information, information which is extraneous to the scope of the course and of little or no interest to students not headed for tax careers.
For these reasons, I do not publish old examinations. I don't want to enable the sort of thinking that causes students to hunt for old examinations, or even to dig through the old examination database that the school maintains. I don't want to waste students' time or mine going through an exam that is obsolete in part, misleading in part in light of intervening changes, or that covers topics no longer covered in the course. I don't want to take students away from what they should be doing.
Instead of digging through old exams in search of the "magic key" to the kingdom of legal studies, students ought to be assimilating the material that they have covered during the semester. In fact, they should be doing this throughout the semester and not in one end-of-semester flurry of catch-up-and-cram insanity that includes the rush for the "quick and easy" solution, and that results in acquisition of knowledge that vanishes from their brains hours after the examination, unavailable for recall in the next course or while representing the next client. Throughout the semester and at the end, students ought to be reviewing the problems that were analyzed in class. They should be creating, or, better, refining their own checklists, flowcharts, matrices, outlines, Venn diagrams, whatever. They should be teaching each other in study groups. They should be taking the various problems and hypothetical questions from class and running through the many possible permutations on those problems and questions. They should be going to
CALI and working through the hundreds of questions that do, in fact, give them a chance to test themselves, and, within moments, to find out if they understand what they need to understand to do well on an examination.
By requiring students to turn in responses to assignments during the semester, I get the opportunity to identify students who approach problems by trying to regurgitate law, or by answering something that hasn't been asked, or by misreading the facts, or by making one or another of the very common errors law students make on examinations and, if uncorrected, when representing clients. I'd rather that a student lose 2, 4, 8 points on an exercise than commit the same mistake repeatedly on an examination and lose 40, 60, or 80 points with no chance to engage in ameliorative endeavors. This process encourages students to do what they should be doing early enough that the product of their efforts sticks in their brains for a much longer time, provides them with the opportunity for positive reinforcement when they are on track, and gives them the chance to identify flaws in their approach to problems long before grades are released months after the course is finished.
If law required only the identification of all possible situations, each with a correlative answer, computers could replace lawyers. Some people, in jest or not, might find this to be an improvement in life and for society. Yet computers cannot replace lawyers, at least not for many decades, because the contribution of lawyers to society is not only in the application of settled rules to the ordinary transactions of some clients, but to the development of answers to the problems that arise for the first time. A lawyer does not work through the case of first impression by looking up an answer or by having memorized some rules. A lawyer works out the problem by using a process of thinking. Once a student understands this "secret," the possibilities, as a student once told me, are staggering. Indeed, they are.