In eight days it will be time, once again, to teach the first class of the new semester. The students in my Introduction to Federal Taxation course are second and third year students. During the past decade, the enrollment in this necessary, but elective, course has become progressively more self-selective. Students who do not want to do the work that I require during the semester, and who prefer a course in which they can coast, find an old outline, and cram for an "all eggs in one basket" final examination avoid my courses. It's no secret.
They claim that I am too demanding. My response is that I am as demanding as is the law, as are the clients, and as are the partners, judges, or other supervisors to whom the students will be reporting when they graduate. There's little room in practice to coast for fourteen weeks and then cram everything into one all-nighter. Law practice is a rude shock to most law graduates. Those who make the smoothest adjustment are those who have been in law school clinics, in well-run externships, in law firm summer programs that are more demanding than the "we are wooing you, so let's go to a ball game or concert" experience, and those who somewhere in their previous education acquired robust self-discipline and good academic study habits.
One of the reasons that my courses are so challenging is that they involve subjects requiring far more than the 42 50-minute class sessions allocated to them. Introduction to Federal Taxation remains a three-credit course, as it was 30, 40 years ago, even though the Internal Revenue Code, the regulations, and case law have multiplied many-fold during that time. Even setting aside the arcane and irrelevant, the individual income tax provisions that are the primary focus of the course have blossomed like weeds after a week of rain. There's insufficient time to devote several classes to one provision, and there's insufficient time simply to have extended discussions about the specific tax policies reflected in the provision or to air each student's "feelings" about tax law (as if none of us could guess).
To learn the basics of federal taxation, therefore, students need to do a significant amount of self-teaching. They need to read and ponder before class, even if they don't quite grasp what's going on with the statute. After all, as I explain to them on the first day, a failed effort is far more valuable than no effort. After class, they need to assimilate the material. By creating their own outlines, graphs, charts, tables, or other learning aid, they are learning through that process. Grabbing someone else's outline or other work product from the previous year is useless, not only because it is equivalent to trying to get in shape while watching someone else run the treadmill, but also because in tax the previous year's work product will be obsolete to some extent. I always include a few questions during the semester and in the examination designed specifically to identify those students who studied from an outdated study aid, and during the past few years, as self-selection has increased, the number of students making this particular, and critical, mistake has diminished significantly.
Note that although it is important to take notes, I teach in a way that emphasizes the need to
think about what is said in the classroom, and to write down the essential points, rather than to take dictation. To discourage note-taking of the college lecture-hall variety, I make my Powerpoint slides and other materials available ahead of time so that students have less need to write things down. Fortunately, the days of students asking me to slow down as I read a Code section so that they could write every word have come to an end, because students do understand there's no point in writing down what's already in front of them as I read it. Instead, they can rely on my voice tones, pacing, and repetition of phrases to highlight the key words and phrases in the provision.
Yet, for most students there still is a rude shock when on the first day of class I tell them that I expect them to do several hours of work outside the classroom for every hour in the classroom. I explain why, pointing out what I've already written in this post. That they are no longer in college is a fact that needs to be highlighted. I describe how they are at a disadvantage, trying to earn a doctoral degree in a discipline in which they have not studied and for which they do not have a bachelor's or master's degree. There's a lot of catching up to do. Underneath my policy is this simple dose of reality:
Law students are enrolled in a graduate program, working toward a doctoral degree, in preparation for professional practice. Concomitant with that posture is a requirement of diligence, independent study during the semester, class attendance, preparation for class, and post-class assimilation. Yes, welcome to what should be, and often is, a most demanding graduate school preparation for professional practice.
There is so much to do that proposals have been floated from time to time suggesting that law school be extended from three years to four years. This would provide the opportunity to increase course credits in areas where the law has expanded since the current core method of teaching law school was adopted more than a century ago. It would permit, assuming the requisite funding were obtained, additional law school clinics so that every law student, rather than several dozen, had a taste of law practice before entering law practice. It would provide more flexibility in scheduling, so that more students could enroll in an externship, another experience that, if properly administered and operated, can introduce students to the realities of law practice. The principal downside is that the cost to a student of a law school education would increase by roughly 33 percent. If adopted, the proposal would put classroom and other physical facility strains on those law schools (translate, most law schools) lacking capacity to absorb a larger student body.
Others have proposed that law school be shortened to two years. The principal argument for this proposal is that the third year of law school is a waste of time because students are learning anything they haven't already learned. Wow, that must be a surprise for the third year students who've been in my courses. Of all the criticisms, they've never said they're not learning anything, or that they are bored, or that they are wasting time.
Thus, carrying the outlook on legal education part of which I have shared in this post, I was shocked to read the following excerpt from a
New York Times article on the wisdom of having a third year of law school. Entitled "Some Question Third Year of Law School," it begins with this delightful yet eye-catching anecdote:
Now a corporate lawyer, Jennifer Leong fondly recalls her third and final year of law school. A job secured, she traveled frequently. Her courses included feminist jurisprudence and a half-semester bankruptcy seminar -- each carefully chosen to get her weekend started by Wednesday afternoon.
"A lot of beer and softball," recalled Leong, who got her University of Virginia law degree in 2000. "Third year was probably the best year of my life."
Here's a graduate of an arguable elite law school sharing but one example of many anecdotes that permitted the article's author to then write:
At many top law schools, the third year is famously relaxed, a halcyon interlude between rigorous introductory courses and the long hours that await graduates at law firm jobs. There is research and volunteer work, but also a lot of bar-hopping and little studying: 15 hours per week, according to one survey at 11 law schools, compared to 33 hours for first-year students.
Note that according to my computations, a student enrolled in 14 hours of class during a semester should be putting in anywhere from 28 to 56 hours a week
outside of class, with most students needing roughly 40. First year students at top law schools are very bright, so the 33 hour average probably isn't that far off the mark, but 15 hours for the third year students? What's going on?
My guess is that what is going on is that the students are not being offered, or are staying away from, demanding courses. By definition, a demanding course, one that reflects what the practice world will require, doesn't permit a student, no matter his or her intelligence, to get by on what works out to be about 3 hours a week per course. Where is the rigor? Where is the in-depth focus that a capstone third year course should bring to an area of law, where material learned in multiple previous courses is synthesized into a transactional experience? For those who haven't been to law school, a quick example would be Business Planning. Students in this course, having been through the Business Entities or Corporations course, perhaps a Securities Law course, certainly a course covering Corporate or Business Entity Taxation, and maybe a Secured Transactions or Bankruptcy course, are given the opportunity to plan the formation, operation, and termination of a corporation, limited liability company, and partnership. Goodness, it's like being in a law firm practicing law. It isn't going to go well, except for the rare paralegal who previously practiced in the area or the occasional student who had an externship doing this sort of work, if the investment is 3 hours per week.
The Times article nicely explores some of the arguments for shortening or lengthening law school. It points out that some third year law students put in enormous numbers of hours. Enrollment in a clinic, for example, will make that inescapable. The article quotes faculty whose research disclosed that many third-year students attend no more than 60 percent of their classes. A well-taught course brings the tag "going to class is essential." Even though I would expect someone preparing to be a professional to attend classes because of dedication to the goal, I also understand that a poorly taught course can make class attendance counter-productive or at best, useless. There are ways to encourage class attendance, and the best ones are those that also improve the course and make it so attractive that students cannot afford to stay away.
Some of the arguments with respect to the length of law school involve money. Money, though, should not be such a driving force that quality is sacrificed for the sake of economy. That's true in other worlds, as manufacturers of many products have discovered. Yes, if there are less expensive ways to achieve the same level of quality those opportunities should be pursued. But if it takes four years of law school, including a semester of externships and a law school clinic experience, to produce law graduates who can more easily and efficiently transition to law practice and provide quality services to the clients who ultimately pay their salaries, then that is what needs to be done. After all, medical professionals invest far more years in their studies, including the advantage they get by starting their medical studies while in college through courses such as organic chemistry. Law school ought not be, for the reasons described in
Money for Nothing and Work for Free?, a "quick and (therefore) cheap" path to a high-salary career, nor should it be a "cash cow" for universities seeking to finance economically inefficient academic programs or athletic departments. The appropriate investment, in time and money, must be made.
I know there are many lawyers, and law students, who work hard, attend(ed) class, prepare(d) for class, study, and continue to self-teach (which is, of course, as I describe in
Learning to Teach and Teaching to Learn, the best form of learning). But I wonder if the rising levels of frustration among young associates in law practice is not only the product of the changing nature of practice that demands high billable hours and fosters cutthroat behavior but also is the difficulty of making up for lost law school education opportunities in a practice world that doesn't permit billing out the learning of an avoided course or the re-learning of an unattended course and that cannot afford to provide hours of mentoring time by similarly pressed older associates and partners.
Law schools, hopefully under increasing pressure from practitioners and judges, need to do some serious self-examination. Long before the details of curriculum, schedule, credits, number of years, adoption of clinics and other matters are tackled, law schools need to resolve the question of what they are trying to do. Putting aside the elegantly worded mission statements, the ultimate inquiry comes down to resolving this debate: Are law schools preparing their students for the practice of law or are they preparing their students to be legal philosophers? I've engaged in that debate numerous times.
On the one side is this sort of statement from former Supreme Court Justice Felix Frankfurter:
T]he business of a university [is not] to turn out finished practicing lawyers. A law school is not a law office or a court room. In these days of overemphasis upon the immediately practical, it cannot be insisted upon too often that a university law school is part of a university. Intellectual issues are its concern. [A law school must promote and encourage] the continuous critique of all law-making and law-administered agencies. [This falls] peculiarly within the competence of scholars, and the promotion through formulated reason of wise adjustments of the multitudinous and increasingly conflicting interests of modern society.
Do I dare disagree with the great Frankfurter? Yes, unless one understands that he made his statement when the practicing bar still had preceptorships that were to law graduates what residencies are to medical school graduates. Yes, the practicing bar has contributed to the problem by abolishing preceptorships, which it did because those were expensive experiences, more in terms of mentoring time than in terms of money, but expensive nonetheless. After all, if they fit within the profit-centered business approach that has overwhelmed the profession, the profession would have brought them back.
More importantly, there is no conflict between the notion that law schools prepare students to be practicing lawyers and the idea that law schools should engage in analysis of the law. Law schools are not trade schools. It's inefficient to teach law students, other than in clinics, how to find the office or web site of a court clerk. On the other hand, when second-year students tell me that I'm the first professor to use the word "client" in a classroom or to put issues in terms of client interaction, it alarms me. Clients, after all, are an ingredient in how the law develops, and anyone who wants to focus on analysis of law needs to understand the reality, because reality is what stands between theory and implementation (or non-implementation) of theory.
The point is that law school should, and usually does, teach its students
to think. Not that lawyers are the only people who need to learn how to think, and not that one should expect the K-12, or the undergraduate system, to have done the job, but there is something a bit more refined in legal thinking than is found in most K-12 classes and many undergraduate classes. Law, whether in practice or at the theoretical level, is and needs to be focused on the prevention of problems and the solving of problems. It is, therefore, a matter of learning how to solve puzzles and how to understand the creation of puzzles, as I argued in
Doing Puzzles While Learning & Practicing Law. It requires rigorous effort. Any program that permits a student to slide by drinking beer, playing softball, having 4-day weekends, and investing only a few hours in studies, is failing. Whether it is an individual student who isn't meeting requirements, or a culture that tolerates mediocrity, the situation demands correction. After all, do practicing lawyers really want to hire students who have not maximized their opportunities? Are law firm interviewers asking the right questions of their law students?
I was embarrassed to read the quotation that led the Times article, and I'm not even affiliated with the law school in question. I'm embarrassed for the legal education profession. After all, what are the readers of the Times article to think when after hearing for years that law school is "so tough" they see that its third year gets portrayed as, to quote the article, a "famously relaxed, a halcyon interlude." And then practitioners wonder why their clients object to the $500 per hour fees that are charged.