The good thing about being a lawyer is there’s always someone to tell you you’re wrong.

Jeffrey R. Di Leo, Dean of Arts and Sciences at the University of Houston-Victoria, writes in “In Praise of Tough Criticism” that academics are reluctant to criticize one another and that, as a result, their disagreements are couched either in faint praise or anonymity, both of which neutralize the very disagreement that ought to be the foundation of intellectual life:

[G]iving faint praise is far worse than saying nothing at all. Why? Because silence is not a critical judgment—but faint praise, in contrast to honest and direct criticism, is empty criticism, the most banal form imaginable.

Another way that compassionate, caring critics get around their credo is to shroud their negative comments in anonymity. . . .

Like faint praise, anonymous criticism is empty criticism. Consider a recent example from The Chronicle Review. Carlin Romano’s article “Heil Heidegger!” was savaged in numerous anonymous comments. “Romano writes like an undergrad convinced by the argument of the last book he has read,” wrote one critic. “And, yes, he is a professor of philosophy, and yes, he was a Pulitzer Prize finalist, but his understanding of philosophy is so paltry that it beggars belief.” To that and other similar comments, Romano responded: “Those who savage me and my article from behind anonymous Internet tags emulate the cowardice, dishonesty, and taste for mobbing of the Nazi thinker they revere. It has often been that way with dupes who defend Heidegger—an abysmal thinker and writer, an immoral monster, and a disgrace to the historic enterprise of philosophy.”

Whether or not one agrees with Romano’s views of Heidegger, his take on anonymity is worth thinking about. Anonymity has more in common with cowardice than with courage—and is antithetical to critical dialogue. The common rationale for academic anonymity is quite clear: Honesty and truth require anonymity. To offer critical judgment anonymously, or, as Michel Foucault puts it in The Archaeology of Knowledge (Pantheon Books, 1972), as “a nameless voice,” allows one to stand outside the order of discourse, dialogue, and language. Writes Foucault, “I don’t want to have to enter this risky world of discourse; I want nothing to do with it insofar as it is decisive and final; I would like to feel it all around me, calm and transparent, profound, infinitely open, with others responding to my expectations, and truth emerging, one by one.” In other words, anonymity is more calming and less risky—or even more cowardly—than named criticism.

The inclination to pull one’s punches, to refrain from stating straight out one’s disagreement with one’s colleagues and the reasons for the disagreement, seems to me a particular problem in law schools. I always tell my students that one of the blessings of being a lawyer is that there’s always someone telling you you’re wrong, whether it’s your adversary, a judge, or even your client. That constant challenge to your views forces you to both be as thoughtful and well-spoken as is possible, and it forces you too to trust in your own judgment, not to defer always to authority. Lawyers disagree as a matter of professional duty. If law professors refuse to voice disagreement, they are therefore doing their students a disservice. they are like parents who model irresponsible behavior to their children.

I’m not suggesting one not be civil. Nasty adversaries make wonderful work unpleasant. But professional adversaries are a pleasure. They recognize that disagreement is one’s professional duty, and they don’t take your disagreement with them personally.

Addendum: Law professors don’t like telling their students they’re wrong either.

I love good lawyers because you can disagree with them and they won’t take your disagreement as a personal attack.

In the New York Times, Maira Kalman’s “And May it Please the Court” is a wonderful graphic narrative of her musings on, among other things, law, a visit to the Supreme Court, and Ruth Bader Ginsburg.  One panel of the piece does not begin to do it justice, but the one below makes a wonderful point that I try all the time to get across to my students — when you and your adversary treat each other as professionals, practicing law is a joy. There is no point in doing it any other way.  You can’t take your adversary’s disagreement personally — she is paid to disagree with you, and it’s her professional duty to do so.  But when your adversary doesn’t treat you professionally, you have to fight back too.  Not by descending to her level, but by being tough, better prepared, and smarter.  At any rate, I am glad Ms. Kalman saw the legal practice at its best on that day she visited the Court. And I wish more people I know, especially those who have law degrees and consider themselves legal experts, would realize disagreement is not hostility. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Ms. Kalman wonders how people handle the idea that their adversaries are not their enemies.