Why don’t law professors know how to be lawyers?

I’ve made plain my disdain for the ways law schools neglect what anyone outside law school faculties would presume is the central purpose of law schools — to train law students how to be lawyers. Among the ways this neglect manifests itself is the second class status accorded most clinicians and legal writing professors — those professors whose focus is on teaching practice — in most law schools. Now Brent E. Newton, an adjunct professor at Georgetown and the Deputy Staff Director of the U.S. Sentencing Commission) has written Preaching What They Don’t Practice: Why Law Faculties’ Preoccupation with Impractical Scholarship and Devaluation of Practical Competencies Obstruct Reform in the Legal Academy, 62 S.C. L. Rev. ___ (2010). Here’s a taste of Newton’s article:

Especially at law schools in the upper echelons of the U.S. News & World Report rankings, the core of the faculties seem indifferent or even hostile to the concept of law school as a professional school with the primary mission of producing competent practitioners. … Regardless whether they possess a Ph.D., a vastly disproportionate number of new law professors graduated from so-called “elite” law schools, which not coincidentally employ the largest percentage of impractical faculty. “Law professors are a self-perpetuating elite, chosen in overwhelming part for a single skill: the ability to do well consistently on law school examinations, primarily those taken as 1L’s, and preferably ones taken at elite “national” law schools. Some critics contend this homogeneity in law school faculties has resulted in an ethos of perceived intellectual superiority and classism and has made full-time professors, at least those with tenure, jealous of their privileged positions. Other critics contend that many law professors are so absorbed in their scholarly pursuits that they are largely unconcerned with students’ needs – academic or otherwise. …

Could [a typical law school] professor whose primary scholarly interest is criminal law and procedure effectively prosecute or represent a criminal defendant at a felony trial? Could such a professor who writes law review articles about the First Amendment effectively represent a client in a civil rights litigation? Could such a professor whose expertise is securities regulation effectively represent a client or the government in an S.E.C. enforcement action? Imagine such professors being first-chair counsel in a complex civil or criminal litigation who must interview potential witnesses, take depositions and engage in electronic discovery, file and respond to summary judgment motions, conduct voir dire, present the testimony of an expert witness, cross-examine (and impeach) hostile witnesses, and make closing arguments to a jury. There are some full-time non-clinical law professors capable of competently representing clients in real cases, but they are the exception, not the rule, particularly among professors hired in recent years at highly-ranked law schools.

How can we expect law students to become competent practitioners if the core of full-time law faculties, notwithstanding their scholarly prowess, do not themselves possess even the basic skills required to practice the type of law about which they teach and write? How can we expect law students to become competent and ethical practitioners when the faculty members best suited to teach them the necessary practical skills and ethical lessons from real-world cases – clinicians, LRW [Legal Research & Writing] professors, and adjuncts – are marginalized and even openly held in disdain by some members of the “main” faculty?

Do you think law schools teach their students how to practice law?

I’m a law professor, but I’ve always been mystified by law school. For one thing, it strikes me as remarkably odd that my experience in full-time practice (nearly twelve years) is more (much more) than the vast majority of the professors on the faculties I’ve been part of. For another, what I learned in law school never made much sense to me until I actually began to practice. I always wondered why the knowledge I picked up in practice that “put it all together” for me hadn’t been there in law school in the first place. I suppose the opinion expressed here is a perfect illustration of why that is, but, still, what has always informed my teaching is my effort to bring into law school those pieces that were missing in my own legal education and that, if they had been there, would have made a world of difference.

In short, learning law cannot be separated from learning the practice of law. And law schools, for some reason, don’t seem to think their job is to teach their students the practice of law.

My views are clearly minority ones within law school academia, but they clearly are not so in the legal practice. As Above the Law reported last week: “United Technologies‘ General Counsel, Chester Paul Beach . . . stood up and told approximately 75 law school deans and legal educators from around the country:

We don’t allow first or second year associates to work on any of our matters without special permission, because they’re worthless.

And last week, at the Harvard Law School/New York Law School Future of Education Conference,

Vielka Holness, Director of the John Jay College of Criminal Justice Pre Law Institute, . . . said that schools need to bridge the gap between legal theory and actual practice. . . . Most importantly, she said that you need to look further up the pipeline, so students go into law school with an idea of what they need to learn in order to be successful practitioners.

Gillian Hadfield, Professor of Law and Professor of Economics at USC, . . . said that law schools weren’t even very good at doing the things that they think they’re doing well. She had some great examples about how bad students are when asked to pick out the important information in the case, or even pick out the information that will be important to a client.

Elie Mystal, the author of the post, concludes, in response to Hadfield’s point:

It’s an important note. The kind of information regurgitation that will get an ‘A’ in torts and help you pass the bar will make your memo bleed red — if you’re lucky enough to find a mid-level that will even bother to read it.

Legal Practice and Legal Scholarship and Law School Reputations: Ships Passing in the Night.

One of the most interesting aspects of the U.S. legal system is that, as a common law system (as opposed to the civil law system prevailing in the vast majority of the non-Anglo-American world), the practice of law and the activities of legal scholars exist in almost entirely separate realms. Having had worked for well over a decade in each of the realms of legal practice and legal academia, the following account, from Wikipedia, reflects my own experience that legal scholarship in the U.S. legal system has little impact on the actual practice of law:

In common law jurisdictions [such as the U.S.], legal treatises compile common law decisions, and state overarching principles that (in the author’s opinion) explain the results of the cases. However, in common law jurisdictions, treatises are not the law, and lawyers and judges tend to use these treatises as only “finding aids” to locate the relevant cases. In common law jurisdictions, scholarly work is seldom cited as authority for what the law is. When common law courts rely on scholarly work, it is almost always only for factual findings, policy justification, or the history and evolution of the law, but the court’s legal conclusion is reached through analysis of relevant statutes and common law, seldom scholarly commentary.

In contrast, in civil law jurisdictions, the writings of law professors are given significant weight by courts. In part, this is because civil law decisions traditionally were very brief, sometimes no more than a paragraph stating who wins and who loses. The rationale has to come from somewhere else, and the academy often filled that role. As civil law court decisions move in the direction of common law reasoning, it is possible that this balance may shift.

A footnote to this explanation adds: “At least in the U.S., practicing lawyers tend to use ‘law professor’ or ‘law review article’ as a pejorative to describe a person or work that is insufficiently grounded in reality or practicality – every young lawyer is admonished repeatedly by senior lawyers not to write “law review articles,” but instead to focus on the facts of the case and the practical effects of a given outcome.”

I do not mean to point out the stereotypical disregard for legal scholarship among practicing lawyers to disparage legal scholars. Rather, I mean to emphasize what I wrote yesterday: it is the evidence in each case that persuades the legal decision maker what the just result is in each case. The legal rules of the common law system are not abstract principles of justice pronounced from on high to produce justice in each and every situation; instead, they are the refined products produced by centuries of case-by-case efforts to achieve just results based on the specific evidence presented in each of those cases. Thus, those legal rules are subordinate to the case-by-case efforts to achieve justice, not the infallible determinants of just outcomes in all future cases. As I wrote yesterday in suggesting that my students in analyzing legal disputes first consider what the dispute is about, then consider the evidence and its persuasiveness in helping them as human beings determine a just result in that dispute, and only then employ the legal rules to articulate as legal professionals speaking in the language of their technical expertise to explain the justice of that result:

In other words, the legal rules and their proper application arise from the evidence the parties bring to bear. The rules do not predetermine disputes that are predictable before they arise. Instead, they provide the legal language (developed over the centuries’ long development of the common law) in which to couch the just conclusions compelled by the evidence.

In explaining the practice of the common law, I do not mean to denigrate U.S. legal scholarhip. But I do mean to put it into the proper context within our legal system: scholars strive to develop generalizations that govern all cases. Courts, on the other hand, decide individual cases involving individual disputes between individuals who have personal stakes in those disputes. In doing so, the courts do their best to do justice in those individual cases. Scholarly generalization, inevitably, conflicts to a considerable degree with that individual effort to find justice between individuals involved in specific disputes.

And yet the reputation of law schools is weighted enormously in favor of the evaluation by law professors of the legal scholarship of other law professors. For law students, the vast majority of whom go to law school to become lawyers, the basis of these reputations must cause some consternation if there is any truth to what I have written above about legal scholarship’s distance from and irrelevance to legal practice. But here it is, from Brian Leiter, one of the most respected authorities on the evaluation of law school quality. What measures a law faculty’s quality? Not success as a lawyer. Instead:

Faculty Quality (70% of [a law school's] final rank): the rank in this category is based on three criteria: scholarly productivity; scholarly impact of faculty work; and reputation. More precisely, 25% of the rank is based on the per capita rate of publication for the period 1998 through summer 2000 of,

1. articles in the ten most frequently cited student-edited law reviews (Yale Law Journal, Harvard Law Review, Stanford Law Review, University of Chicago Law Review, Columbia Law Review, Michigan Law Review, California Law Review, University of Pennsylvania Law Review, and Texas Law Review, plus New York University Law Review, which is less-often cited but benefits in prestige from being affiliated with a top law school;

2. articles in ten leading peer-edited law journals (Administrative Law Review, American Journal of Comparative Law, Constitutional Commentary, Environ- mental Law, Journal of Legal Studies, Law & Contemporary Problems, Law & Social Inquiry, Legal Theory, and Tax Law Review);

3. books from the three leading law publishers (Aspen, Foundation, West); and

4. books from the six leading academic presses in law (Cambridge, Chicago, Harvard, Oxford, Princeton, Yale).

Another 25% of the faculty quality rank is based on the per capita rate of scholarly impact for the top quarter of each faculty based on citations to faculty work on the Westlaw JLR database as of August 2000. Finally, 50% of the faculty quality rank is based on the subjective academic reputation of the school based on a fall 1999 survey of academics conducted by U.S. News & World Report.

Each measure of faculty quality has advantages and limitations, but together they promise to present an informative picture. The rationale for the particular weightings, and the details of the study methodology, can be found in “Measuring the Academic Distinction of Law Faculties.”

So there you have it. The law schools with the best reputations are the law schools with law professors who write law review articles read by other law professors but that have little if any impact on the actual product of the U.S. legal system.

Then again, I am on record expressing my opinion that the most reputable of law professors at the most reputable of law schools have, given the opportunity, shown themselves to the worst of lawyers.

Kids need to learn a lot, but they can teach us a lot too.

The information and communication revolution wrought by the internet is, among other things, a generational divider. While one generation bemoans the threat of the internet to newspapers and books, a new generation — the one I teach — appears to do the vast majority of its reading online. It is of course not all a matter of the younger generation having aptitudes for a new environment we old people resist adapting to. There is as much lost as is gained. (One of these days I’ll explore the loss I’ve noticed in researching skills, the ability to ferret out information that is not easily accessible or even immediately recognizable as important.)

But there is so much that is of great use in the new environment that too many of my contemporaries (and, also, too many of my students) don’t take advantage of. Social Media Law Student is a terrific site for helping us all find and learn how to use new tools. It’s run and written by law students. Yana Siganur writes today’s lead article, in which she takes the opportunity “to remind everyone of the efficiency that is Google” in a well-written and concise guide to a number of tools available from Google that can our professional lives easier.

Compliments are worthless, and losing is winning: lawyering in a nutshell

From The Namby Pamby, Attorney at Law, comes this story, which sums up concisely both what so much of legal practice is about and why it is so often difficult for students to grasp exactly what it is they’re supposed to be doing:

Eight months, untold amounts of hours, it all came to this

For the second time in the last month, my brief writing was complimented by a judge:

“Counsel, this was excellently briefed, well done…I’m going to deny your motion.”
Thanks.

The lesson here is to beware the judicial compliment.

The reality is that even though we lost our motion, we did serious (perhaps fatal) damage to the opposing side. My boss was happy. Ergo, despite my failure at a judicial declaration of winning, we still won.

Tweets on Law Practice

Matthew Homann, at the [non]billable hour, has published  100 Tweets: Thinking About Law Practice in 140 Characters or Less (pdf).  His advice is terrific. Here are some of my favorites:

1. “My lawyer can beat up your lawyer” is not a marketing strategy. “My lawyer will call me back before yours will” is. 

8. The most significant advantage you possess over lawyers who’ve come before you is that you don’t believe what they do. 

16. The confused mind always says no. 

28. You should never have a bigger monitor or more comfortable chair than your secretaries do. 

53. Never confuse your desire to explain something with yourability to do so. 

84. Trying to learn client service in ethics class is like trying to learn to ride a bicycle by watching lots of bike accidents. 

By the way, on Twitter, I’m “@pbfriedman.”

Greenberg v. AIG: the evidence and the truth

The difference between journalists and lawyers?  Journalists, at least as they practice their craft these days in this country, practice a pretended objectivity by giving voice to both sides of a dispute.  I presume the purpose is to leave the reader to be the judge.  It’s a way of going about thet job that gives the impression of being as fair as it is possible to be.  Fox News has grounded its entire image  in precisely this perception of what is most fair: “We report, you decide.”

I’ve bemoaned before the absence of critical thinking that goes into this style of reporting.  The New York Times is at it again today, this time on a subject far more important than whether a hot artist’s most valuable products infringe the copyrights of other creators — how AIG got our country into the financial mess it’s in and whether we ought to trust the people who brought us here to lead us out.  Hank Greenberg, the long-time head of AIG who was deposed in 2005, testified yesterday to Congress and claimed that the Obama administration should have let AIG go bankrupt, that the administration’s policies have deprived AIG of its most valuable assets by driving off the people who led AIG into its catastrophic state, and that Mr. Greenberg’s policies — which included the creation of the credit default swaps that “insured” the mortgage backed securities that were doomed to failure — had nothing to do with the eventual failure of AIG.  He might not have provided reserves to allow AIG to afford the liabilities it had assumed when it sold the credit default swaps (thereby earning itself enormous amounts of money, profits that of course contributed to the fortunes made by Mr. Greenberg and the other geniuses who our government has driven away), but, he says, he would have set aside reserves to meet those liabilities (thus averting the necessity of the bailout) had he been allowed to stick around.

The story does give the other side of the story, quoting a spokesperson for the current management of AIG contradicting Mr. Greenberg and asserting flat out that he lacks any credibility:

“Hank Greenberg continues to deny his role in allowing [AIG's Financial Products Division] to write the multisector credit-default swaps which sowed the seeds for AIG’s troubles,” the company said, referring to the financial products unit. It went on to denounce Mr. Greenberg as evading questions and lacking credibility as a business strategist.

“He refuses to acknowledge that he approved entry into the credit-default swap business, approved more than $40 billion of swaps written on C.D.O.’s containing subprime loans, and didn’t hedge or put up reserves against them,” the company said. Collateralized debt obligations are securities made from pools of loans and other forms of debt.

“We don’t understand how he can be viewed as having any credibility on any AIG issue.”

My problem with this type of journalism is that it doesn’t make judgments that can be made.  It often may be difficult to tell right from wrong with certainty, but there are often clear judgments to be made about which position is better and which worse.  Mr. Greenberg’s self-interest in these matters, his lifetime of self-promotion in the interests of building an immense personal fortune, and his rank hypocrisy are legendary.  A journalist is capable of giving both sides of an argument and of understanding context and making judgments.  To fail to do so leaves the reading public to do that work themselves, something that people simply don’t have the time to do.

Lawyers, on the other hand, do contend always with adversaries setting forth evidence that seems to contradict the evidence they are presenting on behalf of their own clients.  But setting forth the evidence is only part of a lawyer’s job.  The lawyer also structures that evidence into arguments on behalf of his client’s position, explaining specifically how that evidence should be viewed.  Then decision makers (juries, judges, arbitrators, etc.) decide.  The lawyer doesn’t rely on the decision-maker to figure out how to explain the evidence.  The lawyer gives the decision-maker the means of understanding it.

I don’t know why journalists don’t do so more often.

The financial crisis is an opportunity for innovation in legal practice and law schools.

This blog is supposed to be about law and innovation — both the ways law affects innovative and creative endeavors and the ways creativity informs the practice of law.  I’m not sure where I go t the nerve to believe I have something worth saying on these matters, but it is gratifying when I find out that I’m not entirely empty-headed.  The New York Times yesterday published an editorial observing that the economic downturn is hitting the legal profession just as profoundly as it is hitting any other occupation.  As the Times notes, The “American Lawyer is calling it ‘the fire this time’ and warning that big firms may be hurtling toward ‘a paradigm-shifting, blood-in-the-suites’ future.” The thrust of the editorial, though, is that crisis is an opportunity for change and that the legal profession is much in need of change: “The silver lining, if there is one, is that the legal world may be inspired to draw blueprints for the 21st century.”

I am not at all happy with the job market, especially for my students.  They are talented, well educated, and hard working people who will do a lot of good for their clients.  But I am gratified that the types of changes the Times are ones I’ve long believed are important.  I do believe the U.S. legal system is a brilliant embodiment of practical justice, but it’s biggest defect in achieving justice is its cost.  It is appalling that achieving any sort of justice against any adversary willing to fight you (regardless of the merits of his cause) will invariably cost you enormously.  The fact someone whose position has little or no merit can make you expend enormous amounts of money to prove the demerits of his claims undermines justice by tilting the entire system radically in favor of the more wealthy members of our society. The internet has brought home this phenomenon to artists who want to make their work available and to people who want to post their family videos, but it will be one familiar to anyone who has called upon the legal system or been dragged into it, whether through divorce, the need to obtain payment from one’s customers, the need to get relief from economic or physical threat, or any of the myriad other ways one might need to call upon legal process to attain justice.

Two ways the economy will force down the costs of using lawyers are (1) the salaries of lawyers at the top end (which the Times notes begin at $160,000 at the wealthiest law firms) will have to be reduced and (2) the reduction of money available to spend on lawyers will mean “more leverage to push . . . for successful outcomes” on the part of those who have traditionally been less well financed.

Moreover, law firms will have to change their billing practices, replacing the “billable hour,” Law firms also, of course, will have to come up with more efficient ways of delivering their services.

The Times also suggests the economic crisis might require law schools to “become more serious about curricular reform,” in particular by “including more focus on practical skills.”  I could not agree more — making clear the inextricable bond between legal theory and legal practice has been central to my work as a law professor.  I don’t understand how you can teach law without understanding how it works.  My conviction is evidenced, I hope, by the school i’ve chosen to teach at this year and (at least) next, the University of Detroit Mercy Law School.

But I am skeptical of the power of the economy to change law schools.  Lawyers and judges have for a long time called for  law schools to focus more on training lawyers (rather than teaching legal theory in a way that makes sense primarily to law professors, not lawyers or judges), and still the changes have been very, very slow and very, very minor.  Law schools do not look to their success at training lawyers to guide their curriculur decisions; rather, they principally look to a rankings system that rewards law schools that admit students most like the students at the schools that are already the highest ranked. That’s a formula to entrench the status quo, not a formula for change. Nor does the critique from within law schools of the most influential rankings system really do much to solve the institutional deference to the status quo.  Brian Leiter, a law professor at the University of Chicago, publishes his own rankings and regularly critizises the most influential rankings, but even he relies principally in judging law schools on the “scholarly reputation” of faculty (which is largely based on where the professors teach and the law reviews in which they publish, both of which are merely indicators of how well those professors fit the prevailing view of quality) and student undergraduate grade point averages and LSAT scores (both of which correlate to success as law students, not as lawyers).

It cannot hurt, though, that the New York Times has joined the chorus calling for law school’s to focus their curricula more on the practice of law.

The making of a lawyer

Most law schools are odd places.  I suspect most people outside the law believe a law school’s principal mission is to train lawyers.  I am a law professor, and I happen to believe that too.  But I am a very odd duck within law school academia.  Practice for twelve years and partnership in a top nationwide firm is of very little value as a qualifaction to be a law professor.  Rather, the valuable assets among law school faculty are articles published in journals edited by students and rarely read by lawyers.  Most law school classes address theory (or “doctrine”) in a manner remarkably removed from its real world application.  Qualifying for law school rests to a significant degree, perhaps primarily, on an applicant’s score on the LSAT test, which may correlate to success in law school but bears little relationship to one’ effectiveness as a lawyer.  To add to the gap between law school and legal practice, the principal criterion underlying the rankings on which law schools and applicants rely to rate the quality of a law school is the median LSAT score of the school’s students.  Those rankings provide a tremendous incentive for a law school to act in ways intended to accept applicant’s with higher LSAT scores — scores that don’t correlate to effectiveness as a lawyer — at the expense of acting in ways that increase the effectiveness of its graduates as lawyers.

So I am thrilled to read in yesterday’s New York Times that professors at the University of California, Berkeley, have studied what makes lawyers (not law students or law professors) effective and “have come up with a test that they say is better at predicting success in” practicing law than is the LSAT.  The study concluded, as I’ve long been convinced, that “LSAT scores . . . ‘were not particularly useful’ in predicting lawyer effectiveness’. . .”  What does the new test consider factors that contribute to lawyerly effectiveness?

“[T]he ability to write, manage stress, listen, research the law and solve problems.”

I am also not surprised to read that the new test is no better than the LSAT at predicting how well participants would do in law school.  As I wrote above, there is far too great a gap between most law school instruction and the actual practice to consider a test that measures effectiveness in the latter able to test effectiveness in the former.

I wish all my students would read this post.  They’ve been dealing with a considerable degree of stress of late that they blame on me and the problems I’ve given them to try to solve — problems that are down and dirty real life problems lawyers face — and they’ve been complaining a lot.  One student in my Contracts course yesterday complainied that online discussion boards made clear to him that students at other schools were covering a lot more “theory” than I am.  I looked at him a little in surprise.  That’s the whole point of my teaching.  And it’s the whole point of the rather unusual curriculum at the school where I am a visiting professor, the University of Detroit Mercy Law School, where it has been recognized that theory and practice are inextricably intertwined and that each can only be understood in the law in relation to one another.  Thus, the school offers a “revolutionary new curriculum . . . [that] complements traditional theory- and doctrine-based coursework with practical learning, providing a solid transition between law school and a legal career.

But it’s hard to teach students to manage stress, listen, and solve problems.  First, it mean subjecting them to the stress of solving problems they do not know the solutions to in advance because what lawyers do is solve problems they don’t know the solutions to in advance.  No one enjoys stress.  I like to think that the students realize the stress I am subjecting to them is not one intended to or that will break them.  It’s school.  As I’ve always told them, in law school we hurl you into the water to see if you can swim, but the water’s only about 4 feet deep, so when you can’t swim, you just get on your feet, come back, try to figure out what went wrong, and then try again.  It’s when you’re a lawyer trying to solve problems you don’t know the solutions to in advance that the stress can be truly overwhelming, especially if you have not been at all prepared for it.

You hang yourself with your own words.

One thing I learned well as a lawyer is that you could almost always hang an adversary with his own words.  When deposing the opposing party or a witness for the opposing party, my strategy was always to get the person to talk as freely and voluably as possible.  I’d ask open ended questions, nod agreeably, follow up with words like “Really?” to prompt even more loggorhea, and, invariably, when the transcript came back I’d find one piece of testimony after another that was damaging to my adversary’s case.  Conversely, when I prepared witnesses to testify in response to the questions of adversarial lawyers, the advice, pounded in with a hammer, was to answer the question and SHUT UP.  If a yes or a no answered the question, just say yes or no and SHUT UP.

Here’s an amusing example (pdf): in a prosecutor’s opposition to a defense attorney’s request for a delay in the defendant’s trial, the prosecutor explains that the defense attorney “is a partner in a large law firm (over 325 attorneys) and presumably has daily access to a horde of eager, smart, hard working associates to assist in this case.”  That’s not all that bad an argument about why there should be no delay in the trial, but it doesn’t have all that much bite.   But her footnote points out that the defense attorney “touts himself as a ‘Super Lawyer’ on his website.”  Ouch.  Surely a Super Lawyer shouldn’t need more time given the other points the prosecutor has made.

The threat one’s own words pose to oneself is one of the things that scares me most about writing so much on the internet.  Shoot me if I ever refer to myself as a super lawyer.  But how can I?  A recent commenter wrote that something in a recent post of mine wasn’t “worthy of a First Year, much less a professor of law.”   And, after all, considering what the prospect for a hanging does to one’s mind, being wary of being hanged by my own words probably not the worst thing to consider when I’m spouting off.

(hat tip to Southwest Virginia Law Blog, via Brian Ledbetter)

The law firm of the future?

The Toronto Globe and Mail reports on Richard Susskind’s predictions regarding the future of lawyers and law firms.  Susskind is no one to be ignored; in 1996, when he predicted that lawyers would soon send legal advice and most legal documents via e-mail, he was derided and even considered dangerous.  I can testify first hand to the resistance law firms had to the internet.  Even earlier, in 1994, I lobbied my firm for an extra telephone line so I could attach my personal laptop’s modem to the dialup connection for my Manhattan-based ISP (the innovative and much-missed “Pipeline“).  My firm hemmed-and-hawed and finally refused my request, worried somehow that the connection threatened their own internal computer network.  Try as I could to explain that the phone line and the network had no connection to one another and that, therefore, the access through the phone line could in no way provide access to even the most sophisticated of post-Soviet criminal hackers, I was unable to get permission.

It’s hard to believe that was only fifteen years ago.

Now, Mr. Susskind predicts for the near future:

Small law firms that dispense customized legal advice will be pushed out of business by technology-savvy and more nimble firms that dispense run-of-the-mill advice and legal documents through websites. Larger law firms will evolve into commercial enterprises with vast stables of legal, accounting and other experts geared to preventing and managing clients’ legal risks. These big firms will outsource basic legal services to cheaper quasi-legal experts and they will build retail kiosks or websites that allow clients to download regulatory expertise and draft legal documents any hour of the day.

And, of course, it is already happening.  Linklaters LLP, a London-based law firm, has long had a “Web-based service called Blue Flag that allowed clients to research regulation and compliance standards around the globe.”  Other firms use “online document drafting services to download within minutes financial term sheets, employment contracts and other standard documents.”  In addition, “a pair of retired U.K. judges recently launched an Internet startup that allows lawyers to quickly generate judicially approved directives and motions for the courts.”  Just last November, Toronto lawyer Michael Carabash launched an online legal service called Dynamic Lawyers that charges lawyers a modest annual fee of $30 to connect with individuals who privately post legal questions on the website.”

On another point, already addressed on this blog, Mr. Susskind predicts a ‘radical shakeup’ of law firm billing practices that charge clients according to hours of service provided. The days of billable hours are numbered, he said, because it ‘rewards inefficiency’ by handing the largest pay for the most time spent on an assignment.

What will the next great innovation be in online legal representation?  Stay tuned.

Good lawyers understand they are poets.

I wrote last week that lawyers are artists, not technocrats. Tim Nolan, a lawyer in Minnesota clearly agrees, and in an article focused on Wallace Stevens — one of the greatest American poets of the 20th Century and an insurance lawyer for the entirety of his professional life — goes on at length about the similarities of writing poetry and practicing law:

Writing poetry and practicing law bear similarities that are not often examined. In litigating a lawsuit, a lawyer is often overwhelmed with facts, documents, statements, memories (good and bad), emotions, a hovering concept of justice (good and bad), time lines, bullet points, visual aids, legal precedent, practical precedent, clients, judges, jurors. From all of this, the lawyer must draw out a story, with a cast of characters (sometimes stock characters), themes, partial resolutions and final outcomes. The good lawyer is able to not only marshal all these resources, but draw out and suggest the final conclusion for the good of his client.

The poet, facing a blank piece of paper, has a similar task. From endless possibilities, what must be said? What words will be used to say it? What images will convey what needs to be said? What kind of intent or insight will the music and sounds evoke? . . .

There is physical and intellectual malleability to both pursuits. As a lawyer, you can push facts and precedent around, or embrace them, or ignore them. You know there must be at least one jurist in some obscure court who thinks exactly as you do and supports your position.

As a poet, you can push lines around, invent language, make the reader laugh or cry, speak in a voice that is yours or is imagined entirely.

It is a mistake to think that the law is objective or scientific and poetry is merely subjective. Young lawyers, especially it seems those who clerk for appellate courts, often feel they can objectively predict what the courts will do. Experienced lawyers understand that while possible outcomes can be identified, the facts, the desires of the parties, the collective wisdom of the jury, the predilections of the judge, all wonderfully defy clear prediction.

The young poet thinks no one has ever felt this before; no one has ever said this so eloquently; the reader will be enthralled. With time, the poet comes to know that centuries’ worth of better writers have been mining the same territory, and while not much can be truly “new,” one’s own peculiar “slant” has never been here before.

Both poetry and the law involve the effort to move from the objective to the subjective — from fact to feeling — from observation to intuition. In a jury trial, how the lawyer presents his case is in some ways more important than what is presented. This is what drives the general public crazy about lawyers — how could they argue either side convincingly? What shamelessness! Lawyers know it is not difficult at all.

A lawyer and a poet must both be advocates and possess a strong sense of service toward the client or the reader. Accompanying this sense of service, there must be a generosity of spirit, a readiness to be empathetic. The lawyer must empathize with the client. The poet must have true empathy with the reader.

For both a lawyer and a poet, the imagination must always be present. Stevens, in reviewing an insurance claim, used the same imagination at work in his poems to determine whether or not to pay the claim.

Here is what a lawyer and poet must both be able to do — pick up a fact or image of nearly total insignificance — a mere marble along the way — and make it significant by the imaginative effort of paying attention. I am not advocating that lawyers or poets make up facts or images. Rather, I am saying that if the lawyer or the poet pays enough attention, he can learn that what seems insignificant hardly ever is, and, indeed, the outcome of the entire case, the meaning of the poem itself, may ultimately turn on it.

Law in Art/Law as Art

I’ve taught in law schools for 13 years. Before that I practiced in New York City for over 11. What I’ve largely found is that lawyers have little use for law professors, and law professors have little use for lawyers.  Where I am this year, the University of Detroit Mercy Law School, is an exception to this rule, and a rare one.  The far more common, if strange, disconnect between the academic world and the world of practice is illustrated by the academic field known as “Law and LIterature.”  Wikipedia accurately describes Law and Literature as both the study of law in literature and of the literary characteristics of legal writing.:

The law and literature movement focuses on the interdisciplinary connection between law and literature. Believed to have originally begun as a subcategory of jurisprudence, the movement encompasses the complementary ideas of law in literature and law as literature.

The problem, as Daniel J. Kornstein, a writer and a lawyer, is that the law and literature movement has had no impact on the practice of law:

The greatest shortcoming in Law and LIterature to date has been its failure to reach and engage the practicing lawyer. For the most part, Law and Literature has remained firmly entrenched in legal academia, its realm of origin. The shirtsleeve lawyer is essentially untouched.

I have from the start intended for this blog in large part to remedy this lack of connection between literature, and other arts, and the practice of law. Just as the Law and Literature movement examines both law in literature and law as literature, I try to focus on law in creative endeavors and law as a creative endeavor. I suppose part of what drives me to do so is that I have taught primarily first year law students, and they, like most people, have given very little thought to the art they have encountered and only begin under my watch to understand that, perhaps primarily, I am training them to be artists, not technocrats.

Lawyers need to be effective, not necessarily original

I wrote recently that legal writing is a quintessentially collaborative enterprise. That in part is why I think copyright is not an issue with respect to legal documents. A more important reason legal documents are not accorded copyright protection is that what matters with respect to a legal document is its effectiveness, not its originality. If a lawyer could copy an existing document that would do an as effective a job as it could for his client, he would be violating his professional code of ethics not to copy it. It thus boggles my mind when people write seriously that legal documents that duplicate others might constitute copyright violations.

It’s simple reality (and good business): lawyers and judges cut and paste from one another’s documents every day, and it would be absurd to impose a regime of copyright designed to promote original creativity if it undercut a legal regime designed to promote effective representation. Similarly, it is absurd to accuse lawyers of “plagiarism” in the documents they produce as lawyers. There have been cases which have spoken in terms of lawyer plagiarism, but they all can be better understood as fraud (charging clients for research that was nothing but the copying of pre-existing work) or malpractice (excessive copying that produces a document that bears little relationship to what the specific representation demands, as opposed to effective cutting and pasting of pre-existing work into newly written work) than as plagiarism.

Plagiarism is passing off someone else’s work as your own. But, again, in legal practice (as opposed to legal scholarship or law school work), the point of the work is its effectiveness, not its source or its originality.

In other words, all you students of mine, plagiarism in school is not allowed. It is an unethical act that can and will result in expulsion and disqualification from the practice of law. But let’s not confuse contexts: some contexts, specifically academic practices, produce in their audiences the expectation of originality; in others, specifically legal practice, originality can be effective, but effectiveness is the bottom line.