I just returned from the AALS annual meeting, where I attended a session sponsored by the section on clinical education. The program, notably, was assigned to the “Bowery” conference room. For those not familiar with NY geography, the Bowery is a “city district known for cheap bars and derelicts.” It’s not clear why the Sheraton Midtown decided to name a conference room after that checkered locale.
We “derelicts” of legal education, however, assembled in our Bowery room to discuss the value of clinical education. We heard numerous thoughtful evaluations of clinics, including survey evidence about the value that students and employers place on this experience. We also listened to a particularly incisive presentation by Bob Kuehn on the costs of clinical education. As Bob has written in a forthcoming paper, clinical courses are not as expensive as many observers believe.
A particularly eloquent statement, however, came from a member of the audience. Every professional, he observed, develops lifelong values, attitudes, and habits of mind in their first professional workplace. Why wouldn’t law schools want to shape those values? Classroom discussion, Socratic questions, and exams go only so far. Don’t we want to shape our graduates as professionals? Why would we forego the chance to make those impressions?
I was delighted to visit The Faculty Lounge for the month of December. I have posts there on professionalism, law school admissions, teaching law practice management, bar passage rates, responsible enforcement of ABA Standard 501(b), the bias in UPL regulations, the infamous trolley problem, requiring law professors to demonstrate knowledge of the rules of professional conduct, and the law of legal services. I hope you had a chance to follow these while I was in the “lounge” or that you’ll check back if you’re interested.
My posting authority at TFL ended before I had a chance to say “thank you and good bye,” so I’ll say that here: I’m grateful to the lounge hosts for inviting me to join them for a month, and I enjoyed the discussion with commenters there.
But, as Dorothy said, there’s no place like home. I look forward to posting much more here on the topics I explored at TFL–as well as about many other issues arising in legal education and the practice of law. Happy new year to all!
Never heard of it? Agnotology is the science of ignorance–or, more precisely, the study of how individuals and organizations willfully spread confusion. This article offers a quick overview. One of the most effective ways to nurture ignorance, the article explains, is to persuade people that a fact is disputed.
This was the strategy that cigarette companies adopted to rebuff scientific studies showing tobacco’s killer effects. The companies couldn’t prove that the studies were wrong; instead, they focused on creating doubt. As long as cigarette manufacturers could maintain an air of controversy over tobacco’s effects, smokers would persuade themselves that smoking was not dangerous. Companies managed to maintain this air of “controversy” long after scientists agreed on the health risks of smoking.
Agnotologists warn that the internet facilitates the spread of ignorance. Disagreements arise readily online, and interested parties leverage those arguments to create an illusion of uncertainty. As long as experts appear to disagree over an issue, less informed individuals feel comfortable picking either side–even if an overwhelming majority of experts in the field endorses one side of the debate.
It’s a useful insight, especially for those of us who educate law students. We teach students that there are two or more sides to almost every question. That’s a key lesson for future lawyers to master, but perhaps we should impart a caveat learned from agnotology: Recognizing two sides can also be a way of obfuscating truth.
It has been a busy semester, and I’m blogging this month at The Faculty Lounge. But I look forward to returning soon with more thoughts about legal education and the legal profession. Happy holidays to all!
I wrote in a recent post that many affirmative action programs reflect a belief in fixed intelligence. In these programs, faculty assume that affirmative-action admits have less ability than their white peers. That ability, faculty further assume, condemns those admittees to low law school grades. In addition, the presence of less qualified minority students may aggravate the stereotype threat that can impair performance by all minority students–leading to still lower performance overall.
I then, however, explained that a belief in fixed intelligence is mistaken. Intelligence is much more fluid than many individuals understand. Adopting a fluid-intelligence mindset, moreover, can itself enhance achievement. This brings us to the questions: How does a belief in fluid intelligence affect our concept of affirmative action? And how might those beliefs affect the performance of minority students?
Conceptualizing Affirmative Action
When viewed with a fluid-intelligence perspective, affirmative action programs take on a very different character than the one I described earlier. This perspective, first, assumes that college grades and LSAT scores do not fully reflect the existing intelligence of minority students. Stereotype threat, economic disadvantage, cultural signals, and other forces can reduce a minority student’s performance when compared to that of a white student with similar abilities. Thus, the true ability level of an admitted minority student may be higher than that of white students with similar scores.
Second, the fluid-intelligence perspective assumes that the minority student’s capabilities will grow throughout law school. Education expands intellectual ability, and law school offers a particularly rigorous form of education. The minority student, like white students, will be more capable at graduation than at admission.
Finally, and most important, the fluid-intelligence perspective suggests that the minority student has more potential for growth than the white student with similar credentials. Why? Because almost all minority students have been hampered by a lifetime of implicit bias and stereotype threat. They are also more likely than white students to have suffered from low-income backgrounds, few role models, and inadequate schools. All of these factors can reduce the ability that an individual displays in college or on the LSAT, but they don’t erase the potential for achievement gains.
A good affirmative action program assumes that, if we place minority students in an intellectually challenging but supportive environment, and if we eliminate the stereotype threat and implicit bias in that environment, the minority student will make greater intellectual gains than a white student who enters that environment with the same initial achievement level.
The same, of course, can be true for some white students. Some of them suffer from inferior schools, few role models, and stereotype threats of their own. These students will also benefit disproportionately from a challenging, supportive academic environment. The gaps for minority students, however, tend to be much, much larger. The potential for gain, likewise, is much greater.
The Theory In Action
This three-part discussion, I hope, shows that affirmative action programs need not create stereotype threat or harm minority students. On the contrary, properly conceptualized programs recognize the ability of minority students to make greater gains than similarly credentialed classmates.
What, then, holds them back? Why did Alexia Marks and Scott Moss find that minority law students receive lower grades than white classmates with similar entering credentials? The answer almost certainly lies in our failure to create the type of academic environment described above.
I invite law professors and administrators to reflect on their own attitudes. How many of us believe that intelligence is fixed? That belief can negatively affect student learning.
If we believe in fluid intelligence, do we recognize that minority students may be able to make special gains during law school? Do we eagerly embrace that possibility, working to create the conditions that will bring those gains to life? Are we giving students wise feedback that affirms their ability to meet high standards? The outcomes described by Marks and Moss suggest that we’re not doing nearly as much as we could.
To what extent, finally, does our traditional culture hamper the intellectual development of all students–and of minority students in particular? A lack of individualized feedback, strict grading curves, and overt tracking (e.g., election to the primary law review) probably reinforce notions of fixed intelligence.
Are there ways to change these academic traditions? Or to create new approaches that override their impact? Can we cultivate a belief in fluid intelligence–among both students and faculty–that will give more students an opportunity to grow their intelligence? That is one of the challenges facing law schools.
This post is part of a series discussing the challenges that minority students face in law school. You can read previous posts here, here, and here. As I noted in my most recent post, our beliefs about intelligence can affect both student performance and the impact of affirmative action programs. I also suggested that many law students and professors believe that intelligence is fixed. Indeed, the law school culture seems to promote that belief. But is intelligence really fixed?
We know that the expression of intelligence is not fixed. Individuals exhibit different degrees of intelligence under different circumstances. The phenomenon of stereotype threat illustrates that fact: individuals exhibit lower levels of intelligence when tested under circumstances suggesting that members of their identity group are expected to perform poorly.
But does intelligence itself vary? Or does it remain fixed, defining an outer limit of each individual’s potential? One answer is that it doesn’t matter much. If context can affect the expression of intelligence, as happens with stereotype threat, we can focus first on developing academic contexts that enhance the expression of intelligence among all students. Perhaps we can secure sufficient gains in the expression of intelligence–for both minority and white students–that we need not worry whether their underlying intelligence is fixed.
There is, however, significant evidence that intelligence is not fixed. There is equally important evidence that our beliefs about intelligence affect academic performance.
Fluid Intelligence
The psychologist Scott Barry Kaufman dismisses the notion of fixed intelligence as a myth. “The bottom line,” he writes, “is that intelligence was never, and will never, be fixed at birth.” Intelligence grows over the lifetime and even over generations. There is little doubt that intelligence is fluid.
Fluid does not mean completely unrestrained. As Kaufman notes in the article linked above, intelligence as measured by IQ tests remains relatively stable over an individual’s lifetime. This means that individuals at the bottom, middle, and top of the IQ scale tend to retain those relative positions–even as the intelligence of all individuals increases with age and experience. Still, there is considerable fluctuation in those relative positions, especially if individuals are exposed to enriching experiences (or removed from constrictive environments).
This has important implications for legal education. If intelligence is not fixed, then some of our traditional practices look educationally suspect. Our lack of feedback, for example, deprives students of opportunities to enhance their legal intelligence. Our assumption that skills like client counseling reflect innate personality traits similarly prevents us from expanding students’ intelligence by coaching them in these abilities.
But there’s more: Our very belief in fixed intelligence can restrain student achievement.
Fixed and Growth Mindsets
Stanford psychologist Carol Dweck has led a decades-long exploration of the relationship between achievement and beliefs about intelligence. Her work, summarized in the popular book Mindset, shows that people who believe in fluid intelligence (a “growth mindset”) achieve more than those who believe that intelligence is fixed (the “fixed mindset”).
Encouraging students to adopt a growth mindset, therefore, can spur achievement. Dweck and her colleagues have illustrated this effect in numerous studies. Their most recent effort demonstrates the feasibility of low-cost, large-scale interventions to achieve significant gains in student achievement.
This line of scholarship has even more profound implications for legal education. Our grading scales and culture seem to nourish the belief that legal aptitude is fixed. First-year performance constrains employment prospects for many students, signaling that the ability they demonstrated that year is an accurate measure of their long-term potential. Similarly, many students express frustration that they receive middling grades whether they study a little or a lot. Without more individualized feedback, they conclude that their abilities are fixed and that hard work is pointless.
Research by Dweck and other psychologists suggests that, if we could reform our culture to change these mindsets, all of our students would achieve more. That in itself would be a laudable goal.
Back to Affirmative Action
I started these posts, however, by exploring the particular plight of minority students. In my last post, I extended that journey to consider the impact of affirmative action programs. As I noted there, programs rooted in a fixed-intelligence belief may depress the grades of minority students (although those programs may still confer other benefits by opening doors to more elite schools).
In my next and final post of this series, I will describe a different type of affirmative action program–one committed to a belief in fluid intelligence. As we’ll see, that type of program could enhance performance by minority students. A culture endorsing fluid intelligence, furthermore, could improve achievement among all law students.
I wrote this summer about a study demonstrating a worrisome trend among minority law students: They received lower grades than white peers with similar LSAT scores, undergraduate achievements, and work experience. Part of the problem, I suggested in a second post, may stem from the psychological phenomenon of stereotype threat. When individuals are placed in situations in which a group stereotype suggests that they will perform badly, they do just that. Remove the stereotype threat and performance improves to match that of other individuals with similar experience and abilities.
Stereotype threat arises in part from the implicit racial bias that permeates our culture. If professors, classmates, friends, and family members see minority students as less capable than white ones, those perceptions can become self-fulfilling prophecies. Unconscious bias, unfortunately, is invisible only to the holders of that bias; targets readily perceive the negative assumptions and respond to them.
What About Affirmative Action?
How does affirmative action affect this dynamic? Some critics of affirmative action suggest that special admissions programs simply aggravate stereotype threat–ultimately harming the students they intend to help. Minority students, they reason, know that at least some members of their group lack the credentials of white students; they are “less qualified” to attend law school than their peers. This knowledge, critics reason, will trigger an extreme form of stereotype threat. Knowing that their racial/ethnic group is less qualified than the dominant white group–and that professors know this–minority students will perform poorly.
Does this phenomenon explain the poor performance of minority students in law schools? Should we abandon all traces of affirmative action to improve the achievements of minority students?
Not from my perspective. Instead, we need to examine our own attitudes toward affirmative action. Those attitudes, which inform a law school’s culture, spell the difference between programs that assist minority students and those that may harm them. To explain this, we also need to explore the nature of intelligence: Is an individual’s intelligence fixed at some point early in life? Or is it fluid? I will explore these issues in a series of posts.
Fixed-Intelligence Affirmative Action
Many critics of affirmative action assume that intelligence is fixed. When we admit minority students with lower LSAT scores than their white classmates, these critics assume, we know that the minority students will perform more poorly in law school. They have less law-related intelligence (as measured by LSAT tests) and, thus, are fated to lower performance.
These critics acknowledge that intelligence is not the only factor affecting achievement. Hard work, catch-up tutoring, and faculty encouragement, they concede, may improve a student’s grades. In their view, however, this simply adds to the cost of affirmative action programs. Schools must devote special resources to tutoring programs, and faculty must provide special encouragement to minority students. The pay-off, from the critics’ perspective, is small. Minority students, they argue, would fare better if they attended schools where their fixed intelligence matched that of their white peers.
Many supporters of affirmative action programs also believe in fixed intelligence. These supporters quietly assume that minority students have less law-related intelligence than their white peers, but they blame that difference on historical and contemporary discrimination. Since society has damaged minority students, these professors reason, we owe them special consideration in admissions. We should give them the opportunities they might have had if they had not experienced a lifetime of overt and subtle discrimination. With hard work, special tutoring, and faculty encouragement, at least some of these students will achieve more than their predictors indicate. Even those who finish near the bottom of the class will benefit from the reputation and network connections of a more prestigious school than one they might have attended without affirmative action.
These attitudes, whether expressed critically or supportively, may well reduce the performance of minority students. In addition to creating stereotype threat, these attitudes tell minority students: “Intelligence is fixed by the time students enter law school and, for whatever reason, yours is lower than that of your classmates.” As we’ll see in my next post, belief in fixed intelligence harms students as much as stereotype threat. Minority students, therefore, suffer a double injury when surrounded by these attitudes.
These attitudes, it’s important to note, need not be overt to affect students. Few professors announce to their classes: “Your intelligence is fixed. You’ve either got it or you don’t. See you at the end of the semester.” The beliefs, however, are there. Law school, in fact, seems centered on a theory of fixed intelligence. Our focus on LSAT scores (aggravated by the US News ranking competition), the lack of feedback designed to enhance performance, and the strict grading curves suggest that we believe our students’ intelligence is fixed.
Add assumptions about low-performing minority students to that mix, and you have a recipe for stereotype threat and reduced performance–even among minority students with entering credentials that match those of white peers.
Another Way
Fortunately, it doesn’t have to be this way. There is a way to conceptualize affirmative action programs that is both more cognitively accurate and more supportive of minority students. If we can reform our law school culture to embrace the reality of fluid intelligence, we will reveal the true justification for affirmative action programs, allow minority students to reach their full potential, and improve learning for all students. In my next two posts, I will explore the concept of fluid intelligence and how it can inform our beliefs about affirmative action.
The journal Science just published a study reporting that top scientists were unable to reproduce the results claimed by 75% of social psychology studies and 50% of cognitive psychology ones. All of the studies appeared in top-ranked journals.
Some scientists, I’m sure, are reeling that their work has been challenged. But I like the attitude expressed by Brian Nosek, a prominent researcher who led the reproduction study. “Scepticism is a core part of science,” he told journalists, “and we need to embrace it. . . . We should be our own worst critics,”
I would say the same about legal education. Skepticism is a core part of our method. We teach students to question their assumptions, as well as the precedents they read. At faculty workshops, we question the presenter’s results and offer competing theses. Practicing lawyers must learn to be even more skeptical than we are; clients shade the truth, witnesses lie, and opposing lawyers omit relevant facts. Skeptical questions are the foundation of our profession.
Yet we are remarkably resistant to questions about legal education. Suggestions that our curriculum focuses too heavily on appellate practice; that education in other practice skills would improve client representation; that we tout big firm lawyers (and their salaries) more eagerly than small ones; that tuition and tenured faculty salaries have increased markedly, while teaching loads have fallen; that legal scholars devote almost no time to studying the delivery of legal services and ways to streamline those services; or even that the hallowed Socratic method may not be quite as engaging to students as it is to professors–these and other criticisms meet waves of resistance rather than eager discussion. Note that I say “discussion” rather than “acceptance.” I am inclined to agree with the criticisms noted here, but I am amazed by the reluctance of some scholars even to entertain these questions.
Legal educators are finally making progress; we are more willing to consider the fact that legal education might–just might–be capable of improvement. It’s sad, though, that this new openness has stemmed primarily from market forces rather than an innate commitment to improvement. Ten years ago, it was hard to get many educators to discuss even the possibility of flaws in legal education. Only after remarkable downturns in jobs and applicants have we become receptive to reflection.
That reflection has led to promising innovations, but our work has just begun. We need to know much more about the impact of those innovations, as well as about some of the traditional classroom models they have replaced. We need to continue learning about the work our graduates do and the legal needs that remain unmet. State supreme courts have given us the virtually exclusive power to choose future lawyers, along with the responsibility of providing their foundational education. It’s a weighty responsibility that will bring it’s own reward if we do it right.
Law schools don’t need a $1 million communications effort to improve our public image. We need a genuine commitment to identifying and solving problems within legal education and the profession. If we have an extra $5,000 per law school, I suggest we spend that money on initiatives that will inform and improve legal education–not on PR. Here are just a few suggestions:
1. Evaluate the outcomes of legal incubators for both new lawyers and clients. Do these initiatives succeed in launching new lawyers into practice? Are they able to address low- and moderate-income needs?
2. What other practice models show promise in matching lawyers with under-served clients? individual schools–or a national organization like the AALS–could offer seed grants to scholars who are exploring alternative structures for the delivery of legal services. Which structures show the most promise for closing the justice gap? What kind of work do lawyers do within those structures? How can law schools best educate lawyers for those roles?
3. Sponsor faculty workshops that will educate faculty on what skills like interviewing, counseling, fact gathering, and negotiation really entail. I was amazed to read last night that some faculty think that these are “motor” skills rather than “thinking” ones. We need to educate faculty about these essential skills, which are as important to law practice as appellate-style reasoning. These skills also require as much “thinking” as any other work in law school.
4. Create workshops that will teach practitioners how to educate new lawyers. The conventional law school classroom offers a poor model for workplace education. Too many senior lawyers try to emulate Kingsfield, barking questions and criticisms rather than giving guidance. Clinical professors know how to educate new lawyers while engaged in active client representation. With a modest amount of funding, they could educate practitioners in those pedagogies.
Do good work, and the good press follows.
A recent statement by a group of deans offers a telling insight into the way law schools envision their graduates’ practice experience. In the course of criticizing California’s proposal to require 15 units of experiential education, the deans contrast two types of students.
On the one hand, the deans worry that California’s proposal “could seriously hamper the student who wants to practice tax law and whose future employer advises taking as many specialized courses as possible in that field.” Students who are going to practice tax, they imply, need to learn a lot of legal doctrine; those students don’t need to spend much time learning about negotiation, client counseling, drafting, or other practice-based matters during law school.
On the other hand, the deans suggest that if California’s bar authorities are worried about new “graduates who seek to ‘hang out a shingle,’ or engage in other areas of direct representation or fields requiring particular training, there are many ways that a state bar might reform its regulatory structure to certify a higher level of competency for particular kinds of practice.”
Why do graduates who engage in “direct representation” need a “higher level of competency” than junior tax lawyers? Because the tax lawyer (or at least the one these deans have in mind) is going to work for a large law firm that will be able to tutor her gradually in client representation. In its traditional form, legal education doesn’t teach students to represent clients directly. Instead, we assume that employers will take care of all that.
False Assumptions
That assumption worked, for a time, for law school graduates taking jobs in firms that served corporate clients. Those firms could afford to train new lawyers; they also had a large body of work (e.g., document review and legal research) that new lawyers could profitably perform while learning to represent clients. The clients, meanwhile, seemed content to subsidize some new lawyer learning.
The assumption never worked very well for other other employers. Small law firms, legal aid offices, public defenders, and many government offices have always needed new lawyers who could engage immediately in direct representation. These employers and their new hires struggled to complete the work that law schools left undone.
Our traditional model of legal education, in other words, prepared graduates to work for an employer with substantial supervisory assets. Big firms and their corporate clients had those assets; other employers and clients did not. We favored the former over the latter, simply by the way we structured our curriculum.
The New Economy
Today, of course, the assumption doesn’t work well even for the largest firms. All employers want new lawyers with more practice sophistication than graduates typically possess. Stiff market competition drives those demands: clients can shop around for law firms, and firms have their pick of hungry new lawyers.
Law schools have responded, and we are starting to educate students more directly for their professional roles. Still, as this deans’ statement reflects, schools reflexively protect parts of the curriculum that benefit students headed for large firms–rather than eagerly embracing educational experiences that will benefit all of the graduates who begin working with clients immediately.
Why do we do this? Why do law schools worry first about preparing students for large firm practice–relegating those engaged in “direct representation” to the shadows, where they will somehow, somewhere obtain the “higher level of competency” they need to represent clients?
Getting It Backwards
Our system of legal education is upside down. We should educate all future lawyers to engage in direct representation; that’s what lawyers do. JD students who want to be lawyers need to study basic legal doctrine, legal research, legal writing, case analysis, statutory interpretation, the principles of professional responsibility, and legal reasoning. Our curriculum has grown to accommodate most of those subjects relatively well.
Rather than rounding out their study with advanced doctrinal subjects, however, these students should study professional skills like interviewing, client counseling, negotiation, deal making, financial analysis, drafting, and advocacy. Future lawyers should, finally, have experiences that tie all of those elements together in supervised client representation.
The latter experiences should displace advanced doctrine in the JD curriculum for four reasons. First, all lawyers use a subset of these skills, just as all legal fields build upon the foundation concepts taught in the first year. It makes sense to teach basics at the beginning of a professional’s career.
Second, these experiential courses reinforce the legal doctrine learned in other courses. I audited a Trial Practice course a few years ago and cringed as my Evidence students (who had taken their exam just a week earlier) failed to remember basic evidentiary principles. After a few weeks in Trial Practice, however, their knowledge returned–stronger and deeper than ever. When students ask me how to prepare for the bar exam, I tell them to take courses in bar subjects accompanied by experiential courses that reinforce that learning.
Third, law schools actually teach professional skills better than employers do. Sure, a new lawyer can learn something by watching a more senior practitioner. But if he asks the senior lawyer how she accomplishes a particular task, the senior lawyer is likely to say something like “I don’t know, I just do.” Academic settings are much better than workplaces for identifying underlying principles, reflecting on how and why things work, providing supervised practice, and developing new approaches. These advantages hold for the professional learning we call “skills” as well as for bodies of legal doctrine.
Finally, if lawyers need advanced doctrinal training in an academic setting, we have plenty of programs to fill that need. Law school teaches students how to think like lawyers precisely so they can learn new legal doctrines on their own. For areas that are too complex for that self learning, graduates have an increasing array of options: traditional LLM programs, online courses, professional workshops, and certificate programs. Today’s graduates will practice law until 2055 or beyond. Doesn’t it make sense for them to learn basic skills first and purchase new instruction in legal doctrine when they need it?
Conclusion
If we’re serious about either serving clients or educating students for good practice opportunities, we need to turn legal education rightside up. Lawyers have a monopoly over direct representation of clients on legal matters, nothing else. It’s time to take seriously our responsibility–and our opportunity–to educate students for that role.
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