New York Lawyer
July 23, 2002

Q:
I have received numerous inquiries that are variations on a single theme: What are the pros and cons of attending law school if if you don't intend to practice law?

The question is replete with philosophical, motivational and practical implications and is worthy of a book.

I have some strong opinions on the matter, predicated heavily on such practical factors as marketability and incurring huge amounts of debt. No doubt others have equally strong opinions, and my comments no doubt will trigger heated rejoinder. That's fine; we all love a good debate.

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A:
I am a strong proponent of the virtues of a well-rounded liberal arts education. Specialization into a narrow field of study at an early age is fine if one knows -- really knows -- one's calling, but for many young people, the best education is that which teaches them to acquire and synthesize knowledge rather than focusing on a particular area of knowledge. Many career consultants, myself included, think that graduate school is the best place to specialize, after one has enjoyed a broad, inclusive undergraduate education that teaches one how to think, interpret, set priorities, research and express oneself.

Viewed at one level, law school is a technical trade school. It pounds discrete areas of subject matter expertise into one's head, at great cost in terms of dollars, discipline and hard work. I confess that I often tell college grads, "don't go to law school unless you know why you're going to law school."

If one commences law school not knowing what legal area, style or setting one is best suited for or interested in, the hope is that exposure to the basic law school curriculum will uncover a focus for one's passions and career commitment: one decides "to be" a contract expert, SEC lawyer, environmental advocate, regulatory whiz, or professional arguer. Lawyers tend to labelled according to some area of knowledge or another. When a person says, "I am a labor lawyer," he or she is saying, in effect, "I know the minimum amount about labor law that is required to don that label -- and I am content to be pigeonholed in terms of that specific area of subject-matter expertise." This provides a nice, tight "product description" that can be marketed to some potential employer, whether a law firm, corporate legal department, government agency or not-for-profit entity. This view of lawyerdom sees law school essentially as a creator of specialists.

Seen from another perspective, law school also develops generic capabilities that can have utility in a variety of roles and settings. Anyone is has been accepted to and has completed law school is inferred to have acquired, at the very least: 1) the ability to analyze, prioritize and synthesize complex information; 2) the ability to acquire new subject-matter expertise readily (a "quick study"); 3) solid research capabilities; 4) the ability to assess and limit risk; 5) the ability to write clearly and persuasively (if long-windedly); and 6) oral communication skills. Viewed this way, the study of law operates as an extension of a solid liberal arts education, building powerful, highly-marketable capabilities that are not locked into a particular discipline or setting.

It is this latter perspective that gives rise to one of the most common maxims: "The study of law, whether or not you practice, will never hurt you." In terms of one's general judgment, ability to read diverse situations, and thinking ability, this is most assuredly true. A legal education is a powerful personal enabler. The question is whether the incremental gain in these capabilities is worth the time and expense of law school -- and whether these same capabilities can be acquired more cheaply or effectively in some other way (including on-the-job experience).

One of the strongest arguments for a JD or MBA is that they give you immediate compensation leverage in the job market. Good school plus good grades equals big bucks. It is this exceptional earning potential that justifies taking on often horrific amounts of debt to finance this educational power tool. IF one chooses to incur this debt -- often approaching or exceeding six figures -- but not to pursue the avenue that would pay it down most quickly, the practical argument can be made that "the study of law has hurt you:" it has saddled you with debt that precludes a variety of career options that you simply cannot afford to entertain.

The decision to acquire a professional credential with no intention of using that credential also raises concerns with many employers out there in the "real world." Some of them wonder whether this educational path suggests a "professional student" lacking the ability or motivation to apply what he or she has learned. Some wonder about whether not practicing reflects an intellectual arrogance or lack of practical judgment. Some wonder whether JD was really a way to kill time because one didn't have a clear sense of direction or is a dilettante. When they do eventually hit the job market, they have some "splainin'" to do.

It's also important to understand your own motivational map. Over the years, I have asked thousands of people, "why did you go to law school, anyway?" Their answers seem to fall into four broad categories: a large proportion say they want to be a lawyer -- to enjoy inclusion in a profession, together with the (supposed) stability, security, collegiality and prestige accorded to all lawyers.

Another large group say the want to learn to do something with their legal education, whether to right wrongs, make a lot of money, or be recognized as the world's greatest expert on electromagnetic torts. This "instrumental" motivation sees law as a tool one uses for a particular purpose, not as a ticket for inclusion into an exclusive club.

A third, much smaller group, studies law because they want to know stuff. It is the intellectual substance and challenge of law that captivates them. They see law in terms of norms, values, systems and history. They see the big picture. They generally are miserably unhappy in the mundane practice of law, but they make great law professors or appellate judges.

The final category contains all the "default" reasons: "My dad is a lawyer." "The LSATs said I might be good at law" [note that they never promised that you would enjoy law]. "It seemed like the thing to do at the time." "My folks said they would pay for it." These reasons can be very powerful, but fundamentally they are insubstantial: they are reactive rather than proactive, and therefore carry a high risk of later career dissatisfaction.

If one has thought through all these practical and motivation questions and is prepared to be cross-examined on one's motives, directions and sanity, effective spin control is not all that difficult. But be prepared to address this point: the majority of people who self-select into law are temperamentally suited to be specialists -- to be known for their knowledge in a certain discipline. In this regard they are much like accountants, plumbers, IT experts and human resources professionals. Their underlying drive often is to be an "individual contributor:" someone who "does it him(her)self."

Conventional wisdom says that natural generalists -- the people who want to manage other people who "do it" -- will naturally opt for a more general credentialling, say, an MBA. That is why, in the corporate world it is relatively unusual for those trained as lawyers to enter or make a mid-career transition into general management. Put another way, those temperamentally suited to staff functions (the ones that are essential, but that cost the company money) usually are not seen as the strongest candidates for line functions (the ones that make the company money).

Now, this is all overgeneralized mythology, of course. A lot of people with law degrees enjoy varied and successful careers that have nothing whatever to do with law. There are hundreds of senior executives who draw on their legal training to run and manage all manner or organizations. Some of them started career as lawyers and made a career shift. But there also are many who never had any intention of practicing when they decided to go to law school. Just remember, that for all these people, their legal knowledge has become an incidental attribute rather than a defining characteristic. They may know what lawyers know, but most just don't care if they "are a lawyer" or not.

The enormous number of non-practicing lawyers has led to some enlightened thinking among law schools. The University of Texas Law School at Austin, for example, confronted with research showing that as many as 40% of its alumni do not practice, has created a "Non-Practicing Alumni Advisory Council," compromised of heavy-hitters from the corporate, recruiting, religious, civic and not-for-profit sectors, to help legitimize the notion that law study doesn't have to lead to law practice. The Council provides individuals with advice and counsel, presents programs and collaborates with Dean William Powers and Elizabeth Holt Richardson (no relation) to help develop an inclusive curriculum and career services function that embrace law students who never intend to practice.

The bottom line here is that the study of law should never be a default choice or technique for marking time until one grows up. Like all people who want to plan and control their careers, you must be able to articulate your motives and directions -- both to yourself and to potential employers. You must convince the world that in studying law you are moving toward something and not running away from something. This degree of self-awareness is essential at all stages of one's career. Otherwise you risk looking, as someone told me recently, as if "I'm careening around wildly, kissing frog after frog in the hope one will turn into a prince."

Sincerely,
Douglas B. Richardson
President, The Richardson Group