Law: The Institution for All Seasons

There are as many answers to this question as there are students. And that fact is very significant. Law offers something for every one of its practitioners.

• Do you want material success (don’t be ashamed: money, money, money!)?
• Do you want to improve our society?
• Do you want to foster capitalist institutions? Socialist ones?
• Do you want to change government?
• Do you want to hold public office?
• Do you want to be a Napoleon? an Abraham Lincoln?
• Do you want to help people?
• Do you want to see people cringe before you on the witness stand?

Law can be the key to all of these goals. If you’re bookish and shy, if you’re petulant and aggressive, you have a place in the law. In what other profession can you be a scholar, a street fighter, a psychoanalyst? And if, like most of us, you’re a composite, law will still gladly accommodate you.

But that’s not all. The practice of law (and even the study of law) affects you in fundamental ways. Self-confidence, for one. You can’t stand up in front of a roomful of people and talk about a legal decision and not come away with a sense that there are few confrontations in the real world you can’t handle.

How about pride? A lot of people apply to law schools; a very small percentage get in. And the profession itself is a noble one. For every lawyer whose wrongdoing hits the newspaper, there are hundreds who volunteer their time to make certain that indigent and low-income clients are afforded the best legal protection in the country. And let’s not forget about the typical attorney who stays in the office until 3:00 a.m. just to put a final polish on his brief so that his client has a better shot at victory the next morning.

So there you have three of the legacies of practicing law: challenge, self-confidence, pride. How about a certain sensibility that law imparts? Law’s realm is all of life. Your practice of law will round you out and educate you in the finer (sometimes dark, sometimes saintly) aspects of human nature.

Your Commitment

These are some of the benefits law offers you. What does it require in return?

An Afterword

The practice of law needs more than a part-time commitment. The practice of law and the study of law, too, are like reading a legal case. Skim it once, and you won’t grasp it. It will mean nothing to you. You’ll feel repelled by the complexity of the facts. But plow into a case hard, pull it apart, and sooner or later it works. You have the meaning of the case, and you feel good about it.

There will be times in the next few years of study and times in your practice when you feel that opening a case reporter is the last thing you want to do. The thought of briefing a 45- page antitrust decision—oh, bring on the hot coals instead!

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Then the worm gets in. You think, “Maybe I shouldn’t be a lawyer. I don’t feel the old first-year enthusiasm and drive any more. I’m getting lazy. I’ve never been as smart as everybody thought I was. I’ve made a wrong choice.”

Well, what’s a lawyer’s first step when confronted with any problem? To analyze it. Sort out your emotions; look at the facts.

What is the kernel of the difficulty?

As to the absence of your first-year enthusiasm—good riddance! Who needs it? The first year in law school is powered by a dangerous mixture of fuel: manic enthusiasm and intense fear. You will never need to bring to the study or practice of law the effort you brought to your first year. Doing so isn’t necessary. You'll learn 90 percent of the “law” you need for school in your first two semesters. The rest is just fine tuning and learning variations. So if your outlines shrink, your case briefs become skimpy, you don’t begin studying until three days before the exam instead of two weeks, don’t think less of yourself. By the second and third year, you’ll have learned how to learn. You don’t need to work as hard.

The Cure for Law

What about other moments of doubt, ones you can’t dismiss so easily? Analyze them. What’s the source? A low grade you know you didn’t deserve? A bout of 16-hour days at the office? Being given assignments a secretary could handle?

These are merely temporary irritations. Time is as good a remedy as damages or an injunction. You’ll get different assignments. You’ll change firms. You’ll graduate cum laude in spite of the C-. You’ll find a new area of law to practice in. You’ll find new courses to take. And soon the discouragement is gone.

But let’s say you’ve weeded those problems out. No, there’s something else. A malaise. The blahs. You’ve just had it. No more cases, no more security agreements, no more stock pledge agreements, no more depositions, no more memoranda. Heaven help you if you get assigned to document discovery. And you think, “This isn’t for me. It’s too much. I’ll go under.”

You plow into the case. You engage in an act of faith, you might say. You turn to meet the enemy. You push hard and force yourself to read the case, digest the antitrust opinion, synopsize the law review article, draft the contract. And something curious happens. You move through your discouragement into the realm of good lawyering—a place that you can never arrive at if you skim. And the next thing you know, that discouragement turns to elation—the same twist you felt in your stomach during your first year when you grasped what you thought was an inconceivable concept.

As Professor Llewellyn writes, “The only cure for law is more law.”