UCLAW is holding the first of a series of Zoom colloquia on teaching remotely. As the law school’s most vocal defender of the lecture and critic of the Socratic method, I’ve been asked to give a 2- to 3-minute talk about lecturing during Covid-19. As regular readers know, brevity is not my strong suit. Thinking about that problem, I recalled the Congressional practice of including extended remarks in the Congressional record. Hence, these thoughts.[1]
Why Lecture?
When I joined the Illinois faculty 20 years ago, I began a long struggle with the problem of pedagogy. Like a lot of newly minted law professors of a certain age, I thought Professor Kingsfield (look him up) was the standard to which I had to aspire. But Kingsfield never had to teach Securities Regulation at 3 p.m. on a Friday afternoon to a class consisting of third-year students in their last semester of law school.
Suffice it to say that it was not a success. Perhaps I lacked a certain gravitas or was just too cherubic for my own good. Being a fairly laid-back guy informed with laissez-faire sensibilities probably didn’t help.
I began reflecting back on my own law school experience. As I pondered the various teachers I had in law school, it occurred to me that there were only two whose style had been truly Kingsfield-like. One was my contracts professor, Bob Scott, whose command of the classroom was amazing. He could hide the ball and then, like a great magician, pull it out of your ear. Interestingly, however, in the courses I took from Professor Scott in my second and third years of law school he did a lot more talking than he had in first year contracts.
The other Kingsfield-like teacher I had at Virginia was my torts professor, who should probably remain nameless. His idea of snappy Socratic dialogue was to respond to every student statement with “so what?” or “who cares?” The only thing I learned in that class was that the Coase theorem answered any question, which admittedly has served me well.
In contrast, most of my professors used what I’ve come to call the soft Socratic style. Instead of cold calling students, they used panels of students who were on call for a few days per semester. Instead of grilling a specific student at length, each student would be tossed a few questions and then the professor moved on to the next. Students were never told that they had given a wrong answer, let alone told to go and call their mothers as they would never become a lawyer. At most, the professor gently guided the student towards the proper conclusion.
In my early years at Illinois, I frequently sat in on classes taught by colleagues who were said to be great Socratic teachers. Oddly, however, in most of those classes, Socrates did almost all of the talking. Just as at Virginia, the dominant pedagogic style was soft Socratic. In preparing for this lecture, for example, I went back and dug out an evaluation I wrote of one of my Illinois colleagues:
His style is very soft Socratic. He tosses an occasional question out there and waits for answers. If nobody responds, he answers the question himself.
He started today’s session by picking up the thread of a discussion from yesterday. After reviewing the material by lecture, he started the new material. As before, he relied on volunteers. He got some participation, but it wasn’t particularly interactive. Students made a comment, he made a comment, and went on.
In fairness, back in those days you could have said much the same thing about my classroom style.
You see, I knew I was not then and never would be Kingsfield-like, but I was still trapped in the mindset that no self-respecting law professor could depart from the Socratic method. So, I too became a soft Socratic teacher. But doubts kept intruding. Were the students who were not “on call” prepared? What did they get out of listening to a colleague answer a question but not having to struggle with it, since I typically moved on to another student or lectured if the student struggled?
It is [said] that [the Socratic method] teaches students how to “think like lawyers.” This claim would, of course, require some evidence. For example, in most countries, including other common law countries, law is not taught via anything like the Socratic method. Yet presumptively their lawyers think like, well, lawyers. So somehow they learned. ‘Thinking like a lawyer’ is a matter of learning how to reason and argue, in some ways that lawyers share with everyone else, and in other ways that are peculiar to lawyers (e.g., arguments from authority are not fallacious in the law). But why think that one learns how to do this by being grilled Socratically as opposed to reading examples of lawyerly thinking and hearing lectures explaining lawyerly arguments?[2]
I eventually came to two conclusions. First, if students couldn’t think like lawyers by the time they got to me in their second or third year of law school, there was very little I could do to help them except suggest another line of work.
Second, the Socratic method doesn’t really teach you to “think like a lawyer.” At best, it teaches you to think like a litigator.
Consider a typical law student who accepts a [transactional] job at a large firm. She has spent perhaps ninety-five percent of her time in law school reading and discussing cases and law review articles. Once in practice, she will go days or weeks at a time without picking up a case or a law review article. Instead, her days will be filled with drafting, reviewing, and marking up transactional documents, negotiating language with opposing counsel, participating in conference calls, and composing memos, emails, and letters to colleagues and clients.[3]
“Thinking like a lawyer,” as Kingsfield and his ilk would have our graduate do is not very conducive to success in that environment.
In his book, The Terrible Truth About Lawyers, Mark McCormack, founder of the International Management Group, a major sports and entertainment agency, wrote that “it’s the lawyers who: (1) gum up the works; (2) get people mad at each other; (3) make business procedures more expensive than they need to be; and now and then deep-six what had seemed like a perfectly workable arrangement.” McCormack further observed that, “when lawyers try to horn in on the business aspects of a deal, the practical result is usually confusion and wasted time.” He concluded: “the best way to deal with lawyers is not to deal with them at all.”
All of which is why I emphasize not only doctrine but also economics and business. Transactional lawyers must understand the business, financial, and economic aspects of deals so as to draft workable contracts and disclosure documents, conduct due diligence, or counsel clients on issues that require business savvy as well as knowing the law.
I want my students to understand that successful transactional lawyers build their practice by adding value to their clients’ transactions. Instead of thinking like Kingsfield, I want them to learn where the value in a given transaction comes from and how they might add even more value to the deal.
I had always lectured some. I defy even Professor Scott to teach the Capital Asset Pricing Model Socratically. As my teaching became more oriented towards transactions, and business and economics became more important, and identifying sources of value in the underlying deals out of which the cases arose became the key task, grilling law students seemed less and less effective.
Gradually, bit by bit, I freed myself from the trappings of the soft Socratic method. Away with panels! Away with volunteers! Away with questions! Up with PowerPoint!
Once I went through the 12 step program and became what Brian Leiter calls a “recovering Socratic teacher,” I noticed that I had some interesting company. Leiter, for example, has written that: “There is no evidence—as in ‘none’—that the Socratic Method is an effective teaching tool. And there is much evidence that it’s a recipe for total confusion.”[4]
In her 1997 book, Becoming Gentlemen, Lani Guinier blasted the Socratic Method for forcing female students to adopt a style that many found alien to them. Former Secretary of Labor Robert Reich, wrote in a 1998 essay that the method had “morphed beyond recognition” into an exercise in intellectual arrogance in which the professor always had the right answer.
Even so, at first, lecturing was my dirty little secret. I felt like a deacon sneaking out of town to get a snootful. What if my colleagues found out?
Gradually, however, word leaked out … and nothing bad happened. My classes were full to the bursting. Deans patted me on the back for getting good evaluations. Promotions and raises kept coming.
And then came the Rutter Award.
Tweaking
In sum, the advantages of the lecture are that it gets students through complex materials efficiently and models how non-litigator lawyers work, among other things. Those same benefits obtain online. The new problem is that one has to pay greater attention to the chunks in which one lectures online because of attention-span/zoom fatigue potential problems.
There is data suggesting that the typical college student’s attention span in class is about ten minutes. I recall seeing data—but cannot now find it—suggesting that the typical attention span of university students in remote learning is about 7 minutes. Note that part of the popularity of TED talks may be the 18 minute limit, which ensures they do not tax the participants’ attention span. This suggests a need to find ways of breaking remote lectures into segments of no more than 10 minutes, with some alternative activity in the breaks.
Pop ungraded quizzes might be a good way of checking student comprehension and also a segment break activity. Having some sort of feedback is especially important because one cannot see the students’ faces (due to privacy choices most make) and thus cannot assess their attention level. Zoon’s poll function is an obvious option. I’m also looking for others.
Another possibility I am considering is assigning a few students ahead of each class to each give a short presentation on a topic relevant to the lecture that day.
