My Unsolicited Advice on Your Legal Education at the Half-Way Mark

Max Stearns

Dear Readers:

I delivered these remarks at the very end of the last lecture in my Constitutional Law II: Individual Rights course today. I'm happy to share them with you. Our Constitutional Law sequence includes two three-hour classes, beginning with Constitutional Law I: Structure and Governance, in the spring semester of the 1L year, and with the second half in the fall semester of the 2L year. Law school is three years, and so the end of the second course marks the half-way point.

My unedited comments immediately follow:

Each year, I end my constitutional law courses with some general reflections. The themes overlap, but this talk is a bit different. I’ve titled it “My Unsolicited Advice on Your Legal Education at the Half-Way Mark.”

My main message is this: Become the best lawyer you possibly can be, which involves how you approach your legal education and how you think as a lawyer and citizen.

That starts with dedicating yourselves to learning as much actual law as you can. I encourage you to view your legal education less as a product and more as a process. Law school isn’t the end of that process; it’s the beginning. The process includes specific knowledge, skills, and, perhaps more than anything, a frame of mind.

A crucial part of all of this involves knowing when to say, “I don’t know,” and then figuring out whom to ask or how to find out. It might sound ironic, but it takes great knowledge to know what you don’t know. Doing so combines deep learning with epistemic humility. No one knows everything. The greatest experts in any field couple their expertise with wisdom—knowing what they don’t know.

This closely relates to framing your legal education.

I’ve previously listed six courses that I believe should be required but aren’t. Here they are: Criminal Procedure, Administrative Law, Evidence, Introductory Tax, Family Law, and Business Associations. If you can, take them all. If not, take as many as you reasonably can.

I also recommend one more course — my own elective, Law and Economics. It covers an unusually wide range of doctrines, touching nearly the entire first-year curriculum and much of the upper-level content. It also offers a uniquely helpful methodological integration. I’m convinced understanding basic economic theory empowers lawyers and citizens.

I know many students are drawn to specialty programs and boutique courses exploring favored jurisprudential perspectives. There is nothing wrong with that. But I want to encourage you to think differently as you plan your next three semesters.

Let me put this in perspective with a bit of back-of-the-envelope math. At most law schools—including for out-of-state students here—the total financial outlay for tuition, fees, books, housing, food, and transportation approximates or exceeds $300,000. Some schools cost much more. But financial outlay is only part of the price. The real cost includes the foregone opportunity to do something else.

To keep things simple, assume that with a bachelor’s degree, a student considering law might earn around $60–70K one or two years out of college. Taking opportunity cost into account, the true cost of law school approaches or exceeds half a million dollars. Of course, not everyone pays full tuition, so let’s think in a range: roughly $350K to $550K.

The median home price in Baltimore is about $239K; across Maryland, it’s about $450K. These numbers nearly match the true cost of a legal education. And, like homebuyers, law students rarely pay cash.

But there’s a profound difference in what these large investments—ones nearly all of you will undertake—actually buy.

When you buy a home for, say, $450K, your choices are constrained by the market. You might negotiate price or extract concessions after inspection—and please never waive inspection—but these adjustments are almost always modest.

Compare that to your legal education. Although many of you chose among packages offered by different law schools, once enrolled, the price is essentially fixed. But unlike a home purchase, in law school you control pretty much everything concerning what you buy. You choose the features, attributes, and ultimately the quality of your legal education. That’s an extraordinary degree of agency.

Some might respond that what matters most is achieving the highest possible GPA, and that core doctrinal courses tend to be graded less generously than other curricular or co-curricular opportunities. Others might say that real learning begins only after law school, on the job.

I want to challenge both claims.

From the perspective of future clients and employers, structuring your education to secure the highest GPA at the expense of core doctrinal coverage is like touring a home that’s been flipped: the paint is fresh, the fixtures are spotless, but what’s behind the walls?

Sophisticated buyers see through that. And while I’m not going to tell you grades don’t matter—of course, they do—honestly, they matter primarily once, in landing your first job. After that, and certainly in later roles, what matters is how good a lawyer you are.

I’ve said several times that my goal is to help you become outstanding lawyers. Each of you can do that. And it’s equally true that not all of you can be at the top of the class. These truths aren’t inconsistent. I have known many outstanding lawyers whose transcripts weren’t beautiful; and I’ve seen the opposite. So let me return to my advice: with respect to your legal education, build the best possible home. You’ll likely live in that one longer than the first home you buy! Its the foundation for your career, and the payoff will last far longer than the marginal bump from avoiding core courses.

Yes, you will continue learning throughout your careers. You’ll become experts in your chosen fields. But the demands of work and life will make it far harder to learn core doctrinal content you didn’t learn here. No course will make you an expert, but taking more of the core curriculum reduces the risk of missing something essential when representing a client.

Knowing what you don’t know is a vital part of being an outstanding lawyer. No one can know everything. Great lawyers, doctors, and experts in any rigorous profession combine essential knowledge with self-awareness. Epistemic humility means knowing what you know, recognizing what you don’t, and knowing how to figure out what you need to learn—including, at times, knowing when to refer a client to someone else.

Let me turn to another attribute of outstanding lawyers: the ability to think critically and write with precision. It’s often said there are no great writers, only great editors. The best writers relentlessly edit themselves. This too is a habit of mind.

It helps to learn to read in the manner that is natural to me—word for word—which is admittedly unnatural for some. Although never formally diagnosed, I’m dyslectic. I have no other form than exceedingly close reading. That trait has proved especially helpful in editing. If this kind of close reading doesn’t come naturally to you, I recommend reading your own writing aloud before submitting it. If it sounds awkward, keep revising until it doesn’t. Over time, this will also improve your initial drafting.

More than anything, I want to encourage critical thinking. You’ve heard me say that it’s best to interrogate the positions you’re inclined to agree with, and to take seriously positions you’re viscerally certain are wrong. Strive to be better than your opponents in expressing their views. That may be the most valuable habit of mind for both lawyers and citizens. It doesn’t mean embracing opposing arguments; it means understanding them fully before responding. Avoid mischaracterizations and strawmen. The best lawyers and jurists don’t misrepresent their opponents. Committed citizens shouldn’t either.

Profound moral disagreements increasingly define our society. Not all disagreements carry moral valence, but many do. When you engage with someone whose views you find deeply problematic, consider whether your personal commitments preclude you from trying to understand their perspective. It’s nearly impossible to gain a complete perspective on a bandwagon you’ve already boarded. And here’s an uncomfortable truth: across the ideological spectrum, people have boarded problematic bandwagons.

This brings me back to epistemic humility. There is nothing wrong with occasionally saying, “This seems complicated. I need to learn more.” That mindset goes a long way toward defining outstanding lawyers, jurists, and citizens.

It has been my privilege to teach you this semester. I hope you’ll stay in touch