I had a conversation with two of my fellow former first year law students recently. While beginning casually enough, the conversation quickly turned to whether law school should really be three years long. In cruder terms, whether we should be half way done rather of only a third. This is a common enough complaint in the US, but for several reasons I don’t think it is applicable here. The reality remains, however, that there is a palpable tension in Canadian law schools today. An identity crisis of sorts: as institutions of academic and theoretical rigour or as trade schools whose sole purpose should be to teach you the practical skills you need to know as a lawyer. There is no obvious answer, but I do think there are good reasons to prefer the former to the latter.
Arguments Against the Three Year Law School
The first charge that is often levied against Canadian law schools is that they take too long to complete. The concern is that most first year students in competitive programs already have a full, four year bachelor degree under their belts. Law school adds at least another three to that and a fourth once you count bar exams and articles. I must admit that I have some sympathy for this position. Eight years is a long time and, if you do it back to back, you end up a 25 year old who has never held down a real, full-time job (summers don’t count, you see). After all, a quarter century is an awful long time to spend preparing for something.
The concomitant argument is one from opportunity cost. The three to four years law school adds to the equation include both forgone wages as well as costly tuition. Government loans and bursaries cover a lot of the tuition, but private loans are often necessary for living expenses and that does not even take into account the lost wages. This argument has more or less force depending on what kind of background each particular law student has. The cost in forgone wages for a BA in English, for example, is likely much less than one with a BSc in a hard science.
The third argument is from the inapplicability of most of the law school curriculum to legal practice. Many transactional lawyers, for example, will never think of torts again and the vast majority of lawyers in private practice will likely never see a Charter or criminal case if they don’t want to. And yet, these are subjects at the core aspect of the curriculum. I am not in a position to assess this argument’s merits just yet, but my suspicion is, given the amount of choice afforded to students during the course selection process, that the inapplicability of any given student’s course load may have more to do with their own selections than with a grand conspiracy to milk a third year of tuition out of them.
The Difference Between Us and Them
A lot of these arguments are most vociferously espoused by our Southern Friends. There are, however, significant differences between their law school experience and our own. These differences, I think, tend to mitigate against the arguments above. For example, $15 000 for tuition in Ontario is quite different from $42 000 at a Tier 1 (but not T14) law school in the US. Over three years that adds up to $45 000 in Ontario as compared to $126 000 in the US.
Articling attacks these arguments at a different point. Its existence tends to lessen the need to learn practical skills in law school. Sure, your Articling Principal will be happier if you can actually handle a Small Claims Court hearing, but she is also, or should be, expecting your 10 months to break even at best: after all, you are not even fully qualified. Not so in the US. Three years of law school and a brutal bar exam later and you are fully qualified whether you have any piratical skills or not. As such, it makes sense that when a firm hires a new employee they expect that employee to be qualified for the job. Thankfully, that is not yet the case here.
In Defence of a Theoretical Law School
If you haven’t heard a law student say that area X doesn’t make sense, is arbitrary, or is simply archaic, then you haven’t spent much time in a law school. A lot of that sentiment, I believe, is bound up in the fact that most law school courses teach you the law just fine, but they do not attempt, by and large, to get deeper into the problem and explain why the law is the way it is. Now, this might be question begging: not everyone agrees there is a reason why the law is the way it is. Many, in fact, believe there is no rhyme or reason. The law is what it is either because of historical accident or because it is cobbled together by hypocritical judges based on what they happened to eat for breakfast that day.
This is neither the time nor the place to tackle that particular debate, but it does get at an issue that my first year property professor loved to remind us of: theory drives practice. Many scoffed at the time, I assure you, but I don’t think he was wrong. What do we do when we are faced with novel situations? Usually, we try to draw analogies. In doing this, however, we tend to abstract away from the particularities of that particular case to come to general propositions which we can then compare to the new situation. The system of precedents is really just an interlocking web of these generalizations. They connect and impinge on each other in unintended and sometimes surprising ways. Even if we accept that this web is merely the creation of historical accident, we can still attempt to understand its larger structure and how it fits together instead of examining each node of the web individually. In so doing, we often lose the forest for the trees.
Something law students also tend to forget is that judges are not the only ones engaged in fashioning the common law. Cases only go to court and their facts and arguments only get to the judge’s attention because some lawyers got involved. The fact is judges don’t make decisions in a vacuum. Rather, they decide between two competing arguments; arguments fashioned by lawyers. The fact that lawyers do not write the judgment should not in any way denigrate the lawyers’ contribution. How they are to contribute, however, is beyond me if they do not understand the broader picture and the context in which they are arguing. This is especially true on appeal. Very often you are no longer arguing about what the law is, but what it should be. If the law is not to be arbitrary, then, its contributors must take it upon themselves to establish the coherence they themselves so badly want.
In the Alternative
If I am wrong, and theory has no place in Canadian law schools, then I believe we are forced into accepting the consequences of a rather modest proposal: bifurcating the profession. A common argument in favour of a shorter law school duration is the experience in the UK. If they can get all the academic training they need in three years, at an undergraduate level no less, then surely we do it in fewer given our relatively advanced academic standing.
This, however, overlooks one vital difference between our system and theirs: solicitors and barristers have very different career paths. While it is true that this distinction is being eroded, it is also the case that the UK has a somewhat more relaxed approach to legal advice in general. With those two facts in mind, then, it is not at all surprising that English lawyers experience a shorter academic education than their Canadian cousins. Add to this a two year ‘articling’ period and the picture is not substantially different. I think the name of one of England’s leading undergraduate law degrees also serves to shed further light on where the English stand with regard to the debate between theory and practice: Oxford’s BA in Jurisprudence.
The only way that I could see us shortening Canadian legal education is if we turned the second, and now terminal year, into a specific Barrister or Solicitor year which would be followed up by Barrister or Solicitor specific exams and articles. I say this because it is not apparent to me how else one could be competent to in all the subjects in which we are currently obliged to be minimally competent in just two years. If, however, we were only required to be competent in half the subjects, then I don’t think that would be such an impossible feat. This, though, would not exactly be a minor change.