Are law professors lazy?

A provocative topic (for some of us) from the Wall Street Journal Law Blog. There is the stereotype, which I have run across with some (ignorant) family relations: You just have to teach X hours a week? The WSJ blog is a little less off-the-mark: “They teach a few hours a week, host office hours for an hour a week, and spend the rest doing whatever else they do out of students’ sight — write law review articles and blogs, attend conferences, interview potential colleagues and, well, frankly, we’re not entirely sure.”

Now, to be sure, law professors are unlikely to die prematurely from excessive physical exhaustion or emotional stress. Moreover, if the term is intended to mean that people will do the least they can get away with, there are some who probably are “lazy.” Of course, in that last quality they are hardly different from some individuals in any other vocation. It is even possible, though much more dubious, that there are more lazy law professors than lazy people in some other groups. That would be most plausible when compared to neurosurgeons, but much less so when compared to other pedagogues or to government workers, union members, and entertainers.

But I do not believe that to be an accurate description of law professors as a group. While moving from the individual to generalization of the group is always problematic, I will start with myself. The WSJ description is itself problematic, with normatively-freighted phrases such as “a few hours,” “an hour,” and “doing whatever else they do.” First, I typically teach 8-9 hours in the classroom each week during the academic year. Those are medium to large classes. So the teaching load is not insignificant. My colleagues do not teach that kind of full schedule, so it is fair to say that some of them could readily teach a heavier course load than the more typical 5 hours per week without suffering exhaustion. But that is not the extent of the classroom commitment. I have taught these subjects for quite a number of years. Yet, I still need to review the cases and materials before each class. This easily adds, say, 6 hours per week.

Second, I hold office hours 3 hours per week, in light of the large number of students I teach. Around exam time, I increase my availability further. Most of my colleagues have a comparable number of office hours.

Third, I have administrative responsibilities on committees and as faculty adviser to student groups. Including faculty meetings, these responsibilities probably take up an average of about 3 hours per week, sometimes more, though usually less. That work is drudgery.

Those are the most open and notorious hours. They are the tip of the iceberg. Class topics don’t learn themselves. I teach in the areas of business law (agency; partnerships; corporations; securities), constitutional law, and legal history and theory (including jurisprudence). Constitutional law, especially, is prone to new applications and interpretations. That requires a constant keeping abreast of new developments. Reading advance sheets, law review articles, books, and blogs soaks up a lot of my time. Now, some folks might say that is leisure. True, I find (most) of those readings interesting, but they still take up time. They are still work, and I find that I have far too much to read and far too little time to read it (as I stare at 7 books piled in a stack in front of me).

Then there are the incidentals of classroom work: Writing and grading exams. Law professors have to write the exams and read every student essay answer from beginning to end. At least half the final must be essay. No teaching assistants permitted for those tasks. Again, I take those tasks seriously. Writing one final exam will take all or almost all of a day. Reading and correcting essays takes about 45 minutes per essay, as I make lots of comments. Not all professors take that kind of time or go into such detail, though I believe that professors owe their students that attention and guidance. I grade close to 300 finals during the academic year.

Moreover, those who work in a cubicle (or at any other job), don’t work for eight hours straight (or even four hours). Studies have shown that an employer is lucky to get four hours of real work out of the typical employee during an eight-hour day. That is to say, shopping or gambling online doesn’t count as “work.” So a forty-hour work week does not mean forty hours of actual work each week.

When I grade papers, those are hard hours. I take breaks to rest and refresh my mind. Even with breaks, a mind-numbing boredom threatens to set in after reading thirty or forty similar answers. As far as in-class teaching, it is physically and mentally exhausting, though in a different manner than grading papers. Plato described the erotic element of philosophy. Without taking this too far, there is an erotic element both in experiencing knowledge and in teaching. When a class goes well, there is a sense of culmination and consummation. Mostly mental, to be sure, but with a physical aspect, as well. The better the class goes, the more that sense. And the more the need for a mental and physical refractory period. Put another way, a one-hour class takes a lot more than one hour.

There are also the extra exam and course review sessions with students; the moot court judging (both the first-year students’ competition and the upper division honors program); the panel discussions for student groups or for one’s colleagues; attending lectures, seminars, or academic conferences; various receptions for alumni, prospective students, and current students; letters of recommendation for worthy students and academic assistance for those in trouble.

Finally, there is the writing part of the job. Many of my colleagues write a law review article every couple of years. I tend to write shorter pieces more frequently (I get bored with a topic once I have done the basic research). Also I write a blog, which is partly a creative outlet, but partly related to my work.

Some professors might hide behind tenure to do little work. I suspect that few do, though, at least at law schools. I know that I like to be productive. I like the intellectual challenge. I consider it my obligation to be as prepared and informed as I can for my students. All of those take time and effort if done conscientiously. I suspect that my colleagues feel the same.

The great advantage of being a law professor is flexibility. I do not sit in a cubicle from nine to five. It is easy for me to take off an afternoon to do personal things. But I also work until late at night and on weekends, as the need arises. But flexibility in work schedule does not mean that work is not done. Just because I am not in class does not mean I am not working, any more than the fact that a basketball player is only on the court a few hours a week does not mean he is not preparing for his game. Or that an actor who appears a couple of hours a night in a play is not working on his lines or other aspects of his craft.

Another point a critic might raise is that law professors “get the summer off.” Yes, and no. Most law professors do research for their publications during summer. Some teach as visiting professors or at the school’s programs overseas. I teach during the summer. Indeed, the special two-year program in which I teach some classes, requires so many hours in the summer that July and August are the two busiest months on my schedule. Yes, like others, professors do take vacations, though I have not taken anything longer than ten days as far back as I can remember.

A different question is whether law professors are overpaid for what they do. That is an intriguing and, ultimately, unanswerable query. Certainly we are paid far more than a lettuce picker for far less backbreaking work. On the other hand, we are paid far less than someone who can play basketball well. I look at that question as follows: Law professors could certainly teach a few more classes for their pay, perhaps at the expense of some publishing. But we earn far less than most of us could have earned had we become (or remained) practicing attorneys. Most law professors come from a fairly thin layer of law students in the upper echelons of well-known law schools. Those students are much desired by prestigious law firms. They have six-figure salaries as beginning associates that rise, not infrequently, to seven-figure partnership draws. If they work for the government, they are likely to rise to the upper levels of bureaucracies. They typically earn impressive amounts of money. Many law professors made a trade-off in exchange for a lower salary. It is that comparative independence in performing one’s job, the flexibility of life-style, the intellectual challenge and the joy of knowledge, and the opportunity to help students become lawyers (together, I’ll admit, with the prestige and satisfaction that brings) that is the attraction of being a professor.

Being a law professor is a wonderful career. With certain qualifications, such as faculty meetings and grading exams, it is personally very satisfying. More than most vocations that I can imagine, it provides that fulfillment and sense of accomplishment, characteristics of a life well-lived, that Aristotle and other Greek ethicists called eudaimonia. But, as the Greeks warned, eudaimonia requires effort and commitment. So, becoming a good professor (and it truly is a continuous ”becoming”) requires those two ingredients. I would reject the notion that law professors as a group are “lazy,” as it accuses them of lacking that essential human striving to excel.