Inspired by a recent symposium published in the San Diego Law Review on why law professors often write much more scholarship than they need for tenure, promotion and the like, a few blogging law profs are taking a crack at the question of why they write. Paul Horwitz started things off with a thoughtful post and a solicitation for responses, Michael Froomkin joined in with an excellent take, and Eric Muller has promised something soon.
I’m probably too new at legal academia to have a very good answer to this question, but I thought I would give it a try. Two motivations for writing come to mind, at least to the extent I’m self-aware enough to understand my own motivations. The first and probably primary motivation is the simple enjoyment of playing with and working through a tough problem. I often come across a murky question or area that I think is getting in the way of clear thinking about a legal issue, and I use the excuse of article-writing as a way of making myself confront and attempt to address or resolve it (or at least articulate why it can’t be easily addressed or resolved).
Specifically, I often use the first half of the article to make myself identify and articulate the problem, and then use the second half to ponder and ultimately identify my own best solution. One corollary to this is that usually I don’t know where I’m going when I start an article; I usually write the first half that sets up the problem before I have any idea of what conclusion or normative proposal I might offer. (When I’m writing, I often have conversations like this: Q: “What are you working on?” A: “An article about x.” Q: “What’s your take on it?” A: “It’s only half written. I don’t know yet.”) My favorite part of the writing process is when I finally figure out my take and can imagine how the rest of the article will unfold.
Other articles seem to come about for different reasons. Sometimes I write when I’m convinced that everyone else is misunderstanding something important. I write out of a delusional sense that I have reached some insight others are missing; that I can share that insight with others in an article; that others will be persuaded; and that somehow in some way the world will be a better place because of it. These articles are more goal-oriented. I start out wanting to make a particular argument, and look for evidence in support of that argument. I’m not sure if readers can sense the difference between the two, or which on average is better. (If you’re curious, here is a work-through-while-writing article, and here is a goal-oriented article.) But it feels different when I’m writing the goal-oriented pieces. It’s more like brief-writing than just exploring. I suppose both types of writing have their place.
Finally, stepping back a bit I’m reminded of some favorite quips from Justice Holmes’s letters about why he enjoyed his work. None of us are Holmes, obviously, but I think his take captures something important. Or at least something that reasonates with me. Here are two among many, taken from the Posner-edited book The Essential Holmes: “Why? Why do I desire to win my game of solitaire? A foolish question, to which the only answer is that you are up against it. Accept the inevitable and do your damndest.” (p44, from a 1927 letter to Harold Laski) And my favorite, a remark on living: “I mean to do as much of it as I can. What a divine gift is fire.” (p9, from a 1922 letter to Frederick Pollock).
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