My social orientation at the University of Windsor, Faculty of Law, begins in two days. Since I have not yet studied the law, or ever adequately “experienced” the law (been arrested, or cameoed on Law & Order), I cannot blog about the law per se. However, I simply cannot wait to get started here on lawiscool.com. The name alone compels me to begin writing about the law, which I, too, find cold—I mean “cool.”

By the end of 8 September, my first day of class, I’m sure that I will have a litany of legal matters to intelligently discuss with you. But for today, I’m going to use my naive, virgin pre-law status to my advantage: I will flaunt it and even share it with you.

“Why law?”

I get asked this a lot. It’s especially hard for me to answer, since I’ve accused many people that I know (never to their face, of course) of going into law because it was the only way to monetize their worthless Arts degrees. I’ve bemoaned that belief, too, since I also believe that society works best when everyone pursues only those vocations that inspire them. Now, it looks like I’m awkwardly placing my feet in their damning footsteps.

Of course, if I could show that the law inspires me, I could avoid restructuring my beliefs and apologizing to my friends. That would be ideal. Can I honestly show that?

A good start in showing that the law inspires me is by discussing my father, Jeffrie Shulman.

I have always loved to argue about justice, rights, government, and politics; I am extremely argumentative by nature. I sometimes wish there was a god, just so I could argue his existence with him directly instead of in his absentia. My father, who also loves a good argument, is a criminal defense lawyer in Toronto (my hometown). Being the son of a criminal defence lawyer has exposed me to concrete examples of legal theory and the virtue of justice. Since, through my father, I have always been in closer proximity to these subjects, I have tended to debate them more than others (though, in my 24 years, I think I have debated every subject).

By the tender age of eight, I had, for instance, gathered from my father yelling into the phone, “When the cops get there: DON’T SAY A THING!” that everyone has a right to remain silent. (Later in life, living on the street which each year hosts the inglorious Queen’s University Homecoming, I would impart this lesson to friends.) These experiences have captured my attention—either reinforcing certain personal beliefs and values with an increased moral urgency, or even casting doubt on the practical attainability of judicial ideals. Incidentally, it was also my father’s clients that instilled in me at a young age a strong belief in the importance of education (especially a legal one). Each collect call I took from the jail always ended with the same admonishment: “Be cool, stay in school.” I wasn’t always cool, but I have always stayed in school.

After five years of graduate and post-graduate studies, that school is law.

What about my graduate and post-graduate studies? Do they help show that law inspires me?

Sort of, but it takes some more finangling. It’s not as emotionally robust as my father’s inspiration, but it’s still something.

I have a B.A. (hons.) from Queen’s University and an M.A. from École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales (EHESS). At both those institutions, I majored in Philosophy of Language and Logic, subjects which I still love. I’ve already mentioned my belief that everyone should love what they do, but I must now admit another, even less realistic belief that I hold dear: I believe that everyone should be good—nay, great—at what they do. It’s a totalitarian and romantic belief, I know. To those of you who are not great at their chosen profession (I’m looking at you, Lenny Kravitz), you have my undeserved condolences.

Apart from a lot of monumental ideas, one thing I learned in philosophy is that—as interested in the subject as I am—I am highly unlikely to ever make an original contribution to my (former) field. Unfortunately, this is precisely what I consider to be an essential property of a “great” academic. To make an original contribution in philosophy, you’re competing with guys like Soctrates, Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Locke, Kant, Frege and Russell (as well as thousands of years, since it’s the oldest academic subject). These are the guys that get 99% on the LSAT with no preparation but a hangover.

Once I realized that philosophy and I had to part ways (I was actually in the middle of my thesis at the time), I began searching for a profession in which my five years of philosophy would not be entirely wasted, a profession to which I could transfer and apply some of the skills and knowledge I had gained. It took about five nanoseconds before it hit me like a pounding gavel of destiny: law is the ultimate practical application of language and logic. It’s perfect! I could probably do it well, I thought. Plus, my dad seems to like law (he regularly claims that he’s going to practice until the day he dies). And, for that very reason, I love it! I want to do it! The thought that I could be great at something that also touches on subjects that I have always been interested in inspires me enormously.

(Hopefully, in a few weeks, I’ll still feel the same way.)

Ergo, I can attend law school and not change my beliefs nor apologize to my friends. Phew.

Would an argument of this shoddy calibre standup in court? It damn-well better!

I’d like to thank “Larry” for bringing me on. He’s always been a dear, dear friend.