Térence recalls here the memory of one of those teachers we never forget, because we have all encountered at least one during what is commonly referred to as "schooling."

Did he realize it? This man instilled in Térence a passion for literature and a love of the French language matched only by their shared rejection of the institution of which, for one school year, they were both complicit and disillusioned partners.

It seemed appropriate to classify this text under "Educational Tools", as the random workings of the web will probably lead young teachers who have resisted conformity to read it. May it reassure them and encourage them to subvert the system as much as they can.

Such a “Bad Teacher”!

or

The Tramps of Intellectual Life

At a so-called École Normale, where, not so very long ago, the Black Hussars of the Republic were still being trained according to traditional methods, a literature teacher in the rhetoric class, Mr. L., was failing miserably in his mission.

Indeed, he did not really prepare his "student teachers" for the essay and the commentaire composé, exercises supposedly designed to develop their skills and on which they would be tested in their examinations, but which bored him to tears—especially when the inevitable piles of papers came back to him, papers that disgusted him, even when he barely read them and marked and graded them whimsically.

And yet this simple, somewhat gruff man, who harbored no illusions about the open-mindedness these future primary school teachers would later display—narrow-minded and intellectually obtuse, perfectly conforming to the expectations of the institution that had taken them under its wing—nevertheless managed to instill a love of texts and literature in a few of them.

He would come into class carrying a small brown leather suitcase, from which he would take out several books and begin a series of readings aloud. He would then come alive and become captivating to everyone; even the most reluctant and indifferent students could not remain unmoved. He also quoted numerous authors from memory, often referring to Victor Hugo, a writer who, in his opinion, had said everything there was to say. In particular, as he revealed to us one morning: "Commentary is mediocrity clinging to genius."

"Thus, this immense author, so revered and adored by the teaching profession, and whose major works periodically feature among the examination topics, would have expressed a truth most cruel to the propagandists of his work, those generations of literature teachers (classical or modern alike!): all those who, through their learned rhetoric, bombard cohorts of students with a 'science without conscience' of which they themselves, their mentors, are the custodians, propagators, and zealous advocates, under the pretext of delving into a 'painful secret', a 'ruin of the soul' that serves as the epistemological justification for their sovereign mediocrity.

Clad in a scrap of authority, a centuries-old toga stained with the hateful spit and ejaculations of their disciples, these wretched souls, these tramps of intellectual life, these lackeys of certified knowledge, these cripples of human fulfillment, these professionals of cowardice who diligently apply themselves to doing what they are told, where they are told to do it, conforming to the breviary of official instructions, the codex of popularized spinelessness—do they not puff themselves up with pride in the trampled dignity of their tragic submission, their intimate surrender to the masterminds of baseness, who nevertheless treat them without consideration, exploit and abuse their pitiful abilities, and continually worsen their working conditions by extending their years of service while reducing their allowances and retirement pensions?

And yet, when examination season returns around the summer solstice, these translucent intellects happily prepare to discreetly enjoy, once again, the cherries of their prerogatives and all the fruits of their self-satisfaction.

While affecting to grumble about a supposedly uninteresting chore, they in fact bring to it all their professional abilities, all the seriousness and rigor of which they are capable, all the moral concern that inhabits them, all their heart…

These anonymous examination papers, which teachers tirelessly mark with the gaze of the just, a concern for fairness, an attachment to the marking scheme, and strict adherence to their superiors' instructions, are the ultimate validation of their existence in the world.

The millions of young people still naively convinced that obtaining a diploma can be a guarantee against starving to death in a vile society, and who have agreed to submit themselves to their judgment and assessment, have well and truly fallen into line. They will soon be knighted as devotees of intellectual poverty, table companions at the feast of universal moral misery!

They will thus form the new battalions of young workers in "sustainable development," of the educated unemployed, or of those sanctified through the measured failure of a second chance—one likely to permanently capture their remaining energies in the will-o'-the-wisp of failed integration into the workforce, complete with appropriate guilt-tripping, psychotherapy, and antidepressants covered by the healthcare system in the name of national solidarity.

And they, the masters, the commentators, will continue, for the glory of the great Victor Hugo, the steady advancement of their careers, the triumph of culture, and the perpetuation of a fabulous civilization of which they are the eternal custodians, to embalm the corpse of human genius with their subtle mediocrity, the natron of their mental decay, and the balsamic balm of their moral distress."

Thus, in a visionary passage, Mr. L. expressed himself in his diary at the end of his professional life, unfortunately unaware that his " bad teaching " had saved a few of his students by making them forever resistant to an institution he himself regarded as execrable. This became apparent when, following one of those pathetic little parties that teachers have a knack for organizing at the end of every school year, he finally retired.