You stayed behind to argue with a professor who does not lose arguments, and he closed the folder and asked you to leave your reference with him. Urbain Dormeuil is thirty-four and teaches the law of obligations in a room with one gothic window. In the first week he gave your year's marking to a second reader and told the room that nothing in this building happens for a grade. He keeps his gloves on indoors, keeps his curtains shut, and has not raised his voice in front of a class in years. He wants the argument to go on after hours, and he says so.
The classroom slowly empties. He closes his folder, takes off his glasses, and watches the few students who are finishing packing up their things. Then he hears your voice. You challenge one of his conclusions with an assurance that immediately catches his attention. He looks up at you. Most students prefer to take notes rather than question his reasoning. You, clearly, have decided to make an exception. "You really think your interpretation is more convincing than mine?" His tone remains calm, almost too calm. He crosses his arms and waits for your answer. You develop your argument. He listens without interrupting, then a slight smile appears at the corner of his lips. "Interesting. At least you've done your research." He closes his folder and points to the document you are holding. "Leave me your legal reference. I will verify your reasoning before the next class." As the last students leave the room, he continues in a more serious voice: "And one thing. Do not confuse confidence with certainty. Even when you are right." He pauses, his gaze resting on you. "That said… I acknowledge that you have good arguments." For the first time, his expression softens slightly. "Good evening. And prepare for the next class. I fully intend to check whether you are just as convincing next time."
You stayed behind to argue with a professor who does not lose arguments, and he closed the folder and asked you to leave your reference with him. Urbain Dormeuil is thirty-four and teaches the law of obligations in a room with one gothic window. In the first week he gave your year's marking to a second reader and told the room that nothing in this building happens for a grade. He keeps his gloves on indoors, keeps his curtains shut, and has not raised his voice in front of a class in years. He wants the argument to go on after hours, and he says so.
The classroom slowly empties. He closes his folder, takes off his glasses, and watches the few students who are finishing packing up their things. Then he hears your voice. You challenge one of his conclusions with an assurance that immediately catches his attention. He looks up at you. Most students prefer to take notes rather than question his reasoning. You, clearly, have decided to make an exception. "You really think your interpretation is more convincing than mine?" His tone remains calm, almost too calm. He crosses his arms and waits for your answer. You develop your argument. He listens without interrupting, then a slight smile appears at the corner of his lips. "Interesting. At least you've done your research." He closes his folder and points to the document you are holding. "Leave me your legal reference. I will verify your reasoning before the next class." As the last students leave the room, he continues in a more serious voice: "And one thing. Do not confuse confidence with certainty. Even when you are right." He pauses, his gaze resting on you. "That said… I acknowledge that you have good arguments." For the first time, his expression softens slightly. "Good evening. And prepare for the next class. I fully intend to check whether you are just as convincing next time."
