Political science is not an arena in which his legacy fares much better. Before the tax bill's enactment salvaged the 115th Congress from being a total loss for the Republican Party, Ryan was the primary architect of his party's many doomed attempts to repeal the Affordable Care Act. Taking health care away from poor people had long been a dream of Ryan's, as evidenced by his oft-repeated origin story in which he fondly recalls standing around a keg with college pals, pining for the opportunity to one day cap Medicaid's growth rate, just like all normal, well-adjusted young men do. It turns out, however, that people like having access to affordable medical care, and do not like politicians who would eliminate that access in order to pay for—you guessed it—greater tax savings for the rich.

Even though each repeal initiative ultimately failed in the Senate, the stupendously cruel bill Ryan managed to jam through the House in 2017 provided every Democratic congressional candidate with the attack-ad fodder they needed in 2018. After triumphantly pledging to center the GOP's midterm elections pitch on health care and tax reform, his colleagues spent last fall warning voters about murderous "migrant caravans" and quietly hoped no one would notice. Again, unless Paul Ryan intends to offer a somber retrospective on his pivotal role in squandering two full years of unified Republican government, his strategic insights on the machinations of partisan politics are not things from which fresh-faced undergraduates would derive any significant benefit.

To the extent that Ryan's résumé bullet points are "accomplishments," there is great irony in the fact that he realized them only because of his willingness to abandon his carefully curated wonky-professor image, swallow his distaste for Donald Trump, and embrace the role of servile MAGA drone. Many controversial politicians use the periods after their retirements to engage in some savvy image rehabilitation, distancing themselves from troublesome episodes in which they were involved, in their telling, only as a matter of political expedience. Becoming a college faculty member, as White House press secretary turned Harvard lecturer Sean Spicer demonstrated not long ago, is a common component of these redemption tours. Yet even now, unbound by any of the practical constraints associated with being the GOP's most recognizable face on Capitol Hill, Ryan is still out here stubbornly lauding Trump as the unquestioned leader of the conservative movement.

This is perhaps the most valuable lesson Paul Ryan can impart to a new generation of aspiring politicians: Should your agenda prove unpopular, unworkable, or both, there is always the option to mortgage your integrity in order to pass a few of its constituent elements. And no matter how ignominiously your time in Washington comes to an end, sooner or later, a prestigious university will come along and offer a plum teaching gig in which you can rewrite your career's narrative arc exactly as you see fit.