In a university that revolves around the quest for profit and prestige, a lingering liberal arts curriculum is like a distant echo that keeps calling. You never know when the still, small voice of Plato can pierce through all the noise in a marauding frat boy’s life and resound as a wake-up call for a soul—that his taut, frantic, voracious body has a soul, that the soul is made for a quest and not just sexual conquests, and that there is a kind of learning that doesn’t just position you but transforms you.
