Like Sirens’ voices heard from a passing ship, the liberal arts have charmed generations of lofty-minded students into a dazzling madness, a heady recklessness that banishes from their longrange plans all thoughts of mere survival. While prudent souls nod through the music with both ears firmly plugged, the liberal artist jumps ship for a promise of euphoria, and slips
below the waves. The shores of oblivion are strewn with his sorry bones. How sharp is the liberal artist’s plunge from college to compost heap, and how inevitable! You will sooner meet a Tasmanian devil—or a live Phoenician —than a bona-fide liberal artist engaged in profitable work.




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