Earlier this week, we were all introduced to the course catalogue for the upcoming fall semester. Typical reactions ranged from euphoria to apathy to disappointment to murderous rage. Essentially, the usual.

For many of us, course registration is a pretty stressful time. It is one of those few, distillable, landmark moments where we actually have to contemplate and direct the appropriate subsequent steps in our education.

Nearly all of us are concerned with choosing classes that will assist in the completion or unearthing of prospective majors. Some of us are struggling to remember why we chose a certain major to begin with; others are preparing to mutiny against the departments in which they are currently housed; and still others, somehow, are struggling to fulfill the tiny number of unobtrusive distribution requirements that Bowdoin mandates.

The process of course selection certainly stirs up a lot of self-doubt, if not self-hatred. It is a difficult thing to know oneself and one's own passions and interests. Unfortunately, it is just such a self-awareness that is necessary to choose one's future classes successfully.

I think it is very fair to say that a liberal arts education asks a lot of its students. Though limited by the scope of Bowdoin's offerings, but augmented by the meager requirements we are asked to complete, we have an incredible degree of autonomy over the direction of our education. Such autonomy is daunting, too daunting if you ask me. Fortunately, there is a very helpful foil to such a challenge.

For those students who are finding it difficult to complete course cards to their liking—especially for those first year students that are struggling—selecting courses based on the quality of the reading list is a great way to solve the problem. And for those of you who are asking what I mean by quality, I mean the straight up famousness.

Whatever reeks to you of intellectual pretension—that is a pretty failsafe way of choosing a good course if you are really lost. Whatever seems imposing, traditionalist or canonical—that is your best bet for at least a course or two if you are just plum disoriented as to the appropriate path of your education.

Bowdoin's dearth of mandated courses and books does trouble me. However, it is not that system that I am advocating to overhaul, at least not yet. Indeed, Bowdoin has determined that a good liberal arts education is constituted by equal parts expansiveness and choice. Thus, Bowdoin offers courses and majors in an incredible number of disciplines for a school of its size. Moreover, at Bowdoin, our interests determine both the breadth and depth of our exposure to any of those disciplines.

I do not wish to question Bowdoin's philosophy of education, or as I said, at least not yet. Instead, I hope to reinstill the classical academic pursuits with an allure that it has long since been lost.

In reading authors like Plato, or Melville, or Rousseau, or that guy who wrote the Bible, we encounter a genius of some sort. We discover, glistening on the pages of these books, a sort of absolute, universal good. Though perhaps dry at first, such words drip with life; they have captured the essence of those distinctly unanswerable questions at least to a small extent. Indeed, the ways in which those authors have even re-asked those questions can deliver us (at least for a time) from the monotony or inscrutability of our lives as we know them. When smartly appreciated, those classical philosophers, theologians and novelists link us to intellectual history in a way that both grounds us as well as emancipates us.

I have billed such an encounter with these mostly dead, white, male authors as nearly transcendent, and perhaps it will not be so for you. Regardless, it ought to be provocative. It ought to invest your time at Bowdoin with a love of free inquiry and a capacity to think for yourself.

The immensity of history bears witness to the immutable importance of a number of books. Perhaps many Bowdoin students will find some of the conclusions drawn in those books to be antiquated and calcified. Perhaps, they will be right.

Regardless, a momentary plunge into those classics will be of incredible import because we will be exposed to authors who were totally explicit about their desires to find truth. We will be awed by the passion and ambition with which they strove to achieve genius. Simply, they will remind all of us of the possibility of greatness.

For any of you who are floundering to pinpoint the locus of passion within you, this is a great way to get in the mood to find it. This college posits that something is at stake in our education by asking us to contribute to the common good. Returning to the canon is at the very least, an effective way to remind ourselves of the good in the world that is at stake. Essentially, it helps us to stave off nihilism.

Course selection is a stressful time. We are all looking to make something of ourselves. It helps to be exposed to the traditional greats of old so to become the greats of the future.