I still am not sleeping well, with my mind being perplexed by difficult problems. Surely to be liberated feels better than my troubled conscience? Maybe if everyone were liberated together. I remember the feeling I got from the city bus when I was a student over thirty years ago. It was winter, with a great dumping of snow on the ground. My dad was with me and we were headed home from the campus. Suddenly we came to a stop: two guys I’d known from grade school, now grown to their early twenties, boarded the bus and took a seat. They’d been playing in the snow. And though we saw each other and knew the other’s identity, we said nothing. Then I got home and began making notes for a paper on Thomas More’s Utopia. The word utopia literally means “nowhere.” What was wrong with this picture, the scene on the bus in the February freeze? And what is freedom if not everybody has it?