I believe that in the pursuit of education, individual desire is

Host: The sunset melted over the university campus like a slow-burning fire, painting the sky in deep oranges and violets. The library’s glass windows caught the light, reflecting rows of students moving across the courtyard, their backs bent under the weight of books and dreams.

A faint breeze stirred the leaves of the old oak trees, carrying the distant sound of laughter, arguments, and the soft hum of ambition that filled every corner of this place.

At a wooden bench beneath one of those trees sat Jack and Jeeny, a pair of coffee cups between them — one untouched, the other nearly empty. Notebooks and papers lay scattered, like the debris of restless minds searching for something beyond grades.

Jeeny: “Russell M. Nelson once said, ‘I believe that in the pursuit of education, individual desire is more influential than institution, and personal faith more forceful than faculty.’”

Host: The words hung in the cooling air, delicate yet charged, like the faint hum of a live wire. Jack glanced at her, one eyebrow raised, his grey eyes sharp beneath the golden haze.

Jack: “That sounds like something people say when they don’t get accepted into the right university.”

Jeeny: “Or something said by people who realize the right university was never what mattered.”

Jack: “Come on. You can’t downplay institutions. They’re the backbone of civilization — universities, academies, libraries — without them, we’d still be chasing shadows in the dark. Desire means nothing without structure.”

Jeeny: “Structure without desire is a skeleton, Jack. It stands, but it doesn’t live.”

Host: A group of students passed, their laughter fading as quickly as it came. The campus clock tower chimed the hour, its sound deep and patient, as if marking not time, but transformation.

Jack: “You really think passion alone can replace education? That’s naïve. I’ve seen people with all the desire in the world but no access — no mentors, no systems — and they burn out. Faith doesn’t replace faculty; it just comforts failure.”

Jeeny: “That’s cynical — even for you. Russell Nelson wasn’t saying institutions don’t matter. He was saying they’re secondary. The greatest minds — from Einstein to Maya Angelou — weren’t shaped by faculty; they were driven by an inner flame. Desire turns learning into revelation.”

Jack: “And yet, Einstein still had a desk. Angelou still needed a publisher. The world runs on institutions, Jeeny. You can’t ignite a revolution with idealism alone.”

Jeeny: “But without idealism, Jack, you wouldn’t have revolutions at all.”

Host: The evening light began to fade, replaced by the soft glow of street lamps flickering to life. The campus transformed — a mosaic of silhouettes and shadows, students hurrying home while the library lights glowed like beacons for the insomniac dreamers.

Jeeny leaned forward, her hands animated, her eyes alight with conviction.

Jeeny: “Look at Malala. She didn’t have a faculty standing behind her. She had bullets aimed at her. But her faith in education was stronger than any institution’s protection. That’s what Nelson meant — the will to learn is divine, not bureaucratic.”

Jack: “And what happened to her? The world had to build an institution around her to protect and amplify her cause. You can’t escape systems, Jeeny. They’re what turn passion into progress.”

Jeeny: “No — people turn passion into progress. Systems just follow. Every institution that exists today began as one person’s dream. Faith, not policy, started every movement worth remembering.”

Host: The wind picked up, scattering a few papers across the ground. Jack bent down to catch one, smoothing it absentmindedly before speaking again. His voice had softened, though the edge remained.

Jack: “You talk about faith like it’s a fuel. But what if someone doesn’t have it? What if they’re just… tired? Lost? You think desire magically fills that void?”

Jeeny: “No. But I think faith does. Not religion — not dogma — but belief in possibility. That’s what Nelson was talking about. The moment a student believes they can, the institution becomes irrelevant.”

Jack: “And if they fail?”

Jeeny: “Then they fail forward. They fail trying to build meaning, not just to pass exams.”

Jack: “That’s poetic. But impractical.”

Jeeny: “So was flying, once.”

Host: A flicker of amusement crossed Jack’s face, though his eyes stayed guarded. The sound of the sea — faint but constant — drifted in from the nearby coastline, blending with the rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of conversation.

Jack: “You know, I used to believe in that once — that passion could replace everything. I dropped out of engineering because I thought I’d ‘find myself.’ Spent two years chasing ideas that never paid rent.”

Jeeny: “And yet here you are, teaching philosophy without a degree. Doesn’t that prove Nelson right?”

Jack: [smirking] “Or it proves I’m a hypocrite who got lucky.”

Jeeny: “No, it proves you had faith when the system didn’t.”

Host: The lamp above them flickered, its light catching the edges of their faces — hers illuminated, his half in shadow. The air smelled faintly of rain and ink and the earthy patience of stone buildings that had seen generations come and go.

Jack: “Maybe what you call faith, I’d call defiance. The refusal to quit even when no one’s watching.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Faith isn’t blind belief — it’s perseverance with purpose. It’s the unseen lecture that keeps teaching when the hall is empty.”

Jack: “That’s… beautiful, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: “You sound surprised.”

Jack: “I am. You usually save your sermons for after coffee.”

Host: They both laughed softly, the kind of laughter that eases the tension between philosophies too deeply felt. Around them, the campus was nearly empty now, save for a few silhouettes moving beneath the lamplight — small, determined, anonymous.

Jeeny watched them, her expression thoughtful.

Jeeny: “Look at them, Jack. Each one carries a universe inside — hopes, fears, hunger for meaning. No institution can give that. They come here not to be taught, but to remember what they already longed to know.”

Jack: “You make education sound like prayer.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. Maybe learning is just another form of faith — faith that there’s always more to discover.”

Jack: “And professors?”

Jeeny: “They’re just guides. The real work happens when no one’s grading you.”

Host: The clock tower struck again — slower now, echoing across the campus like a reminder that time, too, is a teacher.

Jack looked at Jeeny, the lines around his eyes softening.

Jack: “You know, maybe Nelson was right. The greatest universities aren’t built from stone or steel. They’re built in the mind.”

Jeeny: “And the heart.”

Jack: “You always have to add that, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “Because without the heart, knowledge is just architecture.”

Jack: “And with it?”

Jeeny: “It’s art.”

Host: The night deepened, wrapping the world in velvet quiet. The street lamps hummed. Somewhere far off, the waves broke against the shore, carrying away the day’s noise, leaving only the echo of their words behind.

Jack gathered his papers, slower than usual, his thoughts somewhere between skepticism and surrender.

Jack: “So, desire over institution, faith over faculty…” He smiled faintly. “I guess education really begins where classrooms end.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And maybe that’s the most dangerous truth of all — that no one can truly educate us but ourselves.”

Host: The wind whispered through the trees, scattering a few fallen pages into the dark. The two of them sat in silence for a moment longer, listening to the soft, unending rhythm of the sea — that eternal professor of patience and persistence.

As the light faded and the last echoes of laughter disappeared, the bench, the books, the voices all seemed to dissolve into the quiet certainty of the night —

That true education, like faith, begins when the world stops teaching and the soul starts listening.