By Carter Ottele

Dear Binston Swongo,

As I write you, I must pick sides in a clash of two sacred values—one being my inner identity (that which I clutch closest to my heart), and the other my inalienable right to free expression. You see, I have seen the posters hung around campus. I have read the emails, typed in those vivid fonts, advertising publication in a student-run art magazine. I know what The Sequence, that enigmatic beacon of visual art, demands of me…and I know, too, that I yearn to heed its call.

And yet I cannot. Although I ache to “submit to The Sequence,” I am inherently dominant, so to consensually submit would constitute a betrayal of all that I hold dear. Binston Swongo, I command you to counsel me with wisdom. How shall I possibly balance these competing desires?

– Internally Conflicted

Dear Internally Conflicted,

Ah, so you’re one of those people. You find ways to create problems when there are none. You and my ex would get along swimmingly.

Now, to answer your question: I don’t believe in God per se, but there must be something deeper, more spiritual, more profound that permeates our universe. I once discussed this idea with Harry Hopkins, Class of 1912, and he offered me a peace of wisdom that I have been trying to grapple with ever since:

“A just God wouldn’t permit the innocent to suffer. If God were real, He would be arbitrary, yes, but He would also abide by the common laws of fairness. The fact that millions of innocents upon our Earth suffer proves that God, at least in His Christian conception, would not exist.”

We were playing cards on the stoop of his house—a stately, two-story structure that would be incinerated in the Great Juul Fire of 1986—and when he uttered this remark, I took a swig from my glass of isopropyl then leaned forward. Our faces glowed bright in the dusky light of the setting sun.

“But Harry, would you not consider our awareness of suffering, indeed our very notions of innocence and justice, to be derived from God?” I asked. “How can we rationalize God if He does not exist?”

At this response, Harry shook his head sadly. “You ask the wrong questions, my dear Binston. Indeed, your reasoning is circular: to prove whether God is real, you must not begin by assuming that the universe depends upon his existence. Rather, ask yourself how we may continue this conversation if He weren’t to exist.”

He adjusted his hat, pleading with me to understand. He then glanced down at the cards in his hand. Suddenly, a look of wild excitement spread across his face.

“Imagine this,” he urged. “The standard card deck holds 52 cards. Each suit is evenly represented. Yet, when I distributed the cards at the beginning, we doubtlessly received different hands. For instance, I hold three of the four jacks, and none of the aces.”

I nodded, rapt with attention.

“Any number of forces may have conspired to distribute these cards in such a way. Does it matter to us, the recipients of the cards? No. All that matters to us is that they were dealt in such a way, and that consequently, there exist certain imbalances between us.”

I began to grasp his point. “I am beginning to grasp your point: the cards represent Fate.”

“Precisely!” said Harry, enthusiastic. “Fate is unknowable. As powerless human actors, all that with which we should concern ourselves is the injustice that Fate generates. And that is the role of the Roosevelt administration: to remedy the inequalities into which we are all born. To rework the game, to redistribute the cards, to…” He struggled for words.

“To deal a New Deal,” I suggested.

“Yes, Binston. A New Deal. I thank you for your wisdom.”

Ever since that moment, I have reserved final judgment on the existence of God and instead focused my efforts on addressing inequality in my own particular method, taking advantage of my own particular skills: by writing an advice column in the B&S to aid hapless souls such as yourself.

 

PS: I’m a total Sub myself, so hmu if you ever get bored. DM me on Instagram at @fakepapr.gc