Page 27 of Unbound
"Structure, or control?" Adrian countered. "Because from where I sit, religious 'structure' often looks like justification for discrimination. For denying basic rights to people who don't conform to one particular interpretation of morality."
My throat felt tight. "Some behaviours are objectively immoral."
"According to who? You? Your church? And why should your moral judgment carry more weight than mine?"
"Because some things are simply right or wrong," I said, but even as I spoke, the words felt hollow. Rehearsed.
"Says who?" Adrian pressed. "God? How do you know? Did He tell you personally, or are you taking someone else's word for it?"
The question hit like a physical blow. I opened my mouth to respond with the usual answer—scripture, tradition, pastoral authority—but nothing came.
Adrian waited, head tilted slightly, expression almost gentle. Like he was genuinely curious about my answer rather than trying to corner me.
"Faith," I finally managed. "Faith doesn't require proof."
"No," Adrian agreed quietly. "But it shouldn't require blindness either."
Professor Okonkwo cleared his throat. "Excellent discussion, both of you. These are exactly the kinds of fundamental questions the Founders grappled with. Jesse, would you like to respond to Adrian’s point about institutional authority versus personal conscience?"
I stared at my notebook, words blurring together. "I... I think we should move on to the next topic."
"Of course." Professor Okonkwo's voice was kind but knowing. “Adrian, your thoughts on the Jefferson letter to the Danbury Baptists?"
Adrian launched into a detailed analysis of Jefferson's "wall of separation" metaphor, his voice confident and articulate. I tried to follow along, tried to formulate counterarguments, but my mind kept circling back to his earlier question.
How do you know?
It should have been easy to answer. I'd been answering variations of that question my entire life. But sitting there, watching Adrian speak with such conviction about principles he'd clearly thought through himself rather than inherited, I felt something crack inside my chest.
What if I didn't know? What if I'd never known?
What if everything I believed was just someone else's certainty dressed up as my own?
Friday afternoon, I was walking back from my last class when I spotted the familiar brick facade of the Sigma Alpha house ahead. Home territory. Safe space. A place where I knew the rules and my role and could pretend, for a few hours at least, that my world wasn't slowly tilting off its axis.
I was almost to the front steps when I heard my name called.
"Jesse!"
I turned to find Adrian jogging toward me, his ever present leather jacket making him look like some kind of movie star despite the academic setting. Behind me, I could hear the voices of my fraternity brothers drifting from the open windows—probably planning the weekend's intramural game or arguing about someone's girlfriend drama.
Normal college problems. Problems that had nothing to do with constitutional interpretation or religious authority or the way my pulse quickened every time Adrian said my name.
"What are you doing here?" I asked when he reached me.
"Walking back from the library. Saw you heading this way." He glanced up at the house, taking in the Greek letters above the door, the perfectly maintained lawn, the kind of aggressive respectability that Sigma Alpha specialized in. "This your fraternity?"
"Yes."
"Huh." Adrian's expression was carefully neutral. "Not what I would have pictured for you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Just... seems very traditional. Very structured."
Before I could respond, the front door opened and Tyler Brennan emerged, followed by Mark Webb and Jake Hoffman. Three of my fraternity brothers, guys I'd known since freshman year, stopping short when they saw me talking to someone they didn't recognize.
"Miller!" Tyler called out. "Who's your friend?"
