A Curious Game

By Alan Guo (PO ‘23)

“… And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

— Ozymandias, Percy Bysshe Shelley

“I don’t know” — three words that I definitely did not want to think in the middle of an interview.

Hunched over my cluttered dorm room desk, I was furiously scribbling down disconnected calculations and half-formed ideas on scrap paper, desperately computing my way through the problem presented to me by my interviewer.

The problem at hand was relatively simple: I was to find the optimal strategy for a one-on-one auction-style betting game on a box with a random value attached to it. We then worked through some modifications upon this premise, considering scenarios with more players, more random distributions, more communication between other auction-players. After exploring these different variations, the interviewer presented a final twist.

We return to the same one-on-one game. But this time, the opponent has some exclusive knowledge — an edge — about the range of potential values for the box. Now, what is the optimal strategy?

I immediately froze. My opponent’s advantage changed the game completely. If I used my previous strategy, the opponent’s edge allowed them to know when to outbid me if the box had a higher-than-expected value, or when to let me win the bid if the box had a lower-than-expected value. What could possibly work in this rigged scenario? I frantically calculated different ideas, searching if there was somehow a way to learn their insight of the box’s value through previous guesses, patterns, anything.

Ultimately, I came up with nothing. I couldn’t solve the problem, derive the right strategy. I was defeated.

But after the interview was over, that same problem was still stuck in my head. Surely, a solution had to exist — why else would it be asked to me?

Then, as I was walking to class, it hit me. No matter what my strategy was, nothing could overcome the information advantage. If I played the game, I would always eventually lose. Therefore, the answer was simple: when the odds are stacked against you, you don’t play.

It was such a simple solution, and yet so unintuitive — I couldn’t believe I didn’t think of it! It was a curious scenario: a situation where the right move is to let go of your hand, to walk away from the table — a game where the correct choice is to not play.

Needless to say, I didn’t end up passing the interview. And it wouldn’t be the last time I failed either. In the very same week, I interviewed at four more companies — only to be faced with four more rejections a week later.

Those interviews were my final hope. I was deep in the recruiting cycle with each company, and they were the only companies I was still actively interviewing with during the fall recruiting season. And at the end of that week, my final hope was extinguished. I was crushed.

Coming into my junior year of college, I wanted to make something out of my summer before graduation. Fresh off my past internship experience in Boston, my dreams of success were finally in reach — until I fell short. I was left with nothing but rejection emails and unfulfilled aspirations, shut out of the future I so desperately sought out for myself.

I cursed the companies I applied to, the positions I desired so deeply, the hours I spent preparing in vain. I cursed the unfairness of this world, and I cursed myself — a fool who thought things would be better, who believed I could finally soar, who dared to dream towards the beyond. My past grades, achievements, experiences, all the time I spent practicing and learning — it all amounted to nothing.

And in my despair, I asked myself, why? Why did I chase so fervently after these prestigious internships and summer programs? Why did my heart long for the things I could not have?

Did I desire for these things to fulfill a sense of success, adoration, or accomplishment? To prove to the world what I’m capable of, that I’m special, that I will make a difference? Then what about my previous desires to study at a prestigious college, earn good grades, and find an internship? Were all of these supposed to fulfill this sense of success also? If so, they all clearly failed to do so. In spite of my past longings, my now-achieved ambitions, I still felt like a failure, empty and unfulfilled. I still longed for more.

That was when it hit me. This game of success, the rat race of the world, was exactly like the game from the interview — a game where the house always wins. Earning achievements never provided my heart the recompense it longed for, and each failure stung just as bitterly as the last. Chasing after this game of success was akin to grasping at sand, reaching for the wind — and yet, we all still play.

We all still look on as the sand slips through our hands, as the wind escapes our reach. We think that maybe, this time will be different, that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find what we’re looking for. So, intoxicated by the fever — the desire to be seen, to be known, to be remembered — we play on.

But what are we playing on for? If we achieve the dreams, cement the legacies we sought so dearly after, what comes of it? What good is a legacy in the face of the cosmic infinity, the unfaltering entropy that lies before us? After decades, centuries, millennia, eons, what will remain of our empire, of the legacy we strived so hard to build? Even after outbidding the world, what if we find that the box we won is empty?

Thus, we are left with two options: to play the world’s rigged game, or to not. To run the rat race, or to stay put. Previously, we found that the solution would be to leave behind the fever and walk away from the table. So, is the solution to walk away from this world, to abandon our hopes and ambitions, and embrace the nihilistic inevitability that is this universe? Do we give up on our dreams and die?

My Christian perspective tells me, “No.”

We are not called to give up on our dreams and die. Rather, we are called to live.

“But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.” (Hebrews 11:16)

My Christian perspective tells me that this world is not our home, that through God, our world will be restored to a better one, bringing hope where it is hopeless. Thus, we can play this cruel game — for we believe He will restore our broken world to be good. I believe that we have a heavenly legacy to pursue, and that this world’s game is but a stepping stone to that legacy.

But I also believe we are also called to let go of the fever, to lay down our bets, and to walk away from the table — so that we may wholeheartedly follow God instead. When we let go of our fever, we are no longer defined by our successes or failures, by our past or our present, but by our future in Christ. This is not to say that we should not aspire to do great things — but rather, that our earthly legacy should not be our ultimate goal. Moreover, rejecting the fever does not mean that we should give up on our dreams. On the contrary, it means that we should pursue our dreams with an eternal perspective.

We should not define ourselves by our temporal achievements. Our pursuits should not be for the sake of our legacy, but for the sake of God’s glory.

“Commit your works to the Lord, and your plans will be established.” (Proverbs 16:3)

When we set our goals and ambitions according to God’s Word, He will help us achieve them. Thus, I believe that the role of ambition, of the fever, in the Christian life is to set our sights on God and His will for our lives, and to pursue godliness and righteousness with all our hearts.

But what is God’s will for our lives, this will that we are meant to follow? That, I cannot tell you. But what I can say is this: God calls all of us to love Him, love each other, and love this cruel world — just as He has loved us.

And to walk away from this world, to not play the game, is to not love. To not play the game is to not love God, and to not love others. It is to turn our backs on the God who gave up everything for us, and it is to turn our backs on those who need us most. It is to not love.

The Christian knows that we can engage with the world because we believe that this world is not our home. We know that our purpose is not to be successful by the world’s standards, but to be faithful with what we have been given. We know that we are not chasing after the wind, but running towards the eternal.

Engage with the world. Love God, and love others. Be in the world, but not of it. Have hope not in the sand at our feet, but in the God who will one day make all things new.

This is not to say that this proposed solution is simple. It is a daily battle against our human nature, a battle against an unfair world, a battle of choosing to hope in spite of our senses, to hope in things not yet seen. But it is a battle that has already been won, and I believe it is a struggle where we are not alone — but with God.

So, what does this mean for us? It means that we can pursue our dreams with abandon, with hope, with confidence. It means that we can walk away from the table, because we know that we are not defined by this world or our success in it. It means that we can play the game, because we know that we are not playing for the sand or the wind — but for something far greater.