All human actions are equivalent... and all are on principle

Host:
The rain had been falling all night — not in a storm, but in that soft, endless way that makes the city feel like it’s remembering something it never understood. The streetlights shone against wet pavement, turning puddles into tiny mirrors where light seemed to drown. In the corner booth of a late-night diner, two figures sat opposite each other — Jack and Jeeny — surrounded by the hum of neon and the smell of burnt coffee and solitude.

The clock above the counter ticked toward 3 a.m. The world outside was asleep, but inside the diner, time lingered — the kind of stillness where conversations become confessions.

Jeeny: quietly, tracing her finger along the rim of her coffee cup “Carl Sandburg once said — ‘All human actions are equivalent... and all are on principle doomed to failure.’”

Jack: smirking faintly, his reflection trembling in the window “That sounds like something written by a man who’s watched the world for too long.”

Jeeny: softly “Or by someone who loved it too much to lie about it.”

Host: The neon sign flickered outside — OPEN ALL NIGHT — the words glowing and dying in rhythm, like a tired heartbeat. The air inside carried the hush of resignation and the faint scent of rain-soaked wool.

Jack: leaning back, his voice low “So, what do you think he meant? That everything we do ends the same way — in futility?”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “In a way, yes. He wasn’t being cruel, just honest. Every human act — love, work, art, faith — all of it’s temporary. Even our greatest triumphs are like footprints on a tide-washed shore.”

Jack: staring into his cup “Then why do we keep walking?”

Jeeny: softly, almost smiling “Because futility doesn’t cancel meaning. It just defines it.”

Host: The waitress, an older woman with tired eyes, refilled their cups and drifted away without a word. Steam rose from the mugs like small ghosts, curling into the dim light.

Jack: after a pause “You think he believed that — really? That all actions are equal?”

Jeeny: thoughtfully “Maybe not in consequence, but in destiny. Everything fades. The masterpiece and the mistake. The victory and the apology. Time swallows them all the same.”

Jack: quietly, almost to himself “So all we do is delay disappearance.”

Jeeny: nodding “Yes. But there’s something beautiful in that, too. Every act of creation is rebellion against oblivion.”

Host: Jack looked up at her — the blue glow from the neon spilling across her face like a confession half-kept. His expression softened, caught between admiration and despair.

Jack: slowly “You talk like someone who’s made peace with failure.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “I haven’t made peace with it. I’ve befriended it.”

Jack: raising an eyebrow “That sounds dangerous.”

Jeeny: shrugging lightly “It’s honest. Failure’s not an enemy, Jack. It’s a mirror. It shows you the limits of control — reminds you that even your best intentions live inside chaos.”

Jack: half-laughing “So, we’re all just improvising in a doomed symphony.”

Jeeny: gently “Exactly. But isn’t that what makes it human? The fact that we keep playing anyway?”

Host: The rain intensified outside, drumming against the glass. The world beyond the diner blurred into streaks of silver and shadow. Jack glanced toward the door — at the faint reflection of his own face — and then back at her.

Jack: softly “You know, I used to think failure meant I wasn’t trying hard enough. But maybe it just means I’m alive.”

Jeeny: nodding “It does. Every failure is proof of participation. Sandburg didn’t mean we shouldn’t act — only that acting is tragic by nature. We love, we build, we dream — and we lose it all. But still, we act. That’s the paradox that keeps the universe from going silent.”

Jack: leaning forward “So what’s the point? If everything’s doomed, what’s the point of trying?”

Jeeny: smiling sadly “To feel. To witness. To create beauty that will vanish, and to love knowing it will end. That’s the defiance of the human spirit — not victory, but persistence.”

Host: The camera would drift now — focusing on the condensation on the window, on the rain falling harder, on the reflection of two souls caught between surrender and meaning.

Jack: softly “Do you think he was sad when he wrote it? Or free?”

Jeeny: after a pause “Both. Maybe freedom begins when we stop pretending that permanence was ever part of the deal.”

Jack: nodding slowly “And maybe sadness is what makes that freedom bearable.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Maybe.”

Host: The clock ticked louder now, cutting through the quiet. Outside, a single taxi drove by, its headlights painting fleeting streaks of light across their faces.

Jack: after a long silence “You know something, Jeeny? I think he was wrong about one thing.”

Jeeny: tilting her head “Oh?”

Jack: quietly, with a small smile “Not all human actions are equivalent. Some are heavier — not because they last longer, but because they’re done with love.”

Jeeny: softly “Maybe love is the one act that defies equivalence. The only thing failure can’t erase, even when it disappears.”

Jack: nodding slowly “Then maybe that’s why we keep trying. Because love makes even failure worthwhile.”

Host: The waitress turned off the neon sign. The words OPEN ALL NIGHT went dark, leaving only the rain-lit glow from the street outside. Jack and Jeeny sat in that dim quiet — their reflections still visible in the glass, faint but persistent.

The rain began to slow. The night softened. Somewhere, far off, a siren echoed and faded into silence.

Jeeny: whispering “Maybe that’s what Sandburg really meant. That all our actions end in failure, but the failure itself is sacred — because it means we dared to act.”

Jack: smiling faintly “And that’s enough.”

Host: The camera pulled back through the diner window — two figures framed in light and shadow, surrounded by the ghostly shimmer of rain. Their hands rested near one another on the table, not touching, but close enough that the warmth between them was visible.

And as the world outside returned to stillness, Carl Sandburg’s words echoed softly — a requiem, a truth, and a challenge:

“All human actions are equivalent... and all are on principle doomed to failure.”

Because every act is temporary,
every word perishable,
every love destined to fade —
and yet we keep creating.

Not because we believe in success,
but because failure itself
is the proof of our humanity.

To act in a fleeting world
is to declare:
“I know it will end —
and I choose to begin anyway.”

That is the quiet, sacred rebellion
of every heartbeat,
every artist,
every soul who dares to live
in a universe
that forgets.