As long as man continues to be the ruthless destroyer of lower

Host: The forest was half-awake — a breath between night and dawn. The mist hung low, drifting like thought between the trees, veiling the earth in a quiet sadness that felt almost human. The air was cool, thick with the scent of pine and damp moss. Somewhere, a stream murmured, and above it, the distant call of a bird echoed through the stillness — not song, but warning.

Jack stood near a small fire, its smoke curling upward like a ghost trying to remember heaven. The flames reflected in his eyes — grey turning to gold, warmth fighting cold. Jeeny sat on a fallen log, her hands clasped around her knees, her gaze fixed on the slow dance of embers.

The dawn’s first light brushed against their faces — fragile, hesitant, like a painter’s first stroke.

Jack: “Pythagoras said, ‘As long as man continues to be the ruthless destroyer of lower living beings he will never know health or peace. For as long as men massacre animals, they will kill each other.’”

He threw another stick into the fire. “Strange how something said twenty-five centuries ago still feels like an accusation.”

Jeeny: “That’s because it is. Every age just finds new ways to make it sound sophisticated. We call it industry now, or progress — but it’s still slaughter.”

Host: The flames flickered, reflected in Jeeny’s dark eyes. The forest around them stirred — the faint crunch of unseen creatures waking, the pulse of a living world holding its breath.

Jack: “You think not eating meat will save humanity?”

Jeeny: “It’s not about the meat. It’s about the mindset. Violence begins in habit. Once you normalize the taking of life, even for convenience, it’s a short walk to taking it for profit, for power, for pleasure.”

Jack: “That’s a beautiful idea — and utterly unrealistic. Survival has always been predation. Lions eat deer. Hawks hunt mice. Why should we be different?”

Jeeny: “Because we can be. Because we understand suffering. The lion doesn’t build slaughterhouses or line them with advertisements.”

Jack: “You’re comparing civilization to savagery.”

Jeeny: “No, I’m saying savagery wears civilization like perfume.”

Host: The wind stirred the trees, and a handful of ashes lifted from the fire, swirling briefly before vanishing into the mist. Jack watched them go, his jaw tight, his mind restless.

Jack: “You sound like one of those idealists who want to turn the world into a monastery. But nature is violence. Birth, death, hunger — it’s all blood and cycle. We didn’t invent cruelty; we just organized it.”

Jeeny: “And that’s the tragedy, Jack. We organized it so efficiently that we forgot to see it. We call it health when it feeds us, progress when it profits us, but every steak comes with a scream we refuse to hear.”

Jack: “So what, we should all eat grass and apologize to the planet?”

Jeeny: “No. We should eat with awareness. Live with reverence. Remember that life isn’t ours to take without consequence. Pythagoras wasn’t preaching diet — he was warning destiny.”

Host: A long pause. The fire crackled softly, each sound like punctuation to thoughts too heavy for language. Somewhere above, the sky brightened, streaks of gold breaking through the thinning fog.

Jack: “You think our violence against animals mirrors our violence against each other?”

Jeeny: “Of course it does. Compassion isn’t selective. You can’t brutalize one form of life and expect tenderness to survive in your heart. The man who kills without conscience can’t build peace — only order.”

Jack: “Then how do you explain wars fought by vegetarians? Ideology kills more than appetite.”

Jeeny: “True. But ideology is just appetite of another kind — the hunger for control. Whether it’s land, power, or flesh, it’s all rooted in the same blindness: the belief that the world exists to serve us.”

Host: The forest shifted, the hum of life growing louder now. A deer appeared at the edge of the clearing, cautious, its breath visible in the cold morning air. Both Jack and Jeeny fell silent.

For a moment, no one moved.

The deer stared — unafraid, unaccusing — and then disappeared back into the trees.

Jack exhaled slowly. “You know, my father used to hunt. Said it made him feel closer to nature. That killing made him respect life more.”

Jeeny: “Respect born from domination isn’t respect, Jack. It’s nostalgia for power. Real closeness doesn’t take — it listens.”

Jack: “You’re talking about empathy as if it’s an ecosystem.”

Jeeny: “It is. When empathy dies, the planet follows. The earth doesn’t punish us — it mirrors us. Poison the soil, and it poisons your blood. Kill the forests, and you suffocate yourself. We call it climate change, but it’s really karma with statistics.”

Host: The sun broke through the trees now, spilling its light across the clearing — turning the mist into gold dust. Jack stared into it, blinking, his expression softening under the weight of her words.

Jack: “You ever think it’s too late? That we’ve already done too much damage?”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But Pythagoras wasn’t warning about nature dying — he was warning about us dying inside. The body can survive pollution longer than the soul can survive apathy.”

Jack: “You always sound like a prophet when you talk like that.”

Jeeny: “No. Just someone who’s paying attention.”

Host: Jack crouched, picking up a small clump of soil. He held it between his fingers, feeling its weight, its grain, its pulse.

Jack: “You really think peace starts here — with how we treat what we eat?”

Jeeny: “Peace starts wherever domination ends. It’s not about what’s on your plate. It’s about what’s in your heart when you take it.”

Jack: “And you think that can heal the world?”

Jeeny: “Not all at once. But every act of compassion restores one broken thread in the web. One small refusal to participate in cruelty — that’s how the tapestry begins to mend.”

Host: The fire had burned down now, only embers remaining — small, persistent, defiant. Smoke curled lazily upward, merging with the morning light.

Jack: “You know, I used to think humanity’s greatest flaw was greed. But maybe it’s forgetfulness — the way we forget we’re part of the same ecosystem we keep destroying.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We stand on a living planet and behave like landlords instead of guests.”

Jack: “Then maybe peace isn’t something we achieve. Maybe it’s something we remember.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Remembering that to live gently isn’t weakness — it’s wisdom.”

Host: A sudden gust of wind blew through the clearing, scattering ashes and leaves, brushing against their faces. Jeeny closed her eyes, as if feeling the pulse of something ancient and forgiving.

Jeeny: “If health is harmony, Jack, then violence — any violence — is disease. And like any disease, it spreads until the host either awakens or dies.”

Jack: “So we cure it by compassion?”

Jeeny: “By awareness. By humility. By treating life — all life — as sacred.”

Host: The camera pulled back, rising above the clearing, showing the forest stretching endlessly — rivers like veins, mountains like ribs, clouds like breath. The planet itself seemed alive, ancient and fragile, listening to its two small children trying to remember their place within it.

And as their voices faded into the wind, the words of Pythagoras lingered — no longer prophecy, but plea:

That peace cannot bloom from blood,
That health cannot thrive on harm,
That every act of cruelty echoes twice — once in the body of the victim,
and again in the soul of the killer.

The sun climbed higher, dissolving the mist,
and in the clearing, two figures remained — silent, still,
surrounded by the quiet heartbeat of a world
that had always been waiting for them to learn to stop destroying
what they were meant to protect.