Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these

Host:
The night was thick with fog, the streets barely visible through the mist, swallowed whole by the world beyond. Inside the old bookstore, a single light hung low, casting shadows that danced along the shelves, filled with the weight of forgotten words and stories yet to be read. Jack sat in the corner, his legs stretched out, a book in his hands, but his attention not on the pages. His mind wandered somewhere deeper, where thoughts collide like ancient stones.

Jeeny was at the counter, leafing through a weathered journal, her fingers tracing the edges of each page like a prayer, the ink smudged but resolute, words that still whispered despite time.

Jeeny: [softly, without looking up] “Herman Melville once said — ‘Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope.’”
Jack: [raising an eyebrow, slightly amused] “Faith like a jackal? That’s a hell of an image.”
Jeeny: [smiling softly] “Melville had a way of making everything feel both terrifying and beautiful at the same time.”
Jack: [leaning back in his chair] “But a jackal? He’s not exactly describing something graceful.”
Jeeny: [gently] “Faith isn’t always graceful. It’s about survival, about finding hope in places others would call lost.”

Host:
The air in the bookstore was cool, the smell of old paper and leather wrapping around them like a second skin. The tick of the clock was the only sound for a long moment, and outside, the city whispered under the weight of rain that hadn’t yet arrived.

Jack: [thoughtfully] “You know, the thing about faith is that it’s always tied to something you can’t see, something you have to trust is there when everything else falls apart.”
Jeeny: [nodding] “Exactly. That’s the jackal part of it. It’s scavenging for scraps when everything else is dead or gone. It survives by finding the smallest traces of something that can still fuel it.”
Jack: [frowning slightly] “So, you think faith lives off doubt?”
Jeeny: [pausing to think] “I think it thrives on it. Doubt makes faith sharper. It forces it to become real, to prove itself in the cracks.”
Jack: [grinning faintly] “That’s a dangerous idea. Faith isn’t supposed to be messy; it’s supposed to be a refuge.”
Jeeny: “Faith doesn’t need to be neat. It just needs to endure.”

Host:
The rain finally began, soft at first, tapping the windows like a gentle warning. The light from the single lamp flickered slightly, casting a soft glow on the pages in Jeeny’s hands as she turned them with slow reverence.

Jack: [looking out the window, distracted] “You ever think that doubt is more honest than faith? That it’s the only real thing when everything else feels like a mask?”
Jeeny: [smiling faintly] “Doubt isn’t honesty, Jack. It’s the question you ask before you find the answer.”
Jack: [pausing, his voice softening] “But what if the answer never comes?”
Jeeny: [gently] “Then doubt becomes its own answer — it doesn’t kill faith, it feeds it. Even the deadest doubts can turn into the roots of hope.”

Host:
The wind picked up outside, rattling the windows softly, but inside, the bookstore felt like a sanctuary, filled with voices of past thinkers who had wrestled with the same fears, the same questions. Jeeny turned another page, the sound like a promise.

Jack: [after a long pause] “So, you think faith is something you dig for, even when everything around you says it’s already buried?”
Jeeny: [nodding] “Yes. Faith isn’t the absence of doubt — it’s the strength to dig through it. Even when it feels like the tombs of your beliefs are all that’s left.”
Jack: [softly] “But what if you don’t know what you’re digging for?”
Jeeny: [smiling gently] “Then you keep digging until you find something worth holding onto. Even if it’s just a sliver of light.”

Host:
The rain poured harder, the sound filling the space like a constant rhythm. Jack leaned forward, watching Jeeny turn the pages, each one a small step further into the unknown.

Jack: [quietly] “You make it sound like faith is something you do, not something you believe.”
Jeeny: “It’s both. Faith is an action. It’s not about waiting for the answers to fall in your lap; it’s about choosing to believe in what you can’t see, over and over again.”
Jack: [sighing, almost to himself] “That’s a long road.”
Jeeny: [gently] “Yes. But the road to faith isn’t about speed. It’s about persistence.”

Host:
A shadow passed across the bookshelf, casting fleeting patterns on the walls, the kind of fleeting moments that make you wonder if you’ve ever really seen the world at all. Jeeny’s voice broke the silence again, calm but steady.

Jeeny: “Faith feeds on mystery, on what we can’t explain or control. It lives in the moments where doubt is the loudest — because that’s when we choose to believe, even if we don’t know why.”
Jack: [softly] “And that’s what makes it real?”
Jeeny: [pausing, then nodding] “Yes. It’s real because it’s a choice. Because it’s a decision to trust, even when everything says you shouldn’t.”

Host:
The clock ticked louder now, marking the minutes that passed without them realizing. Outside, the rain began to soften again, but the weight of the conversation hung heavier between them.

Jack: [quietly] “So you’re saying that faith isn’t an escape — it’s a confrontation?”
Jeeny: [smiling faintly] “Exactly. It’s the courage to confront everything that doesn’t make sense and still choose to hope.”
Jack: [nodding slowly] “Even in the tombs.”
Jeeny: [gently] “Especially in the tombs. Because that’s where the most vital hope is buried.”

Host:
The rain began to fade into a soft mist, and in that stillness, the room felt larger, more expansive, like the weight of unspoken truths had lifted.

Jack sat back in his chair, staring at the window again, but this time not distracted — just present.

Jack: [softly] “You know, I think I understand what you mean now. Maybe faith isn’t about finding the light — it’s about trusting that it’s still there, even when everything else feels like darkness.”
Jeeny: [nodding softly] “Yes. And sometimes, the darkest moments reveal the brightest stars.”
Jack: [smiling faintly] “So, it’s all about digging through the doubt?”
Jeeny: “It’s about digging until you find the light, even if it’s just a spark.”

Host:
The city outside seemed to quiet, as if the rain had washed the noise clean, leaving only the soft hum of the world as it should be. The clock struck midnight, and they sat together, no more words needed.

In that moment, the truth of Herman Melville’s words settled —

that faith does not escape from doubt;
it embraces it,
uses it to fuel its journey,
and turns even the darkest of moments
into the brightest of hopes.

For faith is the jackal —
hunting through the tombs of our fears,
but always finding something alive to feed on.

And as the rain stopped,
and the first light of dawn painted the world,
Jack understood —
that sometimes faith is not knowing
but choosing to believe,
even in the most uncertain places.