If men possessed wisdom, which stands in the same relation to the

Host: The dawn emerged with quiet solemnity, its light spilling like liquid gold across a deserted park. The mist hung low, clinging to the earth, and the trees, bare-limbed and patient, stood as if in ancient meditation.

On a stone bench beneath a withered oak, Jack sat, a book resting on his lap, its pages fluttering in the wind. He was motionless, his grey eyes fixed on a single line, lips unmoving, as though the words themselves weighed more than he could carry.

Jeeny approached, a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, her breath visible in the cold air. She stopped, watching him for a moment, then spoke softly, as if not to disturb the morning.

Jeeny: “Maimonides once said, ‘If men possessed wisdom, which stands in the same relation to the form of man as the sight to the eye, they would not cause any injury to themselves or to others; for the knowledge of truth removes hatred and quarrels, and prevents mutual injuries.’”

She paused, her voice gentle, reverent, like one reciting scripture. “Do you believe that, Jack? That wisdom — true wisdom — could really remove hatred?”

Jack: without looking up “No. I don’t. Because truth doesn’t remove hatred, Jeeny. It provokes it. Wisdom isn’t a shield — it’s a mirror, and people hate what it shows them. Maimonides dreamed of a world that never existed.”

Host: The wind picked up, lifting leaves into a spiral that danced between them — a small storm of color and memory. Jeeny watched the movement, her brows furrowing, her heart torn between hope and understanding.

Jeeny: “Then what’s the point of truth, if it only wounds us?”

Jack: finally looks up “To wound us in the right places. To cut away what’s false. That’s not peace, Jeeny — that’s surgery. The wise don’t live without hatred; they just choose where to aim it.”

Host: A crow called from the distance, its cry sharp, lonely, echoing through the park. The sunlight grew stronger, breaking through the mist in ribbons, painting their faces with uneven light — illumination and shadow, truth and doubt, side by side.

Jeeny: steps closer, eyes glowing softly “You always twist wisdom into pain, Jack. But maybe it’s not about cutting, it’s about healing. Maimonides wasn’t talking about cleverness — he meant that kind of seeing that transcends ego. When you see truth, not just know it, you can’t harm anyone. Because to hurt another would be to hurt yourself.”

Jack: half-smile, bitterly amused “That’s a beautiful illusion, Jeeny. But wisdom doesn’t stop people from causing harm — it just teaches them how to justify it. Look at history — every tyrant believed he knew truth. Every philosopher who preached peace had blood on his hands. Knowledge isn’t a cure, it’s an amplifier.”

Jeeny: “No. Knowledge is neutral, Jack. It’s the heart that decides what it becomes. That’s why Maimonides called it wisdom, not just knowledge. There’s a difference between the mind that sees, and the mind that owns.”

Host: She spoke slowly, her breath visible in the cold, her words like smoke, vanishing even as they burned. Jack watched her — the conviction, the grace, the faith she wore like armor.

Jack: “You really believe people can see truth and still choose compassion?”

Jeeny: nods “I do. Because truth isn’t about facts — it’s about connection. When you understand how deeply tied we are — every pain, every joy, every mistake — how could you hate? Wisdom isn’t a thing you learn, Jack. It’s a state you become.”

Jack: leans forward, voice sharper now “Then why does every wise man end up alone? Why did Socrates drink poison? Why was Jesus crucified? Why did Maimonides himself flee his home? If truth removes hatred, why does it always attract it first?”

Jeeny: her eyes flash, voice rising “Because truth doesn’t protect you, Jack — it purifies you! The wise suffer, not because the world hates truth, but because the world isn’t ready for it. But they still choose it — because they’d rather see clearly and ache, than live blind and safe.”

Host: Her words cut through the cold air like flame, her breath trembling. Jack’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching, his body taut as if holding back a lifetime of grief and belief colliding.

Jack: quietly “You think I don’t want that? To see like that? To believe that truth heals? I’ve searched for it my whole life, Jeeny. Every book, every idea, every lesson — all of it was supposed to make sense of the madness. But the wiser I got, the lonelier I became. If wisdom is sight, then maybe it only shows us how blind the world really is.”

Jeeny: steps closer, her tone softening “Maybe that’s because you’ve only been reading wisdom, not living it. Sight doesn’t just reveal the darkness, Jack — it teaches you to walk through it without adding to it. The loneliness you feel isn’t punishment — it’s clarity. The truth doesn’t separate you from others — it connects you in a deeper way, even if they can’t see it yet.”

Jack: exhales, eyes lowering “So you think wisdom is a kind of forgiveness?”

Jeeny: “No. It’s recognition. The moment you truly see, you realize there’s nothing left to forgive — only to understand.”

Host: The sun had risen higher now, turning the mist into gold vapor, the world trembling with light. The frost on the grass began to melt, glistening like tiny mirrors reflecting the sky.

Jack closed the book, looked at Jeeny, and for the first time in the morning, his expression softened — not with agreement, but with a kind of peaceful surrender.

Jack: “You make it sound so simple — that truth alone could end hatred, that seeing clearly could save us.”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “It’s not simple — it’s sacred. We just forgot how to see. The eye isn’t the truth, Jack — it’s the window. Wisdom is what enters when we open it.”

Host: A moment of stillness followed, the kind that feels eternal — when words have done their work, and only silence can finish the lesson.

A bird swept through the clearing, its wings slicing the light, disappearing into the sky. Jeeny watched it go. Jack followed its flight, his eyes narrowing, then softening, as though some old wall within him had finally cracked.

Jeeny: quietly “Maybe that’s what Maimonides meant, Jack. That wisdom is not about being right — it’s about being kind. When you truly see, you can no longer harm — because you’ve understood the oneness of the wound.”

Jack: nods slowly “Then maybe… the real blindness isn’t ignorance — it’s indifference.”

Host: Jeeny smiled, the morning light catching in her eyes, turning them to amber fire. The wind shifted, soft, warm, forgiving.

Together, they rose, walking through the dew-soaked grass, their shadows merging, stretching toward the sun.

And as the light grew behind them, the words of Maimonides seemed to echo across the silence —
that if men possessed wisdom,
they would no longer wound,
because they would finally see.