If Satan wasn't around, churches would go out of business.

Host: The church sat on the corner of the empty street, its windows glowing with the pale, tired light of late evening. The last hymn had long ended, the faithful had gone home, and only the faint scent of incense and old wood lingered. The rain had stopped an hour ago, leaving the steps glistening beneath the halo of the streetlight.

Jack leaned against the cold stone wall outside, his hands in his coat pockets, a faint smile on his face that wasn’t quite joy. Jeeny stood beside him, clutching a small paper cup of coffee, her hair damp, her eyes tracing the cracks in the pavement. Behind them, the heavy doors of the church stood closed, silent sentinels guarding centuries of hope and hypocrisy.

Host: The air was still, but charged — like a thought no one wanted to finish.

Jeeny: “Marilyn Manson once said, ‘If Satan wasn’t around, churches would go out of business.’”

Jack: (chuckling softly) “Leave it to Manson to find theology in provocation.”

Host: His tone was dry, amused, but not dismissive. He tilted his head back, watching the faint glow of the cross on the roof — half-lit, half-shadowed.

Jeeny: “He’s not wrong, though. Conflict gives belief its heartbeat. Every system needs its opposite to define itself.”

Jack: “Exactly. No light without shadow. No heaven without hell. No sermon without sin.”

Jeeny: “And no congregation without fear.”

Jack: “Now you’re quoting history, not scripture.”

Host: A faint wind passed through, stirring the leaves by their feet. Somewhere down the street, a bell chimed — soft, metallic, distant.

Jeeny: “Do you ever wonder, Jack, if faith would survive without its enemies?”

Jack: “Faith, yes. Institutions? Probably not.”

Jeeny: “Because fear funds them.”

Jack: “Because certainty does. Fear just keeps the donations flowing.”

Host: His words hung in the damp air — sharp, but not cruel. Jeeny watched him quietly, her expression softening into thought.

Jeeny: “You sound like you’ve been burned by belief.”

Jack: “No. Just educated by it.”

Host: He kicked lightly at a puddle, watching the reflection of the church tremble and shatter into ripples.

Jack: “I grew up in pews. Sunday mornings, pressed shirts, hymns I didn’t understand. I was told God loved me, but He sure kept strange company — guilt, shame, silence. Turns out I was more afraid of disappointing Him than I was of disappointing myself.”

Jeeny: “That’s the paradox, isn’t it? Religion claims to free you, but it starts by convincing you you’re already trapped.”

Jack: “And then sells you the key.”

Host: The streetlight flickered above them, briefly bathing their faces in yellow, then shadow.

Jeeny: “Manson’s line is crude, but it cuts to something true. Humanity seems addicted to duality. We can’t understand goodness without something to measure it against.”

Jack: “We need villains so our heroes don’t feel lonely.”

Jeeny: “Or meaningless.”

Host: Jack turned toward her, his eyes catching the faint reflection of the cross.

Jack: “You think that’s cynical?”

Jeeny: “No. I think it’s human. We built stories to make sense of chaos. Angels and devils, gods and monsters — they’re not literal. They’re emotional geometry. We draw lines to give shape to what terrifies us.”

Jack: “So Satan’s not a being — he’s a metaphor for self-awareness?”

Jeeny: “For choice. For consequence. For the parts of ourselves we’d rather blame than own.”

Host: The church lights inside flickered off one by one. A final click echoed through the night as the caretaker locked the door. The silence that followed was heavier — the kind of silence that feels watched.

Jack: “You know, Manson meant it as an insult — but maybe it’s also a mirror. Maybe without the devil, we’d forget how much of our morality depends on having someone else to condemn.”

Jeeny: “And maybe without sin, grace wouldn’t look so appealing.”

Jack: “Exactly. Every halo’s worth depends on the size of its shadow.”

Host: Jeeny sipped her coffee, her hands trembling slightly from the cold. She glanced up at the sky — clouds breaking, revealing faint stars.

Jeeny: “But what if we outgrew that need? What if humanity didn’t need a villain to act with virtue?”

Jack: “Then churches would close. Wars would end. And half the poets would be unemployed.”

Jeeny: “You’re impossible.”

Jack: (grinning) “Realistic.”

Host: Their laughter broke the heaviness for a moment, scattering it like smoke. Then silence returned — not oppressive now, but contemplative.

Jeeny: “You know, I think what Manson was really saying is that institutions often depend on what they claim to oppose. Fear is just faith’s business partner.”

Jack: “And guilt its marketing strategy.”

Jeeny: “But the irony is, the message buried beneath all the sermons — the good one — is about love. Compassion. Mercy. Everything that doesn’t need an enemy to exist.”

Jack: “So maybe the problem isn’t religion — it’s ownership. The moment love became property, we invented Satan to protect it.”

Host: The wind shifted again, carrying with it the faint scent of wet earth and candle smoke. Jeeny’s eyes softened, her voice lowering.

Jeeny: “You think God minds all the stories we’ve built in His name?”

Jack: “If He’s real, I think He laughs at them. Not cruelly — just knowingly. Like a parent watching their kids act out the same fight they’ll grow out of one day.”

Jeeny: “That’s a strangely comforting image.”

Jack: “Well, maybe that’s my kind of faith — not in God as a judge, but as a witness. Someone who understands how messy the human theater is.”

Host: She smiled faintly, turning toward the church one last time. Its cross glowed faintly in the dark — fragile, imperfect, enduring.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what art and religion share — both exist to remind us we’re trying.”

Jack: “Trying to make meaning out of the chaos.”

Jeeny: “Trying to name what can’t be named.”

Jack: “Trying not to be alone.”

Host: The bell struck once — a deep, solitary note that rolled through the night like the echo of a thought. They stood there quietly, both staring at the same symbol, both hearing different prayers in the sound.

Jeeny: “So, if Satan went away, you think faith would disappear?”

Jack: “No. I think it’d finally have to grow up.”

Host: The streetlight steadied, the rain began again — soft, cleansing. They turned and walked down the empty road, their footsteps echoing through the wet quiet.

Host: Behind them, the church stood still — a monument not to perfection, but to the strange human need to wrestle with what we fear in order to love what we hope.

Host: And above it all, the night hummed with contradiction — beautiful, blasphemous, honest — the sound of humanity inventing light just to prove it was never truly dark.