Nature governs man by no principle more fixed than that which

Host:
The sky had darkened into the bruised hues of twilight — that brief and trembling hour when day and night seem to hesitate, unsure which one truly rules. The river below moved slowly, its surface silvered by the last light of the setting sun, its currents whispering like secrets of inevitability.

On a rusted bridge, overlooking the city’s restless flow, Jack leaned against the cold iron railing, his coat collar turned up against the chill. His grey eyes followed the water’s drift — thoughtful, detached, as if he were watching time itself pass.

A few steps behind him, Jeeny approached, her footsteps soft on the damp metal. The wind caught her hair, tossing it around her face like dark ribbons of motion. She carried a small book, its pages weathered and marked by thought.

When she reached him, the light had almost gone, leaving only the hum of the city and the quiet murmur of the river below — a perfect stage for the ancient conversation of reason and conscience.

Jeeny:
“John Tyler once said,” she began softly, “‘Nature governs man by no principle more fixed than that which leads him to pursue his interest.’”

Jack:
He gave a faint, cynical smile. “Ah, yes. The gospel of self-interest. Politics written into the bloodstream.”

Jeeny:
“Or maybe,” she said, “a confession of human nature.”

Jack:
He turned slightly toward her. “You sound like you agree.”

Jeeny:
“Not agree,” she said. “Understand. We’re built to survive, Jack. To seek what feeds us — body, mind, or heart. Self-interest isn’t sin. It’s instinct.”

Jack:
He chuckled, low and bitter. “Instinct? No, it’s calculation. It’s the art of pretending morality while negotiating advantage.”

Jeeny:
She smiled faintly. “And yet you admire pragmatism more than idealism. You’d rather see man as he is than dream of what he could be.”

Host:
The wind rose, carrying the distant sound of a train, the low moan fading like the echo of something older than civilization itself.

Jack:
“Tyler was right,” he said. “Men are ruled by interest. Call it nature, call it greed, call it survival — it’s all the same machine, just dressed in different words.”

Jeeny:
“But interest isn’t always greed,” she said. “Sometimes it’s the interest of love, or purpose, or compassion. A mother’s instinct to protect, a poet’s hunger to understand — those are self-interests too, but noble ones.”

Jack:
He laughed softly. “Noble self-interest. That’s your favorite contradiction.”

Jeeny:
“It’s not a contradiction,” she said, her eyes shining with quiet conviction. “It’s balance. The universe runs on self-interest — the flower seeks the sun, the river seeks the sea, the heart seeks its echo. Why should man be different?”

Jack:
“Because man can choose,” he said. “And choice is what corrupts instinct. We disguise want as virtue, and ambition as justice.”

Host:
The last rays of the sun flickered over the river, lighting the ripples like molten gold before vanishing into grey. The city lights began to bloom, artificial stars rising to replace the ones that had not yet appeared.

Jeeny:
“Do you really think self-interest destroys virtue?”

Jack:
“I think it builds empires,” he said, his tone sharp. “And breaks them, too. Every war, every betrayal, every empire born — all rooted in someone’s idea of what benefits them most.”

Jeeny:
“But self-interest also builds bridges,” she said. “It fuels progress, innovation, creation. The same force that starts wars also paints ceilings, cures disease, writes symphonies. We’re not governed by evil, Jack. We’re governed by hunger.”

Jack:
“Hunger is just desire wearing a moral disguise.”

Jeeny:
She laughed softly. “And morality is just hunger with manners.”

Host:
The river wind carried her laughter down into the water’s whisper — two forces, soft and unrelenting, meeting halfway between philosophy and affection.

Jack:
“Tyler said nature governs us by this law — not politics, not conscience. Just pursuit. The chase itself. But I wonder — does that make us free or enslaved?”

Jeeny:
“Both,” she said. “We’re enslaved by what we need and liberated by what we chase. Self-interest isn’t the chain — it’s the compass.”

Jack:
He studied her. “A compass without morality points nowhere.”

Jeeny:
“Not nowhere,” she said gently. “It points to truth. And truth doesn’t always look moral.”

Jack:
He frowned slightly. “That’s dangerous thinking.”

Jeeny:
“It’s honest thinking,” she replied. “Tyler wasn’t excusing selfishness — he was describing inevitability. To understand nature is to see how unashamed it is of wanting.”

Host:
The sky deepened to a darker blue, and the first star trembled above the horizon — fragile, but defiant.

Jack:
“You ever think there’s a point where pursuit stops?” he asked. “Where we stop chasing what benefits us and start serving something beyond ourselves?”

Jeeny:
She looked out over the river. “Maybe that’s just another form of self-interest — the interest of the soul. Even sacrifice feeds something inside us: pride, peace, redemption. Altruism is just a quieter appetite.”

Jack:
He nodded slowly. “So every act of good is selfishness rebranded?”

Jeeny:
“No,” she said. “Every act of good is selfishness transformed. Fire doesn’t stop being fire when it gives warmth instead of destruction.”

Host:
The bridge groaned softly beneath their weight, the sound merging with the hum of the city — a symphony of iron and motion.

Jack:
“You know, sometimes I wish I could believe in pure motives. The kind that aren’t tainted by wanting something in return.”

Jeeny:
“You can,” she said. “You just have to stop punishing yourself for being human. Wanting doesn’t make you corrupt. It makes you alive.”

Jack:
He turned toward her, his face softened by the half-light. “And what if what I want harms others?”

Jeeny:
“Then you learn. That’s why we have empathy — it’s not to erase self-interest, it’s to civilize it.”

Host:
The moonlight broke through the clouds at last, spilling silver over the bridge, turning both of them into silhouettes framed against a glowing river.

Host:
And in that still hour, John Tyler’s words seemed to drift across the wind — not as a justification, but as revelation:

“Nature governs man by no principle more fixed than that which leads him to pursue his interest.”

Because beneath the laws of nations and gods,
beneath morality, beneath philosophy —
there is only this:

The river flows because it must.
The flame burns because it can.
Man acts because he hungers —
for love, for power, for meaning, for continuity.

Host:
Jack leaned on the railing, eyes distant, voice low.
“So nature rules us by appetite.”

Jeeny nodded, her breath visible in the chill.
“Yes,” she said softly. “But we decide what kind of hunger defines us.”

The river moved on beneath them, relentless and reflective —
skin of water, bones of current —
a mirror to the truth that governed them both:

that to live, to want, to pursue,
was not corruption,
but creation in its most honest form.

And as the city lights flickered across their faces,
Jack smiled faintly.
“Then maybe,” he said,
“the noblest thing about man is not that he resists nature —
but that he learns how to shape it.”

And in the hush that followed,
the river whispered its quiet agreement —
a current made of both instinct and intention,
flowing endlessly toward the sea.