Needless to say, oftentimes a 'religion' is not needed to breed

Host: The city slept under a thick quilt of fog, its lights diffused into soft, trembling halos. The streets were nearly empty, save for the faint hum of a passing car and the occasional flicker of neon reflecting on wet pavement. Inside a narrow coffeehouse tucked between forgotten buildings, Jack and Jeeny sat across from each other at a corner table — the last two customers in a place that smelled of espresso, rain, and unspoken tension.

The clock on the wall ticked softly. The radio played something low and mournful — an old jazz tune about regret. The conversation between them had been circling the same invisible flame for hours. And now, with a sigh, Jeeny broke the silence.

Jeeny: (quietly) “Steven Crowder once said, ‘Needless to say, oftentimes a “religion” is not needed to breed extremism. People breed it all by themselves, oftentimes with the subjective morality of modern secularism breeding the worst kind.’”

Jack: (leaning back) “Crowder — always the provocateur. But he’s not wrong about the breeding part. Extremism’s the one thing humans reproduce faster than hope.”

Jeeny: “Except he’s blaming secularism. As if only faith can save us from ourselves.”

Jack: “Maybe faith isn’t the problem or the cure. Maybe it’s just the symptom — the fever that comes when you’re looking for meaning in a godless world.”

Jeeny: “You think faith’s a fever?”

Jack: “No. I think it’s proof we’re afraid of our own reflection.”

Host: The rain outside began again — slow, rhythmic — tapping against the windows like an ancient pulse. The light flickered above their table, casting their faces into alternating frames of shadow and clarity. Jeeny’s eyes caught the light — brown and deep, alive with both empathy and defiance.

Jeeny: “Extremism isn’t about belief, Jack. It’s about identity. People cling to whatever makes them feel less lost — religion, politics, ideology. Even atheism becomes sacred if it gives them purpose.”

Jack: “Purpose without humility — that’s the virus. You don’t need a god to become self-righteous. All you need is conviction.”

Jeeny: “But conviction isn’t evil. It’s what builds civilizations.”

Jack: “And destroys them. Every crusade, every war, every revolution — same story, different scripture.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the problem isn’t conviction. Maybe it’s the kind that forgets compassion.”

Jack: (sighing) “Compassion’s the first casualty of certainty.”

Host: A small gust of wind slipped under the door, carrying with it the smell of rain and street dust. The world outside was blurred now, like reality seen through the tears of something ancient.

Jeeny: “Crowder’s point about secular morality — he’s saying that without something absolute, morality becomes opinion. But hasn’t every ‘absolute’ morality led to its own form of oppression?”

Jack: “Of course. Because absolutes are the easy way out. People crave simplicity. ‘Good’ and ‘evil’ are cleaner than ‘context’ and ‘consequence.’ Religion, secularism — both become excuses when we stop thinking.”

Jeeny: “So what do we believe in then?”

Jack: “In the one thing that terrifies everyone — doubt. Doubt keeps the heart honest.”

Jeeny: (smiling sadly) “You sound like a prophet of uncertainty.”

Jack: “Better that than a preacher of false certainty.”

Host: The barista wiped the counter in slow, tired motions, casting glances toward the pair that had long outlasted his patience. But there was something magnetic about them — the way their words hung in the air like the residue of thunder.

Jeeny: “You think secularism breeds worse extremism than religion?”

Jack: “Not worse — just quieter. Religion kills with passion; secularism kills with detachment. One burns; the other freezes.”

Jeeny: “That’s a grim symmetry.”

Jack: “It’s human symmetry. We trade gods for ideologies, prayer for protest, dogma for data. The altar changes, but the worship stays the same.”

Jeeny: “And yet, you sound nostalgic for something divine.”

Jack: (pausing) “Not divine — sacred. There’s a difference.”

Jeeny: “Explain.”

Jack: “The divine tells you what to believe. The sacred reminds you what to revere. You can lose faith and still bow your head in awe.”

Host: The rainlight shimmered through the window, turning the surface of their coffee into tiny, trembling galaxies. Jeeny’s hand traced the rim of her cup absently — as if trying to find the shape of something she’d forgotten.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what Crowder missed. Secularism isn’t dangerous because it rejects God. It’s dangerous when it forgets wonder.”

Jack: “Exactly. A world without awe doesn’t need religion to become cruel — just apathy.”

Jeeny: “So you’re saying modern extremism isn’t faith or atheism. It’s emptiness pretending to be conviction.”

Jack: “Yes. The most dangerous zealot is the one who believes in nothing but themselves.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the cure isn’t belief, but balance — between reason and reverence.”

Jack: “Balance doesn’t sell. Extremes do. Balance whispers while fanaticism screams.”

Host: The clock ticked again, louder this time, echoing off the café’s tiled walls. The world outside moved on — a car passing, a door closing, the sound of footsteps fading into the night. Inside, the air between them thickened, charged with the weight of shared recognition.

Jeeny: “It’s strange, isn’t it? We’ve reached an age where people can see galaxies, map DNA, build machines that think — and yet they still burn each other over invisible ideas.”

Jack: “Because evolution made us clever before it made us wise.”

Jeeny: “You think wisdom can still save us?”

Jack: (after a long silence) “Only if it’s humble. Wisdom without humility is just another kind of weapon.”

Jeeny: “And humility’s the rarest faith of all.”

Jack: “Because it demands silence — and the world’s too addicted to noise.”

Host: The rain stopped. The glass cleared. The streetlights outside reflected in long, golden streaks across the wet asphalt. For the first time, the city looked calm — fragile, but calm — as if, for one brief moment, even chaos had paused to breathe.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what true morality should be — not divine, not secular. Just… conscious.”

Jack: “Consciousness is costly. It demands empathy, and empathy hurts. Easier to follow a creed than to feel.”

Jeeny: “But empathy is the only bridge between us. Without it, every belief — religious or secular — turns into a fortress.”

Jack: “And every fortress eventually becomes a tomb.”

Host: Jeeny’s gaze met Jack’s, and something in the stillness between them broke — not tension, but understanding. Two sides of the same truth, facing each other across the thin line between reason and reverence.

Jack reached for his coat. Jeeny watched him rise, the faintest smile forming — not victory, not pity, but recognition.

Jack: “You know, maybe Crowder’s right — people don’t need religion to become extremists. But maybe they need something like it to remember they’re human.”

Jeeny: “Not religion, Jack. Reverence. The quiet kind — the kind that doesn’t demand worship, only awareness.”

Jack: “And you think that’s enough?”

Jeeny: (smiling softly) “It’s where everything good begins.”

Host: The camera would linger on them as they stepped into the damp night — the fog curling around the streetlamps, the city glowing like a living organism, both flawed and holy.

Above them, the rainclouds thinned, revealing a pale moon, blurred but beautiful — neither divine nor secular, but something in between: luminous, impartial, enduring.

And as the scene faded, Jeeny’s voice returned — quiet, steady, eternal:

“Extremism is born when reverence dies — when the sacred in us forgets to bow to anything greater than itself.”

Host: The fog lifted, the lights flickered, and the night resumed — carrying with it the soft echo of wisdom that refused to choose sides.