Our soul is not united to our body in the ordinary sense of these

Host: The night was thick with fog, a soft veil that muffled the sounds of the city below. The church stood on the hill, its windows glowing faintly with candlelight. Inside, the air was cold, scented with wax and stone dust. Jack sat in one of the pews, his hands clasped, his eyes fixed on the crucifix that hung above the altar. Across from him, Jeeny knelt, her head bowed, her lips moving in a whispered prayer.

The clock struck midnight. A lonely echo rolled through the cathedral like the breath of a ghost.

Jeeny: “Malebranche said, ‘Our soul is not united to our body in the ordinary sense of these terms. It is immediately and directly united to God alone.’ Do you hear that, Jack? It means we are not of the flesh — not really. We are part of something higher, something infinite.”

Jack: “Or it means we’re deluded, Jeeny. Trapped in words that make us feel less mortal. You want to believe the soul belongs to God because the body decays. But maybe that’s all there is — flesh, nerve, electrical impulse. Nothing ‘immediate’ or ‘divine.’ Just biology pretending to be eternity.”

Host: A draft crept through the cracks in the walls, ruffling the flame of a candle. The shadows trembled, as if listening to their voices. Jeeny rose slowly, her eyes reflecting the light, her hands resting on the back of the pew before her.

Jeeny: “You talk like every scientist who ever thought God was a theory. But tell me, Jack — what is it that moves you when you stand before the sea? Or when a child laughs? Is that just biology too?”

Jack: “It’s reaction, Jeeny. A chemical one. Dopamine, serotonin, neural pathways firing in a pattern that evolution designed. There’s nothing sacred about it. You can measure it.”

Jeeny: “Then why can’t you replicate it? Why can’t you create the spark that makes someone feel love, or awe, or faith? Science can describe, but it cannot give meaning. That’s where Malebranche was right — the soul doesn’t belong to the body. It touches something beyond it.”

Host: The silence hung between them, dense as incense smoke. Jack shifted, his jaw tightening, his eyes dark with memory.

Jack: “You talk about the soul like you’ve seen it, Jeeny. But I’ve seen death. Up close. My father in the hospital, breathing through a machine. One day, there was a man. The next, a body. You want to tell me that his ‘soul’ went directly to God? No. It just… stopped.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It didn’t stop. You stopped seeing. That’s different.”

Host: Her voice quivered, but her gaze didn’t waver. A beam of moonlight cut through the stained glass, washing her in a pale glow. Jack looked away, as if the light stung him.

Jeeny: “Do you remember the story of Teresa of Ávila? When she said she felt the presence of God so strongly it was like a sword of fire in her heart? The doctors would call it hallucination. But maybe the doctors are the blind ones. Maybe the soul, when it’s close to God, feels like burning.”

Jack: “And maybe she was epileptic. You forget how often madness and mysticism hold hands.”

Jeeny: “And you forget how often reason is just fear in disguise.”

Host: The wind howled outside, pressing against the stained glass. The flames on the altar wavered, stretching toward the ceiling as if reaching for the heavens themselves. The air between them tightened, a silent battlefield of belief and doubt.

Jack: “You want to make it sound beautiful, Jeeny. But if we’re directly united to God, what’s the point of pain? Why do children die? Why does the world suffer? You think a ‘direct union’ with the divine would look like this? War, famine, greed? Either God is absent or indifferent.”

Jeeny: “Maybe suffering is not distance, Jack. Maybe it’s the shadow cast by the light. You can’t see the shape of love without pain. Even Christ’s union with God was carved through suffering.”

Jack: “That’s theology, not truth. Pain isn’t divine; it’s mechanical. The body screams because the nerve is damaged. There’s no celestial meaning in that.”

Jeeny: “Then how do you explain forgiveness? Or sacrifice? When someone chooses to suffer for another — that isn’t mechanical. That’s soul.”

Host: Jack stood, his fists clenched. His voice rose, echoing against the stone.

Jack: “It’s emotion! Instinct! A survival mechanism coded in us so the species doesn’t destroy itself!”

Jeeny: “No, Jack — that’s love. That’s the part of us that reaches directly to God, just like Malebranche said. That’s the bridge between flesh and eternity.”

Host: The argument burned, then simmered, leaving only the aftertaste of truth and hurt. The clock ticked again, slow, deliberate, like the pulse of the world. Jack’s breathing slowed. Jeeny walked closer, her hand hovering, almost touching his arm.

Jeeny: “You’ve spent your life trying to prove the world doesn’t need God. But maybe you’re just afraid He’s been there all along.”

Jack: “And maybe you’re afraid He hasn’t.”

Host: Their eyes met — his, grey and tired; hers, dark and alive. The church seemed to hold its breath.

Jeeny: “When I look at you, Jack, I don’t see atoms. I see a story that someone greater is still writing.”

Jack: “Or a story we’re writing ourselves, trying to pretend it matters.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s both. Maybe that’s the union Malebranche meant — not separation of soul and body, but a thread connecting both, directly into the infinite.”

Jack: “A thread that breaks too easily.”

Jeeny: “Only if we stop believing it’s there.”

Host: The storm outside softened into a steady rain, its rhythm tapping against the glass like a quiet heartbeat. The flames steadied. Jack sat again, his face shadowed, his voice lower now, almost a whisper.

Jack: “When I was a kid, my mother used to tell me God could hear me even when I didn’t speak. I used to believe that. Until the night she died. I prayed — and no one answered.”

Jeeny: “Maybe He did. Maybe He answered with silence, because the silence was the only way you’d start listening to yourself.”

Host: A tear slipped down his cheek, though he didn’t notice. The candlelight flickered in his eyes, reflecting something softer — not belief, not surrender, but a kind of wonder.

Jack: “You really think the soul can touch God… directly?”

Jeeny: “I think it already does. Every time we love. Every time we forgive. Every time we see beauty and can’t explain why it hurts.”

Host: The rain stopped. A single ray of light broke through the clouds, falling across the altar, illuminating the cross. For a moment, the world stood still — the air, the breath, the silence all woven into a single thread between earth and heaven.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right, Jeeny. Maybe the soul isn’t trapped in the body. Maybe the body’s trapped in the soul.”

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s the point — to set it free.”

Host: The bell rang from the tower, a gentle sound that echoed through the empty church. Jack and Jeeny sat in quiet, the tension melting into peace. The light moved across their faces, warm, golden, like a benediction.

Outside, the world continued, unaware that two souls had just touched something eternal — something that neither logic nor faith could ever fully explain, but both could feel.