We seek to protect and preserve life for life's own sake in

Host: The sun hung low over the city skyline, bleeding amber light through the dust-streaked windows of an old train station café. Steam curled lazily from half-empty cups, drifting like the ghosts of unspoken thoughts. Footsteps echoed faintly outside, where commuters rushed past without a glance, chasing the clock — chasing life itself.

Inside, Jack sat slouched in his chair, the collar of his coat turned up against the autumn chill. Across from him, Jeeny sat upright, her hands clasped around her tea, her eyes soft, filled with the kind of sadness that understands too much of the world. Between them lay a newspaper, its headline bold: “Government Expands Health Program — Debate Over Ethics and Costs Continues.”

Jeeny: “Neil Gorsuch once wrote, ‘We seek to protect and preserve life for life’s own sake…’ I keep thinking about that line. How everything we build — our laws, our hospitals, even our roads — is supposed to protect life. To give it meaning.”

Jack: “Meaning?” He let out a low, sardonic laugh. “No, Jeeny. We protect life because we’re afraid of death. Every law, every seatbelt, every vaccine — it’s not about valuing life. It’s about refusing to face what’s inevitable.”

Host: The clock ticked, steady and indifferent. A train horn wailed in the distance, its sound lingering like a mournful echo of truth.

Jeeny: “You think fear builds all this? The hospitals, the shelters, the laws against murder? That’s not fear, Jack — that’s reverence. That’s humanity recognizing something sacred.”

Jack: “Sacred?” He leaned forward, eyes glinting in the light. “Then why do we destroy so easily? We wage wars. We poison oceans. We build systems that let people starve while we fund machines of death. If life were sacred, we wouldn’t have to legislate its preservation. We’d live it.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s exactly why we need laws — because we fail. Because we forget. Those programs, those regulations, they’re our attempt to remember. To remind ourselves that life still matters, even when the world grows cold.”

Host: The wind slipped through a crack in the window, scattering a few crumbs from the table. Jack rubbed his temple, weary. The light flickered, turning his face into a portrait of exhaustion and defiance.

Jack: “You talk as if the system cares. But it doesn’t. Health care, social security, public safety — they’re all just political theatre. Numbers dressed up as compassion. We preserve life when it’s convenient, when it pays, when it votes.”

Jeeny: “And yet… even if it’s flawed, isn’t that still better than nothing? The law against homicide — it doesn’t stop every murder. But it declares something to the world: that life should be protected.”

Jack: “A declaration isn’t truth. It’s just a script we recite so we can sleep at night. Humanity’s obsessed with survival, not sanctity. We preserve life because it’s all we know — not because it’s worth anything.”

Jeeny: “That’s a cruel thing to say, Jack.”

Jack: “It’s a real thing to say. You think the starving child in a warzone believes in the sanctity of life? No — he believes in hunger. And hunger always speaks louder than philosophy.”

Host: Rain began to fall outside, tapping on the glass like the slow rhythm of conscience. Jeeny’s eyes softened, her voice trembling, yet firm.

Jeeny: “And yet, even that child… even in hunger… still clings to life. Isn’t that proof enough that it means something? Life persists, even when it hurts to continue.”

Jack: “Instinct, Jeeny. Not meaning. A plant turns to the sun — not because it values light, but because it must.”

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s the mystery — that survival itself carries meaning. The seed doesn’t need philosophy to grow; it just does. Maybe our laws, our care, our protection — they’re just our way of growing toward light.”

Jack: He scoffed, but softer this time. “So you think bureaucracy and belief are the same thing?”

Jeeny: “No. But both begin from the same truth: that life — even in all its imperfection — deserves to be held, not discarded.”

Host: A pause. The rain deepened, blurring the world outside into a hazy watercolor of lights and reflections.

Jack’s hand moved toward his cup, his voice quieter, more thoughtful now.

Jack: “I knew a man once — a doctor. He worked in a trauma ward. Saw death every day. One night he told me, ‘Jack, you can’t save everyone. Sometimes you just have to decide who gets the last bed.’ Tell me, Jeeny — where’s the sanctity of life in that?”

Jeeny: “In the fact that he still tries. That he goes back, night after night, knowing he can’t win, but he fights anyway. The sanctity isn’t in success — it’s in the struggle.”

Jack: “You’re saying the fight itself gives life its value?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Even when we fail, the act of trying is our testimony. It’s our refusal to reduce life to numbers or probabilities.”

Host: A silence followed — not empty, but heavy with thought. The café seemed to hold its breath. Outside, the rain slowed, and the city lights began to shimmer again through the mist.

Jack stared into his coffee, the steam twisting like smoke from a battlefield.

Jack: “You make it sound noble, Jeeny. But sometimes I wonder if all our saving just prolongs the inevitable. We spend billions keeping people alive — people who are suffering, who don’t even want to continue. Maybe mercy sometimes means letting go.”

Jeeny: “Ah. So now we come to it — the right to end life. To measure it, weigh it, decide when it’s worth preserving.”

Jack: “Isn’t that what we do already? We decide who gets healthcare, who gets asylum, who gets saved. The system you praise — it’s built on choosing.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the courage is to keep choosing life, even when it’s easier not to. To say, ‘We will protect life, even when it breaks us.’”

Jack: “That sounds like martyrdom, not morality.”

Jeeny: “Sometimes they’re the same.”

Host: A flash of lightning illuminated the room, throwing their faces into stark relief — two silhouettes locked in a quiet war of belief. The thunder rolled, long and deep, like an argument the sky itself was unwilling to end.

Jack’s eyes softened, his voice almost a whisper.

Jack: “You know, my mother was a nurse. She used to come home exhausted — hands shaking, eyes red. I asked her once why she kept doing it. She said, ‘Because even if I can’t save everyone, I can save someone.’ I didn’t understand then. Maybe I still don’t.”

Jeeny: “You just did. That’s what Gorsuch meant, Jack. We protect life — not because it’s perfect, but because it is. Because it breathes. Because it dreams. Because it’s the only miracle we have left.”

Jack: He looked up at her, the faintest smile ghosting across his lips. “And what about when that miracle hurts us? When it demands too much?”

Jeeny: “Then we protect it anyway. Not out of fear, not out of duty — but out of love.”

Host: The rain stopped. A thin ray of morning light broke through the clouds, sliding across the table, resting on their hands. Jack stared at it — that soft glow of renewal — and for a moment, he seemed to breathe easier.

Jeeny reached across, gently touching his fingers.

Jeeny: “The laws, the hospitals, the programs — they’re not just institutions. They’re our collective prayer. A prayer that says: life matters, even when we fail to understand it.”

Jack: “A prayer without a god.”

Jeeny: “Perhaps. Or maybe the act of caring is god — the small divinity of human mercy.”

Host: The station clock struck the hour. The noise of footsteps returned, the world waking from its pause. Jack and Jeeny sat in silence, the weight of the debate fading into something gentler — something shared.

Jack lifted his cup, raised it slightly toward her.

Jack: “To life, then — in all its chaos.”

Jeeny: “To life — for its own sake.”

Host: The light settled between them, soft and golden, as if the world itself had momentarily agreed. Outside, the trains departed, carrying countless strangers — each one a life being protected, preserved, carried forward. And in that fleeting peace, Neil Gorsuch’s words lingered in the air — not as doctrine, but as quiet revelation:

“We seek to protect and preserve life for life’s own sake…”