Without moral progress, stimulated by faith in God, immorality in

Host: The sun had long disappeared beyond the hills, leaving the city draped in a heavy blue dusk. The church bells had just finished their last echo, lingering like the sigh of something ancient. Down the street, the neon cross of a tiny chapel flickered — half-lit, half-dying — its light casting uneven shadows on the wet pavement.

Inside the old train station café, time seemed to slow. The clock on the wall ticked with tired dignity, its rhythm syncing with the quiet hum of the coffee machine. A single candle burned on the table by the window, its flame trembling each time the door opened to the cold.

Jack sat there — tall, lean, and motionless, staring at the candle as though it were a challenge. Jeeny sat across from him, her hands wrapped around a cup she hadn’t sipped from, her dark eyes fixed gently on him. The world outside blurred through the rain-streaked glass, cars passing like distant thoughts.

Jack: “James E. Faust once said, ‘Without moral progress, stimulated by faith in God, immorality in all its forms will proliferate and strangle goodness and human decency. Mankind will not be able to fully express the potential nobility of the human soul unless faith in God is strengthened.’”

He leaned back, his voice low, the edge of cynicism sharpening every syllable. “Sounds poetic, doesn’t it? But I can’t help wondering — why does morality always need God to hold its leash?”

Host: Jeeny’s eyes flickered toward the candlelight, her face caught between reflection and resolve.

Jeeny: “Because, Jack, without something higher — something beyond us — morality becomes a negotiation. One we can always bargain our way out of.”

Jack: “So what, you think people only behave because they’re afraid of divine consequences?”

Jeeny: “Not fear. Reverence. Faith reminds us that we’re accountable — not just to laws, but to something eternal. It pulls us out of ourselves.”

Host: The rain outside thickened, beating softly against the window. Jack watched it, his eyes following each droplet that slid down the glass like a thought refusing to vanish.

Jack: “That sounds noble, but dangerous. The same faith that inspires one person’s kindness can justify another’s cruelty. The Inquisition, the Crusades — all carried out by people convinced they were serving God’s morality. So tell me, Jeeny, is faith still a safeguard… or just another weapon?”

Jeeny: “Faith didn’t wield those swords, Jack. People did. Broken people, misusing something sacred. You can’t blame sunlight because someone burned themselves staring at it too long.”

Host: Her voice was soft, but each word struck like a slow hammer. Jack’s fingers tapped the table, restless, conflicted.

Jack: “Then explain this — why do we still need the idea of God to be decent? Can’t goodness exist for its own sake? Can’t a man help another because he feels it’s right, not because some divine moral system demands it?”

Jeeny: “It can — but it rarely does. You see, when morality depends only on emotion or reason, it bends with circumstance. History proves it. The twentieth century was full of godless ideologies that claimed morality through logic — and built camps, gulags, and gas chambers. Nietzsche’s ‘God is dead’ wasn’t a celebration, Jack. It was a warning.”

Host: The flame wavered violently as the door opened. A brief gust of cold wind swept through the café. A stranger entered, bought a coffee, and left — the brief intrusion like a reminder of the world’s indifference.

Jack: “You’re saying atheism breeds evil?”

Jeeny: “I’m saying when man removes God, he usually replaces Him with himself. And man, when he becomes his own god, is dangerous.”

Host: Silence. Jack stared at her, his jaw tight. The candlelight flickered between them like an invisible pulse.

Jack: “I used to believe,” he said finally. “Not in religion — but in something. Then I saw how easily faith turns into control. People justifying everything — oppression, hypocrisy, greed — in the name of holiness. You talk about faith as if it saves us, but it’s also been the excuse for every kind of corruption.”

Jeeny: “And yet, when faith disappears completely, something worse takes its place — emptiness. Look around, Jack. We live in an age of plenty and loneliness. People have more freedom than ever, and they use it to isolate themselves. Faith, at its best, isn’t about rules — it’s about connection. To each other, to purpose, to something infinite.”

Host: Her voice trembled slightly, not from weakness but conviction. The rain softened, falling now in gentle patterns against the roof.

Jack: “So what’s your God, then? A moral regulator? A cosmic conscience?”

Jeeny: “No. A mirror. The divine shows us what we could be — what we were meant to be. Without that reflection, humanity forgets its own face.”

Host: Jack turned toward the window again. His reflection stared back faintly from the glass, blurred by raindrops and neon light. He looked almost like a ghost of himself.

Jack: “Maybe morality doesn’t need God. Maybe it needs humility — the awareness that we’re fragile, flawed, capable of both miracles and monstrosities.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly what faith teaches. Faith isn’t blindness — it’s humility before the vastness of existence. You can’t separate the two.”

Host: The sound of a passing train rolled beneath them — deep, trembling, like an ancient voice echoing through iron and distance.

Jack: “But what about those who don’t believe? Are they doomed to moral decay?”

Jeeny: “Not doomed. But untethered. You can walk without a compass, Jack, but don’t be surprised if you lose your way.”

Jack: “Maybe the compass is built into us — empathy, reason, community. Maybe faith is just one of many languages morality speaks.”

Jeeny: “And maybe without faith, those words lose meaning over time.”

Host: Her words hung in the air, heavy and luminous, like smoke that refused to fade.

Jack: “You talk like morality is a plant — and faith its soil.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You can cut a flower and keep it alive in water for a while, but eventually, it wilts. Without roots, goodness doesn’t last.”

Host: The clock ticked louder now. The candle had nearly burned to the bottom, its last flame trembling like a fragile heartbeat.

Jack: “So tell me,” he said softly, “is that why the world feels so hollow? Because we’ve lost our roots?”

Jeeny: “Not lost — buried. Under cynicism, distraction, ambition. But roots can still grow if you let light reach them.”

Host: Jack said nothing for a long while. The rain had stopped, but the air was still heavy with it. He looked at her, then at the small cross hanging near the café door, flickering in the faint glow.

Jack: “You really think faith can save us?”

Jeeny: “Not faith alone. But the kind of faith that births goodness — humility, compassion, forgiveness — that’s the only thing that’s ever saved us.”

Jack: “And if it’s just an illusion?”

Jeeny: “Then let it be a holy one — because even illusions can build bridges while truth builds walls.”

Host: The last of the candle gave out, leaving them in the soft, silver-blue wash of the streetlights outside. The city hummed faintly — alive, restless, wounded, and searching.

Jeeny: “Faith isn’t about knowing, Jack. It’s about daring to believe that goodness still has meaning — even when the world seems determined to forget.”

Jack: “And what if I can’t believe?”

Jeeny: “Then borrow someone else’s belief until you find your own.”

Host: The train passed again — louder now, closer. The wind carried in the faint sound of a choir practicing somewhere nearby, their voices breaking through the night: “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…”

Jack looked up, his eyes softening as the melody filled the silence between them.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right,” he whispered. “Maybe the soul really does need something to sing to.”

Jeeny smiled, faint and full of sorrow.

Jeeny: “And maybe that song is what keeps us human.”

Host: Outside, the neon cross flickered once more — this time steady — its light reflecting faintly on their faces. The camera would pull back, the rain returning just as softly as it had stopped. Two silhouettes by the window, one searching, one believing, both framed by a single light that refused to die.

And in that fragile stillness, it felt true — that faith, even when doubted, was still the quiet pulse beneath the heartbeat of humanity.