I believe firmly that in making ethical decisions, man has the

Host: The streetlights outside the window flickered against the falling snow, painting the café’s glass with pale reflections of white and gold. Inside, the room was warm, the air thick with the aroma of coffee, cinnamon, and the faint hum of quiet music.

It was late evening, the kind where time feels slower, and the world folds into smaller, more intimate corners.

Jack sat at the far table, his hands wrapped around a ceramic mug, the steam rising between him and Jeeny like a veil. His grey eyes were focused, sharp, his voice low — the voice of a man who trusts logic more than faith.

Jeeny watched him, her dark eyes gentle but steady, her black hair falling like ink over her shoulders. She spoke softly, almost like a prayer:
“Corliss Lamont once said, ‘I believe firmly that in making ethical decisions, man has the prerogative of true freedom of choice.’”

Host: The words hung in the air, fragile, luminous, like snowflakes before they fall.

Jack: “Freedom of choice — sure. But what does that even mean? We’re all conditioned, Jeeny. By our culture, our parents, our fears. You think anyone makes a truly free decision?”

Jeeny: “I think we can. Not always — but sometimes. When we act out of conscience, not habit, not fear. That’s when freedom begins.”

Jack: “Conscience?” (he smirked, his voice edged with iron)
“Conscience is just programming with better marketing. You think it’s your own voice, but it’s just the echo of everyone who raised you, taught you, punished you.”

Host: Jeeny leaned forward, her hands resting on the table, her eyes brightening. The café light caught her face, softening the edges of her determination.

Jeeny: “You’re wrong. Ethics isn’t programming, it’s awakening. It’s when you look at what you were taught — and decide for yourself whether it’s right. That’s the only moment we’re truly free.”

Jack: “You make it sound poetic. But tell me — if a person grows up in a war zone, starving, fighting just to survive, do they have the ‘prerogative’ of ethical freedom? Or are they just trapped by circumstance?”

Jeeny: “They still have choice, Jack. Even if it’s harder, even if it’s painful. That’s what makes ethics powerful — it’s not about comfort, it’s about courage.”

Host: The wind howled softly outside, tapping against the glass like a restless visitor. The waiter refilled their cups, the steam rising between them again — a kind of fog between two worlds.

Jack: “So you think someone who steals bread to feed their child is acting unethically, but freely?”

Jeeny: “No. I think they’re acting out of necessity, not freedom. But that’s not what Lamont meant. He was talking about moral choice — the decisions we make when we do have the luxury to think, to reflect, to be honest.”

Jack: “Ah, the luxury of ethics. How convenient. So, freedom only exists for people who can afford it?”

Jeeny: “It exists for those who recognize it. You don’t have to be rich to have a moral compass, Jack. You just have to listen to yourself — not to your instincts, not to your impulses, but to your inner understanding of what’s right.”

Host: Jack’s eyes narrowed. He shifted, leaning back in his chair, his shadow stretching across the floor like a question mark.

Jack: “So, you’re saying even if the world is built on systems that push us, shape us, and limit us — there’s still a small core of self that can choose? That’s your idea of freedom?”

Jeeny: “Yes. That’s the human core — the moral will. You can take away a person’s home, their safety, even their voice, but not their capacity to say, ‘I will not become cruel.’ That’s freedom.”

Host: The snow outside had begun to fall harder, soft, thick, silent — a curtain between the world and this tiny café, where two souls argued not about morality, but about humanity itself.

Jack: “Tell that to the people who followed orders in Auschwitz, or those who stood by and did nothing. They all said they had no choice. You really believe they were free?”

Jeeny: “Yes — and that’s why it’s tragic. Because they were free, and they chose silence. That’s what Lamont meant. Freedom isn’t about being safe — it’s about being responsible for the weight of your own decisions.”

Host: Jack’s fingers tapped the table, the sound steady, almost like a heartbeat. His expression softened, the cynicism beginning to crack.

Jack: “You think freedom is in the weight, not the escape.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The heavier the choice, the truer the freedom. It’s easy to be good when there’s no cost. The test of freedom is when doing the right thing hurts.”

Host: The silence that followed was thick, almost sacred. The snow kept falling, the café clock ticking softly. Jack looked at his hands, as though the answers might be hidden in the lines of his palms.

Jack: “You know, I used to think ethics was just another word for control — society’s way of taming people. But maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not control, it’s recognition.”

Jeeny: “Recognition of what?”

Jack: “Of the fact that we’re not machines. That we can still refuse. Even when the whole world tells us what to do.”

Host: Jeeny smiled, a quiet, warm, knowing smile — like the kind that doesn’t seek victory, only understanding.

Jeeny: “That’s the prerogative Lamont was talking about. Freedom isn’t about doing whatever you want — it’s about choosing what’s right, even when it costs you.”

Jack: “You really believe that?”

Jeeny: “I do. Because without that freedom, ethics doesn’t exist. And without ethics, we’re not human — just instincts in clothes.”

Host: The words settled, the light from the window now softer, glowing across their faces like a kind of truce. Jack nodded, just slightly, the defense in his eyes finally lowering.

Jack: “Maybe we’re all just learning how to be free — one choice at a time.”

Jeeny: “That’s the only way it ever happens.”

Host: Outside, the snow stopped, the world quiet, pure, unmarked — as if waiting for the next footstep, the next decision. Inside, their coffee had gone cold, but neither seemed to mind.

Host: They just sat there, watching the window, thinking, breathing — two souls caught between doubt and belief, between reason and faith.

Host: And as the lights dimmed, the scene closed on that delicate truth —
that freedom is not a gift to be held,
but a burden to be carried,
each decision a quiet act of defiance,
each moment an opportunity to be human again.