Let us not listen to those who think we ought to be angry with

Host: The courthouse steps were slick with rain, their marble sheen reflecting the flashing red and blue of distant police lights. The city beyond was restless — cars crawling, horns blaring, puddles swallowing the glow of every passing headlight. But here, on these steps, there was stillness. The kind that comes after battle, when justice and vengeance have both gone quiet.

Under the shelter of the stone archway stood Jack, his coat darkened by the weather, his jaw tight, eyes hollow with the echo of an old war — not one fought with weapons, but with words, betrayal, and pride. Beside him, Jeeny leaned against a column, her umbrella half-open, her expression soft but steady, the kind of calm that could outlast a storm.

Between them, a silence like held breath. The kind of silence only forgiveness could break.

Jeeny: quietly “Marcus Tullius Cicero once said, ‘Let us not listen to those who think we ought to be angry with our enemies, and who believe this to be great and manly. Nothing is so praiseworthy, nothing so clearly shows a great and noble soul, as clemency and readiness to forgive.’”
She looked at him. “You’ve been angry a long time, Jack. Don’t you ever get tired of carrying it?”

Jack: his voice rough “You make it sound like a choice.”

Jeeny: “It is. It always is.”

Host: The rain fell harder, pooling at their feet, washing the last traces of dirt from the stone. A nearby streetlight buzzed — flickering between shadow and light, like a moral question the night couldn’t quite decide.

Jack: bitterly “Forgiveness sounds noble when you’re not the one who’s been wronged. It’s easy to preach clemency from the moral high ground.”

Jeeny: “I’m not preaching. I’m remembering.”

Jack: glancing at her “Remembering what?”

Jeeny: “That mercy isn’t weakness. It’s the last act of strength left when everything else has burned.”

Host: A car horn wailed in the distance, then faded. The world seemed to breathe again.

Jack: after a pause “You really believe that? That forgiveness is strength?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because it means you’ve stopped letting someone else’s cruelty dictate who you are.”

Jack: grimly “Then what do you do with the anger? It doesn’t just evaporate. It stays. It eats.”

Jeeny: “You turn it into compassion. Not for them — for yourself.”

Jack: scoffing softly “That’s philosophy. The real world doesn’t work that way.”

Jeeny: “The real world only works that way, Jack. Look around — people justify hate like it’s holy. They call vengeance manly. They mistake bitterness for power. But what did Cicero say? ‘Nothing so clearly shows a great and noble soul as clemency.’ That’s not idealism. That’s civilization.”

Host: Her voice was low, but it carried, echoing against the wet stone, the sound both fragile and unyielding.

Jack: “You think he’d say the same thing if he’d lost everything to betrayal?”

Jeeny: “He did. Cicero was exiled, humiliated, hunted — and still, he believed mercy was the highest virtue. Because vengeance doesn’t cleanse the wound. It just makes it bleed longer.”

Jack: quietly “You sound like you’ve practiced that speech.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Maybe because I needed to hear it once too.”

Host: The rain softened now, turning into a mist that blurred the outlines of the city. Jack’s hands trembled — not with rage, but with fatigue. The kind that comes from holding onto something too long.

Jeeny: “You know, anger gives you the illusion of control. But forgiveness — that’s the moment you stop being ruled by the past.”

Jack: closing his eyes “So you forgive and just… forget?”

Jeeny: “No. Forgiveness isn’t erasure. It’s memory without poison.”

Host: A small stream of water ran down the steps, glinting in the lamplight like liquid gold. Jack watched it, eyes following the flow — steady, gentle, unresisting.

Jack: softly “If I forgive, does that make what they did okay?”

Jeeny: “No. It means you’re done letting it define you. Forgiveness doesn’t excuse; it releases.”

Jack: after a pause “Then why does it feel like surrender?”

Jeeny: “Because you’re used to thinking power means winning. But sometimes, power means letting go — choosing peace when you could choose punishment.”

Host: The wind picked up, sweeping the rain sideways across the courtyard. A newspaper page tore free from somewhere, swirling in circles before settling against Jack’s shoe. He looked down — an article headline half-visible: “Retaliation Breeds Retaliation.”

He laughed — low, dry, almost sad.

Jack: “The universe really knows how to send a message, doesn’t it?”

Jeeny: smiling softly “It whispers to those who are finally ready to listen.”

Jack: after a long silence “You really think forgiveness makes me noble?”

Jeeny: “No. It makes you human again.”

Host: The sky began to lighten slightly, the black clouds thinning, revealing faint silver seams of dawn. The rain had nearly stopped. Jack lifted his face toward the mist, the tension in his jaw slowly unwinding.

Jack: quietly, almost to himself “Then maybe I’m tired of being angry.”

Jeeny: “Good. Then you’re ready to start healing.”

Host: They stood there — two silhouettes on the courthouse steps, framed by the dissolving storm. The light found them gently, soft on the edges, as if the morning itself approved.

And as the camera pulled back — the city stretching wide behind them, the wet streets glimmering with reflections of a world newly washed — Marcus Tullius Cicero’s words would return, timeless and resolute:

“Let us not listen to those who think we ought to be angry with our enemies, and who believe this to be great and manly. Nothing is so praiseworthy, nothing so clearly shows a great and noble soul, as clemency and readiness to forgive.”

Because forgiveness is not weakness —
it is mastery.

It is the act of reclaiming one’s soul
from the grip of the wound.

Anger is easy.
Vengeance is seductive.
But mercy — mercy requires courage.

The noble soul does not deny pain;
it transcends it.

And when the storm passes,
the world belongs
not to those who fought hardest,
but to those who learned,
quietly,
to forgive.