The public may admire a corporation for its impressive size. Who

Host: The city hummed with the low throb of its own machinery — glass towers, billboards, and the faint, electric pulse of screens that never slept. From the thirty-second floor, the skyline looked like a living circuit board, each window a cell, each office light a thought — all working, none truly awake.

Host: Jack stood by the window, his reflection fractured by the city’s glow. Behind him, Jeeny sat at a long mahogany table, her hands resting on a stack of corporate reports, their pages gleaming under the cold fluorescence.

Jeeny: “Raymond Loewy said, ‘The public may admire a corporation for its impressive size. Who in the United States doesn’t? But when a business, however gigantic, gets smug enough to believe that it is sufficient only to match competition on trivial points instead of leading competition in valid matters, that business is becoming vulnerable to public disfavor.’”

Jack: “Loewy understood what most CEOs never do — size is a mirage, Jeeny. The bigger you get, the less vision you have. These towers,” — he gestured toward the glowing skyline — “they’re monuments to arrogance, not progress.”

Host: A faint buzz from the air conditioner filled the room, a background hum of sterile energy. Jeeny looked up at him, her eyes steady, but filled with that moral warmth Jack always tried to resist.

Jeeny: “You always reduce it to ego, Jack. But there’s necessity too. Corporations feed millions, they build infrastructure, they innovate. The problem isn’t their size — it’s their forgetfulness. They forget that people are not units; they’re souls.”

Jack: “Souls don’t show up on a balance sheet, Jeeny. And that’s the truth that drives the machine. Look at General Motors in the ’70s — bloated, complacent, obsessed with market share while Toyota quietly redefined quality. The public disfavor Loewy warned about? That’s how empires fall — not with a crash, but with a yawn.”

Host: Jack’s reflection blurred as a plane passed overhead, its lights slicing across the glass like a scar. Jeeny leaned forward, the reports shifting under her fingers, the sound crisp — a paper protest against the noise of ambition.

Jeeny: “So you think failure is inevitable? That growth always leads to rot?”

Jack: “No, I think complacency does. Innovation dies when success becomes ritual. Every giant believes it’s immortal, right before it collapses. That’s not just in business, Jeeny — that’s in civilization itself.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the answer isn’t to destroy the giants, but to teach them how to dream again. Loewy wasn’t saying big is bad — he was saying big must also be bold. To lead competition in valid matters — that’s not about profits; it’s about purpose.”

Host: Jeeny’s words hung in the air, delicate but unflinching, like light cutting through a storm. Jack turned from the window, his hands buried in his pockets, his voice low and measured, like a man who’d once believed but had since lost faith.

Jack: “Purpose doesn’t survive the boardroom. I’ve seen what happens when you mention ethics in a meeting. They call it ‘sentimentality’ — and then they move on to the next quarter’s goals. You think the public admires integrity? No — they admire success until it starts to smell.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly the disfavor Loewy meant. The public always turns when they realize the giant has no heart. Look at Facebook, look at Enron, Uber before its reforms — people don’t want machines that consume; they want leaders that inspire.”

Host: The city’s glow flickered faintly, as if the lights themselves were listening. Jack walked to the table, picked up one of the reports, and flipped through it — pages filled with charts, projections, and language that measured everything but meaning.

Jack: “Inspiration doesn’t scale, Jeeny. The moment you institutionalize it, it becomes marketing. These companies don’t lead anymore; they curate appearances. It’s all about ‘brand empathy,’ ‘sustainability messaging,’ ‘social value alignment.’ Words that sound human, but mean nothing.”

Jeeny: “But words can evolve into action, Jack — if someone inside still believes them. Look at Patagonia. Look at how they chose to give away the company to the planet itself. That wasn’t posturing. That was principle.”

Host: The air in the room seemed to shift, heavier now, charged with the weight of conviction. Jack paused, the paper frozen in his hand, his jaw tightening.

Jack: “Patagonia is an exception, Jeeny. The rule is greed. And greed always wins — at least until it runs out of air.”

Jeeny: “And yet, even exceptions matter. Every act of conscience is a crack in the machine. That’s how light gets in. Loewy wasn’t just talking about corporations, Jack — he was talking about the human tendency to stop growing when we feel admired. Whether you’re a business, a nation, or a soul, the moment you start to mirror instead of move, you begin to die.”

Host: The word “die” seemed to echo softly in the room, absorbed by the glass and silence. Jack’s eyes flickered, something unspoken moving behind them — a memory, a recognition, a wound.

Jack: “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been that — successful, admired, and asleep. Built my career, made my money, and realized one day I’d become exactly what I used to criticize — a man who only knew how to match competition, not lead truth.”

Jeeny: “Then you still have the chance to wake up, Jack. To build something that leads again. That’s what Loewy was calling for — not condemnation, but resurrection.”

Host: The rain began to fall, softly, slowly, the drops tapping against the glass like gentle reminders. The city blurred — a million reflections merging, melting, until the towers seemed less like giants, and more like mirrors — fragile, uncertain, human.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what all of this is — a cycle. Build, grow, forget, fall, remember, rebuild. Maybe vulnerability isn’t the enemy Loewy warned about — maybe it’s the cure.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The moment a corporation — or a person — becomes too smug to question itself, it loses its humanity. But the moment it learns to doubt, it becomes real again.”

Host: The room grew quiet now, the rain steady, the city softened into a dreamlike blur. Jeeny closed the reports, and Jack’s reflection in the window merged with hers — two figures, standing over the city, silhouetted by the light of what might still be possible.

Jack: “So maybe Loewy wasn’t just warning corporations. Maybe he was warning us.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because every soul, like every business, becomes vulnerable when it starts to imitate instead of imagine.”

Host: Outside, the rain washed over the windows, blurring the lights, softening the edges of the world. The camera would have pulled back slowly, until the city became a single glow in the distance — still beautiful, still alive, but quietly humbled.

And in that silence, the lesson lingered — not carved in stone, but whispered in glass:

To be great is not to be admired.
To be great is to be awake.