There can be no greater error than to expect, or calculate, upon

Host: The night air was thick with fog and the lingering scent of salt from the nearby harbor. Out beyond the piers, faint lights from anchored ships flickered like tired eyes — trading vessels, tankers, one old navy frigate rusting gently against the current. The wind carried a mournful whistle through the rigging — the sound of history exhaling.

Jack stood leaning on the railing, his coat collar turned up against the cold, a flask in one hand. Jeeny joined him quietly, her breath visible in the mist, her eyes searching the horizon where sea and sky became one uncertain gray.

They had been walking for hours — through city streets heavy with noise and neon — and somehow ended up here, where the modern world gave way to the timeless pull of water. The kind of place that makes one remember beginnings, or endings.

Jeeny: “George Washington once said, ‘There can be no greater error than to expect, or calculate, upon real favors from nation to nation. It is an illusion which experience must cure, which a just pride ought to discard.’”

Jack: (half-smiling) “The first president — still the sharpest realist of them all. Even two centuries later, nations are still selling illusions to each other, calling it diplomacy.”

Jeeny: “Or survival.”

Jack: “Survival’s just the polite word for self-interest.”

Host: The waves slapped softly against the wooden posts below, steady as the tick of an unseen clock. The city lights glimmered faintly across the water — fragile, shifting reflections of power and promise.

Jeeny: “Washington wasn’t being cynical. He was being honest. Nations don’t love — they negotiate. Even allies have conditions.”

Jack: “And every treaty’s just a timeout between betrayals.”

Jeeny: “That’s harsh, even for you.”

Jack: “Harsh is history. Look at it — alliances forged and broken like weather. Britain and France at war for centuries, then partners against Hitler. The U.S. and China — friends when convenient, rivals when not. Nations aren’t people, Jeeny. They’re masks — they smile, but they calculate behind the teeth.”

Host: Jeeny looked out across the harbor, the water dark and endless. The fog blurred everything — the skyline, the stars, even the truth.

Jeeny: “Maybe Washington was right — expecting favors is foolish. But expecting cooperation isn’t. Humanity evolves. Governments might play chess, but people still believe in bridges.”

Jack: “People believe in fairy tales too. Doesn’t make them real. Politics isn’t built on bridges; it’s built on leverage.”

Jeeny: “Leverage without conscience collapses into tyranny. You sound like Machiavelli without the poetry.”

Jack: “Machiavelli was poetry — brutal, clear, and true.”

Jeeny: “So was Washington. But his warning wasn’t about cynicism; it was about independence. He wasn’t saying, trust no one. He was saying, stand on your own feet before you shake another’s hand.”

Jack: (nodding slowly) “Self-respect before diplomacy.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. A just pride, he called it — pride that doesn’t delude itself into expecting charity disguised as friendship.”

Host: A distant ship horn bellowed, low and long, cutting through the fog. It seemed to vibrate through the air, ancient and immediate. Jack took a sip from his flask, his gaze lost in the dark water.

Jack: “You think nations can ever act with pure intentions?”

Jeeny: “Not pure. But perhaps decent. The same way people do — imperfectly, but earnestly. We don’t abandon compassion just because perfection’s impossible.”

Jack: “You sound like the UN charter in human form.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And you sound like someone who’s forgotten how many wars were stopped by compromise, not conviction.”

Host: The wind picked up, tossing Jeeny’s hair across her face. She tucked it behind her ear and continued, her voice quiet but firm — the voice of someone who believed words still mattered.

Jeeny: “Washington’s warning still applies, but maybe not the way we think. He wanted a nation strong enough not to depend, but wise enough to connect. He feared entanglement — not empathy.”

Jack: “So you think isolation’s just another illusion?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Independence without cooperation becomes arrogance. Nations, like people, die of pride as easily as of weakness.”

Jack: (thoughtful) “Strange, isn’t it? His warning was against illusion, and yet illusion’s still our most common export. Democracy, peace, goodwill — packaged ideals with expiration dates.”

Jeeny: “Illusion isn’t always deceit, Jack. Sometimes it’s aspiration. We aim for ideals because the act of reaching matters — even if we never touch them.”

Host: Her words drifted into the air like the fog itself — soft, but impossible to ignore. The harbor seemed to listen. Somewhere, a bell tolled faintly from a buoy. Time, as always, kept score.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what he feared most — that ideals could become masks. That noble words would hide hungry motives.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But he also believed in just pride — in the kind of strength that doesn’t need to pretend. The illusion he wanted us to discard wasn’t hope — it was dependency.”

Jack: “Dependency dressed as diplomacy.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Friendship that expects payment. Favors that demand obedience. That’s not alliance; that’s servitude.”

Host: The waves crashed harder now, splashing faintly against the stone. Jeeny’s reflection flickered in the black water, fractured and alive. Jack turned toward her, his voice lower, stripped of sarcasm.

Jack: “You think we’ve learned anything since him?”

Jeeny: “A little. We’ve learned how to hide our greed in global language. We’ve learned how to sell virtue like currency. But deep down — the struggle’s the same: pride versus pragmatism, self versus system.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “And hope versus history.”

Jeeny: “Always.”

Host: The fog began to thin, revealing the faint outline of the Capitol dome across the water — distant, glowing faintly through the haze, like a lantern remembering its purpose.

Jack: “You know what I find fascinating? Washington said ‘a just pride.’ Not arrogance. Not isolation. Just pride — the kind that protects without boasting. That’s almost extinct now.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s our job to remember it.”

Jack: “Our job? We’re just two people talking on a dock.”

Jeeny: “So was every idea before it became a nation.”

Host: The wind quieted. The harbor stilled. Even the city behind them seemed to pause — as if history itself leaned closer to listen.

Jeeny: (softly) “Maybe real patriotism isn’t blind allegiance or constant distrust. Maybe it’s humility — the courage to act without illusion.”

Jack: “You mean the courage to stand alone — but not above.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The first light of dawn began to seep through the fog — faint, gray, persistent. The ships in the distance became silhouettes against the horizon, their flags fluttering weakly in the morning wind.

Jack watched the water for a long moment before speaking again, his voice quieter than before.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what Washington meant — that nations, like people, must grow out of dependency to find dignity.”

Jeeny: “And discard illusions to find truth.”

Host: The sunlight broke the mist at last, spilling gold across the harbor, catching the ripples and scattering them into fire.

Between them, the words of George Washington seemed to echo anew — no longer the distant wisdom of a founder, but the timeless warning of a man who understood the fragility of power and the necessity of principle:

That favors between nations are never free,
that independence must be guarded with humility,
and that the only true strength
is the kind that stands honest — even when alone.

Host: The light grew brighter. The fog burned away.
Jack slipped the flask back into his coat, Jeeny’s hand brushed against the railing.

And there, as the morning reclaimed the harbor,
they stood not as cynic and idealist,
but as witnesses to the same eternal lesson —

that pride without illusion
is the only freedom that endures.