By Eric Anders, with and against ChatGPT
Act I: The Weight of Legacy
Scene 1: The Threshold of Time
Setting: A psychoanalyst’s consulting room, sparse and abstract in design. The space is centered around a fainting couch positioned at center stage. Adjacent to it, slightly to stage left, is a large analyst’s club chair placed close to the couch, behind the head of the analysand and aligned toward the audience.
A door is located stage left, with a coat tree positioned nearby. An analysand “lying” on the couch—reclined with feet up but not fully lying back due to its chaise-like design—would be facing approximately forty-five degrees stage left.
Behind the couch and chair are pieces of miscellaneous furniture, arranged to provide seating for up to six actors simultaneously. Suspended mid-air behind this furniture are three window-like structures—black, empty screens intended for projected images. The center screen is a large rectangular "bay window," twice the size of the square windows flanking it on either side.
A small side table with a clock and a chair is situated nearby. The room’s lighting is soft yet unnervingly neutral, with faint shadows that shift subtly as actors move.
When the screens are not displaying projections, they appear as window frames: the middle as a bay window flanked by two smaller square windows. The central bay window, a rectangle, is exactly the shape and size of the two side windows combined. These “windows” show a view of sunny weather, with trees in full leaf visible outside. Midday.
Sound Cue: The faint tick-tock of an unseen clock, rhythmic yet unsettling.
Lights up.
(Enter THOMAS JEFFERSON, in his prime at 44 years old. Dressed in comfortable 18th-century attire, he moves deliberately but with unease, surveying the room.)
THOMAS
(To himself, examining the space)
What curious surroundings. (Pauses) A parlor? No… not quite. (Calling out) Hullo? Who keeps this place?
(A door creaks open offstage. Enter SIGMUND FREUD, calm and authoritative, in a three-piece suit with a pocket watch chain glinting faintly. Probably 70. He holds a cigar and observes Jefferson closely as he approaches.)
SIGMUND
You stand at the threshold, Herr Jefferson.
THOMAS
The threshold of what? And who are you? A German?
SIGMUND
(Smiling faintly)
An Austrian. I was born in Freiberg in 1856, thirty years after your death. I am Professor Sigmund Freud.
THOMAS
1856? My death? Ridiculous. The year is 1826! It is July 4th, in fact, Independence Day. (Pause) And "Freud"—an odd name. It means “Joy,” does it not?
SIGMUND
It does. You are well-educated, indeed.
THOMAS
(Scrutinizing him)
You are Jewish, too, aren’t you?
SIGMUND
Yes. My faith, however, was not in God, but in the psyche—the mind.
THOMAS
(Puzzled)
"Psyche"—the Greek word for soul, mind, or breath. A curious object of faith, though I suppose it is somewhat fitting for a man without religion. But tell me, what is this nonsense about my death?
SIGMUND
(Stepping closer, his tone steady yet reflective)
It is not nonsense, Thomas. You died this Fourth of July, 1826—the 50th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. This place is neither Vienna nor Virginia; it is a threshold. Not the purgatory of Catholicism, but something akin to the bardo, as described in Buddhist traditions. A threshold. An in-between space ...
THOMAS
(Interrupting, anxiously)
A threshold to what? In between what and what?
SIGMUND
(Interrupting in return. Avoiding his questions)
... and I, Thomas, am your guide—a Virgil to your Dante. Together, we will journey through this liminal space, confronting truths and weighing the legacy you have left behind.
THOMAS
(Smiling wryly, his voice tinged with skepticism)
A Jewish Virgil leading me, the supposed Dante? That is a rather bold casting choice, wouldn’t you say?
SIGMUND
(Smiling faintly, unruffled)
Perhaps. But consider, Thomas—Dante’s journey was not a triumphant display of his virtues but a reckoning with his failings and contradictions. He was guided by Virgil, a symbol of reason and intellect, yet someone who, like both of us—and unlike Dante—was not a Christian. Virgil's wisdom illuminated the way but could not lead to ultimate redemption, highlighting the limitations of reason alone--that is, in Dante's very Christian context. Similarly, you envisioned a moral and intellectual order, yet it was rooted in a complex and imperfect reality. The world you left behind still claims to aspire to your ideals—liberty, equality, and the dignity of humankind—but it is falling far short, in a way that would disgust you. The foundation you helped lay, bold and transformative as it was, was full of cracks, and those foundational fractures have profoundly shaped the challenges faced by generations since.
THOMAS
(Interrupting, his tone sharpening)
And you think yourself qualified to guide me through such an ordeal? A man born far from Virginia, from a future world? Do you have a superior view of my world simply because you are looking back at it? A Jew who rejected traditional faith and placed his trust in the fragile workings of the human mind?
SIGMUND
(Leaning in slightly, his gaze piercing)
Yes, precisely because I, like you, rejected divine certainty. I spent my life studying the psyche—the conflicts and contradictions that shape us, the truths we refuse to face. That is why I stand here as your guide. Not to absolve you, but to illuminate the path ahead—not your path, Thomas, for you are dead, but the path of those who follow you. Follow us, for I am dead too.
THOMAS
(Pausing, his expression hardening as he gestures dismissively)
Illuminating their path? You presume too much, Professor. I am no Dante, tormented by lost loves or divine retribution.
SIGMUND
(Quietly, with subtle intensity)
No, you are not. You are Thomas Jefferson—a man who envisioned liberty but lived with its paradoxes. Your journey will not be through circles of hell but through the ripples of the choices you made. We are here to explore how those choices, your ideas, and your failings continue to shape the path ahead—how they endure, keeping the spirit of your vision alive while challenging those who walk in its shadow.
THOMAS
(Laughing uneasily, shaking his head)
Preposterous. You must be mistaken. Surely, you confuse me with John Adams. He’s the Founding Father who is unwell, yes, but I—?
SIGMUND
(Interrupting, his voice firm but calm)
There is no confusion. You will be surprised to learn that John Adams also passed, on the same day, and his final words were of you: “Thomas Jefferson survives.”
THOMAS
(Halting mid-stride, startled)
Survives? Did he truly say that as he died?
SIGMUND
(Nods slowly, his tone reflective)
He did. His words, though wrong, reveal a deeper truth. Adams lived much of his life wrestling with your shadow, measuring himself against your legacy.
THOMAS
(Straightening, his voice tinged with defensiveness)
Measuring himself? Adams was a great man—a patriot, a president. Why would he spend his final moments thinking of me, especially when he had shared most of his life with such a remarkable woman as Abigail?
SIGMUND
(Sitting in the chair)
Because your name, Thomas, carries a mythic quality his did not. You are celebrated as the philosopher of liberty, the architect of independence. Adams, though no less fervent in his devotion, was often seen as quarrelsome, difficult—a man of principle but not poetry.
THOMAS
(Looking away, visibly uneasy)
And yet, he did live without contradiction. He opposed slavery outright, condemning it as a moral abomination.
SIGMUND
(Interrupting gently, his tone probing)
While you proclaimed liberty yet owned slaves. That is the contradiction Adams never had to reconcile—one shadow of hypocrisy that lingers over your legacy. Not the only shadow, mind you. Perhaps that is why, even in his final moments, John Adams, Founding Father and second President of the United States, could not release you from his thoughts. He may have felt that your acclaim overshadowed his own morally consistent contributions.
THOMAS
(Staggering slightly, gripping the back of the fainting couch. Avoiding what Sigmund just said.)
Both of us, gone today? The Fourth of July. 1826, the 50th anniversary. It seems too convenient, too … contrived.
SIGMUND
(Leaning back, his tone soft but firm)
Perhaps it is poetic. Two architects of liberty departing on the nation’s anniversary—a day symbolic of your greatest ideals and deepest contradictions.
THOMAS
(Looking downward, still skeptical)
I cannot accept it. I recall celebrating at Monticello, toasting to our republic. I wasn’t ill—not that I remember. You must still be mistaken. This Jewish Virgil, this "bardo" as you say the Buddhists call it … you must confuse me with Adams.
SIGMUND
(Smiling faintly, holding his ground)
No, Herr Jefferson. There is no confusion. The question is not whether you are here, but why you are here. That is the journey we must take together.
(The faint ticking of the clock grows louder as Jefferson stares at Freud, his expression a mix of incredulity and unease.)
Lights fade. End of Scene.
Scene 2: Slavery and the Holocaust
(The screens are back to windows with trees outside, except the bay windown, #2, is still Monticello. It is now dusk outside the windows.)
SIGMUND
(Leaning forward, his gaze piercing but measured)
Do you think I am here to condemn you, Thomas? To assign blame, as though I were some celestial arbiter of your life?
THOMAS
(Frowning, arms crossing defensively)
Condemn? No. But you wouldn’t be the first to scrutinize my choices, Sigmund. Isn’t that why you’re here? To dissect them, to tell me what I should have done differently?
SIGMUND
(Shaking his head, his tone calm but pointed)
No, I am not your judge so much as your guide. If you could see the world as it is now, you might wish to judge it for yourself. Imagine stepping through that door into the 21st century. The United States—your great experiment—has grown into a colossus. Its economy, its science, and its military power surpass anything you could have dreamed of. They have put men on the moon, invented machines that think, developed medicines that perform miracles, and built a vast communication system that allows people to speak across continents in the blink of an eye.
THOMAS
(A touch of pride, mixed with hesitation)
Remarkable. Truly remarkable. A testament to American industry and ingenuity. To think, we struggled just to secure this fragile union—and now they reach for the stars? It speaks to the brilliance of the American spirit.
SIGMUND
(Standing, stepping closer, his voice growing heavier)
Perhaps. But progress is not always the same as wisdom. For all its power and advancements, the nation is deeply unwell. It has sacrificed morality for profit, elevating the wealthy while undermining the common good—and undermining the democracy you dedicated your life to. Universities are more learned and accessible than ever, but the people? Many are uneducated, disconnected from literature, history, and even their own health.
(He pauses, his tone sharpening as he presses on.)
This is especially true of America's new President's cultish followers. He is less a charismatic figure of some mystery cult and more akin to the peddlers of snake oil at traveling fairs—grifters and con men who prey on ignorance and desperation, offering false cures and enticing falsehoods dressed in grandiose promises. These 21st C Americans hold tools of unimaginable intellectual power but squander them on cultish beliefs, shallow entertainment, and fleeting distractions.
(Pausing again, his expression hardens.)
It reminds me of the panem et circenses—bread and circuses—of ancient Rome. Do you know the phrase, Thomas? The poet Juvenal lamented that Roman citizens, content with cheap food and mindless entertainment, neglected their civic duties, took their empire’s greatness for granted, and allowed corruption to fester. In time, Rome rotted from within.
THOMAS
(With a mix of confusion and concern)
How can that be? A nation with such might and knowledge should surely be leading its people toward enlightenment, not indulgence. Has ambition blinded them to their own humanity?
SIGMUND
(Gravely, with an air of warning)
"Ambition" is not quite right, more "greed" and a rot of the American unconscious, a rot I fear might be too advanced, to much at the core ... but, Thomas, this rot has also led to a pathological complacency. But not just complacency. Bread and circuses are easier than sacrifice and reflection. A great power without wisdom or vigilance risks the same fate as Rome.
(He pauses, his words deliberate and grave.)
Blinded, perhaps, or overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the rot of their cultural unconscious. (Pause) The man who just assumed the presidency for his second term is proof enough of the depth and ubiquity of this rot. He incited an attack on his own government—a violent insurrection when he failed to hold office after his first term. The Capitol, the seat of your democratic experiment, was stormed by his cultish supporters, emboldened by his lies and rage. They seemed to treat the election as just another circus.
THOMAS
(Incredulous, shaking his head)
The Capitol under siege? By its own people? And they permit this man to lead them still?
SIGMUND
(Somberly)
They do. He is a convicted felon, Thomas. 91 charges brought against him but only one stuck because he manipulated the courts during his first term. A court did conclude he had raped a woman, but he was being tried for defamation so he was not ... regardless, he raped a woman and used his uncanny knack for escaping the law to run again for the presidency. Very few people seemed to care that was found to be a rapist by a jury.
THOMAS
(Incredulous, shaking his head)
Ridiculous. Surely the people would not elect a rapist to the presidency? The rot can't be that deep and ubiquitous.
SIGMUND
(Somberly)
They did ... and it has been done before.
THOMAS
(Avoidant)
They have squandered the very idea of liberty. The electorate chose him, knowing his crimes, his disregard for law. This is not the republic I envisioned. Power has corrupted the collosas, and the foundation of moral judgment has eroded. The rot seems to be deep and ubiquitous.
SIGMUND
(Somberly)
A felon, a rapist, and yet he commands loyalty, even reverence. His followers, in a bizarre twist, compare him to Jesus himself, though to anyone outside his massive cult, it is painfully clear he sees true Christians as nothing more than gullible marks in his long con.
(Looking deeply at Thomas, his tone grows heavier still.)
The democracy you dedicated your life to has been squandered. Most are too lazy or apathetic to vote. This new leader received just over 77 million votes—50% of the total—but 88 million stayed home. Fourteen million more chose not to vote than the number who supported this con man, the rapist and felon who incited an insurrection after being voted out four years earlier.
THOMAS
(With growing anger and despair)
Insanity! Have they forgotten what this nation was built upon? Democracy, the rule of law, the dignity of the individual? Is this the destiny of liberty—to devolve into chaos, to be led by men who defile both honor and justice?
SIGMUND
(Looking steadily at Thomas, his voice softening)
Was it truly built on democracy, Thomas? Or was that merely the ideal you proclaimed?
(He pauses, then leans in slightly, his words deliberate.)
And as you reflect on this, I ask you—what role did you play in setting this nation on its course? Was democracy ever truly your goal?
THOMAS
(Incredulous, shaking his head)
Of course it was … but how can so much strength and brilliance coexist with such profound backwardness?
SIGMUND
(Stepping back slightly, letting the question hang in the air)
Again, Thomas, this is a question you must ask—not just of that world outside the door but of yourself.
(Pausing briefly, his tone measured yet sharp.)
Like you, the incoming president believes power belongs only to white men. He gained prominence by spreading a lie about the Black president before him, claiming he was born in Africa and unqualified to lead. This deliberate falsehood stoked racial hatred and reinforced the belief that leadership is reserved for white men. Even now, his supporters ignore the Fourteenth Amendment’s prohibition on insurrectionists, failing to see the irony: this president, by constitutional standards, is the true unqualified one—a fact mirroring the fraud he accused the Black president of being.
THOMAS
(Staggering further, his voice trembling)
This is too much! I can’t process all of this. The Fourteenth Amendment? Why has the Constitution been amended so often? Was it so flawed to begin with? A Black president—unthinkable! And now, a president who is both a rapist and a felon? This can’t be real! I am dead, yet the country I helped build—once holding so much promise, so full of ideals—is now so diseased, so utterly corrupt. It feels like a nightmare!
SIGMUND
(Pausing again, his tone softening yet reflective, as if weighing his next words carefully)
Yes, Thomas, corrupt indeed. But consider this: the struggles with race in the United States are deeply rooted in the system you helped establish, a system built on anti-democratic practices designed to maintain racial and other hierarchies, excluding entire groups from full participation in the democratic process.
THOMAS
(Turning sharply, his voice defensive)
I established a system of liberty and justice—the foundation of a free republic. I ensured the rule of law, where no one—no king, no ruler—stood above it. Yet this buffoon seems to believe himself a king. How deeply un-American. No more kings! Justice and equality for all under the law—that was my vision.
SIGMUND
(With a steady yet pointed tone)
Yes, a republic founded on lofty ideals. But those ideals coexisted with the enslavement of millions... and the oppression of other large groups. (Pauses) In my time, prejudice against Jews in Vienna—what is now call antisemitism, and more broadly racism against Jews—was widespread, even more so than in your time. The racism I experienced, rooted in beliefs of European or "white" superiority over Jews, was particularly harsh in Russia and Eastern Europe, but it was not as institutionalized as the system of slavery in your America. Yet it was still racism—violent, grounded in the belief in the inferiority of Jews.
THOMAS
(Staring at Sigmund, his voice faltering, avoiding the topic of slavery)
Racism? Antisemitism? Jews are but one of the Semitic peoples. Would antisemitism be used for racism against Arabs or Assyrians?
SIGMUND
(Briefly, with an evasive tone)
The term "antisemitism" has recently come to be used specifically for prejudice against Jews, Thomas. You might even say it has been co-opted by some Jews. Arabs and Assyrians, though Semitic as well, face a different kind of prejudice, mostly from Jews in this new world--which I continue to be disgusted by ... But these issues are deeply rooted in the aftermath of the Holocaust, and understanding that history is essential if we are to compare it to American slavery.
THOMAS
(Still staring at Sigmund, his voice faltering less, still. avoiding the topic of slavery. Sarcastically at first and then avoidant)
Jews as the aggressors now? Of course ... our comparisons must be made.... It does seem complicated. I know about the expulsions of Jews in Russia and Eastern Europe—pogroms, I believe they’re called. I imagined them as the violent response of wayward Christians, expressing their political intolerance—common enough—but against a group they accuse of killing their Jesus? Don’t they forget Jesus was a Jew? It makes no sense. I’ve always abhorred religious intolerance, especially the violent kind. I suppose European Jews are not truly European, but from Semitic people of the desert after so many centuries?—but surely science would classify them... (Pauses, noticing Sigmund’s likely understanding, shifts the topic) And you mention other large groups that were supposedly oppressed during the founding of America. Which groups? (Still avoidant, wanting another direcetion) Racism seems an odd term, as if the science of "race" is grounded only in prejudice. Are not the races different? I didn’t know this. Surely prejudice is universal—and distinguishing between races isn’t just superstition.
SIGMUND
(Cutting in, his voice firm but still measured)
Like alchemy and astrology, once hailed as sciences, scientific racism was eventually exposed as a pseudo-science. But unlike alchemy or astrology—which, while misguided, rarely caused widespread harm—scientific racism has proven far more dangerous. People continue to cling to these myths, convinced they are scientific truths, because they are deeply attached to the narratives that justify their worldview. These beliefs offer comfort, even to those without power, by providing a sense of order and meaning in a world that often feels chaotic and unjust. It is a natural human tendency to seek explanations that make us feel secure, even if those explanations are built on falsehoods.
THOMAS
(Defensively)
But science undermines myths.
SIGMUND
(With a firm yet measured tone)
Actual science does, indeed, expose and dismantle myths. But pseudo-science often claims the mantle of real science, just as myths claim the authority of Reason. Both are co-opted to sustain and empower harmful beliefs and myths—myths like the belief that Africans are inferior to Europeans or that slavery was essential to America's foundation and the freedom of its white men. American slavery was built on a particularly vicious and violent myth—that an entire race could be treated as property, stripped of their humanity, solely to justify economic gain and order. This myth was historically brutal and harsh, and it continues to haunt this nation.
THOMAS
(Lowering his head, his voice heavy)
You mean to say our institution of slavery was singular in its evil? Weren’t there worse atrocities in world history? The slavery and murder that marked Alexander’s conquests, the brutal expansions of Rome, and the Mongol Empire’s massacres—all surpassed the scale of the violence America used to create and expand its own country.
SIGMUND
(Watching Thomas closely)
American slavery was unique in its evil, and at the same time, there have been other atrocities throughout history—both before and after your time—that would compare in their "level of evil," whatever that may be. Still, how do we compare such colossal horrors? Do we simply count the dead? Do you really want to argue that American slavery was justifiable because it was less evil when set against other historical atrocities? That seems like quibbling in a debate with the gravest of stakes. (Pausing, frustrated, calmer) Thomas, in my time, there were the beginnings of the Holocaust, another singular atrocity in the long history of our violent world. The worst came after my death in 1939, but the machinery had already begun. These historical atrocities cannot be compared—the Holocaust and slavery—they are both wounds on humanity that defy any measure.
THOMAS
(Raising his head, his eyes wide with dread)
I agree! We surely can't be here to measure the world's horrors, Sigmund. To weigh one atrocity against another? What purpose would that serve?
SIGMUND
(Watching Thomas closely, his voice steady but heavy with pain)
Perhaps we are, Thomas—perhaps understanding requires us to confront these horrors side by side, but more face to face. (Pauses) In my homeland of Austria and across Europe, I saw a hatred erupt into the Holocaust—a systematic extermination of six million Jewish men, women, and children. A machinery designed to annihilate an entire people. To weigh such atrocities is not to diminish them but to grasp the depths of human cruelty and the fragility of the values we hold dear.
THOMAS
(Staggering, his voice breaking)
Six million... annihilated? For being Jewish? Why? That is more souls than the entire population of my country when I assumed the presidency in 1800. What kind of darkness possessed them?
SIGMUND
(Quietly, his gaze distant)
The worst began a year after my death, as the Second World War engulfed Europe. My family, my culture, my people—nearly obliterated. The darkness you speak of, Thomas, is not confined to any one nation or time. It is a shadow that lurks within all humanity, waiting for the right conditions to rise. People, unwilling to face the responsibilities that come with freedom, often turn to authoritarianism, feeding this darkness. That is why we are here—why we must confront it.
THOMAS
(Recoiling, his voice trembling with horror)
Second? There were two? Six million? Obliterated? It is beyond comprehension… monstrous! How could such a thing happen? Were there no laws? No justice? How could an entire people be hunted and destroyed? What kind of world permits this?
SIGMUND
(Pausing, his tone reflective but firm)
You are horrified by the six million Jews systematically murdered in the Holocaust, yet the transatlantic slave trade devastated millions more over centuries, with its enduring legacy of suffering and dehumanization shaping the world to this day. As with the Holocaust, the transatlantic slave trade was a hunt for a people targeted solely because of their race, resulting in their capture, enslavement, and unimaginable suffering and devastation. More than twice that number of Africans were forcibly taken from their homelands, with millions perishing during the horrors of the Middle Passage. By the time slavery was abolished in your country, four million African Americans were freed from bondage—but only after generations suffered of murder, dehumanization, brutality beyond comprehension.
THOMAS
(Relieved, meekly)
It did end. When? How?
SIGMUND
(Meeting Thomas’s gaze, his tone somber but resolute)
Yes, slavery ended—but not easily, and not without an immense cost. It took a brutal civil war in your United States, fought 34 years after your death. The South waged war to defend slavery; the North to preserve the Union. Your own Virginia led the rebellion, with Richmond as the capital of the Confederacy. Over 600,000 American lives were lost to achieve emancipation and preserve the Union. Yet even after the war, freedom came with a price: more than a century of segregation, systemic racism, and violent oppression. The legal chains of slavery were broken, but societal chains remained, binding generations of African Americans to poverty, inequality, and violence.
(He pauses, his voice softening but still pointed.)
Does that ending truly bring you relief, Thomas? Or does it demand that you reckon with the legacy of what you began—a system so entrenched that its echoes still persist, shaping the world you would find if you stepped through that door today?
THOMAS
(Reluctantly, his tone defensive but wavering)
600,000 Americans. (Pause) So you are some St. Peter figure, here to weigh my sins and pass judgment.
SIGMUND
(Fixing him with an unwavering stare)
Not judgment, Thomas—at least, not as much as understanding. Understanding, inevitably, demands some measure of judgment. You recoil in horror at the six million Jews systematically murdered during the Holocaust, yet you must confront how slavery—a system you upheld—manifested its own monstrous dehumanization.
(Leaning forward, his tone heavy with sorrow)
The Holocaust sought total annihilation, while slavery thrived on exploitation. Both happened in a society that called itself Christian. The same faith that justified slavery in America was twisted in Europe to justify genocide. Both atrocities were carried out under the banner of a ‘higher purpose,’ cloaked in the language of morality, progress, and divine will. Both systems of dehumanization were executed with precision and bureaucracy, within societies that professed to follow a moral and loving God.
(He pauses, his tone reflective yet piercing.)
Consider this: in America, enslaved people were reduced to property, their lives bought and sold as commodities. In the Holocaust, Jews were stripped of identity, reduced to numbers tattooed on their skin, and exterminated as though they were vermin. Both systems thrived on the same principle—the denial of another’s humanity—and both were tolerated, even justified, by societies claiming to uphold morality and justice. I did not live to see the worst of it ... unimaginable.
THOMAS
(Still reeling, pacing as his disbelief grows)
A Christian society? The very faith that preaches love and compassion… twisted to such ends? And you compare this with slavery? Surely, even in its brutality, slavery was not meant to annihilate an entire people!
SIGMUND
(His tone steady, unwavering)
No, slavery did not seek extermination—it sought domination and exploitation. But its effects were no less devastating, Thomas.
THOMAS
(Frowning, defensive)
Devastating? Surely you exaggerate. Slavery was harsh, yes, but it was not the same as the horrors you described in the Holocaust.
SIGMUND
(Sharply)
Not the same, but no less destructive. Generations of families torn apart, lives brutalized, cultures erased. The enslaved were not slaughtered en masse, but their humanity was systematically stripped. Their very existence was reduced to labor and profit.
THOMAS
(Shaking his head, pacing)
But they lived. They had the chance to survive, to perhaps find freedom eventually. Can you truly compare that to mass murder?
SIGMUND
(Leaning forward, his voice soft but piercing)
The parallels are stark, Thomas, even if the outcomes differ. Both the Holocaust and slavery are dark stains on the histories of societies that claimed to be moral and enlightened. Both stripped humanity away to justify their own ends.
THOMAS
(Turning to face him, his voice tinged with doubt)
And what of my beliefs? What of my faith in reason and liberty?
SIGMUND
(Probing)
Your Deism allowed you to reject the tyranny of religious dogma, yet did it also shield you from the moral reckoning that your faith’s traditional God might have demanded? You questioned the divine authority of the church, but not the earthly authority of the master over the slave.
THOMAS
(Stiffening, defensive)
Authority is necessary to maintain order, Professor. Without it, there is chaos.
SIGMUND
(Pressing further)
Order, at what cost? Tell me, Thomas, what would Jesus—the Jew, the man whose teachings form the foundation of your Jefferson Bible—what would he have thought of American slavery? Would he have seen it as a system of order, or as a profound moral failure?
THOMAS
(Faltering, his voice lower)
Jesus… His teachings spoke of compassion and justice. He would not have approved.
SIGMUND
(Softly but unrelenting)
Jesus, born into a Jewish tradition shaped by the experience of slavery, knew the moral failure of treating any human being as property. The Jews’ liberation from Egypt wasn’t just an escape—it was a rejection of the master’s rule, a demand for freedom and dignity. And isn’t that, Thomas, what democracy itself represents? The toppling of the master, the King—whether in America’s Revolution or in France’s? Yet, while you helped overthrow one master, you built a system that enslaved others. How can such contradictions stand, even under the ideals of liberty and equality?
(He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing, his tone softening slightly.)
It is the nature of human ambition, Thomas. Ideals may inspire revolutions, but they also reveal the gaps between what we claim to believe and what we allow to persist. Those gaps grow, shaping the horrors that follow.
THOMAS
(Looking down, his tone quiet but resolute)
Slavery was no ideal, Professor—it was a necessity of the time. The republic’s stability, its economy, all rested on it. I despised it in principle, but to abolish it outright would have risked chaos. Progress must come slowly, or it destroys itself.
SIGMUND
(Pausing, studying Thomas closely)
Slow progress, you say? Yet in the centuries that followed, the roots of slavery did not wither—they deepened, shaping the very soul of your nation. Its legacy remains embedded in its foundations.
(He steps closer, his tone intensifying.)
Racism—the disease born of slavery—still infects your America. Despite progress, the structures you helped build ensure that Black Americans remain marginalized, disproportionately incarcerated, and deprived of the equality promised in the founding documents. The same documents you so carefully crafted.
(He pauses, letting his words settle before shifting focus.)
And racism is not the only failure of those ideals. Another imbalance persists, equally corrosive, equally as old. It denies equality to half the population: sexism. In over two centuries, your nation has yet to elect a woman as president. Even when the opportunity arose, misogyny, cloaked in fear and distrust, poisoned the chance for progress.
THOMAS
(Cutting in, almost instinctively)
A woman president? I hope not! Why not a black female president?
SIGMUND
(Pausing, looking directly at Thomas)
Yes, why not, indeed. Your reaction, though unsurprising, is part of the problem. This deep-rooted sexism denies half the population their full humanity, silencing voices and limiting opportunities. It perpetuates the imbalance you once justified as ‘natural.’ Much as you felt that the enslavement of Africans was 'natural.'
THOMAS
(Defensive, shaking his head)
I justified nothing of the sort! The world I knew—the society I shaped—it was proper and orderly in that world. I sought liberty and reason, not chaos.
SIGMUND
(Pausing, his gaze piercing)
Order, Thomas? Your society was orderly only on the surface. Beneath it, the contradictions of liberty built on slavery, of equality upheld by exclusion, festered. These contradictions do not vanish—they grow, waiting to erupt. And they did.
Lights fade. End of Scene.
Scene 3: Escape from Freedom and the Burdens of Reason
(The stage is dimly lit, with long shadows stretching across the floor. SIGMUND stands near the fainting couch, his posture calm but his gaze intense. THOMAS sits at a simple wooden table, his expression a mix of defiance and unease. A faint sound of distant cannon fire lingers, growing softer and softer as the scene begins. It is dark outside. Dore's painting remains in 2, and the side windows show a dark outside.)
SIGMUND
Do you remember meeting Andrew Jackson at Monticello, Thomas?
THOMAS
(Leaning back, tired, his expression souring.)
I do. He was brash and unrefined—a man of the frontier, without the decorum or intellect required for office. I feared his ascent might mark the descent of our republic into populist chaos.
SIGMUND
(Stepping forward, his tone steady yet probing.)
And yet, he became president. In him, I see troubling parallels to another leader—your nation’s most recent. Both men shared a disdain for institutional checks on their power, a talent for stoking divisions, and an unyielding belief in their own righteousness.
THOMAS
(Defensively, sitting up straighter.)
Jackson sought to empower the common man, did he not? That is hardly akin to corruption.
SIGMUND
(Looking directly at Thomas, his gaze unflinching.)
Much like you, he empowered white men at the expense of all others. His Indian Removal Act alone displaced tens of thousands of Native Americans, leading to the Trail of Tears—a genocidal march cloaked in legality. His vision of democracy was one of exclusion, just as yours, for all its brilliance, carried exclusions of its own.
THOMAS
(Recoiling slightly, his tone defensive.)
I sought assimilation for the Native peoples—to bring them into our society through education and agriculture.
SIGMUND
(Pausing, his expression turning grave.)
Assimilation, yes, but only on your terms. The Louisiana Purchase, which you so proudly negotiated, paved the way for their dispossession. It was the cornerstone of westward expansion, and you encouraged settlers to claim land that had been home to Native peoples for generations. You opened the door to white supremacy on a grand scale, Thomas.
THOMAS
(Looking down, his voice softening.)
It was an act of necessity. The republic needed room to grow.
SIGMUND
And at what cost? The dispossession of Native Americans, along with the continuation and acceleration of their genocide, stands as one of the two "original sins" of your nation. You know what the other is. You spoke of liberty while enabling destruction—a contradiction that echoes your stance on slavery. You professed hatred for the institution yet profited from it all the same.
THOMAS
(Speaking softly, almost to himself, with a touch of defiance.)
Slavery… a necessity of the time, though a tragic one. It was not for me alone to dismantle.
SIGMUND
(Leaning closer, his tone sharpening.)
Necessity, you say? Then allow me to introduce you to a man born during your time—a man who faced similar contradictions yet dared to act: Abraham Lincoln.
THOMAS
(Frowning, confused.)
Lincoln? The name is unfamiliar. What claim does he have to challenge my choices?
SIGMUND
(Pausing, speaking deliberately)
Lincoln was born in 1809—the very year you left the presidency. While you returned to Monticello to reflect on your accomplishments, he was born into the harsh realities of frontier life in Kentucky. His family, poor farmers, lived far from the refinement of Virginia’s plantations. Yet through sheer determination, Lincoln rose to lead the very nation you helped to found, becoming its sixteenth president.
THOMAS
(Sitting up straighter, his tone measured but tinged with pride)
Then his rise is proof of the merit of my American project. That a man born into such humble circumstances could ascend to the highest office affirms the principles I envisioned—liberty, equality, and the chance for all to thrive through their own effort.
SIGMUND
(Watching Thomas intently, his tone steady)
Yes. (Pause) And yet, Thomas, Lincoln’s greatest trial was born of the contradictions within your project. He faced a fractured nation, torn apart by the institution of slavery—an institution you despised in principle yet perpetuated in practice. The Civil War was the cost of reconciling your ideals with the reality of their flaws.
THOMAS
(Pausing, his expression clouded but resolute)
The Union endured, and the principles I laid down guided its preservation. Even if imperfect, the foundation held firm enough for men like Lincoln to build upon it.
SIGMUND
(With gravity.)
He faced the reckoning you always feared—the division of the republic over slavery. By Lincoln’s time, the institution had torn the nation in two, plunging it into a brutal civil war. His presidency was defined by that conflict, as he fought not only to preserve the Union but to confront slavery itself.
THOMAS
(Sharply.)
And what actions did he take? Words and war alone cannot elevate a man. What lasting principles did he put forth to shape the nation’s course?
SIGMUND
(Firmly.)
He issued the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863, declaring the freedom of enslaved people in the Confederate states. It was not merely a wartime measure—it was a moral declaration, redefining the nation’s purpose.
SIGMUND
(Deliberately, his tone probing)
Lincoln, like you, was a man of his time, Thomas. While he detested slavery, he struggled with the question of equality. He believed in freedom, yes, but whether freed people could live as full equals in American society—that was a question he wrestled with throughout his life. His words and actions reveal a man grappling with principle and pragmatism, much as you did.
THOMAS
(Skeptical, his tone hardening.)
So, he shared my doubts. He, too, struggled with the question of equality.
SIGMUND
(Nodding, his tone steady but firm.)
Indeed. Lincoln entered office with deep reservations about the coexistence of white and Black Americans. He even considered colonization as a solution. But as the war progressed, he came to see emancipation not just as a moral imperative, but as a necessity to align the nation with its founding ideals—your ideals, Thomas.
THOMAS
(Leaning forward, frowning.)
So, this man you admire so much shared my belief that Africans and white Americans might never coexist as equals? And yet, you say he saw emancipation as necessary for this alignment ... with what?
SIGMUND
(Looking directly at him, his voice intensifying.)
“The proposition that all men are created equal.” Those are your words, Thomas, written into the Declaration of Independence. Words that Lincoln invoked in his most famous speech, delivered in the midst of the war: “Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”
THOMAS
(Shifting uneasily.)
He spoke of equality yet did not believe in it fully? And he said this while the nation was tearing itself apart in war?
SIGMUND
(Nodding.)
Yes, at Gettysburg, where thousands of soldiers lay dead after one of the war’s bloodiest battles. Lincoln reminded the nation that the war was not just about preserving the Union—it was about fulfilling the promise of equality that you declared, yet left unrealized. He understood that emancipation was more than a moral act; it was also a strategic one. By freeing the enslaved, he weakened the Confederacy’s economy and strengthened the Union’s moral cause.
THOMAS
(Defensively.)
A strategic necessity, then? Not purely an act of virtue?
SIGMUND
(Firmly.)
It was both. Lincoln recognized that the ideals you proclaimed could no longer coexist with the institution of slavery. Emancipation not only rallied the Union to a higher cause, but it also redefined the war itself—not as a struggle for territory, but as a fight for the nation’s very soul.
THOMAS
(Speaking more softly, yet still guarded.)
And his words—did they stir the people to believe in this cause?
SIGMUND
(With quiet intensity.)
They did. Lincoln called upon the living to dedicate themselves to the unfinished work of those who had fallen. He said: “That this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
(Pause)
These were your ideals, Thomas, reframed in the context of a war that tested their very survival.
THOMAS
(Lowering his gaze, his voice uncertain.)
And yet, those ideals were born into a world that was not ready to embrace them fully.
SIGMUND
(Sharply.) Perhaps. But Lincoln believed that the readiness of the world was not an excuse for inaction. He confronted the contradictions embedded in your vision and sought to resolve them—through bloodshed, yes, but also through a renewed commitment to the principles you claimed to cherish.
THOMAS
(Quietly, almost to himself.)
He used my words to save the Union... and to end slavery.
SIGMUND
(With measured gravity.)
Yes, Thomas. He used your words, but he gave them meaning that you hesitated to act upon. The Union survived because he embraced the burden of freedom, rather than fleeing from it.
THOMAS
(Looking up sharply.)
Lincoln rose above his limitations.
SIGMUND
(With conviction.)
He did. He rose above his own prejudices and the expectations of his time. Unlike you, he chose to confront the nation’s original sin head-on, even at the cost of civil war.
THOMAS
(Lowering his gaze, his voice heavy.)
Perhaps he was a greater man than I.
SIGMUND
(Standing straighter, his tone turning reflective.)
Lincoln was not without flaws, but he demonstrated that greatness lies in transcending them.
(Pause)
And then there was Franklin Delano Roosevelt—a man born to privilege, yet he chose to champion the poor. He led your nation through its darkest days, from the Great Depression to the brink of victory in World War II.
THOMAS
But he did not live to see its end?
SIGMUND
No, he did not. It was his successor, Truman, who oversaw the war’s conclusion. Truman made the decision to unleash a new kind of weapon—nuclear bombs--on America's other great authoritarian and murderous enemy of World War II, the Japanese, on their cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. These bombs were unlike anything the world had ever known, capable of reducing entire cities to ash in moments and killing tens of thousands instantly. The survivors faced lingering horrors: radiation that poisoned their bodies and the land for years to come.
(He pauses, his tone heavy.)
The bombings ended the war swiftly, but they also altered the trajectory of human history. For the first time, humanity possessed the power to annihilate itself. Nations rushed to develop and stockpile these weapons, plunging the world into an era of fear and mistrust—the Cold War. The shadow of those bombs has loomed over every generation since, a stark reminder of both human ingenuity and the capacity for destruction.
THOMAS
(Leaning back, his expression grave)
A power to end war, and yet a power to end humanity itself. What does it mean for liberty when the world lives under such a hellish shadow? Why did the Americans not drop these bombs on Germany too?
SIGMUND
(A grim tone, his expression unyielding)
A grim question, Thomas, and one that exposes the deep contradictions of your nation’s ideals. The Americans did not drop the atomic bombs on Germany, in part, because by the time the weapon was ready, Germany had already surrendered. But there is more to the story—a darker reason that cannot be ignored.
THOMAS
(Frowning)
And what is that reason?
SIGMUND
(Pausing, his voice heavy with meaning)
Germany was a European nation, its people seen—however begrudgingly—as part of the Western world. Japan, on the other hand, was perceived as foreign, “other,” and less civilized—a perception steeped in deep-seated racism.
(He leans forward slightly, his tone sharpening.)
Throughout the war, propaganda dehumanized the Japanese, portraying them as subhuman and unworthy of mercy. This made the decision to unleash such devastation on their cities more palatable to American leaders and the public.
A cruel irony, Thomas: a nation that proclaimed liberty and equality as its foundation, yet carried out its policies through a lens of racial hierarchy. The bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki were as much a product of fear and expedience as they were of prejudice. Liberty, under such a shadow, often bends to the weight of its own hypocrisy.
THOMAS
(Skeptical)
Yes: proclaimations of liberty and racist hypocrisy. I understand the connection you are making. (Paus) And what of this "cold war" you speak of?
SIGMUND
(Leaning forward, his voice deliberate)
After the war, a different kind of struggle emerged—a "cold war," not fought directly on battlefields but through influence, power, and the ever-present threat of annihilation. Yet this so-called Cold War often ignited hot conflicts in distant lands, like the one America fought in Southeast Asia, in a region you might have known as Indochina—a place we now call Vietnam.
THOMAS
(Thoughtfully)
Indochina… a land far from here. The French had influence there, didn’t they?
SIGMUND
(Nodding)
Yes, even more so after your death. Vietnam had endured decades of exploitation under French colonial rule, which only intensified in the years following World War II. The French plundered the country’s natural resources, particularly its vast reserves of rubber, draining its wealth to fuel their empire. Meanwhile, the people of Vietnam were treated as little more than tools of production—forced into backbreaking labor, stripped of autonomy, and left in conditions that bordered on slavery.
THOMAS
Slavery ... again.
SIGMUND
After the war, a revolutionary named Ho Chi Minh sought to free his country from centuries of colonial domination—first under China, then France, and most brutally under Japanese occupation during the war. After World War II, the Western powers aimed to restore Vietnam to French control, but Ho resisted. Inspired by your Declaration of Independence, Thomas, he quoted your words, “All men are created equal,” in a direct appeal to President Truman, hoping America would support Vietnam’s struggle for liberty. Ho’s pleas were not new—he had been calling on Western powers to recognize his people’s right to self-determination since the end of World War I.
THOMAS
(Leaning forward)
And how did Truman respond?
SIGMUND
(His tone hardening)
Truman ignored him. Instead of standing for the ideals of self-determination you championed, America sided with France, prioritizing power and alliances over principle. Just as the bombs on Japan reflected racial prejudice, so too did this betrayal echo the racial hierarchy underpinning colonialism.
(He pauses, his tone heavy.)
The Cold War, with its rivalry between America and the Soviet Union, forced nations like Vietnam to become pawns in a larger game of domination. Liberty was often sacrificed in the name of expedience.
THOMAS
(Shaking his head slowly)
So my words, invoked as a plea for freedom—another nation’s call for independence from colonial rule—were ignored.
SIGMUND
(Nodding, his gaze steady)
Yes. The words you wrote, meant to inspire liberty, were invoked by the oppressed yet dismissed by the powerful. What began as a fight for independence turned into decades of suffering and war, driven by the same forces of racism and hypocrisy that shaped the decisions in Japan. The allure of denying equality to those deemed "other" has always been tied to exploitation—cheap or free labor extracted through oppression, justified by a false sense of superiority. Liberty, Thomas, remains fragile when its guardians fail to live by it, and when greed and prejudice take precedence over principle.
THOMAS
(Frowning, deeply unsettled)
Why would America side with a colonial power against a people striving for liberty? How many lives were lost in this war?
SIGMUND
(With quiet intensity)
Almost four million total and 58,000 Americans. It wasn’t fear of "communism" alone but a desire to restore Western domination. Ho Chi Minh was no pawn of China or Russia. Ho wanted to avoid being under China’s thumb again just as much as he wanted to escape French control—or America’s. He was a leader who sought freedom and democracy for his people. But your America, much like Jackson’s, wielded violence in the service of racial domination, cloaking it in the rhetoric of freedom.
THOMAS
(Shaking his head slowly, his voice faltering)
Almost four million lives lost… in the name of liberty? Insanity!
SIGMUND
(Softly, but with gravity)
In the name of fear. Your nation, Thomas, has often failed to live up to its ideals, choosing instead to assert its dominance, just as you and Jackson did. This is your legacy, entwined with triumphs and tragedies alike.
SIGMUND
(With measured gravity)
Do you see the pattern, Thomas? The thread that connects Jackson to your legacy and extends to the man soon to assume the presidency of your republic? He, too, wields power with a fervor that echoes Jackson’s authoritarianism—unapologetic, unrestrained, racist, and rooted in a deep contempt for equality.
THOMAS
(Looking up sharply, his tone defensive)
I never aspired to authoritarian rule! My vision was for a republic—a nation governed by reason and consent, not by tyranny.
SIGMUND
(Sternly)
Yet the seeds of tyranny often sprout in the soil of contradiction. Your republic was built on ideals of liberty, but it excluded vast swathes of its people—Native Americans, enslaved Africans, women. It was never truly democratic, Thomas, and it left space for leaders like Jackson to exploit its flaws, appealing to the basest instincts of the populace.
THOMAS
(Leaning forward, his expression darkening)
And you claim the new president embodies these same instincts?
SIGMUND
(Unflinching)
He is their culmination. A man who feeds on division and hatred, who mocks the weak and celebrates cruelty. His rise was fueled by the same forces that once drove your nation into conflict—racism, authoritarianism, and the inability to reconcile liberty with equality.
THOMAS
(Incredulous)
Surely the people would not tolerate such a man as their leader. Have they abandoned the principles of self-government? Have they abandoned their reason?
SIGMUND
(solemnly, his voice heavy)
Yes. They prefer lies to the truth, fantasy to reality, stupidity to intelligence. It is easier for them, Thomas, to close their eyes than to face the harsh glare of truth. They cling to their illusions as though letting go would mean losing themselves. They build walls of ignorance and call them safety. They have escaped from freedom, Thomas.
THOMAS
(confused, leaning forward)
Escaped from freedom? What does that mean? How can someone escape from freedom? Isn’t freedom what everyone wants?
SIGMUND
(his tone deepens, almost mournful)
Freedom, as you understand it, Thomas, is indeed an ideal—one worth striving for. But it is also a double-edged sword. In The Future of an Illusion, I argued that humanity often sacrifices freedom and reason in favor of comforting illusions, particularly religious ones. The harsh realities of life—suffering, mortality, uncertainty—drive people to seek protection, to yearn for authority figures who promise reassurance and meaning. Religion, I wrote, serves this function well, cloaking humanity’s fears in divine laws and a cosmic order.
It is, at its core, a flight from reality—and, more critically, a flight from the freedom that can only be sustained through a connection to reality. To escape from reason is to escape from freedom itself.
(He pauses, letting the words settle, his gaze steady on Thomas.)
Erich Fromm, a thinker of my time and one who followed in my footsteps, expanded upon this. He observed that freedom, while liberating, also terrifies. True freedom demands responsibility, self-awareness, and the courage to face uncertainty. For many, this burden is unbearable. They flee from freedom into the arms of authoritarianism, surrendering their autonomy to a strongman who offers the illusion of order and simplicity. It is the same dynamic I described in religion, transposed onto the political stage.
(He pauses again, his voice growing heavier.)
But, Thomas, escaping freedom is also an escape from reason—the Enlightenment principles you cherished. It is a rejection of self-governance, rational thought, and equality. These escapes—into authoritarianism, religion, or blind prejudice—reinforce one another, creating a cycle where fear eclipses reason and hatred supplants justice.
(Leaning forward, his voice somber, resonant.)
This cycle has fueled some of history’s darkest atrocities: the bloodshed of the Civil War, the genocide of Native Americans, the horrors of the World Wars, and the racist devastation of Vietnam. Fear of freedom—fear of its challenges and uncertainties—drives people into the arms of demagogues, into the comfort of divine authority, and into ideologies that promise escape from life’s complexities. And so, reason is abandoned. Freedom is lost. Humanity suffers.
THOMAS
(slowly, thoughtfully)
And you believe this… this authoritarian leader, this strongman you describe, preys on those very fears?
SIGMUND
(nodding firmly)
He does. His followers do not see liberty as a shared endeavor. They crave dominance—over women, over people of color, over immigrants. They revere his authoritarianism because it absolves them of responsibility. They find solace in his racism because it reaffirms their belief in their own superiority. Their escape from freedom is their escape from reason, Thomas. They reject the hard work of equality, just as your republic once did.
THOMAS
(turning away, troubled)
But what of Vietnam? What role does that tragedy play in this descent?
SIGMUND
(gravely)
Vietnam is a wound festering in the American psyche. It was a war your nation could not win—a war it should never have fought. Those who support this new president often cling to the myth that victory was stolen from them by dissent at home. They despise the protestors who exposed the war for what it was: not a defense of liberty, but a prolonged war crime.
THOMAS
(looking back at SIGMUND, his voice quiet)
A war crime?
SIGMUND
(with unyielding intensity)
Yes, Thomas. A war crime is the deliberate violation of the rules of war—acts of barbarity committed against civilians or enemy combatants that defy the principles of humanity. In this case, entire villages were destroyed, their inhabitants slaughtered without regard for age or innocence.
(He pauses, his expression darkening.)
And then there was napalm—a substance devised for warfare, a thick, gelatinous incendiary fuel that clings to whatever it touches and burns with a ferocity that is nearly impossible to extinguish. It was dropped from the skies in bombs, incinerating homes, forests, and the people caught beneath its reach. Civilians—men, women, and children—were burned alive.
(He leans forward, his voice growing sharper.)
More bombs were dropped on Southeast Asia during this war than on Germany throughout the entirety of the Second World War—a staggering fact that lays bare a disturbing reality. Just as America unleashed the devastating force of nuclear bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, it proved far more willing to obliterate East Asian populations than European ones. This disproportionate brutality was rooted in a deep-seated racism, a perception of East Asians as expendable, their lives somehow worth less than those of Europeans.
In Vietnam, this same mindset justified relentless bombing campaigns, the use of napalm, and the destruction of entire villages. Yet even this horrific display of firepower was not enough for those who support this new president. They dehumanize the Vietnamese with slurs like "gooks," much as African slaves and Native Americans were stripped of their humanity in your time. They cannot bear the idea that their mighty nation was humbled by a people they deemed inferior—people who, in their eyes, had no right to resist domination, let alone prevail against it.
THOMAS
(shaking his head slowly, his voice heavy)
Such hatred, such blindness. Is this the legacy of my republic?
SIGMUND
(leaning in, his voice sharp yet mournful)
It is the legacy of a nation that has never reckoned with its sins. Jackson’s authoritarianism lives on in this new grifter president, who thrives on racism and the suppression of dissent. His followers love him not despite these traits, but because of them. They see in him a reflection of their own fear and hatred, their longing for a past that never truly existed—a past where white men ruled unchallenged.
THOMAS
(lowering his head, his voice trembling)
And I am to blame for this?
SIGMUND
(firmly)
You are not solely to blame, but you laid the foundation. Your vision of liberty was narrow, exclusionary. It left cracks that men like Jackson—and now this new president—have widened. You were unprepared for the demands of true equality, and your nation has struggled ever since.
THOMAS
(speaking softly, almost to himself)
I see now… freedom without equality is no freedom at all.
Lights fade. End of Scene. End of Act I.
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