In Europe at the start of the twentieth century most people accepted the authority of morality. They thought there was a moral law, which was self-evidently to be obeyed. Emanuel Kant had written of the two things which fill the mind with admiration and awe, the starry heavens above me and the moral law within me'. In Cambridge in 1895, a century after Kant, Lord Acton still had no doubts: Opinions alter, manners change, creeds rise and fall, but the moral law is written on the tablets of eternity.' At the start of the twentieth century, reflective Europeans were also able to believe in moral progress, and to see human viciousness and barbarism as in retreat. At the end of the century, it is hard to be confident either about the moral law or about moral progress.
There is, of course, no end to the magnificence and horror in the human drama. Across the continents, humanity rises to every challenge, sinks to any depth. We cherish each heartbeat and murder at will. We bless nature's miracles, yet trash the hood.
As our universal, intertwined fate becomes a more commanding subject in journals and debating chambers, in barber shops and coffee houses; as leaders from all walks of life increasingly commit to finding creative and realistic efforts to combat poverty, famine, injustice and disease; as the world indeed tilts towards the side of the angels, let us lean together in that heavenly direction. With all the heart and energy we can summon, let us honor this fragile, transcendent web of life gifted from the gods by engaging in the essential connection of good intent.
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