How can one preach goodness and love to men without at the same

Hear, O child of time, the words of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin: “How can one preach goodness and love to men without at the same time offering them an interpretation of the World that justifies this goodness and this love?” This is not the speech of a mere dreamer, but of one who has gazed upon the vast tapestry of creation and felt the pulse of eternity within it. For goodness and love cannot live as rootless branches; they must spring from the soil of meaning, nourished by a vision of the World that explains and sustains them.

The ancient teachers often declared that men cannot live by bread alone, but must be fed by purpose. If we command them to practice goodness, to extend love even when it costs them dearly, yet give them no vision of why such things matter, then our words are hollow and soon forgotten. For the heart yearns for a story greater than itself, a story that ties sacrifice to eternity, and kindness to the order of the cosmos. Without such a foundation, goodness seems frail, love seems naïve, and men turn instead to power, to fear, and to survival.

Behold the fate of Rome, when its empire stretched from ocean to desert. Mighty was its law, glorious its armies, and yet, in the decay of its faith, cruelty and greed grew fat. The old gods no longer bound men together with meaning. Into this void stepped a new vision: the teaching of a crucified carpenter, who proclaimed that love was stronger than death and goodness a fire more enduring than stone. The empire crumbled, but the interpretation of the World offered by this new faith gave birth to civilizations yet unborn. Without the story, the teaching would have perished; but with the story, the teaching outlived emperors.

Teilhard himself, a priest and scientist, knew this struggle. He studied the dust of the earth, the bones of ancient beasts, and the stars above, and he asked: Can one hold both faith and science, both love and knowledge? His answer was to weave a vision where evolution itself moved toward union, where the cosmos had direction, where goodness was not accidental but written in the fabric of creation. He saw that if men are to live with courage, they must believe their love is not wasted, that their goodness is not swallowed by the void, but carried forward in the eternal unfolding of the World.

Thus the quote resounds as both challenge and call. To speak of goodness without explaining why the World calls for it is to ask men to fight without knowing the battle’s cause. To speak of love without showing how it aligns with the destiny of the universe is to place a flame in the wind without shelter. Only when goodness and love are bound to a greater meaning do they shine as unquenchable lights.

And what, then, shall you take from this, O listener? That you must not speak of virtue as if it were a shallow rule or fleeting custom. When you call others to mercy, to compassion, to love, first root your words in the soil of vision. Offer them a reason why the World demands these things, whether you see it in the order of the stars, in the teachings of the prophets, or in the testimony of your own heart. Build for others a bridge from meaning to action, that they may not stumble on the path.

Therefore, the lesson is this: live not only as a preacher of goodness but as an interpreter of the World. Let your philosophy, your faith, your science, or your art explain why love is true and why goodness is eternal. And in practice, do this—before you ask others to act with virtue, show them the greater story they belong to. Share with your children not only the command to be kind, but the vision of a World where kindness matters. Speak to your friends not only of generosity, but of a universe in which generosity is the very breath of life. Then, and only then, will your words endure beyond your years, and goodness and love will become pillars for generations to come.