The sign of a civilised society is how we treat the most

Hear then the words of Matt Hancock: “The sign of a civilised society is how we treat the most vulnerable, and our social care system is not up to scratch.” These words carry the weight of an eternal truth, for the strength of any people is not measured by the riches of their merchants nor the might of their armies, but by the compassion they show to those who cannot defend themselves. A nation may boast of conquest, but if it casts aside its weak, its sick, its poor, then it is not civilised, but merely clothed in the illusion of greatness.

The ancients taught us that mercy is the highest mark of true power. When the Athenians debated their laws, the philosophers often reminded them that justice meant more than equality among citizens; it meant remembering the widow, the orphan, the disabled, the slave who toiled unseen. A city that turns its face from the vulnerable corrodes from within, while a city that embraces them grows strong in virtue and in spirit. For in protecting those who cannot stand, we purify the hearts of those who can.

One need only look to the reign of Ashoka the Great in India. After years of war, his heart was pierced by the suffering he had caused. He laid down his sword and built hospitals for the sick, homes for the aged, and shelters for the poor. His empire did not collapse from this act of mercy; rather, it flourished in wisdom and culture, remembered even now as a beacon of enlightened rule. His legacy endures not because of his victories in battle, but because he recognized that the sign of civilisation is not dominion, but compassion.

And in our own age, we see the lesson repeated. Where nations invest in their social care systems, where the elderly are not abandoned, where the homeless are not left in the cold, where the disabled are offered dignity, there blooms not weakness but strength. For such societies bind their people together in mutual trust. But where this duty is neglected, anger festers, despair spreads, and the bonds of community unravel. Truly, neglect of the vulnerable is the slow poison of nations.

Let us not deceive ourselves: caring for the weak is no easy burden. It requires sacrifice, resources, patience, and love. Yet what is civilisation if not the triumph of the human spirit over mere survival? To build roads, to write laws, to craft art—all these are noble. But to lift the broken, to heal the sick, to honor the aged—these are divine. For in serving the vulnerable, we see the image of humanity most clearly reflected.

The lesson is simple and enduring: judge your society not by its towers, its monuments, or its markets, but by the lives of its weakest members. Ask yourself—are the hungry fed, are the lonely comforted, are the old respected, are the sick healed? If not, then civilisation remains incomplete, no matter how advanced its machines or glittering its cities. For the true greatness of a people is found not in what it builds, but in whom it protects.

What, then, should we do? In our daily lives, let us take up this mantle. Support the causes that strengthen social care. Volunteer where help is needed. Advocate for those who have no voice. In the smallest gestures—offering food to the hungry, visiting the forgotten, showing kindness to the weary—you partake in the work of civilisation. And in the greater movements—policies, reforms, institutions—you shape the destiny of nations.

Thus remember, O listener: a civilised society is not born by chance, but forged in the fire of compassion. Let us not rest until the vulnerable are sheltered, the neglected are seen, and the broken are healed. For only then may we truly say that we are not merely advanced, but truly human.