We of the European race stand on a narrow bridge. Ahead of us, a slender, precarious path leads upward, ever more steeply, into brilliant light. It is no wider than a footstep. The slightest slip and we will fall into the infinitely deep abyss that lies on either side. One misstep means death. And we cannot retreat backwards. The way is blocked; we can never retreat, for that is to attempt to live in the past. The ocean of Time rises relentlessly beneath us. To retreat, or stand still, also brings death. We mount unto ever more giddying heights, or we die.