Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to divine a purpose.
From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know that man is here for the sake of other men -- above all for those upon whose smile and
well-being1 our own happiness depends, and also for the
countless2 unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day I realize how much my own outer and inner life is built upon the
labors3 of my fellow men, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received. My peace of mind is often troubled by the depressing sense that I have borrowed too heavily from the work of other men.
To ponder interminably over the reason for one's own existence or the meaning of life in general seems to me, from an objective point of view, to be sheer
folly4. And yet everyone holds certain ideals by which he guides his
aspiration5 and his
judgment6. The ideals which have always shone before me and filled me with the joy of living are goodness, beauty, and truth. To make a goal of comfort and happiness has never appealed to me; a system of
ethics7 built on this basis would be sufficient only for a
herd8 of cattle.
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