If We Take A Man As He

One Evening, When We Were Already Resting On The Floor Of Our Hut, Dead Tired, Soup Bowls In Hand, A Fellow Prisoner Rushed In And Asked Us To Run Out To The Assembly Grounds And See The Wonderful Sunset. Standing Outside We Saw Sinister Clouds Glowing In The West And The Whole Sky Alive With Clouds Of Ever-changing Shapes And Colors, From Steel Blue To Blood Red. The Desolate Grey Mud Huts Provided A Sharp Contrast, While The Puddles On The Muddy Ground Reflected The Glowing Sky. Then, After Minutes Of Moving Silence, One Prisoner Said To Another, "how Beautiful The World Could Be.

A Man's Concern, Even His Despair, Over The Worthwhileness Of Life Is An Existential Distress But By No Means A Mental Disease.

There Is Nothing In The World, I Venture To Say, That Would So Effectively Help One To Survive Even The Worst Conditions As The Knowledge That There Is A Meaning In One's Life.

Most Important, However, Is The Third Avenue To Meaning In Life: Even The Helpless Victim Of A Hopeless Situation, Facing A Fate He Cannot Change, May Rise Above Himself, May Grow Beyond Himself, And By So Doing Change Himself. He May Turn A Personal Tragedy Into A Triumph.

Man Can Only Find Meaning For His Existence In Something Outside Himself.