Nature herself has determined the sphere of activity in which 
the animal should move, and it peacefully moves within that 
sphere, without attempting to go beyond it, without even an 
inkling of any other. To man, too, the Deity gave a general aim, 
that of ennobling mankind and himself, but he left it to man to 
seek the means by which this aim can be achieved; he left it to him 
to choose the position in society most suited to him, from which he 
can best uplift himself and society. 

This choice is a great privilege of man over the rest of creation, 
but at the same time it is an act which can destroy his whole life, 
frustrate all his plans, and make him unhappy. Serious considera- 
tion of this choice, therefore, is certainly the first duty of a young 
man who is beginning his career and does not want to leave his 
most important affairs to chance. 

Everyone has an aim in view, which to him at least seems great, 
and actually is so if the deepest conviction, the innermost voice of 
the heart declares it so, for the Deity never leaves mortal man 
wholly without a guide; he speaks softly but with certainty. 

But this voice can easily be drowned, and what we took for 
inspiration can be the product of the moment, which another 
moment can perhaps also destroy. Our imagination, perhaps, is set 
on fire, our emotions excited, phantoms flit before our eyes, and 
we plunge headlong into what impetuous instinct suggests, which 
we imagine the Deity himself has pointed out to us. But what we 
ardently embrace soon repels us and we see our whole existence in 
ruins. 

We must therefore seriously examine whether we have really 
been inspired in our choice of a profession, whether an inner 

voice approves it, or whether this inspiration is a delusion, and 
what we took to be a call from the Deity was self-deception. But 
how can we recognise this except by tracing the source of the 
inspiration itself? 

What is great glitters, its glitter arouses ambition, and ambition 
can easily have produced the inspiration, or what we took for 
inspiration; but reason can no longer restrain the man who 
is tempted by the demon of ambition, and he plunges head- 
long into what impetuous instinct suggests: he no longer chooses 
his position in life, instead it is determined by chance and 
illusion. 

Nor are we called upon to adopt the position which offers us 
the most brilliant opportunities; that is not the one which, in the 
long series of years in which we may perhaps hold it, will never tire 
us, never dampen our zeal, never let our enthusiasm grow cold, 
but one in which we shall soon see our wishes unfulfilled, our 
ideas unsatisfied, and we shall inveigh against the Deity and curse 
mankind. 

But it is not only ambition which can arouse sudden enthusiasm 
for a particular profession; we may perhaps have embellished it in 
our imagination, and embellished it so that it appears the highest 
that life can offer. We have not analysed it, not considered the 
whole burden, the great responsibility it imposes on us; we have 
seen it only from a distance, and distance is deceptive. 

Our own reason cannot be counsellor here; for it is supported 
neither by experience nor by profound observation, being de- 
ceived by emotion and blinded by fantasy. To whom then should 
we turn our eyes? Who should support us where our reason 
forsakes us? 

Our parents, who have already travelled life’s road and experi- 
enced the severity of fate—our heart tells us. 

And if then our enthusiasm still persists, if we still continue to 
love a profession and believe ourselves called to it after we have 
examined it in cold blood, after we have perceived its burdens and 
become acquainted with its difficulties, then we ought to adopt it, 
then neither does our enthusiasm deceive us nor does overhasti- 
ness carry us away. 

But we cannot always attain the position to which we believe we 
are called; our relations in society have to some extent already 
begun to be established before we are in a position to determine 

them. 
Our physical constitution itself is often a threatening obstacle, 

and let no one scoff at its rights. 

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Moy wane EGR 

Dime Yrrny gre BY Kate frlbawn Fo~ OT LI mag, 
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Page from the gymnasium examination composition “Reflections of 
a Young Man on the Choice of a Profession” 

Reflections of a Young Man on the Choice of a Profession 7, 

It is true that we can rise above it; but then our downfall is all 
the more rapid, for then we are venturing to build on crumbling 
ruins, then our whole life is an unhappy struggle between the 
mental and the bodily principle. But he who is unable to reconcile 
the warring elements within himself, how can he resist life’s 
tempestuous stress, how can he act calmly? And it is from calm 
alone that great and fine deeds can arise; it is the only soil in 
which ripe fruits successfully develop. 

Although we cannot work for long and seldom happily with a 
physical constitution which is not suited to our profession, the 
thought nevertheless continually arises of sacrificing our well-being 
to duty, of acting vigorously although we are weak. But if we have 
chosen a profession for which we do not possess the talent, we can 
never exercise it worthily, we shall soon realise with shame our 
own incapacity and tell ourselves that we are useless created 
beings, members of society who are incapable of fulfilling their 
vocation. Then the most natural consequence is self-contempt, and 
what feeling is more painful and less capable of being made up 
for by all that the outside world has to offer? Self-contempt is a 
serpent that ever gnaws at one’s breast, sucking the life-blood 
from one’s heart and mixing it with the poison of misanthropy 
and despair. 

An illusion about our talents for a profession which we have 
closely examined is a fault which takes its revenge on us ourselves, 
and even if it does not meet with the censure of the outside world 
it gives rise to more terrible pain in our hearts than such censure 
could inflict. 

If we have considered all this, and if the conditions of our life 
permit us to choose any profession we like, we may adopt the one 
that assures us the greatest worth, one which is based on ideas of 
whose truth we are thoroughly convinced, which offers us the 
widest scope to work for mankind, and for ourselves to approach 
closer to the general aim for which every profession is but a 
means — perfection. 

Worth is that which most of ‘all uplifts a man, which imparts a 
higher nobility to his actions and all his endeavours, which makes 
him invulnerable, admired by the crowd and raised above it. 

But worth can be assured only by a profession in which we are 
not servile tools, but in which we act independently in our own 
sphere. It can be assured only by a profession that does not 
demand reprehensible acts, even if reprehensible only in out- 
ward appearance, a profession which the best can follow with 
noble pride. A profession which assures this in the greatest de- 

gree is not always the highest, but is always the most to be pre- 
ferred. 3 

But just as a profession which gives us no assurance of worth 
degrades us, we shall as surely succumb under the burdens of one 
which is based on ideas that we later recognise to be false. 

There we have no recourse but to self-deception, and what a 
desperate salvation is that which is obtained by self-betrayal! 

Those professions which are not so much involved in life itself 
as concerned with abstract truths are the most dangerous for the 
young man whose principles are not yet firm and whose convic- 
tions are not yet strong and unshakeable. At the same time these 
professions may seem to be the most exalted if they have taken 
deep root in our hearts and if we are capable of sacrificing our 
lives and all endeavours for the ideas which prevail in them. 

They can bestow happiness on the man who has a vocation for 
them, but they destroy him who adopts them rashly, without 
reflection, yielding to the impulse of the moment. 

On the other hand, the high regard we have for the ideas 
on which our profession is based gives us a higher standing in 
society, enhances our own worth, and makes our actions un- 
challengeable. 

One who chooses a profession he values highly will shudder at 
the idea of being unworthy of it; he will act nobly if only because 
his position in society is a noble one. 

But the chief guide which must direct us in the choice of a 
profession is the welfare of mankind and our own perfection. It 
should not be thought that these two interests could be in conflict, 
that one would have to destroy the other; on the contrary, man’s 
nature is so constituted that he can attain his own perfection 
only by working for the perfection, for the good, of his fellow 
men. 

If he works only for himself, he may perhaps become a famous 
man of learning, a great sage, an excellent poet, but he can never 
be a perfect, truly great man. 

History calls those men the greatest who have ennobled them- 
selves by working for the common good; experience acclaims as 
happiest the man who has made the greatest number of people 
happy; religion itself teaches us that the ideal being whom all 
strive to copy sacrificed himself for the sake of mankind, and who , 
would dare to set at nought such judgments? 

If we have chosen the position in life in which we can most of 
all work for mankind, no burdens can bow us down, because they 
are sacrifices for the benefit of all; then we shall experience no 


petty, limited, selfish joy, but our happiness will belong to millions, 
our deeds will live on quietly but perpetually at work, and over 
our ashes will be shed the hot tears of noble people.