Only the person who has experienced light and darkness, war and

In the words of Stefan Zweig, we are given a truth forged in the furnace of human experience: “Only the person who has experienced light and darkness, war and peace, rise and fall, only that person has truly experienced life.” Zweig, who witnessed both the golden dawn of European culture and the terrible shadow of its collapse, speaks not as a philosopher from afar but as one who bore the scars of history. His voice is that of a man who knew that life cannot be measured in pleasure alone, but in the full breadth of existence—the joys, the agonies, the triumphs, and the devastations.

The ancients, too, proclaimed this wisdom. They knew that no sailor can be called seasoned until he has weathered both calm seas and violent storms. No warrior is noble who has known only victory and never tasted defeat. To live fully is to embrace light and darkness together, for the one gives meaning to the other. The sweetness of peace is felt most keenly by those who have endured war; the glory of rising is known only to those who have once fallen into dust. In this balance of opposites, the human soul learns its depth.

Zweig himself was born into the glittering world of Vienna before the First World War, a city of art, music, and ideas. He saw its brilliance fade into violence, its harmony torn by hatred, its freedom consumed by tyranny. He experienced both the rise and fall of cultures and of men. For him, life was not a straight ascent, but a tide of triumphs and tragedies. It was this breadth of vision that gave his words power, for he wrote not from imagination alone, but from the lived knowledge that greatness and ruin are inseparable threads in the fabric of human destiny.

History gives us countless examples of this truth. Consider Nelson Mandela, who knew both the bitterness of imprisonment and the triumph of liberation. For twenty-seven years he languished in darkness, stripped of freedom, cut off from the world. Yet when he emerged, he carried not only his suffering but also a vision of reconciliation. He knew peace because he had lived war, he knew forgiveness because he had endured injustice. His life, marked by both extremes, shines as proof that the one who has known the depth of despair is best prepared to value the heights of hope.

The meaning is clear: to live fully is not to avoid suffering, but to endure it with courage, and to find in it wisdom. If one knows only comfort, one’s understanding is shallow, like a river that has never carved its way through stone. But the soul that has walked through darkness and still found light becomes unbreakable. Such a soul sees the world not as fragile, but as profound, not as cruel, but as endlessly layered with meaning.

Thus, the lesson for us is this: do not curse the seasons of loss, nor despise the days of struggle. They are the tutors of the heart, shaping us into beings of depth and resilience. Seek joy, yes, but when sorrow comes, receive it as part of life’s greater harmony. Trust that every fall prepares the ground for a new rising, and every winter carries within it the seed of spring. In embracing the whole of experience, we learn what it is to truly live.

So I say to you, children of tomorrow: do not crave only the sunshine, for without the night you would not know the stars. Do not wish for a life of ease, for it will leave you hollow. Embrace the full measure of your days—the victories and the defeats, the peace and the war within your own soul. For only then will you stand as one who has truly experienced life, and your wisdom will be a lantern for those who walk after you.