What Is Man? and Other Essays

In Short

This collection presents a series of dialogues and reflections that challenge the foundations of human vanity. At its center is a philosophical argument, framed as a conversation between an older man and a younger disciple, asserting that man possesses no free will and is incapable of genuine self-sacrifice. Through these essays, the author explores themes of determinism, the nature of fame, and the absurdity of cultural icons. It has lasted because it refuses to offer the reader easy comfort, instead favoring a bracing, cold-eyed look at the mechanisms that dictate human thought and behavior.

The Story

The core of the book is a Socratic dialogue between an Old Man and a Young Man. The Old Man systematically dismantles the younger’s belief in human agency, comparing a person to a steam engine. Just as an engine is built of metal ores mined by forces of nature, a person is a product of their heredity and environment. The Old Man argues that what we call "conscience" is merely a desire to avoid the pain of self-disapproval, and what we call "charity" is simply a transaction designed to satisfy the internal Master—the person’s own craving for pleasure or peace.

The argument moves from the abstract to the specific. The Old Man uses anecdotes—such as the story of a missionary who ruins a dying boy's faith to satisfy a misguided sense of duty—to illustrate that we never act for the sake of others, but only to content our own spirits. Even the most virtuous deeds are performed because the individual finds them more satisfying than the alternatives. The Young Man, initially horrified by the implication that he is no better than a rat, eventually concedes that the human mind and the animal instinct are not different in kind, only in capacity.

Beyond this central debate, the collection explores the fragility of historical record and the nature of fame. The author pivots to a biting critique of the authorship of Shakespeare’s plays, contrasting the massive, well-documented life of Francis Bacon with the "blank" life of the Stratford man. He notes the irony that town drunkards in a small Missouri village left behind more verifiable facts than the world’s greatest playwright did in his own hometown. He also includes lighter, sharp-witted observations on the difficulty of learning to ride a bicycle, the humor found in the mangled definitions of school children, and a deeply personal, sorrowful account of the death of his own daughter, Jean. These reflections serve as a coda to his bleak philosophy: while the intellect may conclude that life is a mechanical process, the heart remains susceptible to the profound, aching reality of loss and the beauty of a falling snow. The collection ends not with a grand resolution, but with the author accepting the limitations of his own mind, choosing to cherish the memories that remain while acknowledging that the machine of human life continues to grind on, indifferent to our desires.

How It Unfolds

The mechanical man The Old Man initiates a dialogue by comparing human beings to steam engines, arguing that we are constructed by outside forces and lack personal merit. He challenges the Young Man to identify any act performed that was not driven by the need to satisfy the "Interior Master."

The illusion of virtue The conversation shifts to the nature of remorse and sacrifice. The Old Man insists that even acts of charity or religious conversion are merely attempts to avoid the pain of a dissatisfied spirit or to secure a spiritual profit.

The instinct of the rat The Young Man struggles with the notion that he is on the same level as an animal. The Old Man explains that instinct is simply "petrified thought"—habit that has become unconscious—and that man’s reason is merely a more complex version of the same mechanical process.

The bankruptcy of history The focus turns to the historical record, specifically regarding Shakespeare. The author highlights the startling lack of evidence for the Stratford man’s life, suggesting that our reverence for him is built upon a void of verifiable facts.

The finality of loss The book closes with a poignant, autobiographical record of the author’s grief after his daughter’s death. This section contrasts sharply with the earlier clinical arguments, showing the author finding solace in the beauty of a globe and the quiet rituals of mourning.

The People

The Old Man serves as the voice of a hard, deterministic philosophy. He is relentless, logical, and unsentimental, acting as a scalpel to dissect the illusions of human dignity. He seeks to strip away the "stolen clothes" of virtue to reveal the clockwork beneath.

The Young Man represents the common reader’s sensibilities. He begins as a representative of conventional morality, clinging to the ideas of conscience, free will, and personal merit. Through the process of the dialogue, his defenses are dismantled until he is forced to accept the Old Man’s worldview.

The author steps out from behind the persona of the Old Man to provide personal context. He is an observer of human folly, a man who delights in the irony of misspelled school reports and the physical absurdity of a bicycle, yet he is also a father profoundly marked by the death of his child. By the end, he is a man who acknowledges the futility of seeking further truth, preferring to "patch and paint" his own spirit rather than confront the emptiness of existence.

In Its Own Voice

"The human being is merely a machine, and nothing more."

The Old Man introduces his primary thesis, setting the stage for the debate on whether humans possess free will.

"He hasn’t any to strip—they are shams, stolen clothes."

The Old Man responds to the accusation that he is removing the dignity of mankind by asserting that such dignity never truly existed.

"The heart of the missionary was filled with remorse for what he had done, and he said: 'It was wrong—I see it now; but I was only trying to do him good.'"

The author illustrates how an individual’s attempt to satisfy their own definition of duty can lead to unintended cruelty.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an inquiry into the limits of human autonomy. It asks whether we are the authors of our own lives or merely the witnesses to a process determined by our temperament and environment. By linking morality to the pursuit of self-contentment, the author attacks the vanity of human ambition and religious certainty. It forces the reader to confront the possibility that what we value as "character" is simply the byproduct of a biological machine. It is a work of radical honesty, questioning how we can maintain a sense of purpose if we accept that our every action is dictated by a fickle and self-interested inner master.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy intellectual sparring and the dismantling of comfortable social myths will find this collection captivating. It is the work of a man who, late in life, decided to speak his mind without the filters of popular expectation. Reading it feels like sitting across from a sharp, cynical, yet deeply tired observer who has seen enough of the world to lose his faith in grand human gestures.

The book is not without its hurdles. The author’s skepticism can feel cold and, at times, relentlessly pessimistic. His foray into the Shakespeare-Bacon controversy, while intellectually curious, displays the period's obsession with speculative historical "detective work" that modern readers may find dated. Furthermore, his views on human nature are intentionally provocative and may strike the reader as overly reductive. However, the strength of the book lies in its prose, which is clear, precise, and entirely devoid of pretense. The transition from the clinical, Socratic dialogues to the raw, aching honesty of the final autobiographical reflections provides a humanizing contrast that lingers long after the final page is turned. It is a challenging, sometimes uncomfortable, but ultimately rewarding meditation for anyone willing to look beneath the surface of their own motives.