Son, a Man is

Son, a man is a combination of a number of things. By that I mean, a man is a bundle of many characteristics. A man is not simple.

But a hero, the kind in books, movies, paintings, allegories—what have you—may have only one particular defining characteristic. And when viewed in hindsight, it may seem like the greatest of our forefathers were the embodiment of a particular, singular virtue; but that is not so: they were men. The telling of history is like the crafting of an imperfect image, a representation,  a caricature designed for a purpose, interwoven with ideology and agenda. Even the greatest historical figures were men who were not different from us in any fundamental way—men whose essence was, in reality, a combination of a number of things.

Son, a man—or a woman—or any sufficiently-intelligent self-conscious entity—is the combination of a number of things. First, a man is made from dust, or perhaps atoms—something mundane, vulgar, and lifeless.

Then a man is made of form, which he inherits from his father and mother; this form is unique, and it has been filtered through countless ages, through great-forges-and-sieves: time, war, famine, pestilence, and predator.

Then a man is thrown into a particular world. A man is not born onto a blank canvas; man is born into this world as if he were suddenly waking up on a stage, midway through a play, and sometimes he knows his lines from the start, but other times he must improvise. The stage is set more-or-less arbitrarily with props and characters, and he is in costume, and life expects him to play a role. Occasionally, a man will find himself aware of the arbitrariness of his environment, but he will find no exit from the stage, for the show must go on...the show will go on!

Son, a man is a complex creature. No single facet of a man will betray his totality. (Though a summary of a man’s character may be revealed in a passing glance, a slip of the tongue, his impulses, or the subtleties of his aesthetic.)

A man cannot be contained within a box; there is no single, definite category that can imprison a man. Now, son, I don’t mean that in a way that would imply that man is so wily or mercurial that he could forever evade all fate; surely, there could exist a god beyond time and matter, fully capable of overcoming man’s freedom by way of knowing man in his totality and imprisoning him, stealing away his freedom to think....Son, what I mean is, if there are gods that care to notice us, we are their play things. But what is important to know, son, is that a man is beyond his own grasp. He cannot know himself entirely. His own totality is greater than his capacity for knowing. That is, a man can neither fully know nor fully control his own nature.

But a man can chose his attitude and guide his life with intention. And a man of greater virtue has a greater influence over his action.

Son, you are multitudes; you are no-thing. No single thing will necessarily define what you are. You are not a thing; you are not a mere entity or essence; you are not a soul damned to hell nor destined to heaven; you are not some fixed nature. What you are is free and capable of responsibility. And what that means is a lesson for another day.