The question, "What is man?" makes me think of this poem:
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If—
BY RUDYARD KIPLING
If you can keep your head when all about you
__Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
__But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
__Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
__And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
__If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
__And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
__Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
__And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
__And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
__And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
__To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
__Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
__Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
__If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
__With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
__And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
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