Some men see things as they are, and say why. I dream of things

Hear the thunderous words of George Bernard Shaw, carved into the memory of dreamers and visionaries: “Some men see things as they are, and say why. I dream of things that never were, and say why not.” In this bold declaration lies the essence of human progress—the difference between the one who accepts the limits of the world and the one who dares to imagine its transformation. Shaw reveals the eternal divide between resignation and vision, between the cautious mind that bows to reality and the daring soul that challenges it.

To see the world “as it is” is necessary, but it is not enough. It is the eye of the observer, the voice of the critic, the one who names what already stands. Yet Shaw elevates the second path: the act of dreaming, the courage to imagine “what never was.” For it is in this dreaming that all creation is born. The wheel, the ship, the telescope, the written word—all were once “what never was.” Without those who said why not, humanity would still huddle in caves, content with darkness.

The ancients, too, knew this truth. When Archimedes drew circles in the sand, others saw idle play, but he whispered, “Give me a place to stand, and I will move the world.” When Socrates questioned the Athenians, they mocked his endless “why not,” yet his questioning reshaped the very foundations of philosophy. Shaw’s words carry their spirit, for every great leap begins with defiance against the tyranny of what already exists.

History offers us heroic examples. Consider the Wright brothers, gazing at the sky where men said, “Humans cannot fly.” They answered with why not, and through endless failure, they gave humanity wings. Or think of Martin Luther King Jr., who stood before a nation fractured by hatred. Others said, “This is the way of the world.” But King dreamed of a world that never was, a world where children of every color walked together, and he cried why not. In his dream, we glimpse Shaw’s immortal truth: that the future belongs to those who dare to envision it.

Yet Shaw also warns us of the danger of contentment. The one who only says why may become trapped in cynicism, forever pointing out the flaws of the present but never moving beyond them. To ask only “why” is to be chained to reality’s prison walls. But to ask “why not” is to see the cracks in the walls, to glimpse the light beyond, and to lead others toward it. Progress demands not only eyes to see but courage to dream.

The lesson is eternal: do not be satisfied with the world as it is handed to you. Question it. Challenge it. Imagine what could be, and then labor to bring it forth. If your heart whispers a vision others call impossible, hold it close and pursue it, for often the impossible is simply the untried. The road of the dreamer is difficult, but it is the only road that leads to change.

So let Shaw’s words burn within you like a fire. Do not be content to echo “why” in resignation. Be among the few who dare to cry why not. For it is in those two words that revolutions are born, that chains are broken, that futures are reshaped. And when you dream of things that never were and labor to make them so, you join the great lineage of visionaries who carried humanity forward—from darkness into light, from despair into hope, from what is into what could be.