Why be a man when you can be a success?

The fiery playwright and poet Bertolt Brecht, whose words often tore away the masks of society, once asked with biting irony: “Why be a man when you can be a success?” This question is not a simple call to ambition, but a challenge, a provocation. For in it, Brecht exposes the tragic shift of values in the modern world—where the dignity of simply being human, with all its flaws, struggles, and truths, is discarded in favor of the glittering idol of success. His words are less encouragement than warning, a mirror held up to an age intoxicated by achievement.

To be a man, in Brecht’s sense, is to live authentically, to feel, to suffer, to labor, to embrace the raw essence of humanity. It is to carry responsibilities, to struggle for justice, to endure weakness and find meaning in it. But to be a success is something altogether different. It is to be measured by external standards—wealth, applause, fame, or position. Success is a role crafted for the stage of society, a mask worn before the crowd. Brecht’s question forces us to consider: are we living as men and women of substance, or as hollow statues admired from a distance?

His words echo through history, for countless figures have chosen to be “successes” rather than men. The rulers of empires, crowned in glory, often abandoned compassion for conquest. Napoleon Bonaparte rose from obscurity to greatness, yet in his hunger for success sacrificed millions of lives. He was admired, feared, remembered—but did he remain simply a man? Or did he become a monument to ambition, devouring his own humanity? Brecht’s irony cuts here: society will often praise success more than humanity, but in doing so, it praises an illusion.

And yet, there are those who chose the harder path, to remain men rather than mere successes. Consider Socrates, who refused to abandon truth even when offered escape from death. By worldly standards, his end was failure. Yet his humanity—the courage to question, to seek wisdom, to accept mortality—outshone the fleeting notion of success. He was no “success” in the marketplace of Athens, but his humanity lit a torch that still burns across the ages.

Brecht’s words also reflect his own life as an artist. Living through times of war, exile, and political turmoil, he saw how men were celebrated not for their humanity but for their usefulness to power. Propaganda turned soldiers into “successes” while stripping them of their humanity. Brecht’s theater sought to awaken audiences, to shake them from complacency, to make them see that a society obsessed with success will often sacrifice its very soul. His question is meant to discomfort, to prod us into seeing how easily humanity is traded for prestige.

The lesson is urgent: do not be seduced by the glitter of being a “success” at the cost of your humanity. Success is fleeting, defined by others, and bound to change with time. But to be a true human—to love, to serve, to create with honesty, to endure hardship with dignity—this is eternal. The world may not always applaud humanity, but it is humanity that sustains life and meaning when the applause fades.

Practically, this means: measure your life not only in trophies and titles, but in truth, compassion, and courage. Ask yourself each day: am I living as a whole person, or am I merely performing a role for the world’s approval? Let success be a byproduct of your humanity, not its replacement. For if you become only a “success,” you risk becoming hollow; but if you remain fully human, even in struggle, your life will carry a deeper victory than the world can measure.

So let Brecht’s sharp wisdom guide us: “Why be a man when you can be a success?” The world may tempt you with this false choice, but the wise know that the true triumph is to remain human. Be not a hollow monument praised for a season—be a living soul, flawed, striving, enduring, and real. For in that, you will find a greatness no measure of success can ever equal.