The content argues that societal conditioning and ingrained illusions about romantic relationships, particularly concerning women, have led men to misunderstand fundamental truths about human nature and interaction, resulting in widespread disillusionment and relationship failures. It posits that philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer's controversial observations offer a stark, albeit uncomfortable, clarity on these dynamics.
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There's a reason you feel like
something's off. Like the rules you were
taught don't apply anymore. You gave
everything, your time, your loyalty,
your intentions, only to be left staring
at the pieces of a script that never
made sense. You were told women are
delicate, emotional, nurturing. You were
told love is pure. That if you just
tried harder, stayed honest, stayed
kind, it would work. But it didn't. And
somewhere deep in your gut, you've
started to suspect that the entire
foundation you built your hopes on was a
lie. Not because women are evil, not
because men are victims, but because you
were never told the truth.
Almost 200 years ago, Arthur
Schopenhower tried to say something that
no one wanted to hear. He wasn't a
pickup artist. He wasn't a YouTuber. He
was a philosopher and one of the darkest
ever. He believed life itself was
suffering and that our desires,
especially romantic ones, were traps
designed by nature to enslave us. But
when he spoke about women, people didn't
just disagree. They were outraged. He
saw something that most men to this day
are punished for even thinking. He
didn't say it gently. He didn't try to
protect feelings. He just laid it out
raw, cold, and merciless.
This isn't about hate. This is about
waking up. Because behind the words that
got him ridiculed lies something many
men are starting to feel but can't yet articulate.
articulate.
that they've been misled
not just by women but by society,
culture, and even themselves.
Schopenhau warned us, but we didn't
listen. Now we're paying the price. This
is not a guide. It's not advice. It's a
mirror. You can look away or you can
look in and start to understand. From
the moment a boy becomes aware of women,
he's handed an illusion.
It's not handed by accident. It's curated.
curated.
Fairy tales, love songs, classroom
lectures, and family advice all whisper
the same thing. That women are paragonss
of empathy, beauty, and grace. That they
complete us. And so, before a man ever
speaks to a woman, he's already been
conditioned to see her not as she is,
but as what he's been told she should
be. This is the first betrayal and it
doesn't come from her. It comes from the
world around you. Schopenhauer called it
out early. He saw romantic love not as a
divine union but as a manipulation by
nature, a trick to keep the species reproducing.
reproducing.
Men fall in love with an illusion. But
they pay for it with their energy, their
focus, sometimes their lives. And still
they call it noble. They sacrifice
willingly, proudly, and blindly.
Why? Because the ideal they're chasing
isn't just hers. It's theirs. They've
mistaken projection for reality. And by
the time they realize the difference,
it's often too late. You thought she was
pure. You thought she was different. But
the pedestal you placed her on wasn't
hers. It was built from every lie you
were fed. You didn't fall for her. You
fell for the version of her you created
in your mind. And when she didn't live
up to it, you blamed her. Or worse, you
blamed yourself.
The truth is, idealism is a trap. It
doesn't just blind you, it makes you
deaf to reality. Schopenhauer warned
that once you idealize, you stop seeing
clearly. And once you stop seeing
clearly, you hand over your power. Every
illusion you hold is a chain around your
neck. And the worst part, you put it
there yourself. You see it in her eyes.
The wide, unbothered gaze, the soft
voice, the way she acts like the world
is something happening to her, not
something she's influencing. It disarms
you. You drop your guard. You think she
couldn't possibly be calculating because
how could someone so delicate, so
innocent possibly be dangerous. That's
the performance. And it works. Not
because she's evil, but because you're
not watching closely enough. Schopenhau
didn't mince words. He described women
as instinctively deceptive, not out of
malice, but because nature equipped them
for survival through manipulation, not confrontation.
confrontation.
While men fight openly, women influence quietly.
quietly.
Not with force, but with suggestion, not
with strength, but with subtlety. The
danger isn't in her words. It's in what
she doesn't say. It's not in her
actions. It's in your interpretation of
them. Men mistake silence for purity.
They confuse softness with morality.
But that's not insight. That's
projection. You see what you want to see
and she lets you. That's the mask. And
it's not meant to hide who she is. It's
meant to show you who you wish she were.
Because the moment you believe she's
harmless, you lower your defenses. And
once you do that, the game is over. This
isn't about villain. It's about
instinct. Women aren't taught to survive
by overpowering men. They survive by
influencing them through charm, through
mystery, through selective
vulnerability. It's not evil. It's
evolutionary. But the man who can't
recognize the mask is the man who will
be ruled by it. Schopenhau saw the game
centuries ago. He watched men fall, not
to violence, but to illusion. The mask
wasn't a disguise. It was a weapon. And
the worst part, she didn't even have to
sharpen it. You handed her the blade.
Schopenhau understood something men
today still don't. Power doesn't always
wear a crown. Sometimes it whispers in
the ear of the man who does. That's the
role women have played for centuries.
Not the face of power, but the force
behind it. And it's easy to miss because
men are obsessed with visible authority.
But real influence isn't loud. It's
patient. It doesn't demand. It steers.
You look at history and see kings,
generals, philosophers.
You think it was all men at the helm.
But behind those decisions, behind those
crusades, behind those legacies, there
was often a woman who didn't need the
spotlight because she already had the
strings. Schopenhau saw that. He called
it what it was, indirect rule, a soft
empire built on emotional leverage and
the male ego.
Women learned long ago that direct
confrontation doesn't serve them. So
instead, they positioned themselves
where men are weakest, at the center of
their desire. Not because they wanted
men's power, but because they wanted men
to use it for them. And once a man ties
his worth to a woman's approval, he
becomes predictable. He'll work, fight,
and even destroy himself just to keep
her smiling. That's not love. That's control.
control.
Schopenhau saw how men were turned into
instruments. Not because they were
forced, but because they were convinced.
Convinced they were leading, when they
were really following,
convinced they were protecting. When
they were being used, and every time
they ignored that soft voice shaping
their choices, they thought they were free.
free.
But freedom isn't doing what you want
when someone else gave you the reasons.
That's not leadership. It's manipulation
in disguise. And Schopenhau knew the
most dangerous power isn't the one you
fear, it's the one you trust. Schopenhau
didn't just question women's nature. He
dissected it. And one of the most brutal
observations he made was this. Women, he
said, are children of a different kind.
Not in years, but in mind. Not because
they lack intelligence, but because
their entire world revolves around the
immediate, the now, the emotional
weather of the moment. While men are
burdened with long-term thinking,
strategy, legacy, consequence,
women, he argued, are built for the
fleeting. To Schopenhau, this wasn't
cruelty. It was clarity. He saw that
women never really leave the realm of
childhood because their power lies in
their vulnerability.
In youth, it's cuteness. In adulthood,
it becomes charm, neediness, and
emotional sway. These tools don't evolve
because they don't have to. The world
rewards them. Men reinforce them. And
so, the cycle continues.
He believed that women's connection to
deeper truth was always filtered through
their feelings. That's why logic
frustrates them. Not because they can't
grasp it, but because it threatens the
system they thrive in. A system where
emotion trumps evidence. Where tears can
stop a war. Where mood becomes moral
law. And men trying to reason with that
often find themselves trapped debating
with a moving target. Schopenhau didn't
hate women. He pied the man who
misunderstood them. He saw that when a
man expects a partner who thinks like
him, he's preparing himself for
betrayal. Not because she's cruel, but
because she's different. Fundamentally,
this isn't about superiority.
It's about survival strategies. Men look
to the future to conquer it. Women live
in the present to master it. But when a
man binds himself to someone who can't
or won't carry the same psychological
weight, he's not finding balance. He's
taking on a dependent. And no kingdom
survives when the king becomes the caretaker.
caretaker.
Schopenhau didn't just question women's
temperament. He questioned their morality.
morality.
Not because he believed women were evil,
but because he saw that their concept of
good and bad wasn't tied to principle.
It was tethered to preference.
To him, morality in women wasn't a
structure built on reason or justice. It
was a costume stitched from convenience,
worn when it fit, discarded when it
didn't. He noticed that women's sense of
right and wrong often adjusted based on
how they felt about a person or a
situation. If they like someone, excuses
flowed. If they didn't, judgment came
fast and final. It wasn't hypocrisy in
the traditional sense. It was emotional morality.
morality.
A code built not on fairness, but on
loyalty, feelings, and power. Schopenhau
saw this not as a defect, but as a function.
function.
Women were not designed, he argued, for
impartial judgment. They were designed
for family survival. In that game,
morality becomes flexible.
It bends to protect what's close and
destroy what's threatening. It's not
justice. It's instinct dressed up as virtue.
virtue.
This is why, he claimed, women are often
seen as nurturing yet ruthless, loving
to those they care about, merciless to
those they don't. The same woman who can
cradle a child can destroy a man without
guilt if she feels it serves her or her
offspring. and society rarely calls her
out because her actions are veiled in
empathy, framed as reaction, not choice.
Schopenhau's warning wasn't about
paranoia. It was about understanding.
A man who mistakes emotional morality
for ethical stability will find himself
manipulated by someone who can justify
anything through the lens of her
feelings. She won't see herself as
wrong, only hurt. And in her pain, every
betrayal becomes self-defense.
Every lie becomes survival. Every
destruction becomes deserved. Schopenhau
saw through one of the most paradoxical
forces in human nature. The power of weakness.
weakness.
Not physical power, not political power,
but the subtle invisible dominance that
comes from appearing defenseless.
He believed that women had mastered this
art not through conscious strategy but
through centuries of evolution.
In a world that rewards strength, it's
easy to miss the quiet control of those
who pretend not to have any. To
Schopenhau, the appearance of fragility
wasn't a flaw. It was a weapon. A woman
did not need to demand power. She only
needed to suggest vulnerability. Her
tears were more potent than a man's
threats, her silence more unsettling
than any scream. Where a man must
assert, a woman simply allows others to
act on her behalf. And the irony is that
the more helpless she seems, the more
control she gains. He observed that men
driven by instinct and idealism often
fell into this trap. They rushed to
rescue, to protect, to serve. Not
because they were weak, but because they
were wired to respond. A woman's display
of weakness, whether real or feigned,
activated the savior impulse in men. One
that could be redirected, reshaped, even exploited.
exploited.
This wasn't manipulation in the typical
sense. It was instinctual theater
perfected over generations.
When society told women they were
powerless, they learned to rule from the
shadows. When they were excluded from
the sword, they mastered the shield. And
when they were denied authority, they
found influence in sympathy, seduction,
and surrender.
Schopenhau didn't blame women for this.
He saw it as nature's balance. But he
warned men, "Never confuse softness with
submission. Power doesn't always shout.
Sometimes it whispers, and the one who
appears to need saving might already be
steering the ship through your hands,
not hers.
Schopenhau had no illusions about
society's moral theater. He believed
that the so-called moral superiority
often attributed to women was a
carefully woven illusion, one society
not only tolerated but celebrated.
In his eyes, morality was not a constant
truth, but a tool, and women, more than
anyone else, had learned how to wear it
like a mask. He argued that morality,
when filtered through sentiment, becomes
selective. Women, guided by emotion
rather than logic, often judged right
and wrong, based not on principles, but
on feelings.
A deed was not good because it aligned
with a universal truth, but because it
felt right in the moment. And that
moment was fleeting, vulnerable to
desire, fear, and self-interest.
To Schopenhau, this meant women could
justify contradictions without even
realizing it. They could betray with a
clear conscience, deceive while
believing in their own innocence, and
destroy while claiming to protect. The
mask of morality didn't conceal evil
intent. It made it invisible even to the
wearer. Because when you're convinced
your actions come from love, guilt never
arrives. He warned that men taught to
see women as the moral compass of
civilization often bowed to this
illusion. They mistook instinct for
wisdom, emotion for virtue. And once
that mask was accepted as truth, it
granted immunity. Criticism became
cruelty, doubt became misogyny, and the
game continued.
Schopenhau didn't deny that men could be
immoral. But he pointed out that their
sins were often brutal, obvious, and
punishable. women's misdeeds cloaked in
charm and justified by emotion were
harder to detect and even harder to
condemn. The tragedy, he said, is not
that women wear masks. It's that men
keep pretending they don't. And in that
blindness, morality itself begins to
rot, sweetened by smiles and shielded by
sentiment. Schopenhau observes something
few dared to admit. society's obsession
with the image of the eternal girl, not
the woman of wisdom, but the woman
untouched by age, complexity, or self-awareness.
self-awareness.
He believed this fixation didn't arise
from reverence, but from fear, a fear of
the mature woman, the one who sees
through illusions and no longer plays by
the script. To him, the idealization of
youth and women was a form of control.
It rewarded appearance over substance,
flirtation over insight, obedience over understanding.
understanding.
A young woman, still entangled in vanity
and romance, was more pliable, more
dependent, more manageable. And so men
and culture at large praised her not for
who she was, but for how long she could
delay becoming anything more. This
arrested development became not only
expected but demanded.
Women learned to perform youth like a
role, clinging to giggles, tantrums, and
wideeyed innocence long past the age of
reason. Schopenhau saw it as tragic, not
because youth was cherished, but because
womanhood itself was quietly vilified.
He noted how in literature and life, the
girl is always the prize, while the
older woman becomes either invisible or ridiculed.
ridiculed.
The girl is the muse, the fantasy, the
excuse for risk. The woman is the mirror
men turn away from, the one who knows
too much and smiles too little.
Schopenhau wasn't romanticizing age. He
was mourning what was lost in this
fixation. When depth is buried beneath
cosmetics and wisdom is outshined by
naivity, everyone suffers. Women are
trapped in performances, men fall in
love with characters, not people. And
maturity, which should be honored, is
treated like a flaw. He warned that a
civilization that fears mature
femininity will never grow up itself. It
will forever chase illusions and find
only emptiness when the curtain falls.
Schopenhauer understood something deeply
uncomfortable about relationships.
They were rarely just about love. Behind
every whispered promise, behind every
glance across a candle lit table, there
often sat a silent negotiator.
Economics. And he didn't mean money in
the crude sense, but value, leverage, transaction.
