The Other and One

Again, I want to tell you something, my friend, though I have talked at you twice more even this morning. You are perhaps dispassionate, since you are not there, but then again perhaps you are overly dispassionate, again not being there. At any rate, I think upon certain men whom I find in the world, the males that is. They make no attempt, my friend, and they are encouraged to do nothing. This now-empty thing they call their religion makes them despise all things female, all things that is. This hatred makes no sense, since it is directed at an overgeneralization and because of many other things (How can femaleness be inherently bad?). It has never made sense to me, though I always wanted to defend the males. But I am now longer-lived and experienced. Aeschylus would say that I have suffered, and so I have something that I learned. I wish still to defend the males, but they are boys, undeveloped and complacent. They make no effort - no attempt at excellence of living and dying. Rather, they content themselves, yes not every one of them, they content themselves these particular males, and most of them, with a kind of quietude. This soft silence of character arises when they listen to those who tell them they have already committed stained acts, as soon as they are born. They must ask for forgiveness and then produce that stain again. These are the actual abusers, the ones aggressive. But leave them alone; they will contest.