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ON WOMEN (Schopenhauer)

source: local ♦ tags: #philosophy

#1 )) Name: Anonymous @ 2021-07-06 08:00

Women exist in the main solely for the propagation of the species.

[Women are] the second sex, inferior in every respect to the first.

Women are . . . big children all their life--a kind of intermediary stage between the child and the full-grown man.

Women have great talent, but no genius, for they always remain subjective.

It is fitting [for a woman] to amuse man in his hours of recreation, and, in case of need, to console him when he is borne down by the weight of his cares.

Perjury in a court of justice is more often committed by women than by men. It may indeed be questioned whether women ought to be sworn at all.

The fundamental fault of the female character is that it has no sense of justice.

Instead of calling them beautiful, there would be more warrant for describing women as the unaesthetic sex. Neither for music, nor for poetry, nor for fine art, have they really and truly any sense or susceptibility; it is a mockery if they make a pretense of it in order to assist their endeavor to please.

In their hearts women think that it is men’s business to earn money and theirs to spend it--if possible during their husband’s life, but, at any rate, after his death.

Nature has equipped woman . . . with the weapons and requisite for the safeguarding of her existence, and as long as it is necessary for her to have them.

Just as the female ant, after fecundation, loses her wings which are then superfluous, nay, actually a danger to the business of breeding, so after giving birth to one or two a woman generally loses her beauty, probably, indeed, for similar reasons.

Women . . . are dependent, not upon strength, but upon craft; hence their instinctive capacity for cunning, and their ineradicable tendency to say what is not true. . . . Nature has equipped woman, for her defense and protection, with the arts of dissimulation; and all the power which nature has conferred upon man in the shape of physical strength and reason has been bestowed upon woman in this form. Hence dissimulation is innate in woman, and almost as much a quality of the stupid as of the clever.

A woman who is perfectly truthful and not given to dissimulation is perhaps an impossibility.

The lady . . . is a being who should not exist at all; she should be either a housewife or a girl who hopes to become one; and should be brought up, not to be arrogant, but to be thrifty and submissive.

Taken as a whole, women are . . . thorough-going philistines, and quite incurable.

#2 )) Name: Anonymous @ 2021-07-06 08:06

> Studies in Pessimism/On Women

#2,1 )) Name: Anonymous @ 2021-07-06 11:38 🌎 0chan

Wtf stfu

#2,2 )) Name: Anonymous @ 2021-07-06 18:14 🌎 0chan

For tldr pep let me summarize

Sigh mEn
Men: wana screw my wifey butt naked and not buy her nice lingerie and tings bc we so alpha

#2,3 )) Name: Anonymous @ 2021-07-06 22:25 🌎 0chan

it's 8 pages of simple English writing. If it's TL;DR, you probably have some kind of undiagnosed mental condition.

#2,4 )) Name: Anonymous @ 2021-07-07 01:43 🌎 0chan

>>2,3 tldr for some
Wl whtvr the shit
Reveal urself jerk

#2,5 )) Name: Anonymous @ 2021-07-08 00:47 🌎 0chan

He was homosexual, I bet.

#2,6 )) Name: Anonymous @ 2021-07-08 05:45 🌎 0chan

nope... you are thinking of Georg Hegel

#2,7 )) Name: Anonymous @ 2021-07-10 17:02 🌎 0chan

I belong to those readers of Schopenhauer who know perfectly well, after they have turned the first page, that they will read all the others, and listen to every word that he has spoken. My trust in him sprang to life at once, and has been the same for nine years. I understood him as though he had written for me (this is the most intelligible, though a rather foolish and conceited way of expressing it). Hence I never found a paradox in him, though occasionally some small errors: for paradoxes are only assertions that carry no conviction, because the author has made them himself without any conviction, wishing to appear brilliant, or to mislead, or, above all, to pose. Schopenhauer never poses: he writes for himself, and no one likes to be deceived—least of all a philosopher who has set this up as his law: "deceive nobody, not even thyself," neither with the "white lies" of all social intercourse, which writers almost unconsciously imitate, still less with the more conscious deceits of the platform, and the artificial methods of rhetoric. Schopenhauer's speeches are to himself alone; or if you like to imagine an auditor, let it be a son whom the father is instructing. It is a rough, honest, good-humoured talk to one who "hears and loves." Such writers are rare. His strength and sanity surround us at the first sound of his voice: it is like entering the heights of the forest, where we breathe deep and are well again. We feel a bracing air everywhere, a certain candour and naturalness of his own, that belongs to men who are at home with themselves, and masters of a very rich home indeed: he is quite different from the writers who are surprised at themselves if they have said something intelligent, and whose pronouncements for that reason have something nervous and unnatural about them. We are just as little reminded in Schopenhauer of the professor with his stiff joints worse for want of exercise, his narrow chest and scraggy figure, his slinking or strutting gait. And again his rough and rather grim soul leads us not so much to miss as to despise the suppleness and courtly grace of the excellent Frenchmen; and no one will find in him the gilded imitations of pseudo-gallicism that our German writers prize so highly. His style in places reminds me a little of Goethe, but is not otherwise on any German model. For he knows how to be profound with simplicity, striking without rhetoric, and severely logical without pedantry: and of what German could he have learnt that? He also keeps free from the hair-splitting, jerky and (with all respect) rather un-German manner of Lessing: no small merit in him, for Lessing is the most tempting of all models for prose style. The highest praise I can give his manner of presentation is to apply his own phrase to himself:—"A philosopher must be very honest to avail himself of no aid from poetry or rhetoric." That honesty is something, and even a virtue, is one of those private opinions which are forbidden in this age of public opinion; and so I shall not be praising Schopenhauer, but only giving him a distinguishing mark, when I repeat that he is honest, even as a writer: so few of them are that we are apt to mistrust every one who writes at all. I only know a single author that I can rank with Schopenhauer, or even above him, in the matter of honesty; and that is Montaigne. The joy of living on this earth is increased by the existence of such a man. The effect on myself, at any rate, since my first acquaintance with that strong and masterful spirit, has been, that I can say of him as he of Plutarch—"As soon as I open him, I seem to grow a pair of wings." If I had the task of making myself at home on the earth, I would choose him as my companion.


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