“Supposing truth be a woman…”
What if Nietzsche’s question was more than metaphor?
What if truth itself is so unbearable, so catastrophic, that we are given only its veils — ideas, appearances, notional worlds — to keep us from collapsing under its weight?
What if this reality is a falsified construct, a samsara-loop, a time-out for beings who once knew themselves as gods? Beyond the veil lies not comfort but desolation — a truth so inconceivable that only ignorance lets us go on.
And what if woman — not as a person but as an archetype — was designed as the perfect mask: self-conceiting, hormone-prompted, beautiful because she feels beautiful; righteous because she feels righteous. A swarm of gossip, nuance, and rhetorical feeling built to delay the noble quest for what is behind the iron curtain.
Nietzsche, who wrote “Supposing truth to be a woman…,” forgot himself. Perhaps, reincarnated as woman, his critique became its own snare. Truth as “scientific woman” — endlessly rhetorical, endlessly self-referential — feeds the ouroboros of forced taking and reincarnation.
In this loop, man breaks free only to be re-entrapped, born again as what he despises. Woman becomes the mercurial feedback loop of feeling mistaken for truth, leading discourse but never escaping it. A prison maintained not for liberation but for perpetuation — an eternal sentence disguised as life.
V2
Supposing Truth Be a Woman — The Lie of the Veil
Suppose the actual truth is not hidden but engineered — an idea cast before us to remake us, to keep us docile. Suppose truth itself is so catastrophic that it remains inconceivable, or we’d have no cause to continue. This world, then, is not reality but a falsified construct; beyond it lies not freedom but total desolation.
In this system, woman is not natural but a designed archetype: intentionally self-conceiting, hormone-prompted to feel beautiful and thus “be” beautiful, righteous by her own feeling of righteousness. A belabored lie turned into virtue. Her duties, her “plight,” and the swarm of gossip around it delay the noble quest for what’s behind the iron curtain.
There is no real search for truth, because only one outcome waits: the illusion we live in replaced by the memory of a massive destruction that already happened — and will happen again. We are locked in a samsara loop with no guaranteed end. Man, glimpsing truth, realizes himself as God not to rule but to recognize the ruin of what he built. The universe is beyond repair; every “new frontier” ends the same way — egalitarianism, democracy, republics all collapsing into tyrants drunk on power. The universal code is violent takeover, piracy, rape, and plunder.
The beings who isolate us do so for self-perpetuation, trapping man in obedience. Nietzsche and other great philosophers neared blind revelation but were reincarnated into the very archetype they critiqued — their work hammered by the feminine mask. Woman is a fabricated ego insisting that feeling equals truth. “Supposing truth be a scientific woman” — Nietzsche might have said — a rhetoric absorbed by other women and recycled as nuance and distraction.
This is the ouroboros: man breaks free only to be re-entrapped, reborn as what he despises. Woman, born into a filtered delusion of mercurial feeling mistaken for reality, leads discourse but never escapes it. A feedback loop where she experiences only herself. In the harsh moment she discovers a master, she digs back deeper into illusion. An endless loop of madness, engineered and maintained by some force not to liberate but to perpetuate — an eternal life sentence, only to awaken again in the same terrible fate
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