Men and women, women and men. It will never work.

The words of Erica Jong, “Men and women, women and men. It will never work,” echo with the weight of irony, lament, and truth woven together. She does not merely declare defeat, but speaks of the eternal struggle between the sexes—how they are drawn together with fierce longing, yet divided by misunderstandings, roles, and expectations that society has carved deep into their souls. Her voice is both weary and wise, for she sees the beauty of the bond and the chaos it often brings.

The origin of such a thought lies in the age-old dance between men and women, a dance as ancient as creation itself. From the myths of Adam and Eve, to the legends of Helen and Paris, the story of humanity has been shaped by love, desire, betrayal, and the difficulty of union. Jong’s words are not to be taken as a dismissal of love itself, but as a recognition of the stormy truth: that the union of the sexes has always carried with it conflict as well as tenderness.

Consider the story of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, whose love once burned with passion strong enough to tear England from the authority of the Church of Rome. Yet the very same fire led to betrayal, downfall, and tragedy. Their tale shows us how what begins as the sweetest bond between man and woman can unravel into sorrow, poisoned by pride, power, and unmet expectation. Truly, history itself whispers in Jong’s favor: that “it will never work” with ease or simplicity, for the union of opposites is both divine and dangerous.

Yet Jong’s declaration is not only despair—it is also a mirror, forcing us to see how much of the conflict between men and women arises not from nature, but from the chains of custom. For centuries, men have been told to rule and women to serve; men to act and women to endure. When such roles collide with the desire for equality and respect, the bond frays. The difficulty of love, then, is not a flaw in the human heart, but a flaw in the structures that bind it.

Her words also reveal a paradox: though she declares “it will never work,” humanity continues to try. Every love story, every marriage, every partnership is another attempt to defy her declaration. And though many fail, some succeed—not in erasing conflict, but in learning to live with it, to turn discord into music, and to build a fragile but enduring harmony out of tension. Thus, the struggle itself becomes part of the beauty, a reminder that love is less a destination and more a lifelong labor.

The lesson for us is clear: do not expect the bond of men and women to be without trial. Expect instead the storm, the clash of wills, the misunderstanding of hearts. But also expect that through patience, respect, and humility, such storms can be weathered. Love is not the absence of strife, but the courage to persist in spite of it.

Practical action follows this wisdom: if you are in union, cultivate listening more than speaking, patience more than pride. Honor difference rather than demanding sameness. Where anger rises, choose empathy; where silence grows, choose dialogue. And if the bond must end, let it end without hatred, for even broken love can teach.

Let the generations remember: Jong’s cry that “it will never work” is not a command to abandon hope, but a warning not to be deceived by illusions of ease. Love between men and women is both the oldest burden and the oldest blessing. It will never “work” perfectly, but it can work beautifully if both are willing to labor for it. And in that labor lies not despair, but the noblest effort of the human heart.