Men are governed by lines of intellect - women: by curves of

Hear the words of James Joyce, poet of the soul and wanderer of the labyrinth of thought, who declared: “Men are governed by lines of intellect—women: by curves of emotion.” In this saying, he paints not merely the distinction between masculine and feminine, but a vision of two forces that have guided humanity since its dawn: reason and feeling, structure and flow, geometry and rhythm. His words are not to be taken as division, but as recognition of complementary strengths, the straight path of logic joined with the winding grace of passion.

The origin of Joyce’s thought lies in his artistic mind, for he was a man who dwelt both in the hard lines of intellect and the lyrical waves of emotion. In his writings, we find the precise crafting of language, like an architect shaping lines of thought, and at the same time the swelling of deep feeling, like music that curves and bends with life’s passion. Thus, his observation of men and women reflects what he saw in himself and in the world: that intellect often moves in lines—clear, straight, and rigid—while emotion moves in curves—subtle, powerful, and transformative.

History itself bears witness to this truth. Consider Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-king, whose reign was shaped by lines of intellect. His Meditations show a mind governed by reason, by discipline, by the geometry of Stoic thought. Yet his words, though wise, are restrained, controlled, often seeking to still the tempest of emotion. Contrast him with Cleopatra of Egypt, who wielded the curves of emotion with mastery. Through charm, persuasion, and passion, she moved nations, bent the wills of great men, and carved her place in history. Both reigned, but by different roads—one by the line, the other by the curve.

The deeper meaning of Joyce’s words is not to say that men lack emotion or women lack intellect. Rather, it is to reveal that in the archetype of human nature, there are two guiding currents. The line of intellect seeks clarity, order, and progress by logic; the curve of emotion seeks connection, empathy, and meaning by feeling. Each alone can be powerful, yet incomplete. Together, they weave the fabric of humanity’s story, balancing reason with compassion, thought with love.

But there is also warning in his words. If men cling only to the line, they may become rigid, cold, unable to feel the living heartbeat of life. If women, or any who lean upon emotion alone, are ruled only by curves, they may drift without anchor, swayed too easily by tides. Balance, therefore, is the wisdom hidden within Joyce’s imagery: the line must learn from the curve, and the curve must find harmony with the line.

The lesson is clear: do not despise intellect, nor diminish emotion. Recognize them as twin forces, each necessary to the other. In yourself, cultivate both—let your thoughts be sharp but not unfeeling, let your heart be tender but not without discernment. In your dealings with others, honor the strength of reason and the power of passion, for both have their place in shaping destiny.

Practical actions follow from this wisdom. When you face decisions, let intellect draw the line of clarity, but let emotion curve it toward compassion. When you build relationships, do not hide behind logic alone, but allow feeling to soften your words. When you create art, or build ideas, or lead others, weave together the strength of reason with the grace of empathy. For the greatest leaders, lovers, and creators have always known how to walk both paths at once.

Thus, Joyce’s words stand as a parable for the ages: “Men are governed by lines of intellect—women: by curves of emotion.” May we learn from this not division, but harmony. For the line and the curve together form the circle, the eternal shape of unity, within which life finds its balance and beauty. Let us then strive not to exalt one above the other, but to embrace both, and in so doing, live as whole beings—wise in mind, rich in heart, and complete in spirit.