Were there no women, men might live like gods.

The words of Thomas Dekker—“Were there no women, men might live like gods”—echo like a riddle from the dawn of ages. At first hearing, they may seem as a jest, a barbed remark upon the trials of love. Yet hidden within is a truth more profound, for in the struggle between man and woman lies the very fire that forges the human spirit. To live like gods, untouched by desire, free from entanglement, is to dwell in a cold eternity. But to live as men, bound to passion, to longing, to strife and reconciliation—this is the crucible in which greatness is tested.

The origin of this saying springs from the timeless tension between the earthly and the divine. For the poet Dekker, women represented the forces that pulled men down from lofty heights: love, jealousy, tenderness, and heartache. Without them, men might rise into an existence pure and serene, untouched by weakness or temptation. But would such a life not be hollow? For it is the storm that teaches the sailor to steer, and the burden that trains the back to bear weight. So too does the presence of women awaken in men both folly and greatness, and in that awakening they are made fully human.

Consider the tale of Samson, strongest of the strong. His might was said to be divine, his power like that of the gods. Yet it was Delilah who undid him, not with sword nor spear, but with the subtle power of love and betrayal. Many have called this weakness, but look deeper: through his fall came his greatest act of strength, when he pulled down the temple upon his enemies. His story shows us that it is not freedom from desire that shapes destiny, but the wrestling with it, the rising again after being broken.

Or think of Mark Antony, who might have ruled Rome with a godlike hand. Yet when bound by passion to Cleopatra, he chose love over empire. Historians have painted this as ruin, yet in truth it was the fullness of humanity revealed. For what is a man who rules the world but has never been conquered by love? Antony’s choice, tragic though it was, burns brighter in memory than the cold dominion of emperors who never knew such fire.

The lesson is thus: women are not the snare that keeps men from divinity—they are the tether that binds them to the soil, where life must be lived in all its triumph and all its sorrow. Without such bonds, men might indeed live like gods, but they would not live as men. And it is better to walk the earth in love, struggle, and mortality, than to sit in the heavens in sterile perfection. For the gods may be eternal, but it is humanity that tastes the sweetness of fleeting joys.

To you who hear these words, take them as wisdom: do not despise the entanglements of love, nor curse the conflicts it brings. Rather, see in them the proving ground of your character. Cherish the bond, even when it tests you, for in that testing your soul is tempered like iron in the flame. Learn to rise from heartbreak, to endure temptation, to balance passion with reason. These are the labors that give depth to your days.

And if you would act upon this teaching, then live not as one who flees from love, but as one who embraces it with courage. Speak truthfully, love fiercely, forgive often, and hold fast to dignity even when passion shakes you. In this way, you will not live as a god above the world, nor as a beast enslaved by desire, but as something nobler still: a mortal who has chosen to love, and through that choice, to become immortal in memory.

For in the end, Thomas Dekker’s words are less a jest than a mirror: without women, perhaps men would live untouched, serene, aloof—but with them, they live fully, dangerously, gloriously. And to live fully is greater than to live like a god.