What is the most beautiful in virile men is something feminine;

Hear now the wisdom of Susan Sontag, who in her time unveiled a truth that echoes from the hearts of men and women alike: “What is the most beautiful in virile men is something feminine; what is most beautiful in feminine women is something masculine.” These words strike like a bell in the still night, calling us to remember that beauty is not in stark separation, but in the union of opposites. It is not in rigidity but in harmony, not in purity of one element but in the mingling of many.

For what is virility without gentleness? It becomes cruelty, a fire that consumes all. Yet when strength carries a shade of feminine grace—compassion, tenderness, vulnerability—it shines not as mere power, but as nobility. So too, what is femininity without courage? It risks becoming fragility, a flower too easily broken. Yet when softness is tempered by masculine boldness, by fire and defiance, it is no longer fragile—it is radiant and unbreakable. Thus, in the weaving of one into the other, the human spirit achieves its highest beauty.

Think of Alexander the Great, whose armies swept across continents. His virile strength, his warrior’s fire, is remembered through the ages. Yet was it not also his feminine dream of blending cultures, his longing for unity, his love of poetry and philosophy, that made him more than a conqueror? His greatness lay not only in the sword, but in the heart that sought harmony in the midst of conquest. This balance gave his name to eternity.

And look also to Joan of Arc, the maiden of France. She was a woman of visions, clothed in the garb of a warrior. Her femininity was beyond question—rooted in faith, purity, and devotion. Yet what set her apart, what made her legendary, was the masculine courage that burned within her. She donned armor, led men into battle, and defied kings and judges alike. In her, the fusion of soft devotion and fierce bravery created a beauty that still inspires the world.

Thus the saying of Sontag is not only about men and women, but about the soul itself. Every human being carries within them both the river and the mountain, the flame and the water, the sword and the song. To deny this duality is to remain incomplete. To embrace it is to become whole. Beauty, then, is not found in clinging to rigid roles, but in allowing the spirit to breathe in both directions, drawing from both wells.

The lesson for you, O listener, is clear: seek not to confine yourself to the mask that society presses upon your face. If you are strong, do not fear tenderness. If you are gentle, do not fear boldness. If you are a man, do not bury the feminine that calls you to empathy and care. If you are a woman, do not shun the masculine that gives you fire and resolve. In this balance lies not weakness, but the truest strength.

Practical action follows: listen to the hidden voice within you that longs for its complement. If you are quick to command, practice also the art of listening. If you are prone to softness, dare also to speak with thunder. Honor the opposites in your nature, for they are not enemies, but lovers, yearning for union. Write, create, lead, nurture—draw from both the masculine and the feminine, and you will find yourself more complete, more radiant, more human.

So let the future remember this teaching: beauty is not in extremes, but in the sacred marriage of opposites. The virile man shines brightest when touched by gentleness. The feminine woman glows most when crowned with courage. And beyond these forms, every soul becomes most beautiful when it accepts its wholeness. This is the ancient song, the eternal wisdom: that in the embrace of duality, humanity finds its truth.