Under Peaceful Conditions the Warlike Man Attacks Himself
A note for my struggling brothers — before Men's Mental Health Month ends.
Have you ever felt guilty for having it easy?
Not because you're lazy or ungrateful, but because life finally gave you a moment of peace, and instead of enjoying it, you felt like you should be working harder. Like you haven’t earned rest. For some reason, you think people would respect you more if you were struggling.
I know that feeling too well. A lot of us carry it quietly.
There are mornings when I wake up with a knot in my chest for no real reason. Nothing’s wrong, but it still feels like I’m behind. I start scanning for things to fix, problems to solve, threats to prepare for.
It’s like my body still thinks I’m at war.
In Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche wrote:
"Under peaceful conditions the warlike man attacks himself."
What a line. What a fucking line.
I used to think that was just an edgy quote, but really, it’s a diagnosis.
Always a Battle to Fight
Men were raised to believe we had to earn our place in the world. That we had to protect, provide, and conquer to be worthy of love and admiration.
Be strong, they say. Compete. Fight. Win. And if life didn’t have a battle lined up for you, you’re supposed to go find one yourself.
So when things slow down, you don’t relax. Instead, you get anxious. You start looking for a problem to fix, or worse, you turn inward and make yourself the problem.
Earlier this year, I hit a low point. I lost my dream job, my residence abroad, and my girlfriend… all at the same time.
I wasn’t just unemployed—I was invisible. I’ve got a master’s degree, years of international work experience, a good head on my shoulders… and yet, it’s been six months and still nothing. I started to believe I had no value.
Some mornings, I had no desire to wake up. I had no real plans to end my life, but I didn’t feel like fighting for it either. My therapist called it “passive suicidality.” That’s a scary place to be—not in crisis, but in quiet surrender. The kind of despair that no one notices.
What saved me wasn’t some huge breakthrough. It was small acts of war—the way I refused to die with a whimper. I took on challenges and started fights just to feel alive. Not because I was confident, but because I needed a quest to prove my existence.
If I’m gonna go down, I’ll go down swinging. If I have to die, I’ll die trying.
I realized that every man needs a war to fight. Not a literal war, but something. A purpose. A struggle. A reason to wake up and move.
Because when we don’t have one, we implode.
Masculinity and Money
Let’s be honest: These days, being a man isn’t measured in strength or bravado—at least not as much as it used to.
Nowadays, masculinity is measured in money, more than anything else.
As a man, you’re never asked if you’re kind, wise, or grounded. Instead, you’re asked about what you do, how much you make, and where you work. No one really cares about your character—they say they do, but what they really care about is your bank account.
The pressure is constant, even if no one says it out loud. That’s why the rat race, despite all its flaws, is still the gold standard. But I’ve been there and burned out. I’ve hated myself through all-nighters and 60-hour weeks. It didn’t make me any more manly. It just made me numb.
So I left the corporate track to build something smaller and slower. Now, I find more peaceful ways to make money—among other things, I sell coffee.
Basically, I read this Camus quote and took it too far:
“Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee? But in the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself.”
He’s right. It does take more courage to live. And I’m not a coward, so…
That morning, I forwent suicide and chose the cup of coffee. And the next morning. And the morning after. Eventually, I had so many coffees I could start a whole business… so I did.
As bizarre as it sounds, these days, one of my wars is selling coffee (this is your cue to chuckle).
It’s humble, I know, but it’s honest work. I sell enough to make a living, and yet… I still feel ashamed sometimes because my life feels too calm and easy.
We’ve been fed this story: The harder the path, the more respect you earn. That if you’re not exhausted, if you’ve still got fuel left in you, you’re not a real man. Pain is proof of your worth—is what they would have us believe.
But not all pain is equal. Some, like post-workout soreness, is healthy pain—a signifier of growth. But others, like a migraine, is not. Some kinds of pain are just senseless and unnecessary.
And yet, we still act like choosing the harder road is always noble. But what if it’s just what we’ve been conditioned to do? What if we’re addicted to struggle because it’s the only way we’ve ever felt worthy?
You’ve probably seen those “men used to go to war” memes. They’re meant to be tongue-in-cheek, I get it, but when said with malicious intent, they hurt.
Is that all we’re good for? To fight and die in wars? Because we do feel that pressure—to always be hard, stoic, unshakeable. Even when there’s no actual war to fight, we feel like we’re supposed to live like there is.
And so, we manufacture conflict and sabotage our peace.
The Cruel Game of Male Existence
As a human being, male or female, it's okay to have weak moments. You’re allowed to feel lost, scared, and unsure. But we must also acknowledge a harsh reality: The world is cruel towards weak men.
That’s a fact I wish isn’t true, but it is.
People will tell you that character matters—that as a man, you should be kind, honorable, and respectful. Don’t get me wrong—you should strive to be all of those things. But the truth is, those positive traits don’t mean much if you’re weak, because if you don’t have the strength, skills, or resources to back your values, you won’t have the means to enact them.
All truly kind people are strong.
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And “weak” doesn’t just mean physically weak. It means men who are broke, naive, inexperienced, sensitive, or struggling in any visible way. The world punishes men who don’t have their shit together.
You’ve probably felt it too—the cold shoulder, the silence, the disrespect that creeps in when people sense you’re not winning.
Some men can’t handle that cruelty. They choose to leave the world altogether. Others take the pain and use it as fuel to keep going—not because they’re stronger, but simply because they’ve learned the rules of the game.
That’s really all it is. That’s the game of life for men. And as they say, don’t hate the player, hate the game.
Who created this game and made these rules? God? Nature? Society? I don’t know. But we’re living in it. And surviving it means knowing how it works, without letting it harden you into someone you’re not.
You’re Not Broken for Wanting Peace
Look, I’m not saying we should all quit and go live off the grid. I still believe in showing up, pushing yourself, and being disciplined. But I also believe in work that doesn’t destroy you and days that don’t start with dread.
The warlike part of us still exists. It’s literally in our DNA—given how war-ridden human history is, statistically speaking, every single one of us must have ancestors who were actual warriors.
That’s when I realized: every man is a warlike man. Not just the hypermasculine ones like Jocko Willink or David Goggins, but all of us—the nerds, the artists, the soft-spoken, the queer, the awkward, the sensitive.
We’re all soldiers seeking something to fight for, and if we don’t find that war outside us—a physical battle, an intellectual challenge, a creative mission, a spiritual pursuit—then we turn that energy inward. We attack ourselves.
That’s why male suicide rates are so high. That’s why men disappear quietly.
War is how we find purpose, and when there’s no purpose, life starts to rot, and death starts looking like peace. Nietzsche was right.
It takes active effort to tame this part of our inner voice, especially with society amplifying its cruel message every hour of every day.
Brother, you don’t have to suffer to deserve your life. You don’t have to bleed to be respected. You don’t have to prove your worth through pain.
And if no one ever says this to you, let me be the one: I see you.
In a world where good men are constantly blamed for the patriarchy, assailed with false accusations, ridiculed for being weak, broke, and lonely—
I see you training hard, so you can be healthy and strong enough to protect your loved ones.
I see you hustling daily, so you can be wealthy enough to provide for your family, retire your parents, and raise your children.
I see you learning and improving relentlessly, because you realize the world won’t cut you any slack, so you shouldn’t either.
I see you, because I’m one of you, and I can say for myself that the greatest treasure I’ve ever found in this life is a solid brotherhood.
And if I know one thing about my bros, is that y’all bottle things up. We laugh, joke, and clown around when we’re at the bar, but I know what y’all are thinking about when insomnia hits at 2 am.
All I’m saying is, hit me up anytime, ‘cos I’d rather talk to you than your tombstone. You feel me?
Stop attacking yourself. If you need a war, then let’s make one together.
“Si vis pacem, para bellum.”
(“If you want peace, prepare for war.”)