NB: This is a guest post, courtesy of Arthur Witherall. With his kind permission, I hereby share it with you.

After my divorce I had a few temporary relationships which were affectionate and genuine, but did not ascend to the heights of passionate love that I knew from my youth. At about the age of fifty, roughly speaking, I just gave up on romance altogether. I went through life with a basically self-centred focus, though I did not turn to the ‘dark side’ or anything like that. Perhaps the darkest shade that I manifested was an attempt to work out a system of ‘ethical egoism’ which never came to fruition.

At 59, I suddenly realised I had spent more than a decade without listening to music. Perhaps that is an exaggeration – I did listen occasionally, but less and less. This struck me as irrational, as I was a music fan from an early age, like virtually every other human being. So, I subscribed to a music app and started to gather favourites on my phone.

As I was paying for the app, I tried to listen as much as possible. Over several months it changed my entire philosophy of life.

I returned to my favourite classical pieces, and discovered new pieces that were enchanting, warm and beautiful beyond words. I began to think about what music actually was, and what it could mean that apes like me could hear sounds feelingly.

For many years prior I had been addicted to various bits and pieces of ‘manosphere’ content online. This started after I was divorced and feeling dejected. Most of it dealt with the ways in which women had become soulless gold-diggers who used men for validation and profit. Some of it was reasonable, some of it was not; but there is plenty of evidence that both men and women have entered an aggressive and distrustful stance towards each other. The problem with the ‘online content’ I watched was not exactly that it was false, but that it was only presenting one side of the picture. I did not become a misogynist, but I was always ready to accuse feminists, at least, of misandry, (and the rest of the culture that seemed to follow suit).

When I became conscious of this one-sidedness, I decided to use my app and build up a playlist using tracks where women specifically sang of their love for men. Some of the best examples include:

• Roberta Flack: The First Time Ever I Saw your Face
• The Cranberries: Linger
• Sinead O’Connor: nothing compares 2 U
• Carole King: I Feel the Earth Move Under My Feet, (You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman, Will You Love Me Tomorrow?

Listening to these songs, and many others, reminded me that I once lived in a world where women actually did love men, at least some of the time. I knew this already, of course, but after so much exposure to manosphere-induced cynicism, I had forgotten it. How was that possible?

In truth, I had crippled myself, my soul, with resentment and fear, and now I was left to spend my few remaining years in this disgusting state. When this dawned on me, I wept for myself and for the world I once knew.

The songs I chose seemed to be utterly feminine; and the female voice has a power over me that I respect deeply, as that power comes from my own hidden heart. When I listen to a good female voice sing of love, I turn into slowly melting butter. The male voice can be authoritative, funny, friendly, or aggressive. The female voice, soft and small as it is, transcends all of this and seems to come from the earth itself. It can have an unfathomable beauty. It can transport me to another world, with memories of touching and crying and caressing, where I am not just happy and cherished, but once again a whole human being.

The words of these songs need not be cast as totally ‘feminine’. Some of them were written by men. Some of the best love songs that male vocalists have performed were written by women. The truth is that each sex understands what it is like to be smitten, and can write about it from either perspective.

My favourite song from the 1970s is I’m Not in Love by 10CC. It perfectly captures the position of a young man deeply in love who cannot (or will not) admit it. His pride takes over his words, but still in singing the truth comes out.

Now, as an old man, I am resigned to my fate, which is death. Before I go, I want to restore the ideal of romance in my life, not from some hastily foraged nostalgia or any religious notion of redemption, but because it is the only serious foundation for being a whole person.

I am not talking about the Christian concept of love, which has become abstract and political. I am talking about the warm, squidgy, lip-trembling, whole-body experience of unreasonable devotion to another soul. That alone can restore humanity, and lead us out of our post-millennial gloom. Even if it fails to do that, following a romantic ideal is just a better way to live.

Prior to this discovery I had spent over a decade trying to write a book that addressed the question of why there is something instead of nothing. I ended it by concluding that there is no answer. It is just a brute fact, and that is that. A disappointing conclusion, one might say, and not really worth the efforts of so many years. However, I did come out with one little consolation, which is that philosophical rationalism was a mistake. Some facts are just inexplicable.

At that point I was already prepared to embrace romanticism, as the best alternative to the analytical mode of thought I found so attractive in the past. As I became more enchanted by music, and by memories of love, my conversion came to fruition.

I don’t go to church. I don’t pray or read supernatural stories. I have respect for only one aspect of religion, which is that it sees beyond the scientific, technocratic, capitalist, socialist, egoist drivel in which we are now mired. If there is a god, then it or he or she is a god of pure beauty, and the universe sings out praises with an intergalactic orchestra of stars, planets, body and soul.

I don’t care for eternal life. I just want to celebrate this life with whatever time I have left. To that end, I am a convert.