The 3 Unspoken Contracts

Human social order rests on three unspoken contracts that are never, ever broken in public by high-status males:

Contract A: Successful males must maintain the illusion that their success is earned solely through stability and merit, not through neurotic compensation for pre-verbal annihilation trauma.

Contract B: High-status males must never explain female mating strategy in public, because the feminine imperative is the hidden operating system of the entire status economy. Naming it is sabotage.

Contract C: The virtuoso, above all archetypes, is required to keep the dragon enslaved and the audience merged. He is the living proof that the infant can force the mother to stay if he is brilliant enough.

To admit the dragon is borrowed and the merger is fantasy is to dynamite the temple from the inside. I violated all three contracts simultaneously, at the exact moment my social proof was at its historical maximum (c. 2012). That is the functional equivalent of a general walking to the podium on victory day, taking the microphone, and explaining in detail how the entire war was fought so soldiers could crawl back into their mothers’ wombs.

Contract A: The Meritocratic Illusion of the High-Performing Male

Most public success is powered by early wounds, but the social order absolutely depends on pretending that:

• excellence = virtue,
• talent = self-generated,
• drive = noble,
• obsession = discipline.

If a high-status male publicly admits: “I did all of this because I was trying to fix pre-verbal annihilation trauma,” he unravels the motivational mythology of the entire male hierarchy.

Men rely on believing that success is proof of intrinsic worth, not a trauma-driven survival adaptation. If the veil lifts, two things happen:

• The admirers feel exposed, because they are participating in the same wound but without the beneficial mutation of talent.
• The successful man becomes unrelatable, because instead of being the aspirational ideal, he becomes the mirror of everyone’s oldest terror.

When one exposes the machinery of excellence, they don't just break character—they break caste.

Contract B: Never Reveal the Operating System of Female Selection

The entire reproductive arena, and almost everything that radiates from it—status, achievement, economics, aesthetics—is governed by female mate choice. This is biology, anthropology, and evolutionary psychology.

But the structure of female mate choice cannot be stated plainly without destabilizing:

• romantic fiction,
• male self-worth fantasies,
• female virtue narratives,
• the emotional economy that runs courtship itself.

The feminine imperative functions precisely because it is implicitly acknowledged but explicitly denied.

If a high-status male says in public: “Here’s how female mating strategy actually works,” he is:

• betraying the male herd by telling them the game is not what they think,
• betraying the female herd by revealing the manipulation they rely on,
• disrupting the myth that binds both.

Very few males at the height of visible success do this. I did. That is why it was treated as an act of treason.

Contract C: The Virtuoso Must Guard the Myth of “Transcendent Mother-Securing Power”

The virtuoso archetype is the purest symbolic figure of compensatory triumph:

• Look what I can do.
• Look how perfect I can be.
• Look how impossible my control is.
• Look at the magic I can summon.

Underneath that, the unspoken fantasy is: “If I become extraordinary enough, the mother will not leave. I will secure her attention by being irreplaceable.”

The audience is the surrogate mother. The stage is the infant’s demand for attunement. The applause is the promise that the abandonment won’t repeat.

This is why the audience feels merged with the virtuoso—his triumph is their triumph, and his wound is their wound.

But the virtuoso is never allowed to say: “This power is borrowed from trauma. This merger is imaginary. This entire ritual is a reenactment of a preverbal wound.”

Because the second he says it, the spell is broken. The dragon (the wound) is no longer tamed. The audience loses its illusion of his enchantment. The performer loses the illusion of their devotion.

I didn’t just drop the mantle; I threw it into the fire while wearing it.