Christian Manhood

I am delaying Natures Oddities Part 7: Army Ants to talk about my brother and Christian manhood. My brother is very amusing at times, and some of his behavior today is particularly relevant to things I have been thinking about lately.

I have been reading about Christian manhood and pondering male-female relations in the world, particularly within my little sphere of traditionalist Catholics. My brother epitomizes what one protestant writer indicates is the natural (and perhaps ideal) state of manhood—basically an overgrown boy. This author laments the all-to-common tendency of Christian men to become “nice guys” and he urges them to cultivate a sense of adventure and masculinity. This sounds entirely reasonable. Jesus was not a “nice” guy. Neither was John the Baptist, which is perhaps the model male saint (the Blessed Mother, of course, being the model female saint). St. Joseph, another male model, was a much nicer than John the Baptist, but he was still a tough, humble, and courageous man. He was hardly afflicted by the effete niceness foisted upon men and boys today.

My problem lies with the author’s methods for remedying the problem. He advocated a return to raw adventure. His list included climbing the Rocky Mountains, stalking Bull Moose, and other he-man stuff. Not that anything is wrong with these activities, there isn’t, but artificial adventure seeking does not make a man, no matter how many grizzlies he slays with a bowie knife. Protestants go wrong with this stuff all the time. It is like they are grasping for the answer, but cannot reach it because their legs [intellectual tradition] are too short.

My brother very much enjoys paintballing. He recently purchased a high-performance paintball gun and some pretty impressive accessories. An easy access ammo container bandoleer. A vacuum-sealed sophisticated scope. High-tech gloves and kneepads used by Navy Seals and a camouflage shirt. I noticed him dressing up in his gear and looking at himself in he mirror. When he saw me watching, he said, “I like trying on my stuff.” I replied, “clearly!” He then said, “Check this out.” He proceeded to take his rubber Batman mask and put it on, and then he placed his paintball mask over it. He looked ridiculous because he had batman ears, but his face was covered with a green paintball mask. He said he wanted to wear this outfit this weekend. He said it would be perfect for “team @sshole,” which consists of him and his best friend, known far and wide as highly obnoxious paintballers. Perhaps this would be his disguise. My point is that my brother seems to be a fully actualized man according to the protestant author’s account. He is adventuresome. He is manly. He is even Romantic. He proudly displayed where he had scrawled “Dark Night” on his T-shirt. He thought this would please his girlfriend. But that fact of the matter is this: it’s just plain silly to think this is how to cultivate manhood.

A man does not have to go kill grizzly bears with a bow and arrow, take up paintballing, or sail in the Contiki to be a man. The real, visceral responsibilities of a true man should be more than adequate. Providing for a wife and children. Ensuring their safety. Educating and disciplining his children. Loving his wife and family. Very few men accomplish all of these tasks. A great deal of suffering may accompany any of these duties. There are so many problems that conspire to doom a man who dares to live in this traditional way. His health may fail. His wife or children may be seduced by the influence of society and take him for granted, sapping him of his motivation. Other men will belittle him for not being able to hit the links every weekend, and women will deprecate him for being a dinosaur. Corporations, which are always looking to maximize profits for shareholder, even at the expense of the community, may relocate, merge, or implode, leaving him without a job. Yes, there is much to lose in this world if you live dangerously and be a real man even if you don’t act like a member of the Magnificent Seven.



Come to think of it. That movie proves my point exactly. Look what transpires between Bernardo O’Reilly, aptly played by manly-man Charles Bronson, and thee Mexican boys:

“Can we go with you, Bernardo?”

“No.”

“You like us, don’t you?”

“I guess so.”

“You’re one of us, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m one of us all right.”

“Take us with you! Please?!”

“No!”

“We’re ashamed to live here. Our fathers are cowards.”

(Here O’Reilly grabs one boy and gives him a richly deserved spank)

“Don’t ever say that again about your fathers. They are not cowards! You think I am brave because I carry a gun. Your fathers are much braver because they carry responsibility. For you, your brothers, your sisters and your mothers. This responsibility is like a big rock that weighs a ton. It bends and it twists them until finally it buries them under the ground. Nobody says they have to do it. They do it because they love you and they want to. I have never had this kind of courage. Running a farm. Working like a mule, with no guarantee what will become of it - this is bravery. That’s why l never even started anything like that.”