I once had a valuable conversation with a close friend about Catcher in the Rye. This was a couple of years ago, around the same time when our so-called “crisis of masculinity” [archive] started gaining greater recognition.
The topic came up somewhat organically over wine. She had watched a few TikTok videos describing Holden Caulfield as problematic and embodying toxic masculinity. Her arguments, as you might expect, emanated from a feminist lens. As a fan of Catcher, I gently pushed back against the idea [1].
I felt that my interpretation of Holden’s plight (i.e. non-toxic) was straightforward. Evidently not. We grappled for some time; the discussion was respectful and constructive. At a certain point, however, a moment of introspection took hold of me—it was one of the first and few times in my life I could look a girl in the eye and think, “She really doesn’t know what it’s like to be a boy [2].”
There’s always more to say, but I’ll spare you the precise details since this has already been litigated ad nauseam in the discourse. The broader point is to illustrate a naïveté on my part—I don’t think frequently about masculinity, at least not explicitly. It has always been something that happened and happens to me, underneath the surface and not vice versa. Further, our conversation proved how it impresses upon everyone in various ways. Just as with femininity, the emergent behavior out of how men comport themselves is important.
I think it’s healthier in general not to heavily ruminate on abstract notions of gender expression. Intense questioning of how one fits in or not can easily lead to confusion and mental anguish. Preferable is to express yourself organically and let the chips fall where they may. However, we all choose (consciously or otherwise) how to construe those aspects of identity biologically granted to us and those we grow to either inhabit or reject. This process has real effects on us at both the individual and societal levels.
Consider, for example, that almost the entirety of my adolescent and teenage years happened during the 2010s. That is a huge factor to consider for this topic. My cohort votes overwhelmingly for Democrats. Men my age and with my political leanings are much less likely to consider themselves 'highly masculine'. In context, that is a likely stereotyped and generalized term; the statistic is noteworthy nonetheless.
It isn’t hard to understand why. Fourth-wave feminism hit like a ton of bricks in high school. Being a boy at that time was interesting in hindsight—men were on defense [3]. Quite weird it is to conclude that my sense of manliness as a teenager (and in no small part my politics) wasn’t built brick by brick by myself or with male mentors—it was fashioned by the feminism of that era. Women drove the argument during those years which were critical in my development. I see nothing inherently wrong with that.
Fast forward to now: the riposte. Men are seemingly on offense. Due to the everything is everything legacy of intersectionality, this has an undeniably Republican tinge. I see nothing inherently wrong with that either. Some of it, particularly the comedic aspect, nostalgically reminds me of before [4]. I am just as prone to dumb jock humor as the next guy. Shane Gillis is 0 for 2 on SNL monologues, but his standup sets scratch an itch [5]. What can I say? Men have a strange propensity to say and do stupid things, even beyond youth. It’s not always that serious and is sometimes hilarious.
Besides, there are genuine concerns identified in the numerous articles and podcasts and videos about the “crisis” that I am grateful are being expressed. Boys are falling behind in education. Male spaces have declined in number and in vitality [6]. This may be an important moment for us to contribute to the debate: how do we see ourselves and what do we want for ourselves?
However, I roll my eyes at much of the dialogue. I worry that our answer will be inadequate.
Too-online vitriol is mixed in or at the forefront, some of it outright dangerous [7].
The notoriety of men idiots like Andrew Tate speaks for itself: he has
less cachet
than many suppose, but more than he should. Some guys are willing to excuse or even celebrate the
reprehensible behavior that Tate is accused of inflicting on women. This era bastardizes tradition
and antiquity despite the fact that two millennia have passed and we’re in a brave new world [8].
At the extremes, we’re trading one performativity for another.
This all amounts to the feeling that, particularly in modern times and in popular media, the profundity of the male experience is diluted. A lot of it is political now, either way, and subject to the soullessness therefrom. I don’t have any source or statistic to offer; it’s just my impression.
The un-seriousness [9] of the times we live in is well-known by now, thrust upon us by visual media’s incapacity to maintain a single thought, let alone a solemn one. We men are in the throes of a battle we don’t even recognize: we are amusing ourselves to death. To the extent that dilution is what the “manosphere” argues they’re responding to vis-à-vis feminism, I turn the question back around—What are you really espousing?
If I may say so, I don’t think masculinity should be defined by women and feminism nor in opposition to it. Women are on the same journey; we all should help each other. What then? Why, we pursue the rest of life! We find solace in a different direction.
Alas, something else is missing. Much of the above is external. Many of my relevant formative memories are external.
I am twelve again, feeling small and weak. I am confronted by someone taller and stronger who wants to pick a fight just because he can. I am ridiculed for my “feminine” traits. I am seventeen again, sweating happily in the summer sun with my teammates. I experience for the first time the gamut of emotions which girls’ validation or lack thereof will feed a (straight) boy’s brain.
These and more may reinforce certain ideas I have of masculinity (e.g. What is expected of me as a man? How do I relate to other men?, etc.) or incept new ones, but I have a voice in the matter too. This is innate, after all, something I cannot meaningfully hide from—it arises from what I make of my XY existence. What do I believe about all of this?
Even now, I begin to sense the responsibility of my adult self, a partner, and aging family. How will I provide if I lose my job? What does my presence stand for? I don’t know the half of it.
Defining masculinity is a fool’s errand. The entire basis of the concept is the gyrating and churning which ideally morphs our perception into what it needs to be for the men of the moment. Some examples, however, are more elucidating for my purpose than others.
You may be familiar with the logo of this Substack: the goblet which is the focal point of Jacques-Louis David’s “The Death of Socrates”. It is literally and figuratively central to the painting. Many of David’s other works would have sufficed: the swords presented to the Horatii, Brutus’ darkened mien, the drape of Marat’s arm. These speak to the respective destinies of the men. Contrary to the Athenian ultimatum presented to Melos, they lived both realities one and the same: they did what they could and suffered what they must.
Socrates chooses death. In Crito, he imagines others’ arguments “just as a mystic seems to hear the strains of music” and concurs with them that escape and exile, “that dishonourable way,” breaks covenants of law and relations and injures “those whom [he] ought least to injure.” Athens did wrong by him—he will not do the same unto others. A man cannot hide from that which he truly is; his actions reveal all. Socrates was not the only to make that sacred realization.
Jesus agonizes, feels fear in the garden of Gethsemane. Still, he accepts Judas’ kiss:
Friend, do what you are here to do [10].
He bears his judgement wearing the crown of thorns and the purple garment. Pontius Pilate presents him to the mob: “Ecce homo” [11]. Son of God or not—'tis no matter. Behold the man.
Robert Frost described the ascent of the United States in “The Gift Outright” as follows:
Something we were withholding made us weak Until we found out that it was ourselves We were withholding from our land of living, And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
(Emphasis mine.) Even at 26 years old, I flex in front of the mirror, unsure about the conceptions of my existence seemingly decided for me. This, of course, is folly. Nobody decides anything in this realm, and certainly nobody decides for anyone else. Never mind the pundits, the polemicists, the critics, the commentators: being a man is what my boys and I say it is.
What a peculiar word, surrender. How maligned. How lovely. It is precisely surrender that I propose to myself as the contradictions of manhood and the world rattle ever louder and louder. May I equally find salvation; may I do what I can for myself and my fellow men; when the time comes, may I suffer what I must.
Many men savor the fight—by no means is that precluded here. Rage, rage as you please. However, this world of Gods and myths has a way of striking you down, at which point there is but one way the story should end.
Do not withhold. Surrender to Phoebe. Surrender to the hemlock, to the Passion, to America.
Surrender, but don’t give yourself away.
Postscript:
In organizing these loose thoughts, more pieces connected to the puzzle than I foresaw. I’ve already described in a previous post my special relationship to “meek,” a word which also has biblical value.
Secondly, in Le Mythe de Sisyphe, an essay which has influenced me, Albert Camus similarly alludes to the Agony in the Garden:
… quand l'appel du bonheur se fait trop pressant, il arrive que la tristesse se lève au cœur de l'homme: c'est la victoire du rocher, c'est le rocher lui-même. L'immense détresse est trop lourde à porter. Ce sont nos nuits de Gethsémani. Mais les vérités écrasantes périssent d'être reconnues.
The absurd hero is never far, apparently. I acknowledge both connections.
[1] I normally don’t think it’s my place to inject my opinion over another’s, especially over a nice drink, but there I made a careful exception. And to be clear, I cherish my friend’s thoughts and insights across all topics. I appreciate that we challenged each other.
[2] Most of the time one feels as if women understand men in a way that is not always conversely true.
[3] Male privilege, mansplaining, manspreading, #MeToo, #NotAllMen, gender norms, pink and blue, the list goes on.
[4] My prepubescent self had a hell of a time watching Will Ferrell movies during his run from Old School through Step Brothers.
[5] True to my pretentiousness, I watched and loved Gillis’ Austin set long before it went viral. It was immediately and obviously symbolic of a new era of comedy breaking through.
[6] Upon a cursory search, I cannot find much high-quality material for or against this point which might be telling. I’ll let it stand as is.
[7] “Your body, my choice?” Give me a fucking break.
[8] If you’ve spent any time on Twitter or wherever in recent years, you have probably come across the myriad anonymous “trad” accounts with avatars of Greek or Roman figures who seem to think that building ornamentation is the most important measure of culture and who scream “RETVRN” incessantly into the ether.
[9] Interestingly enough, Tom Nichols has been using that word since at least 2015, lambasting Obama’s foreign policy as weak. What a relic of time.
[10] Matthew 26:50 (NRSV)
[11] John 19:5 (Vulgata)