I. all lions are cats; not all cats are lions
So too with males and humans. Being a man is a more specific experience than being human. And yet: unless I can be a good person, I cannot be a good man. We shall begin there.
II. three traits of humanity
breath, unbidden breath —
rationalize it. forget
that you are but dust
a. animality
However skilled their use of tools and however rich their fMRIs, the animal kingdom is driven by a desire to eat, survive, and procreate. Cobble together a chemical reactor that powers a pump and a few locomotors, control the system with a sophisticated biological computer (complete with a way to bootstrap self-improving software copies), and you’ve got an animal. Animals depend symbiotically on their ecology; if the wolf and coyote are shot, the deer will proliferate.
Not all animals are human, but humans are unavoidably animal. We are tangled in webs of ecology from chickens to climate change. If we deprive our chemical reactors of sleep, or overheat our onboard computer, we shut down, just like any other animal. We do have astounding, self-aware rationality, too, but it evolved in service of our survival instinct, like a sailboat whose engineered precision cannot control the chaotic seas, only navigate it.
A sea captain, carrying sugar from Havana to San Juan, must take hourly readings of the stars, find the prevailing winds, and tack the sails accordingly. The captain can reference the static knowledge of the ship’s charts, but must also trust the helmsman’s dynamic readings of the compass and sounding. To reject one’s animality is like the captain who distrusts her helmsman’s readings: she may order the sailors to row against the winds for a day or two, but when the crew is finally too exhausted to even haul a rope, the ship will be helpless against the catastrophic winds. On the other hand, to surrender completely to one’s animality is like the captain who, in her folly, is blown to Kingston and claims it to be San Juan!
The Platonist, the one who rejects their animal desires, is common to every church and laboratory (not to mention superhero comics). They become hungry or lonely or tired and think, “this desire is not right,” for they cannot accept the limits imposed by nature. They seek to expunge their ‘evil’ desire, or overcome it with rational thought, all the while starving their bodies of their needs. Quixotic.
Meanwhile, the Bacchanal, the one who valorizes their desire, becomes tired or lonely or hungry and think “I desire, therefore I am right”. They, too, cannot accept the limits imposed by nature. They chase only the satisfaction of their impulses, and cannot see when this comes at the expense of their ecological and social needs.
To accept animality is to allow the winds to fill one’s sails. It is also to accept limits where one can sail. It is to say, “It is good that my body needs food and my neurochemistry needs affirmation, but my self-interest cannot come at the cost of my fellow-animals”. This honors both of our most profound gifts: our bodies and our ecosystem. Good humans know this. So too do good men know this.
b. story
Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain?
There are two questions every human answers, one way or another. The first is: why do good people suffer? The Germans, bless ’em, call this weltschmerz, “world-pain”. Punks, bless ’em, call this the bitch of living. However you define it, the answer usually comes in the form of a story.
I lost in chess because I didn’t practice hard enough. I didn’t get the job because the boss was discriminating against me. My daughter was diagnosed as karma for the sins of her father. My spouse cheated on me because Satan, being personally invested in our misery, tempted them with a hot secretary.
Some of those stories may even be true.
But you can’t prove it without relying on other unprovable stories. Turtles, all the way down. (“This disease is due to karma, which is true because karma exists, which is true because…” until somebody commits a logical fallacy and Socrates rolls in his grave.) We can sit here all day tracing the stack of turtles, or we can just get practical: what stories will make us happiest, even if they are untrue? Which stories actually help ease the weltschmerz in ourselves and those we love?
The Narcissist believes that they’ll be happiest if they prioritize themselves. It’s not bad to have a little self-esteem, but take it too far and suddenly ecology and community become nothing more than pawns and marks. This is how tyrants and grifters are born. It’s a cynical and lonely way to live, because your happiness is based on denying others’ right to happiness.
The Zealot believes they’ll be happiest serving a meaningful cause. Again, it’s not bad to have a purpose outside yourself (that’s the Narcissist’s whole issue!), but take it too far and you become a patsy for the nearest Narcissist. Your life will implode if your local priest turns out to be a felon or your crypto-thing turns out to be a scam, because your happiness was based on the truth of somebody else’s unprovable story.
Meanwhile, the Nihilist has stopped telling themselves stories altogether. They lack self-esteem and purpose, and therefore lose hope. But there are real needs that do deserve our attention! There are people in pain all around us, to say nothing of the rest of Earth’s living things, and it is good and noble to serve them. We must learn to tell ourselves better stories.
Live by the harmless untruths that make you brave and kind and healthy and happy. In other words, forget proving which story is true, and just get on with the business of living.
A wise human (and therefore a wise man) tells the right kind of stories. You are not more important than other people, or your ecosystem. And yet, inasmuch as you are brave and kind, and you serve others, you are the most important person in their world. That is all that matters.
c. mortality
And whither I go, that understand I not, neither what shall become of me yonder. // Only G-d, who hast summoned me, knoweth, but make commemoration of me with the song: Alleluia.
The second question all humans answer is: Death. Well, it’s not really a question, seeing as it’s as inescapable as sunlight. But answer we must, however inadequate.
The Narcissist (he returns!) is likely to answer with denial, just as Icarus answered the sun. That’s how you end up like Peter Thiel getting blood transfusions from healthy teenagers*, or Jeff Bezos trying to upload his brain to Amazon Web Services*, or Elon Musk’s Martian doomsday bunker (*only slightly libelous). They cynically seek power as an antidote to death, and their pursuit of power wastes the lives of anybody they deem as less important. But power is a lie, for Icarus’ wax will melt eventually. Sic semper tyranus.
Rapture, too, is a kind of denial. The similarity is explicit in Silicon Valley’s techno-messianic state religion from singularity to Space-X. Too often, rapture is an excuse to defer responsibility for damage to ecology and fellow-animal, for by definition Rapture gives total relief to the “chosen few” and Damnation to the unlucky many. That is not a harmless untruth.
Another answer is to hide from the sun, but even a fair-skinned sunburn magnet like me knows that’s no way to live. Sunlight is what gives us flowers and warmth and food, and there is simply no point in living if you won’t let yourself enjoy flowers.
Or, perhaps, people seek to transcend mortality through a legacy: a family name, a work of art, a contribution to ecology or society. I suppose a legacy of helping others is a better harmless untruth than a statue of Ozymandias its own sake. And yet, sometimes the need is too great for the solace we seek; the suit of shining armor becomes a keen and bloody sword. No one gets to their heaven without a fight. If your child dies prematurely or your art falls on deaf ears, you’ll need a way to cope that’s more resilient.
Wise humans do not flee the sun nor deny its setting — they lift their faces to the waning warmth. We all will meet our end, no matter if we meet it young or old… Finding beauty in the fold is the only way to keep from growin’ old. My friend, stay gold.
III. a vision for men
Good men are almost a subset of good humans: they accept their limits, find the harmless untruths which make them whole, and do not deny the setting sun of mortality. But all humans are not men; the West assigns men a specific set of virtues. Those are the virtues we need to redefine.
Strength is recognizing that your needs do not outweigh the needs of others, and controlling the impulse to ease weltschmerz by dominating others.
Independence is giving yourself intrinsic worth, separating your innate wholeness from your temporary wealth or power or beauty. It is a confidence that the harmless untruths you tell will make you the kindest and most courageous version of yourself.
Leadership is being a storyteller that helps others be kinder and gentler and more courageous, who helps others in the face of suffering and mortality.
Assertiveness is listening to the healthy instincts of your body, listening to the stories that build you up as a human, and rejecting false stories.
And Courage — most important of all — is seeking connection, even as the sun sinks lower into the sky.
references:
Moby Dick
Spring Awakening
Cat’s Cradle
“Funeral Ikos”
“Armor and Sword”
“Stay Gold”