No Apologies: Why Civilization Depends on the Strength of Men

Introduction

I am writing a book that should not have to be written, to return to men a sense of their worth as men, and to give to boys the noble aim of manliness, an aim which is their due by right.

Let me set a few scenes. The first is from John Milton.

Adam and the affable angel Raphael have come to the end of their day-long conversation about God and the revolt of Satan in heaven, about the creation of the world, and about man and woman, the noble princes of that world. They speak as friend with friend, intellect to intellect. Adam confesses that he can behold all creation with delight, and without any disturbance in the mind, only in the presence of the beautiful woman

transported I behold,

Transported touch; here passion first I felt,

Commotion strange, in all enjoyments else

Superior and unmoved, here only weak

Against the charm of Beauty’s powerful glance. (Paradise Lost, 8.530–34)

But Eve is no plaything. Milton reminds us throughout the poem that she is royal in her person, her bearing, her speech, and her thoughts. Before her, the most celebrated man or woman among us would appear like a cripple, hunched in mind and soul, ever hiding even from ourselves what we really believe and intend. She seems so absolute, says Adam, that

All higher knowledge in her presence falls

Degraded, Wisdom in discourse with her

Loses discountenanced, and like folly shows. (551–53)

It is an experience that many a good man has had in the presence of a good woman. Something in her—perhaps a love that can see in an instant what reason requires many steps to attain—seems to sweep argument aside, and even knowledge and wisdom.

Raphael is not one to pull rank, put on airs, or insist upon his dignity. But with contracted brow the archangel warns Adam not to give over his place as the head of his household. He recommends to him a just evaluation of his worth:

Oft-time nothing profits more

Than self-esteem, grounded on just and right

Well-managed; of that skill the more thou know’st,

The more she will acknowledge thee her Head,

And to realities yield all her shows. (571–75)

Such language is not now to our taste. It is not egalitarian. I will have more to say about true and false notions of human equality quite aside from sex differences (men, from the dynamic groups they commonly form in every culture across the world, have a sense that equality and hierarchy can march shoulder to shoulder). But the question here is not whether what Raphael says is to our taste. The question is whether it is true. Would men and women both be happier if men came to a just appraisal of their worth, grounded on powers well managed? Such an appraisal would not boast. It would not swagger. But neither would it cringe or cower, or hang back in exasperated silence. It would be shy to hurt, but it would refuse to lie.

Another scene. Imagine a farmhouse, somewhere in North America, in the 1860s. It is a winter evening, already dark outside, but bright and warm within. Wood is on the fire and oil is in the lamps. The husband and wife have chores to do. She is making a pair of warm trousers for the smallest boy, from scraps cut from a woolen coat her husband has worn out. She is using one of those new Singer sewing machines, the result of a hundred years of invention and improvement. He is sharpening a pruning hook, which he will be using soon on some of the poorer branches of his apple trees. The children are reading a book of Bible stories by the lamplight.

There is a pungent odor in the air, but everyone is used to it. It comes from the oil in the lamps. Thousands of miles away, men are scrambling up the masts to cut the sails as a sudden storm tosses the ship like a cork. They are the bravest and the most blessedly foolish of men, making what fortune they can by pursuing the whale, whose oil they will render in a try-works on the ship itself and then store in hundreds of huge casks. That oil is in the lamps in that home. It was the lubricant also for the various mills that made the sewing machine, the store-bought cloth, the pruning hook, and the press that printed the book. Men commit themselves to years at sea, they fight the storms and the creatures of the deep, they eat hard fare often riddled with weevils, they sleep in bunks without room to stretch, and sometimes they sing, and sometimes they quarrel and curse, and often they die for the oil to light the lamps and make the machines run smooth. The woman at her sewing, the man at his sharpening, and the children musing upon the book depend upon some man up a mainmast, where one false move would cost him his life.

Another scene. You are standing at the edge of a vast sea of grasses, with not a tree in sight. Birds and animals there are, and the buffalo, thousands in a herd to shake the earth, have left many a sign of their passing through. But there are no farms, no roads, no houses, no towns, no barges on the shallow and sluggish rivers, no canals, no mills. Beneath your feet, for many hundreds of miles in all directions, lies some of the richest soil in the world. It is untilled, and except for the natives who hunt the grazing beasts, it feeds no one. In one century, a mere blink in the eye of the life of mankind on earth, this land will be crisscrossed with the most life-giving and life-expanding works of man’s labor and intelligence, and it will feed billions. Men will make that happen.

It is still so. Look around you. Every road you see was laid by men. Every house, church, every school, every factory, every public building was raised by the hands of men. You eat with a stainless-steel fork; the iron was mined and the carbon was quarried by men. You type a message on your computer; the plastic it is made of came from petroleum dredged out of the earth, often out of earth beneath hundreds of feet of sea water, by men. The electricity that powers your computer—where did it come from? Perhaps from an enormous turbine whirled about by countless tons of water, on a great river dammed up by men, or from a power plant burning coal, harvested out of the earth, with considerable risk, by men. The whole of your civilization rests upon the shoulders of men who have done work that most people will not do—and that the physically weaker sex could not have done. There is more to it than physical force, as I will show. The differences between the sexes, which are manifold and profound, are all related in some way to that one, the easiest to see and the hardest to deny. But there is at least that, and it alone would be decisive.

As I said, I should not have to write these words. I do so because it is a crime against manhood and the truth that young men should never in their lives hear such a thing. I do not want to encourage pride, the sin. But a just self-esteem is not pride. And it is high time that men be reminded not only that they have powers as men, but also that those powers were given them to be used for the common good—for everyone, men and women and children all.

In the course of my discussion, I will sometimes have to compare men with women, and, because I am defending men here, it will appear that I am disparaging women. I am doing nothing of the sort. Every strength in one respect, as I will often have cause to say, is a shortcoming in another respect. If men are more aggressive than women are, they are also more violent. The brawler, the burglar, the mugger, the rapist, and the murderer are almost always going to be male. If men are more powerfully built than women are, they are also more likely to break down suddenly with heart disease. If women are more sensitive than men are—more empathetic—they are also more likely to know just the right little thing to say or do to make people miserable.

Men and women are made for one another. I believe it, because it is in front of my nose, and I will not let any ideology compel me to pretend that I do not see what is right there to see. But if that is so, then we cannot corrupt one sex without corrupting the other. Male and female stand and fall together. If men fall into a bad way, women will be soon to follow, and vice versa. When feminists say, A woman needs a man as a fish needs a bicycle, they not only engage in a blithering display of reality-denial—because where do all the things come from that make up the comfortable world they take for granted, including that bicycle? (And no man would say the like about women.) That is bad enough, but the feminists, at one stroke, are also admitting to a colossal failure without seeing it. They are admitting to lovelessness and ingratitude. If you want to lead well, you have to love those you lead and want to give them good things. To suggest that you do not need half of the human race is to confess that you do not love them, you are not interested in their welfare, and therefore you will not or cannot represent them in politics or further their interests in business and education.

One final point. A grown man is big enough and strong enough to roll his eyes at the falsehoods about his sex that the world tries to press upon him. But boys are not. Boys are vulnerable. Think of the phrase toxic masculinity. It is an offense against manhood to talk so. You can have bad men, as you can have bad women, but manliness is a virtue, as is womanliness, nor is there anything toxic at all about either the masculine or the feminine, except inasmuch as bad men or bad women make use of their faculties to hurt other people, to spread lies, or to undermine the common good. The word toxic here reveals more than the users of it intend.

Who is toxic? The word suggests something hidden, secret, sly. Imagine someone sprinkling a bit of strychnine in the soup—not enough to kill, but certainly enough to make the diner sick. That is similar to what is being done to boys in our schools and in mass entertainment. They are told that there is something wrong with them because they are not like girls. They are also told that girls can do all of the physical things they can, and perhaps do them better—an absurd falsehood. Telling boys these things is poisonous, and I daresay it is intended to be so: those who speak this way want the boys to be weaklings, to despise their own sex, to doubt their natural and healthy inclinations. The old misogynistic literature from the days of the first monasteries was meant for grown men who had made a vow of celibacy; it had the specific aim of confirming them in their decision to give up marriage. It was not aimed at every man, still less at women, and not at all at little girls. But toxic masculinity? When you can’t persuade the men, you go for the little boys confined to the classroom.

Enough.

CHAPTER ONE

Strength

Acquit yourselves like men, says Saint Paul as he bids farewell to the brethren of Corinth (1 Corinthians 16:13).¹

Most of our contemporary translations efface that strong exhortation, reducing it to a general command that is pallid by comparison, such as Be courageous.²

Of course, Paul did not want the women to be cowards, but he was writing in the first instance to his fellow men, the brethren, and his command is directed toward their manhood. The Greek is andrizeisthe, which means, literally, Be men! He wants them to be filled with a sort of spiritual androgen, to be bold, not to yield to fear or sorrow or doubt or the desire for an easy peace. Saint Jerome translated it well into Latin: viriliter agite—again, Be men!

It is a mark of our depleted times that when someone uses the word virile, he is likely to be referring to sexual potency, in which case a fifteen-year-old boy has the advantage over a fifty-year-old man. But that is absurd. Virility, in the classic sense, has to do with strength and courage and vigor—what we once called manhood. Where has it gone?

No doubt the potential for manhood is still among us. It can no more be obliterated than can human nature itself; it runs in the deepest springs of our blood. Can bulls be made to be as placid as cows? Only by early surgery, and even then, the steers are not really like cows. Supposing that we could so alter the genetic and physiological reality of the masculine human being, it would mean our end, our death; imagine a great city, rotting at the core, with no one strong enough to shore up the ruins.

The Facts

If we have anything for which to thank the utterly mad transgender movement, it is that it has laid bare, for all to see, the relative weakness of the female body by comparison with the male. Rather mediocre male athletes enter the lists against the best of the girls and run away with the trophies. Again, it is a shame that I should have to point out what everyone with eyes once noticed immediately. Men are stronger than women. They are bigger and heavier, and more of their weight, by far, is in muscle and bone. Their larger limbs make their strength easier to put to use, with additional mechanical advantage: think of the long arms of the average baseball pitcher, who stands near to six feet three inches tall.

Indeed, if you look up the all-time track records for high school boys in the United States and compare them with the world records for women, you will see that the fastest boys in this one nation are faster than all the women in the world. There are two important implications that flow from this fact. Consider, first, that boys can compete against full-grown men in no category of track. If that gap is wide, and it is, the gap between those men and the fastest women is a veritable Grand Canyon. Second, consider that of all sports on land, running is the one that rewards brute strength the least. A skinny man weighing 125 pounds must do 25 percent more work than the woman weighing 100 pounds just to run the same distance in the same time. Put a 25-pound pack on her back, and see what happens. I am making the suggestion in earnest. In real life—let us say that you are running across an open stretch of a battlefield, and you are carrying a rifle and ammunition—you never have the luxury of determining the conditions whereby you will do one necessary thing (traverse a certain distance) while also fulfilling another necessary condition (carry the materials you need to survive).

If we turn to sports that approach more nearly to reality—the reality of war, of hard work, of struggle against the brute weight and resistance of nature—that softening of the differences between the male body and the female body is no longer in force. The strongest and fastest women in the world would be pulverized by a men’s professional football team. You would not ask the score. You would ask whether the women could stop a single play from scrimmage. You would ask whether the women ended up in the hospital. In fact, the best female athletes in the world would be made into mincemeat by a half-decent high school boys’ team. They would be in danger of serious harm, because the boys would be heavier than they are, taller, faster, stronger, and with much more of that quick-surge muscle action that packs power into the shortest impulses. Again, you need not take my word for it, or trust your common sense and your eyes. A few years ago the Australian women’s World Cup soccer team was trounced, seven to two, by an under-sixteen boys’ team, and a similar thing happened to the American women’s team that actually won the World Cup. And that was soccer—a sport in which you hardly get to use your arms, your shoulders, and your chest.

I hear the objection: But that is just on the average. In reality there is a great deal of overlap. So the fact has no practical consequences. On the contrary, the consequences are decisive, and for practical purposes there might as well be no overlap at all.

First, let us think of a task.

You are a farmer, and you want to build a barn. It is not as if you have free time on your hands. No farmer does. There are always things to do. So you buy the beams, the plywood, the tar paper, the shingles, the nails, the bolts and nuts and washers, and so on. Then you call together a dozen of your neighbors, to get the thing done in one afternoon. Those neighbors will all be men. The wives can help best by tending to their own work in the meantime, or by providing plenty of food and drink for the men and seeing that the children do not get in the way. It is marginally possible for one of the wives, maybe of Norwegian stock, near six feet tall, to climb up the scaffolding with a full bag of asphalt shingles over one shoulder while she steadies herself with her free hand, or to slant a full thick sheet of plywood in such a way as to not have the wind make a sail of it while she stands fifteen feet above the ground and waits to hand the sheet up to one of the men splay-legged above on the skeleton of the roof. But the marginal possibility poses more than a marginal cost and more than a marginal danger. You would not have her fifteen-year-old son do it, and he is stronger than she is. There is simply no point in her trying.

Such work is not achieved by the marginal. It is achieved by the great and obvious normal. You cannot say, Let us gather up from all the corners of our nation the men with the strongest shoulders, so that we may have a bridge over this river. Nothing is ever built on those terms. Army platoons are not made up of giants. When the Germans first looked upon a Roman army, they laughed because the Romans were short by comparison with themselves. No matter: the Romans still had muscles on their bones, they were disciplined, and they were confident, having fought many a battle in the past. Any task, to be practicable, must be achieved by the strength of teams of ordinary men readily available in sufficient numbers.

You may say that we can make up for the strength of men by increasing the number