Led Astray

The Toxic Assault Upon Masculinity & Muscular Christianity

Therapy apps are everywhere. Marketing for apps like BetterHelp and Headspace in the video and podcasting space have exploded over the past few years, offering virtual, on-demand therapy—but why?

For anyone paying attention like we at GreyMatter, young people, especially young men, are clearly struggling. Many today are anxious and lonely, searching for meaning, direction, purpose—anything. Whether they know it or not, they are looking for someone who can help them figure out life. We may be tempted to diagnose this as just another health crisis. Our medicalized concepts of well-being lead us to prescribe fixes to symptoms but steer away from the deeper causes of our social malaise. After all, every generation has faced hardship. Previous ones suffered through wars, economic collapse, disease, and personal tragedy on a scale that most young people today will never experience. Yet our grandparents did not have on-demand therapy to talk through their problems. Instead, they relied upon something else entirely.

Enter Virgil in Dante’s Divine Comedy, the guide for the author through the hellscape of Inferno, the toils of “Purgatorio”, and the bliss of “Paradiso”. He plays the part of the wise mentor, the teacher to our lost protagonist. Virgil exemplifies what it means to guide another man in a way that has almost entirely vanished from modern culture. For most of history, guidance was integral to ordinary life, because past societies understood that young men do not simply mature on their own. They need intentional formation to fully develop and realize their true potential.

In ancient societies, young men often expected to undergo some form of initiation. This was a process or event, such as a big-game hunt or ritual ceremony, that tested them and marked transition from dependence into service and ultimately—leadership. These rites of passage ensured that future leaders of the tribe or village were able to meet the challenges of their times and could be deemed worthy of societal trust. This knowledge that maturity is cultivated has shaped nearly every major institution throughout history. Since many craftsmen were illiterate for much of history, learning was passed down from master to apprentice through on the job training. With that close relationship naturally came regular demonstration of the habits and virtues required for a particular trade: patience, diligence, discipline, honesty, and responsibility. The goal extended beyond producing just another skilled blacksmith; but eventually a trustworthy master capable of leading a new generation of blacksmiths for service to town and country. The apprentice was learning how to properly accept responsibility.

Religious education operated with a similar emphasis on character formation. Churches and religious schools, with early 20th century Jewish and Catholic schools as prime examples, did not not make transmission of information their primary aim. They instead prioritized formation of the conscience, informed by long traditions in Jewish and Christian culture. Scripture, theology, philosophy, and the lives of the prophets and saints provided models of virtue, of lives ordered toward higher purpose. The young student was not left on an island to invent his own concept of “goodness”. He inherited a vision of what a properly ordered life looked like, based upon timeless traditions.

Even among upper classes, intentional formation was built into the culture. The Grand Tour, undertaken by many young European gentlemen from the 17th-19th centuries, was designed as an education in civilization writ large. When young men traversed Rome, Vienna, and Florence, they were exposed to art, history, politics, and the great achievements of other peoples. They returned more cultivated, mature, and independent—ready to take up the multifaceted duties of Europe’s finest families. All these educational experiences promoted a common vision of the actualized human person. Western societies, particularly those shaped by Christianity, had a more coherent answer for what maturity means. A good man is not simply one who achieves personal satisfaction; but rather one who practices virtue, fulfills obligations, serves others, and orients life toward the highest good.

Modern societies have gained many things, including greater individual freedom and opportunity; but we have become far less aware of the need for intentional formation and how to go about it, especially for young men who often enter adulthood lacking clear expectations, meaningful responsibilities, and personal examples to emulate. We are much better at helping them acquire skills, to pursue material needs, and to manage symptoms of deeper problems; but we are much less certain about how to form people capable of acting with wisdom, virtue, and purpose.

This older understanding of guidance is what Dante places at the center of The Divine Comedy, and it precludes the need for therapy in the first place. Therapy is the rescue operation when things have gone awry. Mentorship and formation are the way we gain the wisdom and virtues necessary to avoid falling into mental pitfalls, sins, and personal problems requiring therapy. I am not saying that therapy is necessarily a bad thing, or that it does not help, or that it is unnecessary; what I am saying is that the entire industry is an avoidable fact in a culture that is properly formed.

Dante understood the need for guidance as inherent to living well. His “Divine Comedy” and the Inferno specifically begins with an admission—a midlife crisis—that he has gone astray:

“Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself in a dark wood, where the right way was lost.”

Like Dante, many young men today are not necessarily lacking talent. Like Dante waking dazed in a wood, they are simply lacking direction. They have ambition, intelligence, and potential, but possess little vision of how to use such gifts. Dante does not discover the way himself; nor does he soon find the right way through introspection, or as we might say today, by “finding himself.” No, he must be led by a guide, and that person is the great Latin poet, Virgil. It may seem odd that a poet becomes Dante’s guide, but the poets of antiquity were not only revered because of their literary mastery; but because through artful language they could convey truths about the world and interior life. The best poets are truly philosophers in this sense.

Virgil however was given a special place in the Medieval Christian world. Chaucer described Virgil’s prominence as “on a pillar that was of bright tin-plated iron.” To many Medieval scholars, Virgil was considered a kind of pre-Christian prophet or an inspired pagan; more like a Hebrew figure of the Old Testament than a Greek or Roman polytheist. Virgil’s assignment as the guide through “Inferno” and “Purgatorio” reflects this privilege. And so, Virgil is Dante’s guide for much of his journey because he is the heaven-oriented torchbearer of earthly wisdom; a familiar guide to both the non-Christian and Christian milieu. More personally though, Dante credits Virgil as his door to a deeper understanding of not only the art of poetry, but also of the beauty of Christianity, saying to him:

“Thou art alone the one from whom I took the beautiful style that has done honor to me.”

Dante understands Virgil as more than just a poet. The great poet is his guide and moral instructor, teaching him how to see reality correctly—just as great poetry captures reality more viscerally than prose.

As the two descend through the circles of Hell, Dante often misunderstands the dismal scenes he encounters. Recognizing many names and faces, he often feels anger toward infamous individuals and confusion about particular punishments. Virgil corrects his understanding, showing him that Hell’s response to the sinner is always in alignment with ultimate justice. Sins that appeared attractive on earth are revealed in their fullness as ultimately hideous and destructive. The spiritual reality of the world is revealed in Dante’s journey—and Virgil proves essential to interpreting and safely guiding him through these dangers.

This is what makes the “Divine Comedy” a profound examination of conscience. It is a tour through the darkest vices of humanity and their just correction. Each circle of Hell reveals a different way that we can distort our own desires. Virgil’s goal as a guide is to impart a true understanding of the nature and gravity of sin, so that Dante is ultimately equipped to choose “Paradiso”. Sadly, far too few young men in our modern society have a mentor like Virgil in their lives.

Dante was pointing out how we can get lost along the journey to fulfill God’s mission for our lives. Modern self-improvement culture is a guiding our young men astray. Self-improvement culture has sold us a convincing lie: that the highest goal of our lives is to become the best possible version of ourselves. This is the basic message of Dr. Jordan Peterson’s bestselling book, Twelve Rules For Life, none of which tilt young men toward trusting the transcendent one true God.

Optimize your morning routine. Build your habits. Clean up your room. Stand up straight with your shoulders back. Read more books. Get stronger. Earn more. Become more disciplined. More productive. More knowledgeable. More impressive. Build up your self-esteem. Now, do not get me wrong here. I am not saying that any of these things are bad in themselves; but they are not the point. We can become highly disciplined and still be spiritually weak. We can get stronger, smarter, and more productive while avoiding every responsibility God has already placed in front of us.

A better man is not always a faithful one.

The question is not just whether we are improving. It is also what responsibility our improvement is helping us to avoid. Scripture does not demand self-optimization. Noah, Abraham, Moses, Jonah, and even David were pretty average people whom God chose to do great things. What God commanded from them and from us is faithful stewardship:

“And the LORD God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to dress it and keep it.”—Genesis 2:15

Work and responsibility are not consequences of the Fall. Before sin entered the world, we were made to cultivate, to build, to keep, and to serve. Dominion is the original design, not a self-improvement goal:

“For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.”—Ephesians 2:10

We are not created to become the best version of ourselves. We were instead created for good works God prepared for us in advance. Our growth is meant to be directed toward those works, not toward a private version of personal excellence that is nothing more than self-worship and idolatry:

“And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; Knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance; for ye serve the Lord Christ.”—Colossians 3:23-24

Every effort, every discipline, every skill is directed at Christ. Not at our self-image, not at our CVs, but at Him. Jesus spent roughly three decades in ordinary work before beginning his public ministry. The Christian life is not measured by how impressive our output looks. Faithfulness can be hidden. It can be ordinary. It can be repetitive. It can be slow. I rather doubt that God is impressed by our self-optimization, but He is honoured by our obedience to Him.

The Mission Audit is a simple exercise to examine whether our improvement is serving God’s mission or one’s ego. If done honestly, it can reorient personal growth back to God. The first step is to ask what God has already entrusted to us. Before chasing a vision of who we want to become, we need to first take inventory of what we already have. List actual responsibilities such as your wife, your children, your local church, your vocation, your neighbours, your skills, your financial resources, your bodily health, and your opportunities to serve. Do not list dreams or personal goals.

Matthew 25:14-30 records Jesus telling the parable of the talents. The servants were judged not on what they could have done with more, but on what they did with what had been entrusted to them. The faithful servant did not chase a different assignment; he was faithful with what was already in his hands. Start there, because your first mission is your current assignment.

The second step is to ask what we are improving and who benefits. This is where the audit can get discomforting. Write down every area you are actively working on: fitness, income, business knowledge, habits, spiritual disciplines, emotional control, technical skills, and communication. Ask whether this serves your household, your church, your neighbour, or only your status and comfort. Does the increased income make you more generous or merely more comfortable? Does my discipline make me more dependable to those who need me? Does my knowledge help you serve or merely help you win arguments? Does your fitness increase your capacity to work and protect your family? Does your productivity make you more present with your wife or children, or less so? If our improvement only makes us more impressive to ourselves, then it is not growth:

“Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.”—1 Corinthians 10:31

Every discipline, every skill, every habit is meant to pass through that filter. Does this glorify God by serving others? Anyone who gets stronger but not serving is just building a better idol.

The third step is to ask what faithful action we are avoiding. Look at your list of current improvements. Now look at your list of entrusted responsibilities. Where is the gap? What faithful action are you delaying by pursuing self-improvement? Sometimes the next step in our growth is not to learn something new. It is becoming faithful with what is already in front of us. David was anointed king as a teenager but spent years serving Saul, running from Saul, and waiting on God’s timing. He remained faithful in the ordinary while God prepared him for the extraordinary. Moses spent 40 years tending sheep before God called him to lead Israel out of bondage. Those were years of faithful stewardship in a small assignment. God used the ordinary work to shape a man who would carry an extraordinary calling. Our own avoidance of what is right before us by pursuing productivity will look respectable to the world; but God see our hearts, and He knows when our improvement is veiled disobedience.

The fourth step is to redirect one improvement toward service this week. Pick one area where you are actively growing and then find a way to serve God through it. If you are building a stronger body, then use that strength to serve someone. Such as carrying something heavy for a neighbour or playing with your kids until they are tired but you are not. If you are growing in knowledge, then teach someone. Disciple younger men or help your wife to understand something with which she has been struggling. If you are increasing your income, then give more now rather than later. Make the increase serve God’s kingdom rather than your own comfort. If you are building productivity systems, then use them to create margin for your family and to be more present.

The fifth step is to bring audit to the church. We were not designed to evaluate ourselves in isolation. Bring your mission audit to your pastor, an elder, or a trusted brother in your local church. Ask them to look at your list of improvements and your list of responsibilities and ask what they see. A man unaccountable is one adrift and astray. We will rationalize our own avoidance if no one is allowed to call it out:

“Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit yourselves: for they watch for your souls, as they that must give account, that they may do it with joy, and not with grief: for that is unprofitable for you.”—Hebrews 13:17

Our elders are watching for the soul. Let them do their job and bring them your audit and listen carefully to what they say. Self-improvement culture will keep on telling us to become the best versions of ourselves. Scripture tells us to become faithful with what has already been given. We must therefore direct our strength toward service and aim our growth at obedience.

A better man is not necessarily a faithful man; but a faithful one, by God’s grace, becomes exactly the man God created him to be. Not being a ‘good man’, based upon the kind of counterfeit virtue that produces passive husbands and absent fathers. The ‘being a good man’ is actually killing Christian masculinity.

Modern society has sold Christian men a counterfeit. We have been told that the goal is to be a good man. Good husband, good father, good church member, and a good employee or boss. Just be good and keep the peace. Do not make waves; just smile, nod, apologize, and move on. That is not Biblical Christianity. It is moral niceness. It produces passive husbands, absent fathers, and men who have not confronted real sin in their own homes for a very long time.

“Good” is not the standard. God never called us to be good. He calls us instead to be holy. When the rich young ruler calls Jesus “good”, he is rebuked:

“And Jesus said unto him, Why callest thou me good? None is good, save one, that is, God.”—Luke 18:19

Jesus declined the compliment and redirected the man to the actual standard, which is God’s holiness rather than its counterfeit—human goodness. The rich young ruler wanted to seem good himself. He wanted to check the boxes and walk away, feeling righteous in his own eyes, but Jesus would not oblige him. He instead exposes the man’s idolatry in one sentence:

“Sell all you have, give it to the poor, and follow me.”

The man walked away grieving because he was “good” by the cultural standard of the day, but not holy in God’s eyes. This is precisely where many Christian men are living today. They are not cheating on their wives. They are not screaming at their kids. They show up to church most Sundays. By every cultural measure, they are “good men”; but they are all dying inside because in their hearts they know that merely being good was never the call.

The “good man” lie costs us everything that matters. It destroys marriages, because we will not confront sin in our homes and we leave our wives to carry burdens never meant for them. It costs our children, because they learn from our passivity that truth is negotiable and that courage is optional. It costs your church, since men who will not stand on truth leave the body vulnerable to every wind of false teaching that blows thorough the doors. Ultimately, it costs us our souls. We know that something is wrong. It is the nagging sense that we were made for much more than this. The quiet conviction that God did not save us so that we could be pleasant and inoffensive in the face of lies.

King Saul was a “good man” by every external measure. He looked the part. He stood head and shoulders above the people. He wanted to look good before them, and when Samuel confronts his disobedience, Saul confesses it:

“I have sinned: yet honour me now, I pray thee, before the elders of my people.”—1 Samuel 15:30

By contrast, David was not a “good man”. He was an adulterer and a murderer; but he was a man after God’s own heart. When Nathan confronts him, he does not manage his public image or spin it. He says:

“I have sinned against the LORD.”—2 Samuel 12:13

No excuses or damage control. Just repentance. That is the difference between being good and being holy. That is the difference between being WOKE and being a Christian. Good manages appearances, but holy obeys God. Paul did not write to the Corinthian church and say, “be good boys”. He said:

“Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong.”—1 Corinthians 16:13

That is not the language of moral niceness. That is a declaration of war.

Peter wrote:

“Because it is written, Be ye holy; for I am holy.”—1 Peter 1:16

He was quoting from Leviticus, where God repeatedly tells Israel to be holy as He is holy. The word ‘holy’ means to be set apart. This is quite distinct from the culture in which we are presently immersed. Not nicer than the culture, but more polite. Set apart means allegiance to God’s truth. To His Son. Holiness requires confrontation and courage. It demands that we stand on truth even when it costs us ease and peace.

Knowing this problem is only half the battle, however. Conviction fades by Thursday if we do not act upon it today. We need a plan to run this week, right now. Step one is to name the ‘good man’ lie that we have been sold. Then ask “where have you confused being nice with being godly?”, and “where have you chosen comfort over confrontation because a good man does not make waves?”

Name the specific conversations that you have avoided. Name the sins you have tolerated in your home. Name the truths you have softened to keep the peace. Most Christian men never stop to examine what standard they are actually living by. We assume that we are following Scripture, when we are just conforming to a sinful culture.

Next, we must replace good with holy. Biblical holiness for a Christian man means that we are set apart by God, living by His standard, and willing to confront sin in our homes, our churches, and especially in our own hearts. Holiness is allegiance to God’s truth, regardless of cultural expectations. Moses was not a good man when he confronted Pharaoh. He was a holy man obeying God. Joshua was not being nice when he told Israel to choose this day whom they would serve. He was calling them to covenant faithfulness. Paul was not making friends when he opposed Peter to his face over hypocrisy in Galatians 2. He was defending the truth of the gospel. Holiness makes us unpopular with those who want us to conform to the culture. When you find yourself in that situation, then rejoice—you are doing it right!

The third step is to identify when we have chosen comfort over confrontation. It might be a conversation you have been avoiding with your wife. Perhaps it is the sin in your son’s life that you have been pretending does not exist. It may be false teaching in your church that you have let slide because you do not want to be singled out publicly as a contrarian. Or it could be the truth you have softened with a coworker who needed to hear it straight.

Step four is to build one act of dangerous obedience this week. Speak the truth and stand firm when it costs you. One concrete action. This is where the holiness reset rises or falls. Your one act of obedience this week will look like you, in your own life, with your people, choosing God’s truth over the easy peace.

Step five is to find one man who will not let you settle for being “good”. Not a yes-man or a buddy who says that you are doing just fine; a brother who calls you to the Biblical standard and asks you hard questions. This is why the local church matters. We need brothers in Christ who know us well enough to see when we are hiding behind being good and call us up to be holy. If you have no such man in your life, then finding him is your first act of dangerous obedience. Go to your pastor or an elder this Sunday and ask them to hold you accountable. That conversation will feel like death but is really the dawn of a life lived in truth.

The standard for men was never “good”. The rich young ruler walked away from Jesus because “good” was not enough and he knew it. He had kept the commandments his whole life. He had done everything right by the culture’s standard; and Jesus asked him for the one thing that he would not give—everything.

God is not asking us to be good men. He is calling us to be holy men. Set apart and consecrated. Willing to confront, willing to stand, willing to obey when it costs us easy peace. The question is not whether we are good husbands, good fathers, or good workers; the question is whether we are holy.

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