Explainer
Culture
Masculinity
5 min read

Authenticity and the problem with men

The problem with men rarely leaves the headlines. James Ray looks beyond, seeking one potential solution - authenticity. Part of the Problem with Men series.

James leads the XTREME CHARACTER CHALLENGE. He is also a priest in the church of England.

Three men wearing pink, spotty and yellow face masks stand in the street.
Chris Curry on Unsplash.

Masculinity is under scrutiny like never before. Knowing and living out what it means to be a man is a cultural challenge, a generational responsibility and a personal mission. Yet so much of the talk about men comes from the mouths of those who are not living the example themselves.  

Take Caitlin Moran - the award-winning Journalist and feminist – for example. She too believes the masculine gender requires a reboot to assist what she calls 'the second half of feminism' and has offered insights of her own as to what might be required in this process. In her book What about Men? she highlights the side effect of so much energy being devoted to finding solutions to girls’ problems being a vacuum for contemporary men. A disaster for all.

The stats to support this are alarming. You may be aware that when compared to girls, educationally boys are falling behind and more boys are excluded from schools. We know that most jails are populated by men. Homelessness is mostly a male issue. Addiction (alcohol, drugs, porn) is a hugely male concern. Perhaps most alarmingly, suicide is the leading cause of death of males under fifty. Men are FOUR TIMES more likely to lose their lives to suicide. Nick Fletcher MP knows all this and has recently called for a Minister for Men to avert this masculinity crisis….. A Minister for Men! 

The problem with men is one men must also be active in solving. 

However, whilst Moran claims to have the wellbeing of men in sharp focus, the very fact that she is setting out the blueprint for the issue and offering some solutions is, in itself, an offence to many – especially some men – who have suggested she isn’t the person to lead the charge. They imagine the shoe on the other foot: a man telling women what their problems are and how to deal with them. We have been there (for too many years) and we don’t want to go back. No: the problem with men is one men must also be active in solving. 

And some men are.  

In his book, Of Boys and Men, Richard Reeves highlights many of the same issues as Moran offering statistical and empirical data to support his claims. He is dedicated to the issue and recently founded the American Institute for Boys and Men to help address the urgent need in research and policy making. But it was also through his research that Reeves noted that, in order to change, men need to be taught how to be men. Masculinity needs to be created, unlike femininity which happens often as an impulse response, masculinity is more often developed through such moments as a rite of passage or is passed down father to son (master to apprentice, Jedi to Padawan).  

This all seems to make sense, and perhaps we could just stop there – with the instruction for men to teach other men how to man. But the problem is deeper than that because many men are incapable of teaching others for the inescapable reason that they just haven’t learnt themselves. Their own version of masculinity has been warped by selfish impulses, or after generations of poor role models, as well as a breakdown in communities and shared values. The adage ‘you can’t teach what you don’t know’ has never rung more true.  Add to this the fact that you might not know anyone to teach and the problem deepens…..Meanwhile, the masculinity crisis rages on.  

At the same time, men are also increasingly isolated, so much so there are many who claim men are in a friendship recession.  

Max Dickens reflects on his own experiences of loneliness in his book Billy No Mates .  Dickens was planning his wedding when his suddenly occurred to him that he couldn’t select a best man….because he had no mates! But before you men reading this think ‘how pathetic’, ask yourself, how many close friends do you have? Who would you ask to be your best man? How well does that guy know you? Apparently, you are increasingly unique if you have more than three very close friends.  

Men are lonely. 

So, it seems 50% of the population are in real trouble. But there is hope. Having spent thousands of hours discussing these issues with thousands of men I think we have found a path. It is a narrow route suspended between extremes. It’s the way of purpose, balance and responsibility. It is wide enough to contain all men but narrow enough to be individual to each man. It is the way of the Authentic Man. 

Authenticity is more closely linked to integrity. It means being who you say you are. It’s about the outside and the inside being aligned. 

Being “authentic” has sometimes been aligned to the idea that ‘this is me’, and ‘only I get to say exactly what that looks like’. ‘You just have to accept me as I am, including what I want to do and say, whether you like it or not’. But to me, that’s not being authentic, that’s more like a supercharged form of self-expression. Authenticity to me has a grander, more challenging mandate. Authenticity is more closely linked to integrity. It means being who you say you are. It’s about the outside and the inside being aligned. Another way to express it is that it’s the opposite of inauthentic – like not being fake. Someone who’s external image, reputation and appearance matches the life he is actually living behind closed doors. And here we start to see the Authentic Man emerge. In fact, when you look for him, you will find him everywhere. Because he isn’t just a self-construct, he is also a ‘we’ construct; he is challenged and mediated (and changed) by the needs and expectations of the wider world around him - of partners, family, community, faith and culture - and also by what is ultimately healthier and better for him and for us.  

Thus, the Authentic Man is a kind of ideal towards which I can point all men. And in that sense following (or even pursuing) the Authentic Man is about discovering truth. The truth of who you are but more importantly the truth of what you could become. Looking ahead at the Authentic Man and seeing what you could be. Perhaps what you should be. Sometimes the Authentic Man might be visible out there in front of us in someone else. Sometimes others might be able to glimpse the Authentic Man in us. But for all men, the Authentic Man represents this true ideal. A true guide, who can lead us beyond the pitfalls and mires into which we all have a tendency to fall, towards firmer, higher ground. Better ground. For us and for everyone around us. 

So, as we begin to take seriously again the question of what masculinity is, and what it looks like, and what it needs, I look to the Authentic Man and the authentic men in my life. Men who know their purpose and are grounded in responsibility: responsibility for our past, balance in our present and are taking responsibility for our future. 

So, What About (Authentic) Men? – you will see, they are on the move!

Review
Awe and wonder
Culture
6 min read

A Sky Full of Stars: lessons on awe from Coldplay's concert

Unexpectedly finding herself among a sea of 90,000 people at a recent Coldplay concert, Belle Tindall reflects on what the experience taught her about the nature of awe and wonder.

Belle is the staff writer at Seen & Unseen and co-host of its Re-enchanting podcast.

A singer struts a stage pointing to the spotlight as coloured orbs float down.
Coldplay's Music of the Spheres tour.
Stevie Rae Gibbs, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Coldplay are about to wrap up the European leg of their Music of the Spheres tour; their multi year-long and (literally) world-wide spectacle. When I say spectacle, I really mean it. The three-hour long show is nothing short of an audio-visual marvel, one that they’ve played to millions of people over the past year or so, and a couple of weeks ago, I was (rather unexpectedly) one of them.  

Hold your personal tastes for a while, leave your ‘Coldplay make me cringe’ critiques at the door (you can pick them back up at the end), and allow me a moment to paint the picture for you.  

The band adorn alien masks, they duet with a puppet, they dance upon a stage that changes colour beneath their feet, they release a tidal wave of giant beach balls, they dance through a downpour of confetti, and they bring it to an end under a canopy of fireworks. That’s not to mention their most infamous party-trick, the wristbands that turn the audience themselves into the lightshow. The result is, as you can imagine, utterly breath-taking. The crowd become a panoramic murmuration of colour that dances around the stadium.  

Aside from the long queues for the bathroom and the sticky folding seats, the escapism is all-encompassing, it doesn’t falter for a moment. All of it made all the more wholesome for knowing that its being powered (at least in part) by the kinetic dancefloor and the spin bikes towards the back of the stadium.  

And I know what you’re thinking, I haven’t even mentioned the music yet. 

There is something innate within us that is awoken when we are faced with something great, something that transcends us as an individual, that resides outside of ourselves. 

What is there to say? Hearing 90,000 people belt out words as heart-wrenchingly vulnerable and honest as ‘nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be this hard’ on a cloudy Wednesday evening was as powerful as you would expect. Strikingly countercultural too, where does all that emotional honesty hide when it is not coaxed out by nights like these? But that’s a question for another article. Watching those same 90,000 people put their arms around the ones they love as they sing the words of the cosmically-minded love song Yellow, and then in the next moment dance with abandon to Adventure of a Lifetime was a joy to behold, a people-watcher’s paradise, a true case study in human nature and emotion.  

And that leads me to the premise of this piece, which is not wholly to gush over Coldplay.  

As I observed these 90,000 strangers, many of whom had travelled a considerable distance to commune together in this place at this time, I was reminded that humans are made with an inherent need for awe and wonder. There is something innate within us that is awoken when we are faced with something great, something that transcends us as an individual, that resides outside of ourselves – and that is exactly what I witnessed. More interesting than any firework display was the sight of 90,000 people who had pressed pause on the daily rhythms of their lives and gone on a pilgrimage in search of awe and wonder.  

Awe and wonder are admittedly elusive emotions, notoriously hard to define and harder still to analyse. As a result, they have been largely understudied and overlooked. However, the one thing we do know about awe and wonder is that they are among the most precious and powerful emotions a person will experience. Dacher Keltner, a psychologist at the forefront of a surge of research into the complexities of awe, proposes that awe is distinct; it is not interchangeable with joy or fear, ecstasy, or horror. Rather, raw awe is a particular state that comes as a result of experiencing vastness. As Keltner writes, 

‘Awe arises in encounters with stimuli that are vast, or beyond one’s current perceptual frame of reference. Vastness can be physical, perceptual, or semantic and requires that extant knowledge structures be accommodated to make sense of what is being perceived.’ 

In short, awe is an emotional reminder that we are small.  

It is perhaps surprising that coming face-to-face with our minute nature equates to mental and spiritual wellbeing. Our individualistic society would have us believe that such a reality should bring forth feelings of desolation or a fear of oblivion, that awe must therefore be a gateway to some kind of existential crisis. But not so. Numerous studies tell us that is simply not the case.  

Believe it or not, we humans benefit from coming face-to-face with our smallness. It has recently been suggested that cultivating awe on a regular basis can ease stress, depression, and anxiety. It can improve our sleep, increase our creative capabilities, and even reduce inflammation. It is a core premise that underlies the Twelve Step programme, an acknowledgment that there is something bigger than oneself, and therefore stronger than one’s addiction, continues to aid countless people in their recovery. Referring once again to Keltner, he proposes that when awe is notably absent from a person’s routine, narcissism, materialism, and a deep sense of disconnection from anything that resides outside of themselves become its inevitable substitutes. 

And what’s more, we actually enjoy awe. We crave it. We go out of our way to seek it out.  

We build telescopes and gaze into space, we flock to areas of outstanding beauty, we take pictures of sunsets, we visit ancient ruins, we study pieces of art, we sing our hearts out in stadiums brimming with complete strangers.  

It’s fascinating. The more you allow yourself to dwell on the nature of awe, the more interesting it becomes. How remarkable that even in a society which is largely built upon premises such as Albert Einstein’s - ‘everything that is really great and inspiring is created by the individual’ - we seem to have a biological afront to this, something ingrained that tells us that this is not true.  

Of course, I imagine you have been waiting for me to bring God into all of this? To say that any awe the world can offer is but a mere glimpse, to allude to something similar to what C.S Lewis said, that  

‘if you find yourself with a desire that no experience in this world can satisfy, then the most probable explanation is that you were made for another world’

and subsequently suggest that the seen cannot compare with the unseen. 

I suppose it could absolutely be argued that our craving for bigger things is a symptom of our craving for the bigger thing. That our wonder at all things transcendent is a taste of the wonder on offer from the transcendent. And that is certainly an intriguing thought. That’s the kind of thought that has led the likes of Paul Kingsnorth into Christianity, and David Baddiel to oppose it. Do we crave vastness and need awe because we crave and need God? Or do we crave (or as Baddiel would argue, create) God because we crave vastness and need awe? Such a thought could be pondered for a lifetime, and I suppose now would be as good a time as any to start.  

But for now, I shall return to where I started, sitting on seat M22 at a Coldplay concert, just one of a sea of 90,000 people, all listening to a set list of songs that have become cultural artefacts. Each tune that bellowed from Cardiff’s Principality Stadium during Coldplay’s residency there gathered countless individual stories and bound them together into a wonderous collective sound. It both belonged to every person there and transcended them.  

If you ever found yourself in need of a lesson in awe, I would heartily recommend.