When an idea generates too much heat in public debate, it can have the same effect as when a stove generates too much heat under your grilled-cheese sandwich; and the results are similar.
Recently, I re-read Sir John Glubb’s treatise, The Fate of Nations, in which he highlights several observable characteristics of nations and empires in decline, across centuries and continents. One of those characteristics is what’s called “Intellectualism”. The “ism” on the end of that word tells you what you need to know about it: It’s a pervasive faith in the human intellect. This faith is both implacable and unwarranted. Basically – it’s a cult of knowledge.
Here’s his description of a culture which is deep into such a stage: “Intellectualism leads to discussion, debate & argument... [while] public affairs drift from bad to worse, amid an unceasing cacophony of argument.”
An unceasing cacophony of argument. That’s where we’re at right now, and there’s no indication on the horizon that we will emerge stronger or more enlightened from this cultural moment of confusion. In fact, there aren’t even any indications that we could if we wanted to.
I acknowledge that by adding another post to the shouting-match of American discourse, I’m essentially cranking up the burner another notch. However, the sandwich is going to be ruined whether you keep adding heat or whether you just ignore it. So since everyone else is using their God-given right to speak freely, I’m going to do so as well. I’m going to take a moment here to acknowledge that the cheese is on fire and that we ought to do something about it even though I know we won’t.
Concrete examples are important, and the one I’m going to use (and I’m certain that this will be offensive to many people) is an essay by Phil Christman, an instructor at the University of Michigan. It’s interesting, as all travesties are, and the topic under consideration is the question “What Is It Like to Be a Man?”. In that essay, Christman gets very real about his personal struggles to understand his own masculinity in our current culture.
Christman is clearly extremely bright; he’s also well-educated and articulate. Judging from this essay, he’s self-aware to a degree, and thoughtful. He writes beautifully and with feeling. And he’s also (again, judging from this article) a complete victim of the cult of Intellectualism.
As he tries to come to terms with the fact that he has not inherited a functional definition of manhood from post-modernism, he tries to identify elements within himself that will help him discern what it is. Along the way he encounters famous – and infamous – intellectuals such as Simone de Beauvoir and Jordan Peterson, who each contribute something to the froth in his mind; but none of it is helpful. De Beauvoir shows him that discussions about womanhood are more interesting and affirming than any such discussions about masculinity. Peterson shows him that people who want to affirm traditional masculine virtues are spouting “unsophisticated opinion”. He laments that we “have plenty of talk about masculinity, but talk is all it is, aimless and nonconsecutive, never the sense of anything developing.”
He refers to Norah Vincent’s memoir about having spent a year dressed as a man (possibly the most convoluted source available) and tries to find in it some help understanding male aggression. He sprinkles in supporting observations by “political theorist and pundit Harvey Mansfield”. He mines pop-culture as well, borrowing from The Godfather, Breaking Bad, and Riverdale. Anthropologists (Peter McAllister!) and sociologists (Arlie Russell Hochschild!) contribute additional data but no clarity to his conundrum. Quotations from famous Christians (Chesterton and Lewis) lend a sheen of spiritual seriousness. A science fiction novel from the ‘70s about an attempt to “revive True Manliness in a polymorphously perverse far future” loiters around near the end of his article; unsurprisingly, it doesn’t make things better. His reference to this novel simply underscores the fact that, not only has the confusion of our present moment been building up slowly, but it has also reached what turns out to have been a predictable and ludicrous outcome.
Intellect is a gift, and it is finite, being limited by the very fallible human beings who wield it. Intellectualism makes that gift into an idol. Whenever we make an idol, we very naturally expect it to give us insights and clarity, to help us understand ourselves and our place in the world. That’s one function of the gods. But if our gods are imaginary, the insights we need from them will never materialize; that, or we’ll come up with substitute insights, just like methane can be substituted for oxygen – but not without killing us.
Basically, I’m lamenting Mr. Christman’s entire, painful confession. Throughout, he derives no helpful wisdom, comes to no life-giving conclusions, and undercuts his own prior understanding. By the end, he’s grateful to partake in the kind of hapless, clueless maleness which exists in our consciousness as a joke because, being a joke, at least he can reassure himself that he’s not toxic. This is where we’ve come: We don’t know what we’re supposed to be, we only know what we should avoid, so we take refuge in maleness as a joke with ourselves as the punchline. (Actually, insofar as that’s true, women, being human, must be part of the joke as well, and the only advantage men might have at this point is that at least society forces us men to confront our own absurdity.)
The problem with seeing ourselves as a cosmic joke is that the human race really does have dignity. If we didn’t, Christman wouldn’t have a conundrum in the first place! He senses he was made for greatness but his life’s experience, his culture, his education, and his network of friends, all tell him that he’s the comic relief. He assumes that traditional Masculinity, a very ancient concept, has been discredited by several recent generations of highly enlightened and obtuse thinkers who believe all traditions (especially Masculinity) are a farce, and several concurrent generations of loudmouthed macho pop-influencers who seem intent on proving them right.
There’s no question that he has a puzzle, that it affects him deeply, and that it will require some resolution if he’s going to ever be at peace in his own soul. Because he’s so smart, Christman looks to two sources for some help. He looks at his own experience, and at the collected wisdom of the modern intelligentsia which has set itself up as the progressive alternative to centuries of old, human wisdom; the new traditions handed down to today's generation.
The problem – or, one of the most obvious problems – is that the intelligentsia is composed of lost modern souls every bit as bewildered and unfocused as Christman himself. That’s why he ends up looking at apocalyptic sex novels and cross-dressing women spying on male culture, together with some professorial observers and script-writers, in a misguided and pointless effort to gain clarity. He hasn’t simply interacted with their ideas; he has relied on them, and of course they let him down. Instead of making his situation better, Intellectualism makes it worse. He looked for insight, and in return the wise leaders of this world gave him an unceasing cacophony of argument. He dug a deep well into the best available modern thinkers, but that well turns out to have been cracked, leaky, and empty. When he dropped a bucket hoping for some spiritual refreshment, it came back up dry. We’ve abandoned a working well for one that has nothing to offer.
And in our useless efforts it’s always the same: artists and academics.
Christman’s conclusions demonstrate the ultimate insufficiency of Intellectualism. Intelligence is like a sword; if you use it as it was intended, it’s an incredibly valuable tool. But if you lean on it for support, you will either collapse and fall, or pierce yourself through.
One of the things that I love most about following Jesus Christ is that he cuts straight through so much of the BS. Here’s poor Christman, muddled and tormented about his basic identity, tortured by who he is... or by who his culture tells him he is. Or isn’t. Or something. Meanwhile, if he looked beyond the voices of the intellectuals to the real source, if he trusted human processes a little less and the authority of Jesus Christ a lot more, the pressure of our society’s disaffection with masculinity wouldn’t weigh him down so much. At the very least, he'd realize that he can trust Jesus with the answers until such time as those answers become a little less opaque to the rest of us.
Jesus acknowledged that it’s important for us to find ourselves, to make sense of our identity, our nature, our essential being; and he gives us hope that we will find our lives, but only after we lose them. That brings us directly back to Christman, because it’s obvious that through his reliance on intellect – his own, and others’ – he has lost something. He’s lost himself. He’s lost his life. That may turn out to be helpful - but then again, if you know what Jesus said, then you know that simply “losing your life” isn’t enough. I know, I know; ‘not all who wander are lost’. But most of them are. Just straggling along, disconnected from meaning and purpose, disconnected from who you were made to be, aimless, wandering, meandering, lost... that’s not enough. You have to lose yourself for the right reason – for Christ’s sake.
We’re an entire lost generation depending on Intellectualism to save us. But Intellectualism can’t offer salvation, because intellectuals are just as dumb as the rest of us. Turns out we’re all lost, and for all the wrong reasons.

The authorities who killed Jesus were a Cancel Culture.
Don’t believe me? Watch this.
In Matthew 9 they discovered he had been hanging out with people who were part of the systemic oppression in the government... i.e., “tax collectors”. Because they felt he was showing support for injustice, they made a huge deal of it, hoping people would stop following him.
It didn’t work, but it’s scary how little has changed since then.
So they tried to find ways to make it look like he was doing something illegal in Matthew 12; they accused him of “breaking the Sabbath”.
That didn’t work either.
As the tension grew and Jesus gathered more followers, the Pharisees got their feelings hurt. I’m not making this up; read Matthew 15.12: “...the disciples came and said to him, ‘Do you know that the Pharisees were offended when they heard this saying?’” As it turns out, Jesus was exercising a right to freely speak his mind, which hurt their fragile feelings, which motivated them to try to stop him.
The story devolves from there. His opponents set up deliberate traps to see if they could get him to say something unpopular – or illegal – to cost him followers and cancel his influence (Mt. 19.3, 22.15) and when that didn’t work, they organized themselves with other groups who had also been offended by Jesus (Mt. 22.34). Together, they thought they might be able to find a way to shut him up forever – however violent they would have to get.
If you believe that people should be truly free, then you won’t engage in canceling anyone for anything. So if you want freedom, you should – ironically – cancel “Cancel Culture”. But those who truly believe in freedom don’t want to just cancel the people in our society who are canceling others. For the good of society, Cancel Culture should be cancelled – but ethically, the only ones who can cancel it are the ones who are doing it. If I try to cancel Cancel Culture, then I’m doing the thing which I believe is wrong. My only choice is to use arguments to persuade.
Those who are Canceling businesses and individuals are not using arguments to make their case; they are pronouncing certain things as either ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ according to their own, internal standards. This results in self-righteously calling down active wrath and judgment on anyone whom they find ‘offensive’. Meanwhile, the other side is appealing to ideals and abstract concepts of social cooperation. The feeling which I get from this lopsided action is that people who truly believe in individual freedom have armed themselves with pillows to fight the zombie apocalypse.
Some people, of course, will object to this. If I have communicated clearly, the activists who want to go around canceling people will understand that I’m comparing them to the opponents of Jesus, and they’ll be offended. It’s sad, but it’s also the only way to measure whether or not I’m actually getting the idea across. Some people may even assume that by casting the offended ones as the bad guys, I’m comparing myself to Jesus. Not at all! The frequent victims of mass public outrage and hurt feelings are not Jesus. But of course, there were three crosses raised on the hill that day, proving that you don’t have to be Jesus to get crucified.

This is going to be a little raw.
There’s a part of me which hates whenever a program like AGT showcases handicapped performers singing or making music while everyone stands up in amazement and applauds them wildly. There’s a part of my heart that seethes with resentment at every single such performance; but not because of the performer – because of the audience.
If you’ve read this far, you’ll wonder why I feel so strongly about it. The reason is simply that I have a daughter who’s severely handicapped. Being her father has taught me things I couldn’t ever have learned any other way. I know what it’s like to struggle to understand her needs, and to try to take her out in public, and to stay awake too late at night worried for her safety and be jerked awake too early in the morning to take care of her. And especially, I have seen many, many people out in public either stare at my daughter, or walk quickly away from her, or (on occasion) make extremely disparaging comments about how obnoxious they think she is. I’ve experienced all of those things, but I’ve never seen a group of perfect strangers applaud her.
Here's the seed of my resentment: A person with an obvious disability stands on stage while the audience braces themselves for something they can’t imagine. A blind pianist? A deaf singer? A non-verbal comedian? For one moment, a person who struggles unbelievably to overcome daily life gets to be the center of attention, just because they are entertaining. Most of the people who are watching have no direct experience with handicapped family or friends. So in that coliseum, the audience finally looks at a handicapped (disabled? differently abled? I’m not even sure which adjective to use anymore) person with something besides curiosity, fear, or bemusement.
The performer always triumphs (otherwise they wouldn’t have made it to that stage of the competition) and the audience always celebrates, and it turns out to be validating for the individual on stage. In fact, it may be something like a crowning achievement for them, and I’m so glad they get to experience that thrill. But for the audience... it reeks of hypocrisy. After all, they finally notice the marginalized, the suffering, the struggling ones in life, but only because they are entertaining. Meanwhile, millions who struggle to scrape through the suffering of their everyday life continue to elicit pity and revulsion from so much of the public.
We’ll feel bad for you if we remember to think about you, but if you entertain us, we’ll applaud.
It’s shallow but it’s inevitable, because it’s a reflection of how we treat celebrities in general. Some people with nothing more than looks or acting chops – or even just the honor of being famous – receive our attention and admiration when, in reality, their opinions and ideas are no more valid or important than the forklift driver you work with, the young lady handing you a hamburger through the drive-through window, or the old man standing inside the door at Walmart.
We know you exist, but if you entertain us, we’ll applaud.
Our priorities aren’t just out of whack; they’re a bog of misplaced preferences and habits, reinforcing our reflexive desire for mass-produced distractions. Those priorities will continue to mire us down unless we can derive some good from those shows. Fortunately, for the audience as well as the performer, there’s something powerful that we can gain from all of this, but only if we recognize it and embrace it. Because in those moments when the majority of the audience discovers – shockingly, amazingly! – that the forgotten and fragmented human beings around us are capable of great beauty, those who applaud are offered a brief, infinitesimal point of view which is normally reserved for God.
In that moment the audience sees people who have often been classified as “a drain on society” or “a public menace” or “inconvenient” and they realize that those people have depth, and a kind of glory. They recognize that there is something profound which is intertwined with their identity as someone with a disability, but which is capable of reaching us through, and in spite of, our propensities. We look at weakness, and are astounded by something majestic.
That feeling will only last for a moment, and the first time it happens is the most powerful. No matter how many times you re-watch the video on Twitter, you have to grab hold of it quickly right at the start. And then, you have to expand that sensation so that it grows to include The Rest. The blind children who can’t play piano; the deaf teenagers who can’t sing; the non-verbal, wheelchair-bound, drooling, seizing, loud, non-verbal, incomparable representatives of our most ignored and unknown fellow human beings. In that moment it might just be possible to extend the glory of the performer to The Rest of those who are normally marginalized in our society, and to see them the way God sees them. There is something deep down inside them which is glorious, and majestic, and noble, and amazing.
And beautiful.
And although a few such blessed individuals have the ability to find that special key which unlocks the secret of their greatness so that everyone can see it, most of them don’t. Most of them will remain mysterious forever; a door without a key, a king or queen without a kingdom.
If we can gain that discovery from the TV producers making all that money off of the hopes and dreams of contestants, then we can maybe turn our amazement into something more substantial than a hypocritical, momentary burst of approval. And if we do, perhaps we’ll deserve to share this world with those whom we have finally noticed; the ones whom God has been applauding all along.