The metaphysics of manhood

If a warrior from antiquity were to step into a modern city, he would likely be baffled by our current understanding of what makes a man. For thousands of years, the definition of manhood was written in blood and sweat, forged in the harsh reality of survival. In these ancient times, manhood was a high-stakes performance of chivalry and raw courage.

To be a man was to stand between your tribe and the wolves, to brave the silence of the hunt, and to possess the fortitude to fight in battle. It was a definition rooted in self-sacrifice, where a man’s worth was measured by the scars on his skin and the safety of those standing behind him.

As the world marched into the smoke and steam of the Industrial Revolution, this visceral connection to the wild was severed. The spear was traded for the wrench, and the battlefield shrank to the size of a factory floor or an office cubicle. The necessity for the hunter vanished, and with it, the archetype of the warrior began to fade. Manhood underwent a pragmatic rebranding: it became synonymous with the breadwinner.

The measure of a man was no longer his bravery in the face of death, but his utility in the face of economics. His dignity became tied to his paycheck, and his strength was judged solely by his ability to keep a roof over his family’s head.

Yet, as we settled into the 21st century, an era defined by unprecedented comfort and surplus, the definition of manhood collapsed even further.

We have arrived at a strange point in history where manhood has been stripped of both its martial spirit and its economic weight, narrowing down to the purely superficial. In the age of social media and self-obsession, the concept is often reduced to aesthetics: the cut of one’s jawline, the circumference of one’s biceps, or the grooming of a beard.

We have moved from valuing the function of the body to worshipping the look of it, confusing the reflection in the gym mirror with the substance of the soul.

This modern reductionism has birthed a shallow standard where manhood is conflated entirely with biology. We have largely accepted the idea that simply being born with a specific anatomy or possessing a certain chromosomal makeup automatically confers the status of man.

By severing the link between manhood and moral character, we have turned a noble achievement into a biological accident. Society now tells us that manhood is a birthright found in one’s physiology, rather than a station earned through one’s psychology and spirit.

The result of this trajectory is a crisis of identity.

We have a generation that is physically stronger and healthier, yet spiritually and emotionally drift. We focus intensely on the external attributes of maleness; the hardware, while neglecting the internal software of integrity, responsibility, and purpose. It is a hollow victory to look like a Greek statue but possess the resolve of a leaf in the wind. By prioritizing the vessel over the contents, we have lost the very essence of what made the ancient definition so compelling.

To rescue the concept of manhood from this downward spiral, we must stop looking at the body and start looking at the behaviour.

We need a definition that is immune to economic shifts and cultural trends, one that distinguishes between being a male (Dhukura) and being a man (Rujula).

To find this, we must turn to a source that redefines the metric entirely, shifting the focus from the physical form to the fortitude of the heart; a perspective that the Quran offers with startling clarity.

To be continued …