In the novel Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk, Tyler Durden was correct: “We are a generation of men raised by women.” Based on statistics from the United States Census Bureau, roughly 10 million American families are led by a single mother. This essay is not to offer any lack of appreciation for the women who, for the most part, sacrifice everything for their children; rather, this essay is to offer a glimpse into a society without strong, healthy masculinity through the pages of this novel.
What is society missing without positive male role models?
Well, we begin our story with what it looks like: a man devoid of purpose and direction. The Narrator can’t sleep, and, according to multiple studies, women are twice as likely to suffer from insomnia. He is simply void of assertiveness, and, according to the Journal of Counseling Psychology (among many others), women are generally less assertive than men. Finally, he is convinced that consumerism gives him a sense of control over his life, and, as is widely accepted among marketers and businesspeople, over 80% of all consumer decisions in the United States are done or influenced by women. He goes through life in a haze with what we might imagine as having hunched shoulders and a somber, defeated look about him, like his spirit is staring at a blank wall and hasn’t seen a sunset in years. To see a man go through this means something is amiss in his understanding of his place in his world. He has no direction, no guidance, and no “end in mind.”
This is a tragedy. Sadly, this is all too common these days.
He and Tyler have a conversation, at one point, where they share stories about their absent fathers. They lament that fact in ways that men lament: laced with sarcasm with a biting shrug of the proverbial shoulders as if it say, “Oh well, his loss.”
Then there’s one of the more iconic scenes in the story involving Tyler’s kiss.
A kiss is historically symbolic for change, mighty change, from Judas’ kiss signifying Jesus as the rabbi the authorities are after to Aurora being awakened from a years-long slumber by “love’s true kiss.” The Narrator is drawn to Tyler for reasons he doesn’t understand, but it’s clear that when he receives Tyler’s kiss he undergoes a massive change. It’s the structure of the conversation they have that is most interesting though.
Tyler kisses The Narrator’s hand. Tyler pours lye on the kiss. The oils from the kiss catch the lye powder as well as sparks a process of intense pain, worse than “one hundred cigarette burns.”
Pushing aside the content of Tyler’s talk, let’s look at the movement of it.
He teaches The Narrator about life before him who admits that “Tyler is full of useful information.” He demands The Narrator’s attention. He offers advice to stop the pain…while urging him to stay in the pain a little while longer and learn from the pain. Through the reality of it all, The Narrator still tunes Tyler out, thinking of the time he peed on the Blarney Stone in Ireland as a young man and other little acts of teen rebellion. Tyler implores him to listen: “This is the greatest moment of your life…and you’re off somewhere missing it.” And he tells The Narrator it’s okay to cry, to show emotion, warning him that every tear he drops will leave a scar.
Stop. What is happening here?
A crazy man kissing another man’s hand and pouring lye on it preaching about pain and redemption and sacrifice.
Okay, yes, but what is really happening here?
The Narrator unknowingly sought out a father figure, someone who would demand attention, open his eyes to the harsh realities of life, teach him, encourage him in his darkest moments.
We all have different ideas of what a father should be, but the research from the University of Maryland states that “children who have fathers in their lives learn better, have higher self-esteem, and show fewer signs of depression than children without fathers.” A father is a man who stands as a structure of authority in a child’s life, who leads with his head and not always with his heart, who kisses boo-boos while standing the child up after a fall, and sets the example as both a leader of the family as well as its servant and provider. It seems The Narrator didn’t have this growing up, thus his attraction to Tyler’s assertiveness, confidence, and fearlessness.
But Tyler continues, upping the ante: “Fathers,” he said, “are our models for God.” In the traditional Western mind, God is the patriarch. God is the leader. God is the authority. God is the teacher. Not just in our physical lives, but in our spiritual lives. He explains, “And if you never knew your father, if your father bails out or dies or is never at home, what do you believe about God?” In short, the absence of the father, especially for young men, during childhood is catastrophic for healthy development of identity, spirituality, self-esteem, and life-planning.
Are these not the areas that The Narrator is deficient, as we’ve seen?
This is in no way an essay to downplay the role of femininity in the development of children. That is simply an essay for another time. We need to finally embrace the role of masculinity, not as some toxic injection that has long infected human history, but as a counterbalance to the gentleness, sensitivity, empathy, compassion, tolerance, and nurturing of the feminine. Speaking for men, when men do not have the aggression, passion, competitive drive, deference to truth over emotion, and someone or something to protect, they feel lost. The Narrator, again, felt lost. He had a job he hated, he had no life plans, no friends, and hid in consumerism, so he created an outlet to regain those masculine qualities he craves. Granted, fighting is probably not the healthiest, but every pendulum swings and if it’s being held too tightly, it’ll swing with a lot more intensity.
So, when Tyler said we are a generation of men raised by women, he never intended disrespect toward the women doing the raising of men. In fact, on the contrary, he simply values the feminine as equals with masculinity and an overabundance of one is toxic for us all.
Books Over Beer 