Beyond the myth of the 'Biblical Man'

How does a young man come to believe that violence against women is justified?

That question has resurfaced after the recent shooting at a Montreal-area school, where a 21-year-old gunman killed one police officer and seriously injured another person. Investigators say the attack appears to have been driven by online incel ideology and anti-feminist grievance.

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The shooting occurred just days after a House of Commons committee warned that anti-feminist ideology is spreading among young men and boys and leading to real-world harm against women. The report points to rising economic uncertainty, a deepening sense of hopelessness among young people about relationships, and the future.

Into that uncertainty steps what some call “the manosphere”: a network of online personalities offering simple answers through fragmented, emotionally compelling narratives. These voices resonate precisely because they speak directly to real pain.

The question is not simply what messages are out there. A deeper and far more relieving approach is asking how we are telling our stories — and reinforcing them. The stories we absorb shape not only our opinions but who we believe we are allowed to become.

In church settings, we read and tell stories a lot, bringing this question to the fore. This means asking: How do we hold our stories of faith?

Do we remember that Abraham doubts and lies? Or how Moses resists his calling at every step? That David grieves, fails and repents on a national level? Do we resonate with the psalmists who rage, lament and question God openly?

Or wonder about Jonah hiring a boat to run away? For these are not portraits of unshakable certainty; they are testimonies to honest relationships with the Creator. The men of the Bible are not polished heroes; they are complicated, inconsistent and deeply human. So perhaps it is okay for men to feel the same today.

And then there is Jesus.

Jesus weeps. He longs for companionship. In the garden of Gethsemane, he is overwhelmed with anguish and asks his friends to stay awake with him. This is not detached strength, but relational vulnerability.

Jesus also gets angry. But his anger is neither reactive nor rooted in wounded pride. It is purposeful, grounded in love and directed toward restoration. After overturning the tables in the temple, he remains present to heal and restore. His anger does not distance him from others; it draws him more deeply into the work of care.

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I have come to dislike the phrase “Biblical man.” Not because Scripture has nothing to say about how men should live, but because the phrase so often becomes a container we fill with our own assumptions.

We have sold to men the simple line “have faith,” but not taught them how to name fear. We have encouraged performative leadership over vulnerability and equated strength with certainty — quietly treated doubt as failure.

We often mistake heroism for wholeness. Heroism is appealing because it is simple. It gives us a clear image to strive toward: be strong, be certain, be in control, just like my childhood hero, Batman.

Wholeness, by contrast, is far less tidy. It is honest. It holds strength and vulnerability together. It allows for emotion without shame, and for uncertainty without collapse. It does not require us to prove ourselves before we are allowed to belong.

If we are serious about addressing the forces shaping harmful expressions of masculinity, we need more than better role models. We need to tell our stories better and become comfortable with our own depth. We need to create room for compassionate responses when facing grief or doubt, as the Creator has shown us time and time again.

The Christian story, at its best, offers exactly this. It tells us that our performance does not define us, but that by grace we are held. That weakness is not something to hide, but a place where transformation can begin. To be made in the image of Christ is not to become invulnerable, but to become wholly aware of our humanity.

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Kevin McCarty is a former teacher and recent graduate of Vancouver School of Theology, now serving as a spiritual care practitioner in the Okanagan Valley, BC.