The masculine urge to drop out of Notre Dame and become armed security for an illegal mining operation somewhere in Africa has been one of my most recent intrusive masculine thoughts. It dawned upon me during a conversation in the kitchen with my roommate where I ranted about all the things I’d rather do and places I’d rather be than be studying for my finals. At that moment, I thought I would much prefer to give up living in the United States and return to my ancestral homeland of Vietnam, where I would wander rural towns with a palm-sized wicker basket to beg for alms. I thought I would much prefer to move to the plains of Argentina and immerse myself in rearing cattle, with the hopes of eventually opening up a steakhouse to feed the local community. But this idea about protecting an illegal mining operation and defending my transportation convoy from an ambush by a militia, backed by our competitor, seemed most attractive to me.
I acknowledge the fact that the logistics of this idea may not hold up. Our Lady’s University did not prepare one of her students to kill adversaries on sight and plunder someone’s gem supply. I do not think my pedigree in armed security or passion for profiting off forced labor would get me featured in the “What would you fight for?” segment on the Jumbotron at ND football games.
At its core, this masculine urge signals a desire to feel like I’m alive and living. All moral considerations aside, there is a genuine threat of death facing me if I were to be armed security for this mining operation. My comrades and I could get captured by a warlord, tortured, ransomed and then just executed. I could get randomly shot by some sniper hidden in dense jungle foliage. Or, I could contract some incurable disease and wither away — painfully. At any point in this “occupation,” my life is on the line. I must constantly defend myself and that which is deemed valuable. I live with a definitive purpose: to protect and defend even if I must give my life. Now, maybe I would sound more noble if I were talking about the U.S. Army or the Marine Corps instead of armed security for an illegal mining operation in Africa. But, allow me to have an imagination.
There is something intensely real about this sort of life. I have a clear purpose for my life and am always cognizant of my mortality, yet I have a level of detachment such that I do not cling to life. I cannot say that this is authentic human flourishing, but it is a step in the right direction. I can clearly indicate what I would live for and what I would die for. Now, material wealth will not ultimately satisfy my deepest desires. But, at least I have that sort of clarity of what my purpose is and how much I’m willing to sacrifice.
I draw the explanation back to the context in which this masculine urge arose: It was finals week. Like many other undergraduates, I had my existential curses and qualms and questions. I would not live or die for financial accounting, yet I spent my time and energy last semester as if I would. Yes, I am alive in the strict, bodily sense, but am I living? Are my daily routines and actions consistent with the purpose for which I set my life? If I say that I care about God and family and whatever, does my life actually tell that story? And why does it not?
I argue that having a bad, maybe even evil, purpose for your life is better than having no purpose at all. At least when you (God-willing) have your moment of conversion, you’ll have the momentum and fervor to seek the good, instead of the evil. But if you never had any momentum or fervor to begin with, then life will just spit you out. Moreover, my discussion and vivid depictions of the masculine urge fit within a broader social trend among adults. The crisis of lacking purpose devastates young adults in America, and it disproportionately affects men. I argue that masculine urges, such as the ones I have mentioned above, are subtle, internal indications that the life you are leading probably is not the one you ought. These masculine urges, though humorous at times, reflect a dissatisfaction with an aimless existence and a deep-seated longing for what is good and proper for an authentically human life.
Jonah Tran is a senior at Notre Dame studying finance and classics. He prides himself on sarcasm and never surrendering. You can file complaints to Jonah by email at jtran5@nd.edu.
