C. A. Gerber
3/7/2026
tags: philosophy, Christian
A critique of modern conservative jurisprudence from a legal scholar and natural law expert. Hadley Arkes makes the argument that conservatives have been failing not because they don't have good arguments to make, but because they aren't making them. We have borrowed turf from our enemies, using their legal positivism as a defense of life and constitutional liberty instead of rejecting it as wholesale nihilism in the realm of jurisprudence. It isn't working, Arkes makes clear. The solution, he argues, is not to return to the moral ambiguity of Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, but to go back still further, to the Founders of our nation, who recognized that even without a Constitution, without a Bill of Rights, without a Declaration of Independence, our rights would still exist, and would still be necessarily defensible, because, ultimately, they are founded on the unchanging law of righteousness, as President Calvin Coolidge wrote.
We must stop our treatment of moral rights as if it were a question of judicial propriety. Courts cannot avoid making moral judgements; the question is not to judge or to judge not, but rather to judge rightly, or to judge wrongly; and what we base our judgements on. What the court bases its judgements on cannot be only the law of a certain state or the letter of the Constitution; rather, Arkes understands the spirit of the laws. It was the reason for which the Constitution was drafted; the reason why the colonists of our nation broke with the British Empire. It was the reason that the founders of our nation could understand the same principles as we today can and do, yet they, of course, did not have the Constitution to guide them; they had only their souls, their inner conscience, the realization that all laws come from The Law.
Arkes makes several further points, arguing strongly against a “States' rights” understanding of abortion, and rather as a fundamentally moral issue. He also spends several chapters of this book contrasting the segregation of the twentieth century with the abortion of the twenty-first, and the Supreme Court’s correct decision but with flawed reasoning on both issues. Some of the points which he makes may seem controversial to the more libertarian-minded reader; he does not hesitate to argue that the state should punish some forms of what he terms “hate speech”—including, interestingly, the use of profanity in a public setting. While this may seem polemic, Arkes defends his thesis well, and the facts and data he uses are substantive.
Ultimately, this book is one that those interested in jurisprudence and law should read with open eyes, open ears, and open hearts; we may reject some of the conclusions he arrives at, but as an intellectually rigorous work, with flawless logic, the ultimate conclusion, the end destination at which all the strings tie together, is a conclusion that is impossible to dismiss.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
March 7th, 2026
Caleb A. Gerber
4/11/2026
tags: history, philosophy, politics
The history of the Declaration is not simply the history of a revolution, but rather, the revolution of history. Tracing the ideological antecedents and consequents of the Jeffersonian ideals of constitutional republicanism is by no means an easy task, yet, in an admirable way, the author succeeds in doing so.
Moving quickly through the founding era, the author does stop long enough to give a proper evaluation of just where the ideas embodied in this radical document proceeded from. Looking briefly at the history of Enlightenment thought, as well as the Judeo-Christian and Greco-Roman principles which would have been known and shared by the founders, Auslin moves forward, uncovering little-known details, such as the location of this document during the War of 1812, when the British sacked Washington. Feared lost, this founding document was moved, removed, and then moved again throughout our nation’s history, and the parallels between the unmooring of the physical location of the document and the unmooring of the ideas which it embodies form a striking theme of this book. While bureaucrats and politicians in Washington fought over the location of the document, ideologues from both North and South fought over the meaning of this document. Was freedom real? And if so, did it apply to all, or only to an elite few, or those pertaining to a certain racial group? Indeed, when analyzed literally, Auslin decides, the Declaration itself gives us the answer. Perhaps Jefferson and other founders failed to live up to the high ideals proclaimed in 1776, yet that fact alone does not negate the principles themselves. If anyone wants to deny that all men are created equal, Auslin concludes, it is far easier to deny that the Declaration is valid than it is to deny that the Declaration’s writers meant what they said. The answer, then, could not be more obvious: the question is not over differing interpretations of the Declaration, but over the Declaration or no declaration at all.
He then moves on to the next two hundred and fifty years of the document’s existence, documenting both the history and conservation efforts of the actual document—a portion of the book which I honestly found to be dry and overly repetitive—and, simultaneously, how the Lockean ideals of the Declaration were either kept or abandoned by the figures of main importance in our nation’s long, bloody, but ultimately redeeming history.
The chronological order is, at times, confusing, with the author jumping back and forth in time, and it is easy for the reader to become lost with regard to the place of a certain narrative in the overall thesis of the book. Yet the message presented herein is a unified one overall, with a clear, defensible thesis. Something to admire is the fact that Auslin does not seek to hide the explicitly Christian origins of the Declaration, while also giving a fair, balanced look at the other side. This is the part of the book which the reader will most appreciate; indeed, for the reader’s sake, it is easy to wish that Auslin had focused more on the ideological side and less on the physical proportions of the symbolic parchment. Yet, for literary purposes, this is not so, and I can understand that the author intended to weave together both the tangible and the transcendent.
An idea as revolutionary as the declaration that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, and that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness (or property, depending on whether you ask Jefferson or Locke), does not stay in one time period. The idea continues to evolve, never losing its original force or moral clarity. Instead, it becomes a living standard by which successive generations have measured themselves, sometimes faithfully, sometimes selectively, and often uncomfortably. Auslin traces how this idea was invoked by abolitionists, expanded by Lincoln, appealed to by suffragists, and later reinterpreted by civil rights leaders, judges, and politicians, all of whom claimed the Declaration as their own inheritance. In doing so, he demonstrates that the Declaration has functioned less as a relic encased in glass and more as a moral compass, one that has repeatedly drawn Americans back to first principles even when the nation strayed far from them. For all of those who have not yet encountered Michael Auslin, this is my exhortation: your ignorance of such a principled and thought-provoking historian should come to an end. When you conclude the reading of this book, you will emerge substantially wiser, substantially stronger in your principles, and substantially more prepared to render persuasive arguments for just why our nation is so abnormal and exceptional.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
April 11th, 2026
C. A. Gerber
2/27/2026
tags: biography
First off, I’ll say this: if I were going to read a 1,200-page biography on Mark Twain, Ron Chernow would absolutely be my pick to write it. After reading Hamilton, I was impressed by Chernow’s ability to combine exhaustive research with compelling narrative. So when Edelweiss gave me an advance copy of Mark Twain, I was genuinely excited.
Unfortunately, the final result left me more frustrated than fulfilled.
The biography certainly has strengths. Chernow’s research is, as always, meticulous. He doesn’t just know Twain—he practically moves into his psyche. He explores Twain’s evolution from a sharp-witted riverboat pilot to a global celebrity, his financial struggles, his literary innovation, and the private grief that haunted him. There are powerful sections that remind you why Twain still matters today.
But there’s a point where depth becomes overload. The book is enormous—nearly 1,200 pages—and it feels it. At times, I found myself slogging through page after page of minute details that didn’t add much to the overall arc. There’s a fine line between comprehensive and overstuffed, and for me, this book crossed it often.
Secondly, and more importantly: as a Christian, I found Twain’s views on faith—not just troubling, but downright offensive. Chernow doesn’t shy away from Twain’s open hostility toward Christianity, and I commend his honesty in that. But Twain’s consistent mockery of Scripture, heaven, and God is hard to stomach. He wrote entire books satirizing Christianity—one about a man who dies of boredom in heaven, another involving a “young Satan” figure on earth. Is it satanic? I honestly don’t know, and I won’t be reading them to find out. What’s clear is that Twain’s bitterness toward God only grew over time, and Chernow portrays him as a rabid anti-Christian, not merely a skeptic. As a believer, I found this deeply disturbing and disheartening.
Third, unlike Chernow’s earlier biographies, this one feels opinionated in ways that detract from the historical work. Take Twain’s “angelfish”—his oddly intense relationships with young girls in his later life. Rather than presenting the facts and letting the reader decide, Chernow heavily editorializes, even suggesting Twain may have been guilty of pedophilia. That’s an outrageous claim, unsupported by any serious historical evidence. It feels speculative at best—and slanderous at worst.
Chernow also makes no attempt to hide his anti-imperialist stance. That’s his right, of course—but it colors the narrative. Time and again, instead of letting Twain’s words speak for themselves, Chernow filters them through his own worldview. As a reader, I felt like I was being told what to think rather than being allowed to draw my own conclusions.
In the end, I respect Chernow’s scholarship. He’s a gifted biographer. But this book crosses several lines: it’s too long, too biased, and—frankly—too indulgent. I walked away more disappointed than enlightened. If you’re a committed Twain scholar or a fan of Chernow’s voice, you might still get something out of it. But for the average reader—especially for Christians—this one may be more frustrating than rewarding.
Nonetheless, I recognize Chernow’s genius. He has thoroughly investigated the facts and has gone to tremendous lengths to report lesser-known details accurately. As an educational biography, this book receives my wholehearted endorsement. As a political manifesto, it does not. It should be read by those seeking serious moral discussion and by those seeking to learn more about one of the most colorful figures in our history—always bearing in mind that the spiritual never should, and never can, be totally abandoned.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
February 27th, 2026
Caleb A. Gerber
4/11/2026
tags: Christian
Why is it that today’s shepherds know little about sheep?
In this book, pastor and author James Collins takes our contemporary interpretations of Psalm 23 and sweeps them into the dustbin, then carefully crafts a new, and I would argue more radical, approach to how we should truly approach such a significant biblical passage.
Setting it in its context within the book of the Psalms, Collins reminds us that it is placed between two Messianic psalms. Certainly, David did not know who he was writing of when he spoke of the Shepherd, for it was indeed the Lord—but it was a specific Lord: the Lord Jesus, who had not yet been revealed in full when David wrote the now-famous words.
Moving beyond mere platitudes, Collins’ genius lies in his ability to combine deep theological lessons with Southern wit and personal experiences, without getting the reader lost either in the theological definitions of so many other works on theological matters or in making light of the things of God. In reality, when you read this book, a theological treatise is exactly what you are reading, yet you may well deny it, for it feels more like you are reading the reminiscences of a Southern preacher—which, in a way, you are.
Not only does Collins include everyday experiences and stories that impart rich practical meaning, but he also includes many symbolic details of which Christians today are woefully ignorant. It is easy to conclude, from reading this, that the author did massive research into the symbology behind the Lord as a shepherd, and he writes in this book of the many parallels between the needs of sheep and the tasks of the shepherd, in contrast to the needs of humans as sheep who need a master, and the tasks performed by the Shepherd and Master. Remarkably, the symbolism is neither stretched nor overdone, and the images portrayed do not go further than an explicitly biblical and orthodox interpretation.
That said, at times the book can feel overly simplified. This is by no means a fatal flaw, nor even an unexpected one given Collins’ pastoral aim, but it does raise the question of whether clarity has occasionally been purchased at the expense of depth. While the avoidance of dense theological terminology makes the work accessible, there are moments when the reader may wish for a more rigorous engagement with the underlying doctrinal issues that the text inevitably invites. Thus, my recommendation is simple: if you wish to move beyond the platitudes of normality, then this is the ideal book. If you wish to move into the profundity of theology, then this is not it. The purpose of this book is not to educate the educated, but, as I perceive it, to call the uneducated to a fuller and more accurate understanding of the truth claims of Christianity.
Collins does not offer a theological tower, but he reminds us of the base upon which such a tower must inevitably be built. It is a call for each of us to remember that only when we recognize that we are sheep can we recognize who our Shepherd is.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
March 12th, 2026
Caleb A. Gerber
4/15/2026
tags: culture
Believing is now fashionable for many of those in the cultural elite. In his most recent book, New York Times Opinions writer Ross Douthat makes the case for why this cultural trend should move out of the cultural elite and into the societal mainstream. This is the case for belief, belief, as it were, in the supernatural.
It is necessary at the outset for me to admit that I have enjoyed reading Douthat’s articles and have found many of his works insightful in the past. It is also quite easy to admire the purpose for which he wrote this book, namely to bring religious belief back into the public arena, not as a choice, but as a necessity. Douthat is a Catholic, and not only this, but he is quite orthodox, something which I appreciate as a conservative Protestant. Yet the problem with this book is that Douthat’s appeal is pitched too broadly.
As a book dealing with evidence of the supernatural, this one excels. Douthat takes real-life testimonies from many people, coming from all walks of life and all religious backgrounds. Taking stories of supernatural encounters from atheists as well as orthodox Christians and Catholics who have supposedly received some gift through a supernatural experience, Douthat certainly makes his point broadly and could likely convince any honest reader of the presence of the supernatural realm in everyday life. This, for the moment, leaves aside the fact that the differentiation between the natural and the supernatural realm is quite unbiblical, something which I will come to later.
In being indiscriminate in the stories which he chooses, Douthat unfortunately loses much of the moral and theological force which he would otherwise have. These are not angelic experiences alone but also include stories of electrical impulses and demonic apparitions. Douthat defines the supernatural broadly as anything which cannot be explained or explained away. Although this is a good secular definition of the word, it is not exactly one that can bear any level of Christian significance, certainly not when it is made to include experiences that border on hallucinations rather than reality. This is not to discount the reality of the spiritual realm, for Douthat does admirably in proving that such a realm must be accepted as a precondition of religious belief.
Moving on, it is necessary to touch on one important point, namely that the distinction between the natural and the supernatural is a recent one, one that would have been denied for millennia by Christian theologians and philosophers. To make that which we cannot immediately explain by the rules of nature—to be clear, reason can account for them, though the natural laws of physics cannot—unnatural, or supernatural, is to make its originator unnatural. Yet we know from the biblical account that everything that we can classify as natural proceeds from thence. Thus, even when trying to prove the existence of demonic and angelic forces, of experiences that defy explanation, and of those which cannot be accounted for except by the divine, we must be careful not to associate them with the supernatural, or the unreal. In reality, the realm of spirit is as real and as natural as the realm of matter.
Ultimately, the problem with Douthat’s explanation of the supernatural centers not on using the wrong word, a word which has by now been engraved on the social imaginary, but on treating religious experiences as universally valid. Obviously, his purpose in writing the book is not to promote a partisan religiosity, although he makes clear his own Catholic beliefs, but rather to draw everyone nearer to belief in some sort of deity. Therein lies the problem, for Douthat does not recognize, at least in this work, the fact that some belief is divine and some is deceptive. Truth gets mixed with error, the God of the Bible with the God of the mystics. Although Douthat proves that something is out there, he does not give an answer as to what is out there beyond a testimony of his personal belief.
As a book which will certainly be sold in nonreligious bookstores and will likely form a significant part of the cultural conversation for quite some time, this book is both useful and necessary to properly understand the movement toward belief in the divine. For those who are agnostic, atheist, or simply uninterested in religious experience, this should be a book that remains on their bookshelves. However, if you are searching for a book that offers not only a case for religion, but a case for the Religion, then this, unfortunately, is not it. Although perhaps a useful tool, one that indeed should be used, this book is limited in scope to the realm of inclusivity. By broadening the audience, Douthat has, alas, narrowed its sharpness as a weapon to cut down the lies of the enemy, although he has certainly provided a bulwark from which we may now launch our arrows of truth.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
March 15th, 2026
C. A. Gerber
3/12/2026
It can’t happen here; it can’t happen now — or can it? In Live Not by Lies, cultural commentator Rod Dreher answers the age-old question of how we should act in the face of falsehoods, and how we should respond to the increase of totalitarianism in our culture. Elucidating, firstly, how totalitarianism in any of its forms can take root in society, Dreher argues that while Eastern culture was threatened and devastated by an Orwellian totalitarianism that controlled everything, including the thoughts and words of its citizens, we, living in the modern Western hemisphere, are in danger not of an Orwellian system, but a Huxleyan one.
Drawing heavily on the writings of dissidents Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Vaclav Benda, as well as information received through extensive interviews with survivors, or children of survivors, of the Communist regimes, Dreher recounts the stories of courageous individuals who “lived not by lies.”
Arguing that “the ideal subject of a totalitarian state is someone who has learned to love Big Brother,” Dreher shows how the loss of belief in a transcendent moral order left the culture of Eastern Europe susceptible to a communist takeover, and how, more terrifyingly, the loss of this transcendent order in the West, where the very ideal of moral transcendence was founded, is leaving us open and vulnerable to the soft totalitarianism of Huxley’s Brave New World. Indeed, communism answered, and still answers, “an essentially religious longing,” which is why Dreher argues that we must understand that we are fighting not against a rival economic system, or even a political one, but rather against a completely different and uncompromising religion. This soft totalitarianism demands loyalty in every aspect of life; it demands conformity to all its dogmatic teachings; and it demands, above all, the surrender of Truth. For it, “there is no such thing as objective truth — there is only power.”
The author devotes several chapters to examples of how soft totalitarianism has become the norm in our own culture. At times, this can become overly speculative; his warnings about the PATRIOT Act — though he doesn’t mention it by name, he clearly implies it — as conducive to a totalitarian society, and his dismissal of the state as a vehicle of security maintenance, feel overly influenced by libertarian extravagance. Cultural pressures, social media outrage, and corporate conformity are real phenomena, but Dreher occasionally presents them as more unified and monolithic than they actually are. His examples are persuasive in principle but, at times, exaggerated in scope.
Dreher also proposes a solution to the hard times that we are sure to face. If the thesis were only about the fact that we, as Westerners, are in trouble, and that the totalitarianism of the previous century is rising — indeed, that it has even risen in our midst in a new and deadly form — it would be a book ending in despair. Yet through the examples of brave dissidents and Christians from the past, we too can learn how to live the truth in a culture of lies. Using quotes from Romanian pastor Richard Wurmbrand, and the stories of incarceration from multiple Christians, the author shows that suffering is not necessarily a bad thing; indeed, it can bring the community together like never before. As a reader, it was highly appreciated that Dreher did not simply make these points as statements to be accepted at face value, but rather interviewed dozens of men and women who possessed firsthand experience. This lends a level of credibility to this book that is simply not present in other political manifestos.
Central to Dreher’s argument is the concept articulated by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn in his famous essay Live Not by Lies: the refusal to participate in falsehood. Totalitarian systems survive not merely because of the power of the state, but because millions of ordinary people repeat, affirm, and publicly comply with things they know to be untrue. The lie becomes truth, and the truth becomes unknowable. “Let the lie come into the world,” is the rallying cry. “Let it even triumph…,” but, Solzhenitsyn concludes, “not through me.”
A must read.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
March 12th, 2026
Caleb A. Gerber
4/23/2026
tags: politics, Christian, culture, leadership
Is the answer retreat? Is today’s modern liberal culture too far gone to save? Have we invested “our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor” in a project that is not worth the former two, much less the first? Perhaps this is not the exact, word-for-word argument that columnist Rod Dreher makes, but it certainly appears to be something close to it. In The Benedict Option, Dreher takes us back in time to examine the life and example of St. Benedict and his band of reclusive followers, arguing that the community they formed is exactly the kind of community in which we should participate—and the kind of life for which we should be willing to die.
Dreher begins his argument with intellectual history, describing the twin forces of reason and faith—represented by Athens and Jerusalem—as guiding the Church and society through the Middle Ages. It is within this context that the life of Benedict and his monks, living for Christ as a community rather than merely as individuals, takes place. Dreher continues his intellectual chronology with the thought and life of St. Thomas Aquinas. Coming from a Protestant background, I am compelled to concede the greatness and intellectual seriousness of the man who is likely the premier theologian and philosopher not only of his period but extending into the present day. One of Dreher’s most important strengths is his ability to appeal to authorities such as Aquinas when making the case for Christian philosophical realism. Nor does Dreher resort to blaming the typical villain of anti-Enlightenment Christian critiques, René Descartes. Although he mentions Descartes, Dreher critiques not his methodology but the thinkers who followed him. Rather than blaming Enlightenment figures directly for current skepticism, Dreher instead points to William of Ockham, the father of nominalism, as the source of the problem. Let me explain.
Dreher posits that two rival worldviews were at work during the High Middle Ages, which have since split philosophical discourse into two nearly unbridgeable camps. The first, Christian realism, is associated with Thomas Aquinas and, earlier, Aristotle. This view holds that real, discoverable truths exist and are grounded in God. In other words, a tree is genuinely real, present, and accessible to the senses, but ultimately ordered within a meaningful and purposeful reality. This was the dominant view for centuries following Aquinas’s death. In contrast, William of Ockham proposed nominalism—the view that things do not possess inherent reality, causality, or necessity. Reality becomes fragmented into isolated parts, and meaning is no longer embedded in the world but is instead fluid. While nominalism leaves room for God, it undermines the idea of God’s unchanging nature. For Ockham and his intellectual descendants, the qualities of nature are not necessary but contingent. God could have just as easily commanded Moses, “Thou shalt kill,” if He had so chosen. The key difference lies in the nature of meaning: for realists, meaning exists independently and is discovered; for nominalists, meaning is constructed. Dreher sees this shift as the catalyst for the modern struggle between objective meaning and subjective self. His argument is that once society rejected realism and embraced nominalism, the checks and balances that governed both society and meaning itself began to unravel, piece by piece.
The solution, Dreher proposes, is not political engagement. He argues that such efforts have failed. In a sense, he calls for retreat—perhaps into local communities, perhaps even into something resembling monastic life. However it is framed, engagement with an increasingly counter-Christian culture is not, in his view, the answer. The problem with this is that Christians are called to be the “salt and the light” of the earth. Classical teachings hold that Christians remain in the world as a counterbalance to evil. It is through engagement with a fallen world that redemption is pursued. Dreher overlooks this in his advocacy for intentional Christian communities. While such communities are not inherently wrong, his emphasis neglects a significant part of the broader picture.
Secondly, Dreher significantly overestimates the ability of community to preserve truth. While he is correct to reject the nominalism of William of Ockham, he veers toward the opposite extreme, failing to adequately account for the free will of individuals to accept or reject biblical mandates. Community, though valuable, cannot guarantee faithfulness. Because of human fallenness, no structure—no matter how well-ordered—can serve as a safeguard against error. Dreher himself concedes that community is not salvific. Yet by placing such weight on retreat and communal life, he effectively elevates it beyond its proper role, risking a subtle shift away from personal responsibility and active witness in the world.
The final problem with Dreher’s argument is that, although he is overly optimistic about humanity’s ability to achieve harmony within community, he simultaneously underestimates humanity’s capacity to act in accordance with natural law—especially when the survival of culture itself is at stake. His claim that the answer no longer lies in voting for political candidates risks creating a false dichotomy. The truth is that the answer never lay solely in political engagement. Both Christian theologians and the American founders understood that political involvement, while necessary, is not sufficient. We can agree with Dreher that “politics is not the solution,” but we must also insist that “retreat into community is not the solution either.” In avoiding one ditch, Dreher has driven into another. There have always been those who spread fear and predict impending collapse. Perhaps such collapse is near. But even if our systems are irredeemable, our institutions corrupt, and our world deeply fallen, the answer is not withdrawal. It is to stand and act—even if such action appears futile—so that we cannot be said to have remained silent.
It is important to avoid misrepresenting Dreher’s argument. He does not advocate burying our heads in the sand or withdrawing entirely from political life. In fact, he encourages continued support for causes such as the right to life, traditional marriage, and core tenets of Christian conservatism. Dreher is not unpatriotic, despite how his argument may sound. He clearly loves America and its people; more broadly, he values Western civilization and seeks to protect it from forces he believes are eroding it from within. The issue lies less in what Dreher explicitly argues and more in how his argument may be interpreted. He is correct to point out that many of our current solutions are ineffective. However, where he errs is not in diagnosing the problem, but in his response. Like others in the post-liberal movement, he risks rejecting the very system that allowed the problem to emerge—and that may still contain the means for its resolution. The problem is not classical liberalism or our system of government. Nor is it that we mistakenly believe politics alone is the solution. Rather, the problem lies in expecting too much from imperfect systems and people. It lies in demanding perfection from a fallen world and then abandoning it when that expectation is not met.
What, then, is the verdict? Is The Benedict Option worth reading? Yes—with important caveats. The book succeeds not so much in accomplishing its stated aim, where it ultimately falls short, but in establishing the necessary groundwork for a broader discussion. Dreher’s real contribution is that he forces readers to confront where things may have gone wrong and to consider possible solutions together. This conversation, as Dreher himself suggests, should take place within communities—but without idolizing community, dismissing political structures, or denying individual responsibility. The Church was not called to survive history by retreating from it, but by confronting it—generation after generation—not with certainty of victory, but with certainty of truth. That is where we must stand.
Gabriel Herrmann
3/25/2026
There is a crisis in the Western church, and Zachary M. Garris is not interested in beating around the bush. In Masculine Christianity, Garris makes the case that the church's slow accommodation to feminist ideology has not been a neutral cultural adjustment; it has been a theological surrender, one with consequences that ripple outward from the pulpit into the home and society at large. It is a bold argument, and one that deserves to be taken seriously.
Garris’s central contention is straightforward: God has not left men and women without direction. Scripture speaks clearly about the distinct roles, responsibilities, and authorities given to each sex, and the church’s drift away from these teachings has not made it more loving or more relevant; it has made it weaker. Masculine Christianity is, at its core, a call to recover what was never supposed to be lost.
What makes this book worth reading is that Garris does not treat masculinity as a cultural preference or a personality type. He roots it in theology. The authority a husband exercises in his home, the leadership a man provides in his church, and the responsibility he bears in society—these are not artifacts of a bygone era to be quietly retired. They are divinely ordained structures, and abandoning them has costs. Garris is right to press this point, and he does so with clarity and conviction rather than apology.
The book is also refreshingly honest about the scope of the problem. This is not merely a matter of a few liberal congregations going astray. Garris identifies the embrace of feminist assumptions as widespread across evangelical and even ostensibly conservative church culture. The softening of male headship, the sidelining of male leadership, and the reframing of biblical gender roles as culturally conditioned rather than scripturally grounded—these trends have touched nearly every corner of the Western church. The diagnosis feels accurate, and that accuracy is itself valuable. You cannot address a problem you are unwilling to name.
On the positive side of the ledger, Garris is equally clear. The alternative to a feminized church is not a caricature of domineering men barking orders; it is men who take their God-given responsibilities seriously—men who lead their families with love and intentionality, men who step into their churches not as passive attendees but as engaged shepherds and servants, and men who understand that authority and sacrifice are not opposites but are bound together in the biblical vision of manhood.
The principles he articulates—the complementarity of the sexes, the headship of the husband, the importance of male leadership in the church, and the social consequences of getting gender wrong—are not novelties. They are historic Christian beliefs, confessed and practiced across centuries and traditions, before the present moment of confusion set in. Garris’s project is essentially restorative, and there is something deeply sensible about that. The answer to theological drift is not innovation; it is return.
Readers looking for a thorough academic treatment of every relevant passage or a deep engagement with opposing scholarship will want to supplement this volume with additional resources. But that is not entirely what Garris is after. Masculine Christianity functions more as a clarion call than an exhaustive systematic treatment, and on those terms it succeeds. It is direct, blunt, and readable, and it arrives at a moment when directness is badly needed.
The church does not need another round of accommodation. It does not need to find more comfortable language for timeless truths or more palatable framings for unpopular doctrines. What it needs is what Garris is calling for: the willingness to take Scripture at its word, to trust that God’s design for men and women is not a liability but a gift, and to build accordingly. Masculine Christianity makes that case with urgency and conviction.
For readers who sense that something has gone wrong in how the modern church talks about men, women, and gender—and who suspect the answer lies not in further revision but in faithful recovery—this book is well worth your time.
Review Written by Gabriel Herrmann
March 30th, 2026
C. A. Gerber
3/6/2026
The Gilded Age has long been fraught with controversy, from the actions of John D. Rockefeller’s Standard Oil to the trust-busting of Theodore Roosevelt and the Sherman Anti-Trust Act. Both sides of the political spectrum have a special interest in this period of American history. It was, depending on perspective, an age of greed or an age of enormous technological progress; a period during which the robber barons reigned supreme, or an age when the captains of industry generated thousands of jobs and fueled the economic boom that would send America to the forefront of world geopolitics and economics within a matter of decades.
Now, Doris Kearns Goodwin, author of the Pulitzer Prize–winning Team of Rivals, dedicates her talent and her pen to this age, and to two figures who were dominant not only in politics, but also in economics. In an intriguing and fascinatingly told tale involving the friendship and rivalry of Theodore Roosevelt and William Howard Taft, Goodwin weaves into the narrative the questions of the day: is, as the social Darwinists and conservatives believed, the role of government limited by time and space, or is it to play an active, and, in the hands of Roosevelt, incredibly active role in asserting the rights of labor and protecting the interests of the worker? From McClure’s periodical, where Ida Tarbell and her team of “muckrakers,” as Roosevelt, in a fit of anger, would describe them, labored tirelessly to expose what they perceived as injustice on the part of capitalist businessmen and financiers, to the halls of Congress, where Goodwin portrays the group she labels as the “conservatives” as both enemies of the people and, in her view, defenders of the status quo; in short, as corrupt career politicians dedicated to preserving their own livelihoods.
In terms of style, Goodwin has delivered another masterpiece. The characters, personalities, and foibles of both Theodore Roosevelt — the passionate, temperamental, and extremely dedicated former colonel and outdoorsman — and William Taft, in personality his opposite, though in mental fortitude, if not in dedication, his equal, come alive in this narrative. From Roosevelt’s appointment as Vice President and Taft’s tenure as Governor-General of the Philippines, to Roosevelt’s presidency and his nomination of Taft as his successor, Goodwin captures the excitement of the moment, as a team of talented, if biased, journalists set to work to expose the rich and wealthy in what some may call a personal vendetta — in the case of Tarbell — or an ideological obsession — in the case of Lincoln Steffens.
Leading up to the break between the former president and the sitting president, as tensions increased, the issues of the day came to the forefront. With Taft’s catastrophic, though arguably necessary, firing of Roosevelt’s top ally, Gifford Pinchot, the two men came head to head, and both used the power of the bully pulpit to its fullest, ultimately leading to the election of 1912, in which Theodore Roosevelt, wounded after a bullet struck him in the chest during an assassination attempt, for the first and only time in history defeated one of the two main party contenders while running as a third-party candidate, coming in second to the Princeton professor Woodrow Wilson. The Progressive Era is very much an era to be remembered and studied, from the populism of Bryan to the labor strikes throughout the nation and the political backrooms of Washington, D.C.
That said, no book should be spared necessary criticism, and this book is no exception. Goodwin, who worked for Lyndon B. Johnson and is a notable critic of conservatism not only in its manifestations of the nineteenth century but also in its current forms, makes no attempt to conceal her disdain for “laissez-faire economics” and clearly takes a view of government as the cure for all ills. Her view of Roosevelt as primarily a progressive candidate opposed to business freedom is not held by all historians; and neither she nor any other historian has the right to monopolize Roosevelt for her own side. Numerous comments made by Roosevelt, Taft, or other close advisors opposing the muckrakers and labor strikers go ignored or underexplained, and while she defends her thesis well and writes it clearly, she does so at the risk of overlooking evidence that does not suit her view. Of course, this is something that many historians, including those on the right, do regularly, and it is a criticism that should apply not only to this author but to all authors when necessary. Her representation of laborers as primarily peaceful or motivated by righteous intentions is an interesting take, one that should be engaged by those on the right as a claim that overlooks the anarchism and socialism of the day, anarchism that would lead to the assassination of William McKinley. The religious aspect is ignored completely. In fact, the only mention the author makes of religion in the entire 900-page book is to state that Taft’s father defended a court ruling declaring that Christianity should have no special place in America. Further, though she does not demonize Rockefeller, J.P. Morgan, or other big business executives, her sympathies are clearly not on their side. In short, this is a book you could and should expect from a progressive, pro-government intervention journalist like Goodwin.
So, what then is the verdict? It is, as nearly all matters are, a complex yet simple answer: it should be read; it should be engaged with. The thesis should be understood but not taken at face value. The facts should not be entirely discounted nor entirely accepted, but should be read critically. Above all, a conclusion must be formed. Agree or disagree, this book will make you choose, and that, ultimately, is the one piece of the puzzle remaining, for which I am proud to recommend this book as a necessary piece of American history.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
March 6th, 2026
C. A. Gerber
3/15/2026
What has happened to our kids? To receive an answer to this question is the same as to receive an answer to the question: what has happened to our education system, for while their formative years are in swing, it is the teachers who exert the most influence, change the most lives, and determine, in a way, the future beliefs of the children of America.
In taking another look at exactly how education turned into indoctrination, and virtue turned into values, former FOX News Host—and now Secretary of War—Pete Hegseth, a publicly educated yet concerned parent, and David Goodwin, an experienced classical educator, explore the beginnings of progressive ideology in America, and they go back further than the normal thesis, which places the blame entirely on the shoulders of John Dewey and the pragmatists. Rather, argue the authors, the true culprits are those who, as far back as the Enlightenment, but especially later, with the origin of the social gospel, began to shift the focus of education away from the cultivation of virtue and the transmission of truth—the Western paideia—to the reshaping of society. However noble the goal, the result was catastrophic, argues Hegseth, for it inoculated students against the idea that truth and wisdom could be learned, instead positing that truth and wisdom must be effected—that is, that the measure of a society’s goodness was not its ability or lack thereof to conform to a certain standard, but rather its capacity to mold the standard to a progressive secular ideal.
Challenging even the perception of modern-day conservatives that patriotism is a measure of an education’s virtue, Hegseth argues that patriotism for a nation, though not an inherent vice, has replaced the patriotism of the Old World: that is, the patriotism holding to the idea that man’s final kingdom, final destination, and final allegiance is not earthly, but heavenly.
Moving through history, from the conflict of the Enlightenment and the Revolution to the emergence of the Social Gospel, Darwinism and its fruits, and lastly the pragmatist educational system of John Dewey, Hegseth and Goodwin show rather than tell the erosion of the classical ideal. The paideia upon which our nation was founded regarded virtue and philosophy—or the love of wisdom—as fundamental. Virtue and wisdom were not proper to the individual, but to the citizen. They were not synonymous with the word used today—“values”—for values can be proper to each man, different and at times contradictory—justice and mercy, truth and love—depending on how they are applied. For the authors, virtue, the shaping of the mind toward the truth, and the molding of the heart toward the telos, is the goal of education, a goal at which our culture has simply failed to arrive.
The authors’ argument is persuasive, but uncomfortable, for it makes the reader realize that even that which he or she considered to be “conservative” was borrowed from that which is the opposite. They do not mix terms and avoid many of the strawmen used by modern classicists. Unfortunately, in their representation of the Founding Fathers as deists molded more by the Enlightenment than by Christian doctrine, they seem to be falling into the error they diagnose. This, of course, does not nullify the thesis, but it leaves room for them to grow, and makes the reader think critically about thinking critically. Furthermore, though the critique is powerful, they seem to focus more on the problems than the solutions. They do address the why behind this: it’s obvious that solutions will vary from situation to situation, and what applies in one case will not apply in another. Easy to understand, the book’s strength lies in its ability to bring the history of education into perspective, incorporating Christian truths into the final analysis.
When virtue is abandoned, when reason is thrown to the dogs and is no longer able to determine the legitimacy or accuracy of a statement, then the failure is not simply pedagogical, but spiritual. It leaves students untethered—able to recite facts but unable to explain the deeper meaning behind them; willing to change culture but without knowing what culture should be changed to. Social engineering no longer produces citizens, but rather, it produces sycophants.
Review Written by C. A. Gerber
March 15th, 2026