Review of Mere Natural Law

Book Author: Hadley Arkes

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

Review of National Treasure

Book Author: Michael Auslin

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

Review of Rasputin: The Downfall of the Romanovs

Book Author: Antony Beevor

tags: history, Russian 

Mystic guide or heretic? Unsung hero, or the villain who changed the history of the twentieth century? Many descriptions, conflicting ones at that, but all are focused on a single man.

Talented military historian Antony Beevor turns his attention to one of the most overlooked and mysterious players in Russian history and focuses not only on Grigory Rasputin, but on the world into which he was born, in which he lived, and in which he was killed: the world of Orthodox Russia before the Bolshevik coup and the abdication of Nicholas II, which marked the end of the Romanov dynasty. Rasputin was born into humble origins, but he would eventually rise to the top and be introduced into the most powerful and elite circle in czarist Russia. His supposed mystical powers would win him a reputation which, when it came to the ears of the Tsarina Alexandra, would mark the beginning of his rise to the top and the beginning of the Romanovs' fall to the bottom.

For a military historian, Beevor is certainly an interesting writer. Many historians specializing in the history of warfare tend to get bogged down in the details while missing the overall picture. Not so with Beevor, who, with a wealth of sources, manages to encapsulate both the particulars and the universals: both Rasputin the man and the men and women around that man.

Interestingly, this is one of Beevor's shorter works, coming in at around 350 pages of substantive writing, plus footnotes and bibliography. The fact that Rasputin, like all men, lived a full life, and further, the fact that his life was by no means dull, will of course mean that many details which may interest the reader will inevitably be left out. Certainly, this is one of the impressions that will be received when reading the book. Beevor's biography of Rasputin is not a typical biography. Only a couple of pages are given to the first decades of Rasputin's life, while a full three chapters are focused on his assassination. While many biographies will only briefly mention the players who figure prominently in the life of their protagonist, Beevor goes deeper. Not only does he introduce the characters in their relationship with the mystic, but he also presents them as dynamic characters themselves, showing the reader their world as well as Rasputin's, even when the two do not necessarily intersect. At times this makes the overall thrust of the work feel vague, but on the flip side, it adds much depth, both cultural and political, that is not normally found in a simple biography.

While this style may, to some, seem distracting, this unconventional structure ultimately works to the book's advantage. Instead of focusing on Rasputin's birth, early decades, and formation, which would in most cases be desirable, the author's emphasis on the world of late imperial Russia helps underscore the fact that although Rasputin may have been the catalyst for the downfall of the Romanovs, he was not the only, or even the principal, figure. Beevor does not make this explicit, though I wish he did, but this underlines an interesting historical point: everyone should ultimately bear responsibility for his or her own actions. Blame for the fate of a nation may hinge on a particular person, but that hinge should not be mistaken for the door. The author demonstrates that the collapse of the dynasty cannot and should not be attributed to Rasputin alone, despite the enduring popular myth that he single-handedly brought down the entire empire.

Although not in depth, several philosophical and theological questions are tossed around by the author through the people in this story. Rasputin's perverted behavior can be seen, in part, as the consequence of his belief that, to be forgiven much, it is necessary to sin much. Obviously, this is dangerously unorthodox, not in the denominational sense, teaching, as it places a strong emphasis on sinning instead of any attempt to avoid illicit behaviors and acts. The consequences of this mistaken belief may become obvious at once to those more versed in biblical theology and will add a layer of depth to this book which could very easily be missed by those who are not as well versed. Indeed, the opportunity to engage not only with the political philosophy of Nicholas and Alexandra, as well as that of the moderates and those on the right and left of the political spectrum, but also with the theological and philosophical questions which played such a role in the Russia of the early twentieth century, is one of the most enjoyable and commendable parts of this work.

Two areas of weakness in this book are of note. Firstly, with a subject as complex as Rasputin, and with contrasts so stark between the "man of God" that the Czar and the Czarina saw him to be and the "man of the world," the carnal Rasputin accused and likely guilty of rape, the facts alone cannot suffice. Most readers, upon concluding the read, will be left confused as to Rasputin's legacy. Certainly, history is full of shades of gray, but the shades of gray do not negate the black and the white which, when summed, the grays produce. Beevor's attempt at objectivity, while commendable and understandable, is unsatisfactory because it leaves the reader with little sense of historical judgment. Was he good or bad? Perhaps the author intends to leave this question unanswered; perhaps he believes the question is unanswerable; or perhaps he wishes to leave it up to the reader to decide, to weigh the evidence in the balance of history and make the decision for himself. Yet the brevity of the work, coupled with the conflicting facts, makes such a task nearly impossible. Beevor is a master at narrating facts; he is less successful at drawing conclusions from them. Consequently, the central question of who Rasputin truly was remains frustratingly unresolved.

The second area of criticism is less universal and will likely not be shared by all readers. Once more it centers on the author's attempt at objectivity. The way in which he deals with Rasputin, who was after all a primarily religious figure, is almost entirely secular. He narrates what those around him, in a highly superstitious culture fed by Eastern Orthodox mysticism, thought about Rasputin's actions and whether they came from a divine origin, but notably, Beevor never attempts either to debunk any claims of spiritualism or to confirm them. The conflict within the Russian Church is also of note here; not everyone inside the church hierarchy agreed on Rasputin and how the church should deal with him. Beevor also shows that the Tsar's attempts to interfere with ecclesial authority were not welcome, yet no contrast is shown between the orthodoxy of the Orthodox and the orthodoxy of Rasputin. To those readers unfamiliar with the teachings, practices, and liturgy of Orthodoxy, this may be a problem.

Despite these criticisms, Rasputin is a highly worthwhile work and a welcome contribution to the study of late imperial Russia. Readers will emerge with their interest in this period not satisfied, but decidedly piqued. It is a good starting point, a good beginning to a road that will lead deeper into the struggles of history and the struggles of the soul.

Review of American Patriarch

Book Author: H. W. Brands

tags: history, biography 

The Father of America is not a new topic to write or to read about. In two hundred and fifty years, biography after biography has been written, from Parson Weems' largely fictitious rendering of the General to Ron Chernow's monumental biography of Washington at the beginning of the twenty-first century. Now Pulitzer Prize finalist author and historian H. W. Brands brings his considerable talents to bear on the enigmatic yet consequential first President of the United States. The question most readers will confront as they read through the book is this: does Brands do anything new? Is his new biography not, rather, the oldest topic in the book of American history, apart from Lincoln?

The two hundred and fiftieth birthday of America is approaching. That is the occasion for which Brands has published his new 600-page biography of George Washington. Our age is torn apart by political battles that Washington tried to avoid throughout his presidency. The geopolitical landscape has changed drastically in two and a half centuries: regional alliances have shifted, and new men have come and gone from the echelons of power. Washington's legacy has been revisited. It would indeed be incredible if, after all this time, a new aspect were to come to light. Not surprisingly, it has not.

That is not to say that Brands' new book is bad. Certainly, the author has gone to considerable lengths in his research from primary sources to produce a lucid, engaging, and authoritative narrative. The prose is not dense, yet neither is it superficial. The man who is painted in this book is the Washington we know, not one we do not know.

The test of a modern Washington biography is therefore not whether it overturns established scholarship, but whether it presents the familiar story with fresh insight, sound judgment, and compelling prose. On that score, Brands largely succeeds.

The key strength of this book is one that may appear odd. Many biographies have been praised for their broad scope and all-encompassing nature. A biography of Lincoln has become notable because it portrays Lincoln in contrast to his advisers. Churchill's many biographies have succeeded largely insofar as they have presented those around him. Brands certainly does not ignore everyone else; yet, in his biography of Washington, he does not also provide biographies of Jefferson, Hamilton, Adams, or any of the other Founders. Washington is the topic, and the topic is the sole focus of this book. In other words, while Brands' cast of characters is broad, it is not long; the people in this book are mentioned only insofar as they help the reader better understand the man Washington was, and the man he was not.

Brands recognizes that there is little left to discover about Washington. Rather than chasing novelty through speculative interpretation or by making the biography about the Founding generation as a whole, he succeeds by keeping Washington himself at the center of every chapter. Discussions about the beginning of the Revolutionary War are largely avoided. While the Boston Tea Party, the Intolerable Acts, and the First Continental Congress are all mentioned, they are viewed through Washington's eyes and the eyes of the Virginian gentry to which he belonged.

Brands refuses to show us Washington in an iconoclastic way: as merely a military genius or a man of temperance and virtue, though he was, in varying degrees, all these things. He was a military genius at times, but also one who made numerous strategic blunders; trusting Benedict Arnold ranks as the most egregious, in Brands' reading. He was a man of temperance and virtue, yet one who, according to witnesses, was not entirely immune from bursts of passion, fits of anger, and a loose mouth. On the other hand, Brands does not reinterpret Washington; he is not a revisionist. He holds Washington's motives to be pure: slaveholder though he was, he was deeply opposed to the institution itself on moral grounds and freed all his slaves upon his death. Likewise, although not devout in the conventional sense, the Washington portrayed here frequently recognized the "dispensations of Providence," both in his personal life and in military and political affairs.

The parts of this book that will most genuinely interest the reader have mostly to do with Washington's early life. Although scant attention is paid to his childhood, Brands does not gloss over his prewar military experience, his complex relationship with the French and with the Native Americans, his military formation as a product of British war policy, and his role in the beginning of the French and Indian War. Specifically, Brands shows how Washington was not only a shrewd tactician but also a shrewd negotiator, skilled in matters of peace as well as those of war. Further, while almost no attention is given to matters affecting Washington only externally, such as the Paris negotiations between Adams and the court of Louis XVI, Brands has uncovered an aspect of the war not generally discussed in contemporary histories: the British perception of the war.

Brands is not pro-British by any measure of the word. Indeed, he is far too skeptical of the Hamiltonian faction of the Federalist Party during Washington's presidency; his allegiance lies squarely in the Jeffersonian camp. Yet his skepticism of the British and his patriotism do not extend so far as to ignore the British altogether. Diary entries from British officers, letters from Admiral Sir Richard Howe, and the story of John André show not Washington's perception of others, but others' perception of him.

This book, however, is not all roses and petals. By paying special attention to Washington's early career, Brands must leave out much of his later career lest the book become longer than would conceivably hold the attention of the average reader. Numerous chapters are spent on Fort Duquesne, his life as a farmer, colonial relations with the Indians, and the battles against the French. The Revolutionary War chapters contain as much detail as could be wished for, providing enough, but not so much, information as to inundate the pages with unnecessary detail. On the other hand, the postwar section consists of a single chapter, albeit an extraordinarily long one, discussing his entire two-term presidency. Events such as the Jay Treaty and the Whiskey Rebellion are mentioned, yet treated more as secondary incidents. The Farewell Address is hardly analyzed at all. The goal of the book is undoubtedly to make the reader acquainted with Washington the man, yet it must be said that very little is said about Washington the politician beyond the fact that he despised political factions.

Despite these apparent weaknesses, Brands succeeds in doing what he set out to do: make the reader more knowledgeable about Washington, if not about his times. It is both a conventional biography and an unconventional narrative, one that has few detours and arrives directly at its destination. Brands' conclusion is admirable in its simplicity and lack of grandiosity. Washington, he claims, was a man of his time. What his time was like, however, we gain only a limited understanding of from reading the book, though Brands likely expects the average reader to be familiar with the story of the Revolution. The General would not fit into today's world, he argues. He would be horrified by it. His strength lay not in predicting the future, but in laying the guardrails and the foundations upon which future generations could build.

Review Written by Caleb A. Gerber

June 29th, 2026

Review of Mark Twain

Book Author: Ron Chernow

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

Review of Live Not By Lies

Book Author: Rod Dreher

tags: culture, Russian 

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

Review of Masculine Christianity

Book Author: Zachary M. Garris

tags: culture, Christian 

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