Father & Son Riding Bikes in Neighborhood | In Defense of the Ideal Father | Public Square Magazine | The Ideal Father Figure | An Ideal Dad | Being The Perfect Father

In Defense of the Ideal Father

Are fatherhood ideals inherently oppressive? Explore how ideals can shape and guide rather than confine.

At the end of his book American Fatherhood, Jürgen Martschukat writes:

The middle-class nuclear family with a homemaking mother and breadwinning father has never been the living arrangement of a majority of Americans, not even before the 1970s. However, as the book [American Fatherhood] has shown, even if people were not living according to the dominant model of family life, very often they were judged by others in relation to that model and also measured their sense of self in relation to it. 

For context, each chapter before this surveys a different period of American history and highlights a father, who often deviates from the protective-provider-with-wife-and-children type. However, the influence of this ideal is felt throughout the book. The “ideal father” was established from the country’s founding and remains a powerful norm thereafter.

Many, including Martschukat, seem to conclude from this that the normative power of the nuclear family is unwarranted at best and oppressive at worst. Why should non-traditional fathers be judged by an ideal that most American men do not achieve? Why not expand the definition of fatherhood instead?

This begs a deeper question: What are ideals for?

Merriam-Webster defines “ideal” as:

1. a standard of perfection, beauty, or excellence

2. one regarded as exemplifying an ideal and often taken as a model for imitation

3. an ultimate object or aim of endeavor: goal

By these definitions, an ideal does not need to be achievable. Even if nobody ever meets it, an ideal can still serve as a standard, a model to imitate, or a goal to aim for. Its function is not undermined by the fact that people do not actually get there. The point of an ideal is not to be achievable.

To be clear, I’m not arguing that the nuclear family should be the ideal. I’m just saying we should not do away with it (or any ideal) simply because so few achieve it. The point of an ideal is not to be achievable. Rather, it can be a guide, a north star toward which to aim.

The point of an ideal is not to be achievable.

Of course, there might still be objections to an ideal if it has been imposed unfairly. For example, if idealizing motherhood is merely an attempt by some to marginalize women in the workplace, that can be a valid reason to challenge the ideal.

However, just because you do not meet an ideal does not necessarily mean you have been treated unfairly. It just means that, for whatever reason, you are not there yet. Maybe you will never get there. Whether that is your fault or happenstance, the inability to achieve an ideal does not justify eliminating it. 

In Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian, for example, the judge (the antagonist) claims that a child whose father dies before they are born is left unfairly crippled by an idealized impression of him:

Now, the son whose father’s existence in this world is historical and speculative even before the son has entered it is in a bad way. All his life he carries before him the idol of a perfection to which he can never attain. The father dead has euchred the son of his patrimony. For it is the death of the father to which the son is entitled and to which he is heir, more than his goods. He will not hear of the small mean ways that tempered the man in life. He will not see him struggling in follies of his own devising. No. The world which he inherits bears him false witness. He is broken before a frozen god, and he will never find his way.

There is no doubt that not knowing your father can be a big disadvantage in life. However, the judge goes a step further by suggesting that not knowing your father is somehow unfair because it leads the son to idealize him into a “perfection” he can never attain. Is this always a bad thing, though? 

My mom’s dad died in a helicopter crash when she was two. She does not remember him and admits to idealizing him. While daughters may have a different relationship to their fathers, this idealization isn’t necessarily harmful. Again, failure to live up to an ideal should not discount the ideal. If anything, the ideal a person has is telling. Surely, a child does not idealize its father to set up unrealistic expectations for itself, but rather, it could be to fill a void left by an absent father with the form of someone to emulate.

Whatever that form is and wherever it comes from, the fact that it exerts powerful influence does not automatically make it unjust.

That said, a father who idealizes himself to exert undue influence over his child is another matter. He pretends to be perfect by hiding his flaws. But for a father who dies before his child is born, this is impossible. Whatever form he survives in can be a product of his child’s imagination in addition to information gathered from family and friends. The ideal, again, is not the issue—it is the intent behind it.

For some, any ideal is the result of a conspiracy to marginalize those who do not fit its definition. And certainly, some ideals are just that. However, marginalization in some cases does not equal marginalization in all cases.

Ideals simply reflect the full potential of something.

For instance, some ideals simply reflect the full potential of something. As a kid, I did not (and still do not) curse my parents for being taller, faster, or smarter than me. I take it as a sign of what I can become. But even if I do not match or exceed my parents’ capabilities in life, it does not mean that such ideals were unfair.

What the judge in Blood Meridian is challenging is not an imperfect father who exerts undue influence. He is challenging the notion of a perfect father. He is challenging the idea of God. The rest of the novel makes clear that the judge’s attitude is one of rebellion, and his intention is patricide.

Apart from the flawed human father who deceives, then, maybe the idealized father is not such a bad thing. Maybe instead of rebelling against him, it is best to reach for him.

About the author

Christian Allred

Christian Allred is a freelance real estate writer. He also writes at patrimony.substack.com, where he explores fatherhood and inheritance themes in literature, history, and culture.
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Now is the Time for Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men

You’ve heard it before: “Peace on earth, goodwill to men.” Whether viewed as prophecy for a hopeful future, as rebuke to a fallen world, or as the deep aspiration of many human hearts, these words invoke wonder still today, especially at a time like 2020. I believe these words point towards legitimate reasons for great hope in humanity’s future, even in the midst of our current distress. A closer look at their meaning provides a glimpse into bright possibilities. The modern-day enshrinement of these words was penned by the hand of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow during a time of deep personal sadness and grief in his 1863 poem “Christmas Bells.” Subsequently, these words have been sung by millions as the hymn “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day.” Sadly, few choirs will sing this popular carol during the Christmas season this year as many of our most cherished traditions are disrupted by the continuing, unprecedented epidemic.  Notwithstanding the familiarity of these words in the modern context, their first recorded rendering came anciently in a most unusual setting. It was one of the few instances in all of secular or religious writings where an entire host of heavenly beings—angels—came to deliver a message to a few lucky ones on earth. Their entire message as recorded in Luke 2:14 of the New Testament was “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” If there was more to the message or not, we don’t know. But this was the message that was recorded and handed down over thousands of years since that momentous event.  It was this short heavenly song of praise that Longfellow was referring to when he lamented that “hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth goodwill to men.” Then as now, we join Longfellow in observing a world stricken with contention, tragic death, and human suffering with no clear end in sight. As a bold counterpoint, however, his poem and the hymn conclude with a resounding proclamation of hope that indeed there will be yet “peace on earth and goodwill to men.” Is it possible to find for ourselves this same hope of which Longfellow wrote so long ago?    Some might assume that the author had somehow arrived at more pleasant circumstances and material conditions. Yet in describing his world that Christmas morning in 1863, Longfellow was feeling the weight of personal tragedy in the death of his wife and the strife of a hot civil war spreading devastating carnage across the land. In such a heavy time, he couldn’t help but underscore how much the surrounding hate he saw in the world seemed to mock the idea of peace and goodwill – a word that suggests to “tease or laugh at in a scornful or contemptuous manner.” The hate he was referring to, and which has the power to infect us in our own day, was between groups of people and between individuals who looked at each other with scorn and contempt. In an environment that fosters hate, any suggestion that feelings of scorn and contempt might be replaced with feelings of peace and goodwill can seem to be almost laughable (another reason it’s powerful to have a heavenly host delivering this message to the world).   We sometimes think of peace and goodwill as synonyms. They are not. In fact, they represent very different human conditions – either one by itself being incomplete. But together they weave a social fabric of heavenly dimensions. There are many examples of one without the other, but relatively few of both existing and being sustained for any great length of time.  In its simplest form, peace could be defined as the absence of conflict. When this kind of peace is voluntary, due to an underlying feeling of goodwill toward all, it is a wonderfully satisfying human condition.  However, a “peaceful” absence of conflict can also be achieved through coercion, even in the notable absence of goodwill. In that case, it comes at the obvious, and dear price of freedom and liberty and represents a most cruel form of the human condition. Coerced peace is usually a political construct as it requires overwhelming use of force to constrain human behaviors. There have been modern examples of peace without goodwill in the recent past. One can reflect on Yugoslavia, Libya, Iraq, and other nations. For example, Yugoslavia was created after World War II as a federation of six different ethnic regions. A strong central governing party ensured that conflicts were resolved emphatically and quickly. There was “peace,” but without the underlying goodwill among the different ethnic groups. Under Josip Broz Tito the country experienced an extended period of prosperity characterized by enforced peaceful interaction among the various ethnic groups. In many ways, it was considered a model of economic success.  But after Tito died in 1980, the ability to continue the peaceful climate through coercive means declined, and the unresolved conflicts among the different ethnic groups emerged with frightening consequences in human suffering for the whole country and region. 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