The Lost Boys and the Failure of Our Institutions

Modern Western culture speaks often of inclusion, compassion, and solidarity, yet there is one group it feels remarkably free to shame and ignore: its own sons. Teenage boys and young men in the West have been told for years that they are a problem to be solved rather than a people to be formed. Schools, universities, HR departments, the media, political institutions, and even some of the Church treat them as bearers of inherited guilt, beneficiaries of privilege they cannot see, and potential threats merely because they exist as white, straight, able-bodied, Christian (even if nominally) males, all the worse if they are Catholics.

I would extend this list to just young Christian men, and even teenage boys and young men in general, but it’s hard to turn away from the fact that “whiteness” has been considered a cardinal sin amid our broken culture and institutions. The absence of fathers and mentors has only exacerbated the situation. The Church’s silence in assisting them has been deafening. They have chosen to accommodate our decadent culture instead.

This resentment has been fostered by Western culture. This resentment reflects a profound sense of betrayal. One wonders what kind of culture acts shocked when young men and teenage boys who are continuously labeled as “toxic” begin to rebel.

This is precisely what took place over the last decade. Boys and young men had no sense of belonging within their families, churches, and community life. So, what did they do? They went looking toward YouTube, Twitter, the gaming world, and other social media to discover a sense of belonging. What did they uncover? Influencers who became father-like figures. But instead of finding direction, they found ideology. Instead of finding courage, they found bravado. They found solace in these influencers.

In 2016, Jordan Peterson, a man whom I have equally praised and criticized over the years, picked up the gauntlet to lead these young men and teenage boys out of the pits of hell into the earthly realm of accountability and sacrifice, even if briefly, to break that pattern. Peterson had accomplished what few, if any, pastors or cultural leaders had the courage or imagination to do. He told them that responsibility was better than victimhood, that truth was better than comfort, and that order was better than chaos. And millions listened.

But Peterson’s own life unraveled. His physical and mental health began to fail him. His theological and philosophical framework could not withstand closer scrutiny, much like a Greek sculpture that appears perfect from afar but whose cracks become apparent the closer you get. As his fame grew, his intellectual shortcomings became more and more apparent. He spread himself too thin, wandered into ideological contradictions, and lost the clarity that once made him compelling. Many young men who sought his guidance felt abandoned a second time.

Charlie Kirk’s assassination deepened that crisis. Before being a political pundit or influencer, Charlie was a Christian apologist who defended the Gospel. This is why he gravitated toward figures like Frank Turek for guidance. Whatever one thought of his politics, he represented for many young conservatives a connection to a larger movement and a sense of belonging. His death created a void, the kind that more aggressive voices are always eager to fill.

Nick Fuentes’ own reaction to Kirk’s murder, as he explained in a recent interview with Glenn Greenwald, complicates the caricature that circulates in short clips and hostile summaries. He admitted that he had been one of Kirk’s fiercest critics, yet he described seeing him “struck down” in such a graphic way before thousands of young supporters as “absolutely horrifying” and said he identified with Kirk as a kind of “mirror image” from a similar background. In that moment, he said, it felt as though the country was staring over the edge of a cliff into a race war and political violence. He insisted that, as a Catholic, he does not wish death on his enemies and would rather choose dialogue than bloodshed. It is important to recognize that complexity, even while challenging the wider movement around him.

Fuentes and the broader Groypers orbit were waiting in the wings, ready to offer teenage boys and young men what mainstream culture refused to give them: affirmation and hope (however disoriented it may be), belonging, and a story that made sense of their humiliation. Tucker Carlson summarized part of the appeal bluntly: “The guy is highly articulate, totally fearless. Doesn’t care at all; that’s always a draw. The man who doesn’t care and is just going to say it always has a big audience.” Many of Fuentes’ followers view his attitude and contempt toward our institutions as a sign of courage and inspiration.

It seems that young men are drawn to Fuentes—even among those who disagree with him—because he speaks with a raw authenticity that mainstream institutions seem unable or unwilling to offer. Charles Taylor observed in The Malaise of Modernity that our age has hollowed out many of the moral and spiritual frameworks that once gave shape to the self, leaving individuals to construct identity in a culture that provides little genuine guidance. In that void, the contemporary notion of “authenticity” becomes tenuous and susceptible to corruption: divorced from profound moral frameworks, it deteriorates into mere self-assertion or emotional fervor.

Taylor’s warning becomes prophetic when young men perceive their concerns dismissed, their identity pathologized, or their questions treated as taboo. A society that fails to offer substantive meaning or honest moral formation will drive its sons toward whichever voices appear most “real,” even if those voices ultimately lead them astray. Anthony Schratz, a retired lawyer and Catholic thinker who recently wrote a book titled Paradise Cancelled, under my press, True Freedom Press, labels this misguidance as “expressive individualism,” which one could say is personal autonomy without real accountability to the world, a “do what you want and how you want” lifestyle.

Thus, Fuentes’ appeal to many young men is rooted in a sense of unfiltered authenticity, a willingness to say what others will not. But this authenticity is also deeply disordered. It often takes the form of narcissism, a lack of charity, and a habitual reliance on insults and personal attacks. From a Catholic perspective, this style touches directly on sins of pride, wrath, detraction, and scandal. It may feel entertaining or cathartic to a disaffected Gen Z audience, but it is a poor model of Christian speech and moral seriousness.

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