Editors’ note: This article is part of a roundtable discussion in America on “Faith, morality and the ‘Manosphere’,” adapted from a panel conversation organized by the McFarland Center for Religion, Ethics and Culture at the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester, Mass., on Feb. 26, 2026.

Educators and parents have fretted over negative influences on young people for ages, and the mid-21st-century iteration of these worries puts a new face on a perennial concern. It is illustrative to look at what is new or distinctive in the moral messengers of our moment as we consider what should guide a response. 

First, much of the entertainment media that has grown in prevalence in recent years has been explicitly aimed at giving advice and instruction. While there have been pundits telling listeners and viewers what to think for decades, the prevalence of podcasts and their delivery through personal devices have put an influencer in every pocket. The ease of creating video content allows nearly anyone to create engaging visuals to bolster their messaging; this same ease increases competition for those seeking an audience. 

The second distinction relates to that very competition. Content is algorithmically delivered in ways that reward extreme statements and push viewers toward more radical content. Third, interactive technology gives young people a chance to test out problematic language and ideas away from the people in their lives whose disapproval or censure might discourage such use. If people want a place to experiment with the misogynistic or racist tropes that they are picking up, there is surely an online forum where they can develop a regrettable comfort with that type of self-expression. 

Additional characteristics of some of the most extreme voices in the manosphere are not new but are notable. Their content plays to the thrill of transgression, appealing to the rebellious streak that many adolescents have. They often promote a simplistic worldview: that life is hard for the listener because of the presence of “outsiders,” be those scapegoats women, immigrants, Jews or some other group. These simplistic themes are often dressed in ornate conspiracies, but the basic arc of the argument is the same. 

Just as we can see in hindsight that the comic-book craze that incited a moral panic a century ago reveals the power of images and narrative in attracting young people, we can also learn from contemporary influencers what draws people in today. Some of what attracts is not something that the church can or should attempt to offer, but being aware of it can help educators work against it. Just because people seek scapegoats does not mean we should provide them, but we can be attentive to educating in ways that allow for the complex reality of life’s hardships so that simple, harmful blame is not seen as a viable explanation. 

Similarly, the drive to dominate that is behind much of the manosphere’s messaging is not something that the church should encourage, but we can lift up parts of the tradition that teach us that it is OK to fail, that we should admit when we are wrong, that the last shall be first and that we are most like Jesus when we are washing others’ feet. 

But some of what attracts is within the church’s purview: community, care, narrative and identity. Young men want to be seen, to be cared for and to have someone advocate for them. They respond to stories that help them to understand the world, and they construct a vision of the world based on what they hear. If influencers are building a world in which men are attacked from all sides, where scapegoats are responsible for life’s challenges, where only the strong survive and hateful aggression is the trait most advantageous for our age, then those of us who oppose that vision need to build worlds that promote an alternative. 

Schools and parishes ought to consider what stories their communities are telling: Do they make the reign of God visible and believable? Put another way, do they make the vision of the viral hatemongers seem ridiculous by manifesting something better?

Perhaps world-building, with its implications of facades and even falsehoods, does not perfectly capture this formative task of our institutions. What we do is reveal the world that our tradition tells us God wants for us: a world of relationships and love where we do our best to cooperate with God’s grace as it helps us grow in virtue and holiness. The sugar high of online hate does not hold up against the deep nourishment of love, and it is our job to let adolescents know that there is a healthier diet available to them. 

There are plenty of reasons to fear being bold in this endeavor: We do not want to provoke conflict or controversy; our own failings inevitably make us hypocrites; or we simply do not want to seem uncool. But to miss an opportunity to reveal the reign of God, to cede ground to those who are shameless and avaricious, is a far scarier thing.

This article appears in July/August 2026.

Margaret Felice is a doctoral candidate at Boston College’s Clough School of Theology and Ministry.