Men Without Chests

The Death of Conviction

C.S. Lewis warned us long ago that the world was manufacturing “men without chests.” In his work The Abolition of Man, Lewis described a generation that had lost its moral center, resulting in men whose heads could reason and whose bellies could desire, but whose chests, the seat of virtue and conviction, were hollow. They could analyze, argue, and consume, but they could no longer believe, stand, or speak.

It’s not hard to see what Lewis foresaw. We live in the age of hollow men. The modern man can quote statistics, manage systems, and curate opinions, but he cannot summon courage. He can talk endlessly about values, but trembles when those values demand a stand. His speech is smooth, his tone careful, his loyalties fluid. He has learned to survive by saying nothing with great skill.

What makes this tragedy worse is that it has infected the Church. We’ve produced theologians without tears, pastors without spines, and men who mistake nuance for faithfulness. We call it wisdom when it’s often just fear. We’ve become experts in hedging every statement so we never have to feel the heat of conviction. Our statements are never clear-cut, but are instead craftily constructed to grant us a back door of escape should we find pushback. Like Pilate, we wash our hands in public while truth bleeds at our feet.

But conviction has always been the measure of manhood. From the beginning, Adam’s silence was the first act of cowardice. The serpent lied, and the man who should have spoken stayed quiet. His sin wasn’t only disobedience — it was the absence of holy speech. It was this abdication of his prophetical role that damned this Edenic family. That same silence echoes today whenever men trade truth for comfort and principle for popularity.

To “speak with your chest,” as the old saying goes, is to speak from conviction — to let your words come from the depth of the heart, not the shallows of calculation. It’s not about being brash or domineering. It’s about being anchored. A man with a chest doesn’t speak to please the room; he speaks to please the Lord. He’s steady, not loud. Firm, not cruel. Truthful, even when truth costs him something.

Lewis wrote that by removing the chest, modern educators were “castrating and bidding the geldings be fruitful.” (That line is just masterful. It’s a perfect marrying of shock value and clear-cut truth.) Today, we are watching a civilization of gelded men. Such men have the intellect of the philosopher and the appetite of the consumer, but no moral pulse between them. The result is brilliance without bravery, talent without temperance, faith without fight. Such men can speak about what is right or wrong, but when it’s time to put shoes on their analysis, they have no capacity to feel indignation about wrongdoing or joy in the beauty of what is right.

Hear me out here: The Christian answer is not louder talk or harsher tones. It’s the recovery of moral muscle. Conviction isn’t a personality trait; it’s the fruit of fearing God more than man. Courage grows in men who have seen the majesty of Christ and will not bow before lesser thrones. The chest is not built in a debate club, but forged in the furnace of devotion. It is in this furnace that truth is loved, holiness is prized, and God is worshiped.

Christ Himself is the True Man with a chest, is He not? Was He not bold before kings, tender with the weak, unmoved by crowds? He spoke not to be liked but to be faithful. And by His Spirit, He is raising men again whose voices will not quiver when truth must be spoken. He did it for men like Peter and Thomas, and He can do it for men today.

The world has enough clever talkers. The Church has enough cautious strategists. What we need again are men with chests. We need men whose words are anchored in conviction, strengthened by grace, and shaped by the fear of God. When men lose their chests, truth loses its voice.