The modern man is adrift among the great men of history. He is a shell of his father.

The pressure that used to shape men is gone. War. Hardship. The world no longer hammers him into form.

This is a brand new paragraph. It has never appeared before.

He lives in abundance. Food, safety, shelter. The instruction manual is missing.

What instruction did he get instead? Three watered-down sources.

His father's playbook, already a copy of his grandfather's. Hollywood. Whatever he absorbed from a traditional male job, if he had one.

Outside those scraps, he is on his own. No tradition acts on him. No religion. No reality.

He is a formless thing in a shapeless world. He needs a blueprint.

The blueprint exists. We start here.
