The Man in the Arena: A Meditation on Jordan Peterson’s Seventh Rule

“Do what is meaningful, not that which is expedient.”

Since Dr. Jordan Peterson’s meteoric rise to fame following the Canadian debate on Bill C-16, it has been fashionable for free-lance authors, YouTube commentators, journalists, and Twitter users to predict the downfall of Jordan Peterson, and ask “What Happened To Jordan Peterson?” The postmodernist prevailing sentiment most often applied to him is, “You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become a villain.” 

But every time I read one of those articles and watch one of those videos, I find myself asking, What, precisely, are these articles and videos intended to accomplish? If I were a cynical person, I might suggest that some of these content creators, in need of a quick buck or some traffic on their YouTube channel, might use Dr. Peterson’s name as a way to draw attention to their work. If I were even more cynical, I might suggest that these videos and articles contain a performative aspect. If the creators need a little social capital and standing with their more Left-leaning colleagues, what better way to earn that status than by dashing off a piece critiquing Jordan Peterson? 

What else could that content possibly be expected to accomplish?  If the content creators have a personal connection to Dr. Peterson, would they not have been better employed talking their concerns over with him in private, so that both parties might learn and grow together? For those who do not have a personal connection to him, what makes them think their concerns have not already been addressed by people close to Dr. Peterson, who know him deeply and profoundly? Writing ability is so precious and so rare, why would anyone possessing it squander it in worthless criticism that will be outdated in a month? 

Dr. Peterson is building things that will, God willing, last long after his earthly tabernacle has dissolved and he has gone on to his new tabernacle, eternal in the heavens. He is building an international consortium named The Alliance for Responsible Citizens. He is building, with the help of his children, an online academy called Peterson Academy that will make a high-quality liberal arts education accessible and affordable. He is building these endeavors on a foundation he built many years ago. 

What, precisely, are the writers of these articles building? Why, instead of building alongside him, are these writers tearing him down? 

Consider the imagery St. Paul uses in Second Corinthians to describe the fruits of our labor. Some of us who build upon the foundation that was laid by the apostles and prophets add gold, silver, and precious stones. Others add to that foundation wood, hay, and stubble. Perhaps every one of us builds a bit of each of those substances. When the refiner's fire comes through, the wood, hay, and stubble will be burned up, and only the gold, silver, and precious stones will remain. The worthy work that all of us have done will stand the fire of time and judgment, and all that was unworthy will not. 

What would we rather build? Words that build up something that will last, or words that tear down and destroy? What words will be burned with fire?

One of my favorite Bible stories is that of Nehemiah, a former king’s cupbearer who returned to Jerusalem from exile to rebuild the walls and gates around the small and faithful remnant of Jews who had returned to the land. Like our day, Nehemiah’s was a day of ruin, a day in which “the strength of the burden bearers is failing, and there is much rubble.” While Sanballat and Tobiah jeered and scoffed at Nehemiah’s efforts to set boundaries for the protection of his people, and tried to get him to leave his work, Nehemiah stood fast and said, “I am doing a great work, that I cannot come down.” Would we rather be like Sanballat and Tobiah, who accomplished nothing of value, or like Nehemiah, who cleared away rubble and built up that which was broken down and burned with fire? 

Not only does it matter what we build, but how we build. Would you rather be like the builder who “earnestly repaired the other piece” or the nobles who “put not their necks to the work?” What is the more worthwhile endeavor? Could we not discover, as Nehemiah did, that “the joy of the Lord is your strength”? 

Theodore Roosevelt sums up the argument I have endeavored to lay out: 

 It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat  and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no  effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows  great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at  least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

Who would you rather be? The sneering writer or “concerned fan” who magnifies the mistakes of the ones stumbling uphill toward the city of God, or the stumbling fellow traveler and seeker? The critic, or the man in the arena? 

If you have enjoyed this piece, look for the continuation of my series of essay meditations on Dr. Peterson’s Twelve Rules for Life!