“Why Ares?” It was August 2016 and I had just been chosen to be the priest of Ares for the Spring Mysteries Festival that next spring. My wife gave me one of those long patient looks that they must teach in the Red Tent, as we drove back from the Aquarian Tabernacle Church. “But seriously, why Ares? He’s so angry,” I grumbled.

When people describe me to their friends, they usually use words like, “Loveable” or “Goofy” or perhaps, “a little doughy around the middle”. Rarely does the phrase, “murderously violent” come up in reference to my life and the idea of bringing in the War God was making me extremely skeptical. So naturally, I hit the books.

I started with the great poet, Homer and the Iliad. “Ares, bane of the living, blood-drenched sacker of cities”, “Ares, raging in his fury, treacherous plague that he is . . .” Even Ares’ father, Zeus, took a few moments to tell Ares exactly where he stood, “Don’t come here to whine, you backslider. Strife, conflict, and war are all you care for, so much so that I loathe you more than all the other Olympians.”

Harsh description for a man, even worse for a God. Was this deity simply an embodiment of toxic masculinity? Did it even fit in our time? I’d always identified as a feminist and had committed myself to deconstructing the rigid, brutal and violent misogyny that pervades our culture. How did that fit with Ares? Would he be a comical deity or simply rehashing the same old broken warrior clichés. I admit, I grumbled, “Why me? Why Ares?”

As I prepared for the role; reading deep into the myths, invoking for rituals and of course, rehearsing my lines, it still felt odd and uncomfortable but then, right on schedule, the Gods sent me a clue. Well, two actually.

The first clue was the sudden ascension of an openly misogynistic, aggressive and often cruel public figure to political office – filling my social media, my newspapers and my work life with the echoing catcalls of his brand of masculinity. It was, and still is, inescapable. Is this what it meant to be a man? The war god felt uncomfortably close.

The second was welcome news. After a year of trying, my wife was pregnant, and we were having a son. A boy! Suddenly, my life was turned upside down. What sort of man would he be? How would he take all the world throws at him and make his way? Would he be kind or cruel? What could I teach him about being a man?

During this turmoil, one of the other priests who was part of the Temple of Ares reminded me, Ares learned to dance, before he ever learned to fight. That is the crux of it. With fresh eyes, I surveyed his story.

He was more than a lover to Aphrodite, he was father to five of her children, including her beloved Eros and his beloved Phobos, Deimos and Harmonia. Cadmus, ancient hero, took the bones of Ares’ water dragon and with his daughter, forged the great city of Thebes. His statue near Sparta shows him in chains, to keep his spirit of war and victory connected to the city.

Ares is not the violent cruel bully as he has been portrayed. Instead, I see him as the reminder that violent, aggressive urges need to be acknowledged and directed. That strength and pride are vital parts of the masculine experience. But most importantly, that learning to laugh and dance and love is essential to succeeding, not just in the battlefield but in all realms of life.

We need better paths for men to walk between Youth and Sage – and what better God for smashing through old ways and setting a new course than Ares.

Why Ares? Because he is needed, now more than ever.