For whatever random and accidental YouTube algorithm reason, I ended up watching the Jane and Michael Banks song last night as they outlined their wishlist for what they would want in a Nanny.
♫♪♪ “If you want this choice position, have a cheery disposition.”
and
♫♪♪ “If you won’t scold and dominate us, we won’t give you cause to hate us.”
I have the earworm, and I’m also thinking about Saint Joseph on his Feast Day. Saint Joseph, the father of Jesus in the Gospels.
There’s something about the Banks’ children’s list that resonates. They want warmth, guidance, and someone who will be there for them, yet they keep ending up with rigid, detached figures favoured by Mr Banker Banks. It’s not unlike what modern society seems to have done with fatherhood and our leaders (not all, of course, but some particularly prominent ones). We might all wish for Saint Joseph, the quiet, self-sacrificing, ever-present protector, but for some reason, we keep getting something more like Elon Musk: distant, ambitious, and larger than life.
The Fatherhood We Wish For vs. The Fatherhood We Get
Saint Joseph and Elon Musk are obviously two very different men, but they also represent two radically different approaches to fatherhood. One rooted in humility, sacrifice, and faith, the other in innovation, ambition, and public persona. One sees his role as entirely about providing for his child; the other, about being with his child.
1. Hands-on vs. Hands-off
Saint Joseph was the ultimate present father. He didn’t just provide for Jesus and Mary; he protected them, physically leading them to safety in Egypt when King Herod sought to kill the child. Fatherhood was no abstract responsibility but a lived reality, day in and day out.
Elon Musk, by contrast, has fathered at least 11 children (or is it 13? I’ve lost count) with multiple women. Even his own children have accused him of being a distant father, especially with his first set of children. Even his own Even his own father has publicly questioned his approach to parenting. His ex-wife, Justine Musk, has described his approach as “mostly hands-off,” and his estranged child, Jenna (formerly Xavier), legally changed their name to sever ties with him. Like many modern high-achieving fathers, he seems to view his role primarily as provider, ensuring his children have financial security, rather than as a guiding presence in their lives.
Joseph was there, in the trenches of daily life. (Luke 2:41-51). Even if you don’t take the Gospel as the literal truth, this is the public persona of Joseph. This is who Western societies have looked to as a role model for fatherhood. Like many contemporary figures, Musk appears, to the outside observer at least, to view a fathers presence as optional when financial provision is abundant.
2. Humility vs. Ego
Saint Joseph is often referred to as the “Silent Saint”. He never speaks in Scripture and we don’t interpret his role as placing himself in the limelight, seeking glory for his achievement. Modern views on gender aside, he was portrayed as a man whose role was to protect and guide his wife and child. He was a carpenter, a working man, never seeking status or acclaim. No beating his chest and wielding carpenters saws to demonstrate his power to cut the vulnerable down to size. His humility is precisely what makes him such a emphatic example.
Musk, on the other hand, has built a persona around being the story. This is not necessarily a criticism, but an observation. As I note, everyone is different. He’s been accused of cosplaying the real-life Tony Stark, openly feuds with critics (including his own children), and sees his personal legacy as inseparable from his work. His identity is deeply tied to being the visionary leader of Tesla, SpaceX, and AI ventures.
Joseph modeled a quiet, humble fatherhood. Musk’s fatherhood, like his career, is a performance: public, opinionated, and intertwined with his larger-than-life identity.
3. Sacrificial Love vs. Individualism
Joseph’s entire life is an act of sacrifice. He gave up his personal plans to take Mary as his wife, fled with them to Egypt, and likely worked tirelessly to provide for them in obscurity. His love was not loud or flashy, but selfless.
Musk’s life is marked by relentless individualism. His work is his legacy, and he has openly said he prioritises his personal mission to “save humanity” over personal relationships. His foremost emphasis on personal initiative, risk-taking, and individual freedom aligns with many core principles of individualism. He has admitted he largely delegates fatherhood to others, to focus on his individual pursuits. But, he is going to save mankind, so there’s that.
Joseph’s love was up close, personal and sacrificial. He gave up any ideas of his own ambitions for the sake of his child. Musk’s love is transactional – He provides the dollars but he keeps his distance.
4. Faith vs. Rationalism
While not officially the patron saint of faith, Saint Joseph is often seen as a model of faith and trust. Given the lack of empirical (scientifically provable) evidence for God, and many aspects of the Bible, faith is an enormous concept in Christianity. Joseph made major life decisions based on dreams and angelic messages, trusting completely in God’s plan.
Musk, however, is a staunch rationalist, and he views religion with skepticism. He aligns more with transhumanism, seeing technology as the future of humanity. He is the founder of Neuralink, and their flagship product is a ‘brain-computer interface, fully implantable, cosmetically invisible, and designed to let you control a computer or mobile device anywhere you go.’ Like most people I feel really confident that this piece of technological progress could never be used the other way round, so don’t worry.
What could possibly go wrong?
Joseph’s fatherhood was rooted in trust and faith. Musk’s fatherhood, like his worldview, is rooted in pragmatism and efficiency.
5. Legacy of Fatherhood
And finally, onto to dollars. Joseph left no wealth. No hoards of shekels, no PilateCoin. No empire, no writings. Just a documented example of what it means to be a father. And yet his impact is eternal and worthy of inclusion in one of the most enduring religious texts ever written.
Musk, by contrast, will undoubtedly leave a material empire. Tesla, SpaceX, Neuralink. His children will inherit unimaginable wealth, but what of his presence in their lives?
Joseph’s legacy is spiritual. Musk’s is technological and material.
If you had to make a wish, what kind of father and leader might you wish for? Modern culture elevates the Musk model of fatherhood – the genius, the workaholic, the provider who sees parenting as a secondary pursuit. This isn’t just about Musk himself, it’s about a broader cultural shift where success is measured in public achievements, not in the quiet, unseen work of fatherhood.
Musk is, in many ways, the product of our time. A father shaped by the modern economy, where hustle culture trumps hands-on parenting, and where fatherhood is often outsourced in pursuit of world-changing ambition.
Saint Joseph reminds us that there is another way. A quieter, less glamorous, but ultimately more human way. The fatherhood that doesn’t make headlines but changes the world nonetheless.
To be fair, I may have got Elon all wrong. I don’t know him personally, few of us do. But we’ve seen the X tirades, the chainsaw, the interviews. Naturally, we will all make judgments based on our understanding of what a great leader and father should be. And real fatherhood is complex, and likely involves aspects from both role models, but today we are talking about prime examples, based on the public personas available to us.
So, who do we truly admire? Who do we celebrate? When your proverbial letter gets tossed in the fireplace and left to chance, what will be on the wishlist?
Because in the end, the fathers we celebrate and honour influence the fathers we get.