There are moments in history when entire societies accidentally reinvent old ideas while convincing themselves they have invented something entirely new.
The Puritans did this.
CrossFit has done this.
The similarities are unsettling.
Cotton Mather, New England's most energetic minister, prolific author, amateur scientist, and full-time enthusiast for moral improvement, would immediately recognize what was happening.
The branding would confuse him.
The protein powder would concern him.
The tire flipping would require explanation.
But the underlying theology?
That part would feel remarkably familiar.
Because beneath the barbells, motivational slogans, and Instagram transformation photos lies an uncomfortable truth:
Modern fitness culture is often just Puritanism with better shoulders.
Cotton Mather was born in Boston in 1663, the grandson of Puritan titan John Cotton and the son of Increase Mather, perhaps the only man in American history whose name sounds like a command to accumulate wealth.
Young Cotton inherited the family business.
The business was salvation.
He preached thousands of sermons.
Published hundreds of books.
Obsessed over moral discipline.
Warned against idleness.
Encouraged self-improvement.
Monitored behavior.
Monitored thoughts.
Probably monitored breathing if given sufficient opportunity.
Mather believed that human beings were fallen creatures engaged in a constant struggle against weakness.
The body required discipline.
The mind required discipline.
The soul required discipline.
The entire point of life was improvement.
Not enjoyment.
Improvement.
CrossFit would sound strangely familiar.
The first thing Mather would notice is the language.
Fitness enthusiasts do not merely exercise.
They commit.
They grind.
They suffer.
They transform.
They conquer weakness.
They become their best selves.
Every movement seems attached to a larger moral purpose.
This would immediately attract Mather's attention.
Puritans never trusted activities performed solely for pleasure.
If something hurt, however, it probably had potential.
CrossFit occupies a unique place within American fitness culture.
Most exercise programs promise health.
CrossFit promises redemption.
The difference matters.
A treadmill suggests mild cardiovascular improvement.
CrossFit suggests personal rebirth.
Participants speak of joining boxes rather than gyms.
Veterans mentor newcomers.
Success stories spread like conversion narratives.
Members discuss the moment their lives changed.
The before-and-after photos practically beg for stained-glass windows.
Mather would recognize revivalism when he saw it.
The famous Puritan doctrine held that one could not earn salvation through good works.
Unfortunately, Puritans spent an enormous amount of time performing good works anyway.
This produced centuries of theological confusion.
CrossFit achieves something similar.
No one officially claims that completing a workout makes one morally superior.
Yet participants often behave as though it does.
A person who runs three miles quietly is exercising.
A person who completes a workout named after a fallen Navy SEAL is participating in something closer to a religious ritual.
Mather would find this deeply understandable.
Americans have always preferred their virtues measurable.
The Puritans were masters of self-examination.
Every thought mattered.
Every action mattered.
Every temptation mattered.
Entire journals were devoted to monitoring personal conduct.
Modern fitness tracking has recreated this tradition almost perfectly.
Calories consumed.
Calories burned.
Heart rate.
Sleep quality.
Resting heart rate.
Protein intake.
Step count.
Body fat percentage.
Recovery score.
Hydration level.
At some point the Fitbit simply becomes a secular Book of Life.
Few people today realize how much the Puritans worried about idleness.
To Mather, idleness was not merely unproductive.
It was dangerous.
An idle mind invited temptation.
An idle body encouraged sin.
An idle society decayed.
This belief shaped nearly everything Puritans did.
Modern fitness culture has developed a remarkably similar suspicion.
Rest days now require justification.
Leisure must become active recovery.
Vacations involve fitness goals.
Walking is optimized.
Hiking is optimized.
Sleeping is optimized.
Relaxation itself increasingly resembles work.
Mather would approve enthusiastically.
Which should alarm everyone.
The modern gym is filled with testimony.
People share origin stories.
The day they changed.
The moment they committed.
The decision that transformed their lives.
Puritans loved these stories.
Entire congregations listened to conversion narratives before admitting members.
A proper conversion demonstrated seriousness.
It demonstrated commitment.
It demonstrated transformation.
The language surrounding fitness journeys often sounds eerily similar.
"I wasn't living my best life."
"I hit rock bottom."
"I decided to change."
"I became a different person."
Substitute the word salvation and Mather could publish it immediately.
What would truly fascinate him, however, is suffering.
Puritans respected suffering.
CrossFit practically markets it.
Entire workouts appear designed by someone settling a personal score with the human spine.
Participants emerge exhausted.
Sweating.
Barely ambulatory.
And yet strangely proud.
Part of the appeal seems rooted in the belief that hardship itself possesses moral value.
Not because suffering guarantees success.
Because suffering demonstrates commitment.
Mather understood this instinct intimately.
He spent decades turning hardship into a lifestyle.
Naturally, he would have concerns.
Cotton Mather always had concerns.
For one thing, modern fitness culture occasionally slides into vanity.
Puritans hated vanity.
The purpose of self-discipline was spiritual improvement.
Not public admiration.
Mather would become deeply suspicious of shirtless progress photos.
Particularly shirtless progress photos accompanied by inspirational quotations.
Nothing worried a Puritan more than virtue becoming performance.
Except perhaps dancing.
Dancing remained worse.
Social media would only deepen his anxiety.
Platforms filled with fitness influencers would appear simultaneously admirable and horrifying.
On one hand, people were encouraging discipline.
Excellent.
On the other hand, they appeared to be encouraging discipline primarily to acquire followers.
Less excellent.
The Puritans sought signs of grace.
Modern influencers seek engagement metrics.
The psychological mechanisms are often indistinguishable.
Then there are the supplements.
No one can predict how Cotton Mather would react to pre-workout powder.
One suspects badly.
Mather lived during an age of home remedies, strange medicines, and experimental science.
Even by seventeenth-century standards, glowing energy drinks would seem excessive.
Imagine attempting to explain a beverage containing enough caffeine to restart a locomotive.
He might conclude America had finally discovered witchcraft after all.
The deeper irony is that CrossFit would strike Mather as both deeply admirable and fundamentally misguided.
He would admire the discipline.
The commitment.
The self-control.
The willingness to sacrifice comfort.
Those were Puritan virtues.
But he would object to the purpose.
The Puritans disciplined the body to save the soul.
Modern fitness culture often disciplines the body to perfect the self.
That distinction mattered enormously.
To Mather, self-improvement without spiritual purpose risked becoming self-worship.
A surprisingly common Puritan complaint.
And yet one suspects he would ultimately feel at home.
After all, what is a CrossFit box if not a congregation dedicated to continual self-improvement?
What is a workout challenge if not a form of penance?
What is a transformation story if not a conversion narrative?
What is a fitness influencer if not a traveling preacher with affiliate links?
The architecture has changed.
The theology remains recognizable.
Americans often imagine they escaped Puritanism.
This is one of our favorite national myths.
We abandoned the sermons.
We abandoned the meeting houses.
We abandoned the black clothing.
But we kept the guilt.
We kept the self-improvement.
We kept the obsession with discipline.
We kept the belief that virtue reveals itself through effort.
Most importantly, we kept the conviction that suffering must somehow be making us better.
That idea has survived everything.
Revolutions.
Industrialization.
Consumer culture.
The internet.
Even CrossFit.
Especially CrossFit.
Cotton Mather would find this comforting.
He would find it validating.
He might even find it inspiring.
Then he would probably ask why everyone keeps lifting logs.
And for once, modern America would have no good answer.
— John Handcock