(The Chief God of pre-Aryan Europe, a corpulent, morbidly obese, fucking fat, greedy, feminine earth Goddess, reigning over the earth from her Throne. taking up space just because she is, demanding worship…. you can hear the words from her lips “Eu su en meus break”…. “I’m on break" {my wife is a philologist, translated from Proto-indo European for me })
(the Goddess returns)
(The Aryan conquers)
Chapter 1: The Great Mother – Matriarchal Cultures of Prehistoric Old Europe
Before the Indo-European conquests swept across Europe and Asia, there existed a diverse array of Neolithic cultures that venerated a feminine principle at the center of their spiritual and social life. These cultures, from the Aegean to the Danube basin and beyond into Anatolia and the Pontic steppe, left behind a rich archaeological record of goddess figurines, temple structures, and symbolic art that all seem to emphasize fertility, cyclical renewal, and earth-centered divinity. Collectively, these have come to be known as "Old Europe," a term popularized by the Lithuanian-American archaeologist Marija Gimbutas, who argued that this prehistoric world was defined by matrifocal, peaceful, and agriculturally rooted societies.
One of the most iconic representations of this ancient worldview is the so-called "Seated Woman of Çatalhöyük," a corpulent clay figure found in modern-day Turkey and dating to approximately 6000 BCE. Depicted seated on a throne flanked by feline animals, this goddess is interpreted as a ruler of animals and fertility, an embodiment of the cyclical forces of life and death tied to the earth's rhythms. Similar figures, often obese, nude, and faceless, have been found across the Neolithic world, including the famous "Venus of Willendorf" and numerous Cucuteni-Trypillia figurines discovered in Romania, Moldova, and Ukraine.
According to Gimbutas and subsequent scholars such as Riane Eisler, these figurines are not merely artistic expressions but religious icons of an entire civilizational paradigm. The mother goddess, often lunar in symbolism, represented both womb and tomb. She was the fertile soil, the moon's cycles, and the eternal return of the seasons. This stands in stark contrast to the later Indo-European religious systems that introduced sky-father deities, heroic male warriors, and a hierarchical structure of gods and men.
The Cucuteni-Trypillia culture (ca. 5500–2750 BCE) is a quintessential example of a Neolithic, possibly matrifocal society. Spanning modern-day Romania, Moldova, and parts of Ukraine, this culture developed large proto-urban settlements with sophisticated ceramic art, absence of defensive fortifications, and an abundance of female figurines. The absence of fortifications has led some archaeologists to hypothesize that these societies were relatively peaceful, relying on a social order built around ritual, agriculture, and seasonal festivals, rather than warfare or centralized kingship. In this symbolic order, the woman was not merely a biological mother, but the metaphysical axis of the world—a creatrix in tune with the cosmos.
This matriarchal-lunar paradigm appears to have been disrupted abruptly during the late Neolithic and early Bronze Age, with the arrival of Indo-European speakers from the Pontic-Caspian Steppe. Genetic studies, particularly those using ancient DNA (aDNA), suggest that a massive demographic replacement occurred in much of Europe beginning around 3000 BCE. As noted in studies such as Haak et al. (2015), the Yamnaya people contributed significantly to the genetic makeup of later European populations, especially in paternal lineages. This implies not just migration, but conquest, with native male lineages being replaced by incoming ones, possibly through warfare or domination by patriarchal warrior elites.
The arrival of the Indo-Europeans was not merely a biological or military event; it represented a spiritual and symbolic rupture. Their culture centered around the sky father (Dyaus Pitar, Zeus, Jupiter), thunder gods, and warrior initiation societies such as the "Koryos" or wolf-warrior bands. These groups were composed of adolescent males who engaged in raiding, and ritualized rape and reaving as violence serves as a passage into adulthood, often described in myth as shapeshifting werewolves or berserker-like figures.
In this collision of cosmologies—the lunar and the solar, the matriarchal and the patriarchal—a transformation of the European spiritual landscape occurred. While remnants of the Great Goddess persisted, often demoted to lesser fertility figures or woven into later folklore, the dominant civilizational paradigm became solar, heroic, and linear. The earth was no longer sacred and cyclical, but a battleground for heroic assertion.
The Venus figurines, once central, became relics of a lost age, often misinterpreted by modern archaeology as "fertility charms" or "primitive art," rather than the theological centerpieces of a now-submerged world religion. The same fate befell the ceremonial centers of the Cucuteni and Çatalhöyük—gradually abandoned or supplanted by kurgan burials, chariot warfare, and fortified hilltops.
This chapter sets the foundation for understanding a critical civilizational polarity: the feminine lunar-matriarchal versus the masculine solar-patriarchal. It is not simply a question of gender roles or social structure, but of worldview: cyclical versus linear time, immanence versus transcendence, womb versus spear. As we shall see, this polarity has echoed throughout history, from the dawn of Indo-European conquest to the ideological battles of the modern age.
Chapter 2: The Aryan Sky-Father – Indo-European Invasion and Patriarchal Conquest
The Indo-European expansion into Europe marked one of the most significant civilizational ruptures in prehistory, a moment when a new spiritual, cultural, and genetic paradigm swept across the continent. Emerging from the Pontic-Caspian Steppe around 3300 BCE, the Yamnaya culture embodied a proto-Indo-European ethos that was hierarchical, warlike, and centered on patriarchal social structures. Their gods were sky-bound, their rituals solar, and their society oriented around heroic masculinity, conquest, and ritualized violence. They came to spread the genes for blondness on your women. To pillage and plunder and take all that the earth has greedily hoarded for itself.
These migrations were not slow cultural diffusions; genetic evidence suggests they were rapid, transformative, and often violent. Studies such as Haak et al. (2015) and Lazaridis et al. (2014) demonstrate a significant turnover in the Y-chromosomal lineages of European populations after the Yamnaya expansion. In many areas, particularly Central and Northern Europe, upwards of 75% of male lineages were replaced, suggesting that native male populations were either killed or assimilated at a subordinate level, while female lineages were often preserved. This has led scholars to propose a model of male-driven conquest where warrior elites imposed their culture and genetics on existing societies.
The symbolic center of Indo-European spirituality was the Sky Father—a transcendent, luminous principle embodied in deities such as Dyaus Pitar (India), Zeus (Greece), Jupiter (Rome), and Tyr or Odin (Norse). These gods ruled from above, often associated with thunder, justice, and kingship. Unlike the chthonic, immanent goddess of the Neolithic world, the Sky Father was distant yet sovereign, linked to the idea of divine right, order, and hierarchy. This cosmology mirrored the social order, which revolved around the patriarch, the warrior, and the lawgiver.
A crucial institution within this society was the Koryos or "wolf band": adolescent male warrior groups who underwent rites of passage involving separation from the tribe, violent raiding, and liminal living in the wilderness. As documented by scholars such as Guy Halsall and Michael Enright, these bands played a foundational role in shaping early Indo-European warrior identity. Through violence and hardship, boys became men—earning their place not through birth or inherent worth, but through heroic deed.
This cultural structure also introduced a linear understanding of time: not the eternal return of the lunar cycle, but the forward-marching path of the hero, the dynasty, the civilization. The kurgan burial mounds, with their grave goods, horses, and weapons, reflected a new vision of the afterlife as a continuation of warrior glory, not a return to the womb of the earth.
The fusion of religious ideology and conquest gave rise to the earliest patriarchal monarchies of the West: the Mycenaeans in Greece, the Hittites in Anatolia, and the early Vedic states of India. In all of these, we see the same themes: warrior castes, divine kingship, sky deities, and a valorization of masculine virtues like courage, honor, and loyalty.
Yet this shift was not absolute. Elements of the earlier goddess cults survived in subordinate forms. In Greece, the earth goddess Gaia was retained, but her power was eclipsed by Zeus. In India, female deities became consorts or aspects of male gods. The Indo-European conquest did not merely erase the feminine principle—it subordinated and transformed it, weaving it into the patriarchal framework as necessary but not sovereign.
In this light, the Indo-European expansion represents more than a migration or conquest. It signifies a cosmological and civilizational revolution—the replacement of a mother-centered worldview with a father-centered one. It is this transformation that set the stage for the heroic, solar civilizations of antiquity and shaped the foundational myths of the West.
This chapter concludes by emphasizing that the Indo-European invasion introduced more than new languages and genes; it imposed a new metaphysics. The legacy of the Sky Father endures not only in mythology but in political and cultural ideals: the king as lawgiver, the hero as civilizer, and the masculine principle as the axis of order. In the chapters that follow, we will explore how this archetype continues to evolve—challenged, distorted, and at times resurrected—through revolutions, empires, and the crises of modernity.
Chapter 3: Solar and Lunar Archetypes in Evola’s Philosophy
With the spiritual rupture introduced by the Indo-European sky-father religions, the foundations were laid for what Julius Evola would later describe as the metaphysical polarity of Solar versus Lunar civilizations. In his seminal work Revolt Against the Modern World (1934), Evola frames history not as a linear progression but as a cyclical drama between opposing metaphysical principles. For Evola, the decline of civilization is a function of the loss of contact with transcendent, solar order and the resurgence of chthonic, lunar forces which he associates with materialism, egalitarianism, and the subversion of hierarchy.
Evola does not use "Solar" and "Lunar" merely as poetic metaphors. They are rooted in his broader Traditionalist metaphysics, deeply influenced by Hindu, Indo-European, and Hermetic thought. The Solar principle represents transcendence, verticality, virility, and spiritual authority. It is embodied in sacred kingship, in warrior aristocracies, and in civilizations that place the divine above the temporal. The Lunar principle, by contrast, is associated with immanence, horizontality, fertility, and cyclical time. It rules over the unconscious, the maternal, the magical, and the collective.
In the Solar world, a king does not derive his power from consent or numbers but from a sacral connection to a transcendent source. In ancient Indo-European cultures, this took the form of divine kingship, where rulers were often ritually identified with sky gods, and power was justified by cosmological order. The priest-kings of Rome, the warrior-philosopher rulers of the Indo-Aryans, and the Germanic tribal chieftains all reflect this solar ideal: authority earned through spiritual and heroic excellence and then passed through blood.
Evola saw the Neolithic goddess cults as part of the primordial Lunar world that preceded the Aryan revolution. These early cultures were, in his view, bound to the rhythms of nature, fertility cycles, and earth-based magic. He did not necessarily disparage these cultures, but saw them as part of the passive, maternal strata of being—a world dominated by necessity, rather than freedom and heroic transcendence.
What concerned Evola most was the return of these chthonic forces in the modern era. He believed that the rise of democracy, socialism, feminism, and mass culture represented a regression to the Lunar pole. In particular, the liberal-democratic ethos—with its emphasis on equality, horizontal organization, and material well-being—was interpreted as the antithesis of the Solar tradition. Evola was explicit in viewing this as a sign of the Kali Yuga, the final dark age in the Hindu cosmic cycle, marked by disorder, inversion, and spiritual decay.
Yet Evola was not merely lamenting the past. He called for a "revolt against the modern world," meaning a restoration of heroic, solar values. This was not a nostalgic return to past forms, but a metaphysical reorientation: the recovery of what he called the "Olympian spirit" or the Ur-tradition. In this sense, Evola saw the Indo-European conquest of Old Europe as a prototype for a deeper metaphysical drama that recurs across history: the confrontation between the Solar hero and the Lunar world.
This metaphysical reading also sheds light on why the Indo-European traditions remained so fixated on the warrior as a central social figure. The warrior, unlike the peasant or the merchant, must transcend fear and necessity. He is a being who chooses death before dishonor, who lives according to an internal code, and who seeks not mere survival, but a form of immortality through action. The warrior is Solar not only in function, but in orientation: his life is a vector pointing upward.
In Evola's schema, we see a spiritual anthropology of civilizations. He distinguishes between:
· Regal-Sacred civilizations (Solar): Rome, ancient India, medieval chivalry, the Holy Roman Empire.
· Telluric-Demotic civilizations (Lunar): Fertility cults, peasant religions, matriarchal societies, and modern democratic states.
Evola’s ideas, while controversial and often misused by extremist movements, are primarily metaphysical in nature. He does not reduce history to biology or race, but to archetype and orientation. His framework allows us to reinterpret prehistory not merely in material terms (tools, agriculture, warfare) but in symbolic and spiritual dimensions.
When we view the clash between the Indo-European Sky Father and the Neolithic Mother Goddess through Evola's lens, we see not only a historical transformation but an ontological polarity. It is this polarity—Solar vs. Lunar, hero vs. mother, transcendence vs. immanence—that he believed structured the rise and fall of civilizations.
In subsequent chapters, we will trace how this polarity continues to shape historical events, revolutionary movements, and modern political ideologies. Evola’s framework, whether accepted or critiqued, offers a profound interpretive lens for understanding how the metaphysical legacies of prehistory still echo in the present day.
Chapter 4: The French Revolution and the Return of the Goddess
While the Enlightenment and the French Revolution are often seen as heralds of secular, rational modernity, they also reveal the re-emergence of archetypal structures long buried beneath the official doctrines of Christianity and monarchy. Among the most striking features of revolutionary France was the symbolic revival of the feminine divine, not as the Virgin Mary or the Christian Madonna, but in the form of Reason, Liberty, and the Nation—goddesses enthroned within a radically new secular mythos. The French Revolution, for all its material and political upheaval, was also a spiritual event in which the old Solar hierarchy was decapitated and replaced, however briefly, by a Lunar archetype returned in secular form.
The most explicit example of this transformation was the creation of the Cult of Reason (Culte de la Raison) and later the Cult of the Supreme Being (Culte de l'Être suprême), promoted by revolutionary figures such as Jacques Hébert and Maximilien Robespierre. Churches were repurposed as "Temples of Reason," and religious iconography was replaced by allegorical statues and personifications of Liberty and the Republic, most of them cast in female form. The Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris was renamed the Temple of Reason, and during its inauguration, a living woman portrayed the Goddess of Reason on the altar.
These new deities, while ostensibly secular, carried strong symbolic echoes of the ancient mother goddess—not the fecund, biological mother of Neolithic cults, but the abstract, civic mother who births a nation, upholds liberty, and represents the collective will. Marianne, the national symbol of the French Republic, emerged during this period as the personification of Liberty and the Republic. Her bust, placed in every French town hall to this day, draws from earlier goddess imagery, with her Phrygian cap echoing Mithraic and revolutionary iconography.
This turn toward feminine imagery coincided with the collapse of the ancien régime’s solar, patriarchal hierarchy. The king—long viewed as a divine representative of the Sky Father, the sovereign Sun King—was publicly executed, and with him, the symbolic link between transcendence and authority. The Republic, like the earlier Neolithic order, claimed its legitimacy from the collective, the immanent, and the horizontal. Rather than law descending from God to king to people, it was now said to emerge from the general will of the people, a fluid and maternal source of legitimacy.
However, the revolutionary era also unleashed chaos, mass violence, and a breakdown of hierarchical order that shocked many of its own architects. The Terror, the guillotine, and the rapid succession of unstable governments led to a reactionary yearning for order, clarity, and hierarchy. Into this vacuum stepped Napoleon Bonaparte, whose rise marks one of the clearest modern reassertions of the Solar principle.
Napoleon explicitly modeled himself on the Caesars and heroes of antiquity. He crowned himself Emperor, centralizing power in his person, restoring the primacy of masculine virtue, meritocracy, and law. Under Napoleon, France returned to a structured, hierarchical, and martial order. He reinstated the authority of the Church, codified laws (the Napoleonic Code), and built a myth of the civilizing conqueror—not unlike the Indo-European archetype of the hero who tames the chaos of the maternal world.
In this transformation, we see a microcosm of the cyclical polarity identified by Evola: the feminine, collective, and chaotic rising to overthrow the established masculine order, only to be replaced once more by a new heroic-patriarchal form. Marianne’s reign was brief, but her image remained. Napoleon did not erase the revolution but reorganized its energies toward conquest, order, and glory—transforming the fluid energy of the people into the focused will of the leader.
From a symbolic perspective, the Revolution and Napoleon together mirror the ancient shift from matriarchal-lunar cults to patriarchal-solar civilizations. Yet in modern form, they exist within the same cultural cycle. The feminine returns not in the form of fertility and magic, but as democracy, equality, and human rights. The masculine returns not as divine kingship, but as populist charisma, military discipline, and technocratic authority.
This oscillation between feminine and masculine principles—between egalitarian chaos and hierarchical order, between immanent justice and transcendent law—continues into the present. As we shall explore in the next chapters, the modern liberal-democratic order, with its emphasis on welfare, rights, and bureaucratic management, increasingly resembles the matriarchal pattern: protective, distributive, and emotionally infused. In contrast, its opponents increasingly appeal to Solar archetypes of strongmen, warriors, and national destiny.
The French Revolution was not the end of monarchy or religion, but their reconfiguration. It was also a reassertion of ancient symbolic tensions, played out not in temples and megaliths, but in guillotines and parliaments. The Goddess returned—abstract, enthroned, and blood-drenched. And behind her, waiting his turn, the Hero sharpened his sword.
Chapter 5: The Modern Bureaucratic-Nanny State as Neo-Matriarchy
In the post-industrial era, particularly after World War II, the Western world has experienced a profound transformation in political authority, economic structure, and cultural values. While this change is often framed in terms of liberal progress, democratization, and human rights, it also bears striking resemblance—on a symbolic and archetypal level—to the re-emergence of a matriarchal, lunar civilizational model. This is not matriarchy in the literal sense of female rule, but in the broader, metaphysical sense: the predominance of immanent, egalitarian, nurturing, and horizontal values over transcendent, hierarchical, and vertical ones.
The modern liberal-democratic state, particularly in its American form, has developed a vast regulatory apparatus often likened to a "nanny state"—a system that monitors, educates, redistributes, and nurtures rather than commands, disciplines, or conquers. Welfare systems, public education, healthcare, identity-based protections, and bureaucratic oversight have all become core elements of governance. The citizen is no longer a warrior, merchant, or even subject, but a managed client, expected to comply with a system of rules designed to provide comfort, safety, and inclusion.
This transformation aligns symbolically with the lunar-feminine archetype. Where the Solar principle affirms hierarchy, initiation, and sacrifice, the Lunar principle favors comfort, preservation, and emotional validation. Policies are judged less on their capacity to forge greatness or glory than on their ability to protect rights, avoid harm, and affirm individual identity.
The visual culture of this shift is telling. In Times Square, New York City, a 12-foot bronze statue of a corpulent Black woman seated in a chair—entitled “Seated” by artist Vinnie Bagwell—was unveiled in 2022. The figure, presented as dignified and maternal, recalls the prehistoric Venus figurines and specifically the Seated Woman of Çatalhöyük. While not intentionally designed as such, the resemblance is archetypally powerful: a modern fertility goddess enthroned in the heart of the liberal West, representing emotional gravity, racial identity, and social dignity through sheer physical presence.
In this iconography, existence itself becomes justification for reverence. The obese female figure, whether ancient or modern, signifies power through presence, not action—authority derived from being, not doing. This is the inverse of the heroic-Solar model, where space is earned by merit, conquest, or excellence. In the lunar model, value is innate, inherent, and tied to group identity or vulnerability.
This cultural pattern is mirrored in various ideological movements. The fat acceptance movement, feminist theory, and intersectional politics all emphasize structural critique of "patriarchal," "ableist," or "white supremacist" systems. Within these frameworks, assertive male heroism is often seen not as noble but as toxic, imperialistic, or fascist. Conversely, vulnerability, victimhood, and identity-based suffering confer moral status and political power.
Yet this is not merely cultural. The international system itself, particularly the "rules-based liberal order" promoted by the United States and its allies, increasingly operates on a maternal logic. It prioritizes stability, arbitration, soft power, and rights-based diplomacy. Military force is rhetorically de-emphasized in favor of sanctions, resolutions, and "coalitions of the willing." Even institutions like the European Union are organized around bureaucratic consensus rather than sovereign heroism.
Critics of this model—from both the left and right—often frame it as stifling, infantilizing, or technocratic. But when seen through an Evolian or archetypal lens, it becomes clear that this is the return of the chthonic mother goddess, not in religious temples but in administrative buildings and HR departments. Authority now wears the face of empathy, and law is mediated through process rather than pronouncement.
Importantly, this return does not signal weakness. The feminine-maternal archetype is not merely passive. It is engulfing, protective, and often total. Just as the Neolithic goddess was both womb and tomb, the modern nanny state can be nurturing and coercive, therapeutic and disciplinary. Its power lies not in command but in consensus, not in elevation but in saturation.
The psychological counterpart to this system is also worth noting. Contemporary society increasingly promotes therapeutic language, emotional self-expression, and collective sensitivity. These traits mirror what Carl Jung described as the anima dominance—an inner shift toward the feminine pole of the psyche. In men, this may manifest as the collapse of the Solar ego, a retreat from ambition, or a growing discomfort with aggression and hierarchy.
Thus, the bureaucratic-nanny state is not an accidental outgrowth of modern politics, but part of a deep archetypal cycle. As the heroic, Solar civilization weakens under the weight of its own contradictions—imperial overreach, moral fatigue, spiritual nihilism—the feminine archetype rises to fill the void. Where once a Caesar might have ruled with thunderbolts, today a council regulates carbon credits.
In the next chapter, we will explore how this symbolic landscape has provoked counter-movements across the world. From the Kremlin to Mar-a-Lago, a new Solar counter-current is emerging—one that seeks not merely to critique modernity, but to reassert the figure of the Hero, the Father, and the vertical axis of civilization.
Chapter 6: The Strongman Returns – Russia, Trump, and the New Solar Tendencies
In reaction to the managerial, egalitarian, and emotionally attuned culture of the modern West, a new wave of leadership has emerged around the world that recalls the ancient Solar archetype. These leaders, often controversial and divisive, are typically described as populist, nationalist, or authoritarian. Yet their appeal rests not merely in policy or ideology, but in deep symbolic resonance with the figure of the Hero-King—the man who rises above the masses, imposes order, and embodies the masculine will to power.
The clearest example of this trend is Vladimir Putin. A former intelligence officer who has cultivated the image of a warrior-statesman, Putin routinely presents himself in hyper-masculine terms: hunting, riding horseback, participating in martial displays, and invoking Russia's imperial past. His political philosophy blends Orthodoxy, national tradition, and geopolitical realism in a manner that reasserts hierarchy, sovereignty, and civilizational mission. In Evolian terms, Putin's regime reasserts the Solar principle within a world increasingly governed by Lunar structures.
Similar currents can be observed in China under Xi Jinping, where the Communist Party has shed its revolutionary egalitarianism in favor of a Confucian revivalism that promotes discipline, hierarchy, and the sacred authority of the state. In Turkey, Recep Tayyip Erdogan has likewise adopted the mantle of neo-Ottomanism, fusing Islamic identity with charismatic leadership. In India, Narendra Modi draws on Hindu nationalism to project a paternal image of civilizational rebirth.
Even in the United States, the presidency of Donald Trump marked a symbolic departure from the bureaucratic norm. Trump positioned himself as the outsider-hero, willing to defy institutional consensus, attack entrenched elites, and speak in unfiltered, combative language. His rallies, slogans, and iconography ("Make America Great Again") echoed the mythic longing for a golden age and the restoration of masculine order. Though derided as populist or demagogic, Trump’s appeal lies in his archetypal role as a breaker of taboos—a trickster-king confronting the perceived feminization and stagnation of American political life.
This return of the strongman can be understood not simply as political backlash, but as the resurgence of the Solar principle in a time of perceived decline. As the Lunar bureaucratic order becomes more complex, therapeutic, and controlling, many populations instinctively seek a figure who can cut through red tape, assert national identity, and embody a higher, more vertical form of authority. These leaders offer clarity over complexity, strength over sensitivity, and hierarchy over process.
The emergence of these figures often provokes intense resistance. Liberal democracies, wedded to the ethics of egalitarianism and emotional safety, frequently interpret the strongman as a threat to human rights, pluralism, and peace. From the perspective of archetypal polarity, however, this conflict is inevitable. The Solar and the Lunar cannot coexist indefinitely in perfect balance. One rises as the other wanes.
Epigenetic and anthropological questions arise here as well. Is the recurrence of this archetype an expression of deep civilizational memory? If the Indo-European Yamnaya carried not only genes but behavioral patterns linked to warrior ethos and patriarchal order, might those traits still express themselves under stress or perceived cultural weakness? Recent studies in behavioral genetics and neurobiology suggest that traits like risk-taking, status-seeking, and group loyalty are heritable to varying degrees and may be expressed differently across populations and historical contexts.
In this sense, the re-emergence of the Solar hero is not simply a political choice but a civilizational reflex. As collective systems grow more entropic and emotionally driven, the instinct for hierarchy and discipline reasserts itself through charismatic figures who embody ancient values. These men may not be consciously aligned with Evola's thought or Indo-European mythology, but they channel the same symbolic energies: they are not administrators but warriors, not servants of consensus but avatars of destiny.
Whether this resurgence leads to new empires or catastrophic overreach remains an open question. The Hero is a double-edged sword. He can found cities, but he can also burn them. Yet his return, in our time, signals a break in the arc of progress—a moment when history bends back on itself, and the face of the Sky Father once more peers through the clouds of the modern world.
In the final chapter, we will attempt to synthesize these cycles and archetypes, and ask whether our current age is nearing a terminal point of Lunar domination, or the early dawn of a renewed Solar order.
Chapter 7: The Eternal Cycle – Matriarchy, Patriarchy, and Civilizational Oscillation
As we bring together the threads of this study, it becomes clear that the tension between matriarchal-lunar and patriarchal-solar principles is not simply a relic of the ancient past. It is an enduring cycle embedded in the very structure of human civilizations. From the figurines of Neolithic Anatolia to the thunder-gods of the Indo-Europeans, from revolutionary goddesses to postmodern nanny states and populist strongmen, these archetypes continue to shape the course of human history.
This is not merely a cycle of social organization, but of metaphysical orientation. The Lunar paradigm prioritizes life, continuity, nurturing, and emotional resonance. It seeks to level hierarchies and bind the collective through care, stability, and inclusion. The Solar paradigm exalts transcendence, hierarchy, sacrifice, and individual excellence. It affirms difference, struggle, and the upward striving of the few who embody the divine principle.
History provides many examples of this oscillation:
The Neolithic Age gave way to the Bronze Age.
The feminine symbolism of the French Revolution was replaced by the masculine empire of Napoleon.
The bureaucratic maternalism of the post-war West has been answered by new forms of heroic nationalism and civilizational assertion.
This rhythm is not linear progress, but cyclical motion—what Oswald Spengler called the "morphology of cultures," and what Julius Evola interpreted as a return of the Eternal.
The sociological analysis of Theodor Adorno and the Frankfurt School saw the rise of authoritarianism as a pathology—an atavistic regression fueled by unprocessed trauma and rigid psychological structures. Yet this very model of the "authoritarian personality" may also be reinterpreted as the reactivation of deep mythic and evolutionary patterns. When populations feel that the maternal state no longer provides meaning or coherence, they seek a paternal archetype to restore symbolic order.
Are these patterns genetic? Epigenetic? Cultural? Likely all three. The Yamnaya conquest did not only reshape Europe biologically; it may have encoded a deep psychological orientation toward the heroic and hierarchical. Likewise, matriarchal impulses rooted in early human sociality persist and reassert themselves in different forms: goddess cults, motherland rhetoric, feminist theory, and therapeutic bureaucracies.
The challenge is not to pick sides, but to understand the structure. Solar and Lunar energies are both necessary. One without the other leads to tyranny or stagnation. The Hero without the Mother becomes the tyrant; the Mother without the Hero becomes the smothering womb. Civilization, in its most enduring forms, has always attempted to balance these forces: kings with queens, temples with hearths, empires with festivals.
Our present era may well be reaching the limit of Lunar expansion. The managerial state, the infinite subdivision of rights, the flattening of excellence into inclusivity—these may be signs not of progress but of excess. And from the ruins of this overreach, new Solar figures rise: not necessarily to save, but to break, to burn, to renew.
And yet the cycle will not end. One day, the Hero will fade. His sword will rust. His empire will collapse. And from the ashes, the Earth will speak again. The goddess will return, enthroned in silence, her womb bearing the memory of time.
Thus, the story continues. Not as progress, not as regression, but as eternal return.
Conclusion: Toward a New Understanding of Archetypal Politics
This essay has not argued for the superiority of patriarchy over matriarchy, or of tradition over modernity. Rather, it has sought to interpret history and politics through the lens of deep archetypes that shape human culture across time and space. From the ancient Seated Woman of Çatalhöyük to the bronze goddess of Times Square, from the Koryos warbands to Kremlin strongmen, these symbols point not to ideology, but to structure.
To see the world in archetypal terms is to recognize the soul beneath the skin of history. In doing so, we may begin to recover a more holistic vision of human civilization—one that does not simply follow trends, but honors the eternal dialogue between the Sky and the Earth, the Father and the Mother, the Sun and the Moon.
The future remains unwritten. But the myths endure.
Chapter 8: Addendum – Sorel, National Bolshevism, and the Solar-Masculine Ideal in Twentieth-Century Thought
Having traced the ancient archetypes of Solar and Lunar through millennia of civilizational change, it is worth extending our gaze into the fissures of twentieth-century ideological experiments—those strange, heretical hybrids that attempted to restore the sacred masculine within the modern industrial world. Among these, few are more intriguing than the fusionist currents in France around Georges Sorel, the Cercle Proudhon, and later echoes in National Bolshevism as developed in Weimar Germany by thinkers like Ernst Niekisch, Karl Otto Paetel, and Ernst Jünger.
Sorel, though often remembered as a syndicalist, was in truth a prophet of heroic myth. He believed in the generative power of violence not for its destructive ends but for its capacity to awaken a new ethical and spiritual man. His Reflections on Violence (1908) called for the mobilization of myth—not lies, but archetypes—to animate the proletariat as a warrior caste. Sorel saw the general strike not as a tactic but as a moral phenomenon. Through struggle and sacrifice, man could transcend comfort and become heroic.
The Cercle Proudhon (1911–1914), in which monarchist traditionalists of Action Française mingled with syndicalist revolutionaries, attempted to create an ideological synthesis: anti-capitalist, anti-democratic, anti-liberal, and virile. Here, the Solar ideal returned not through the restoration of divine kingship alone, but through a new concept of national heroism rooted in blood, soil, sacrifice, and worker-discipline. Though it never took political power, this movement cast a long shadow over later collaborators and fascist intellectuals in Vichy France.
Figures like Marcel Déat and Joseph Darnand carried this ethos into the wartime regime. Though compromised by German occupation, the Milice and other fascist organs saw themselves as defenders of civilization against the decadence of Anglo-American capitalism and the cosmopolitanism of the French Third Republic. The cult of the soldier-worker, the ideal of virile restoration, and the hatred of liberalism echoed the Solar values traced by Evola.
Yet it is in German National Bolshevism that this ideological path reaches its most extreme and paradoxical articulation. Ernst Niekisch, the most prominent National Bolshevik, argued that the soul of Germany was not in its bourgeois traditions or its flirtations with the West, but in the legacy of Prussia—iron order, Spartan self-sacrifice, and mystical nationalism. For Niekisch, the Soviet Union’s totalitarian ethos was not a betrayal of the West, but its purification:
"Bolshevism is the Prussian idea in Russian form."
"Germany has forsaken the traditions of Potsdam, while Soviet Russia has adopted them and forged a colossus of work-discipline and communal dedication."
"Russia has become more Prussian than we have remained."
Karl Otto Paetel, another National Bolshevik, envisioned a romantic, aristocratic socialism rooted in spiritual hierarchy and collective destiny. This was not materialist Marxism, but a militant, solar collectivism—a crusade of young men against bourgeois decadence. Ernst Jünger, though more ambiguous, advanced the concept of the worker-soldier as a type of mythic being forged in the furnace of industrial war.
The key commonality among these thinkers is a deep yearning for the sacred masculine to reappear in collective, not merely individual, form. In this model, the state becomes a spiritual engine for discipline and transcendence. The nation becomes a temple, and the citizen a monk-warrior. This vision is not far removed from Evola’s ideal of the Traditional state, where hierarchy, sacrifice, and heroism order society according to metaphysical truth.
National Bolshevism, then, can be interpreted as a modern attempt to reclaim the Solar principle in a secularized, post-monarchical world. Unlike fascism, it sought not merely to restore lost glory but to synthesize tradition and revolution—to channel myth into mass discipline. Its vision of the Soviet Union as a Prussianized state reveals a fundamental archetypal resonance: perfect order, every man a cog in a holy machine, the feminine banished as weakness, luxury, or sentimentality.
Such movements have so far remained politically marginal, but nevertheless are symbolically potent. They reveal that even in modernity, the yearning for the Heroic God-King, the Sacred Order, and the path of warrior-discipline has not been extinguished. Instead, it reemerges in strange and hybrid forms—syndicalist-monarchist clubs, German-Slavic brotherhoods, and esoteric fascisms—each attempting to solve the riddle of how to forge a new Solar civilization amid the ruins of liberal capitalism.
In these forgotten ideologies, we see not relics but premonitions. As the bureaucratic West sinks further into therapeutic management, as Lunar principles saturate every layer of life, the possibility arises once more: that a new form of Solar collectivism, rooted in sacrifice, order, and metaphysical courage, may one day return.
Whether such a return is desirable or disastrous remains uncertain. But the myth endures. And so long as men yearn for transcendence through struggle, the Hero will walk again.