***Note: Although Homer’s The Odyssey is a story familiar to many, Christopher Nolan has taken creative liberties in crafting his own interpretation of the epic. As a result, this review contains spoilers for elements of the film that may differ from the original text. Proceed with caution, and you have been warned.***

Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey (2026) arrives at a peculiar moment in the cultural imagination. Our society as we know it is existing in a transitory moment marked by increasing estrangement from the myths that once defined its moral meaning and purpose. Creating an interpretation of one of the greatest known stories is a difficult task requiring some degree of grace when under scrutiny.

If you’re a subscriber to The Dialectic Project, or even casually familiar with my work, you have likely noticed that one of the themes I write about the most is the question of identity. I have argued that Western society’s growing tendency to forget its own spiritual identity and the many perennial archetypal forms marking its unique nature is the first step toward existential despair, cultural disorientation, and the erosion of meaning. With that in mind, it may be a no-brainer that I would examine the film using this device. However, I cannot help but see this underlying theme in Nolan’s The Odyssey. So, forgive me if I do sound repetitive. I cannot shake the feeling that Nolan seems to have truly grasped the spiritual illness of our age yet delivers the message in the most convoluted way possible. Let me explain in a way that is hopefully interesting to you.

The Hubris of Progressive Messaging
Adapting Homer’s The Odyssey for modern viewers is an open challenge to contend with one of the foundational narratives from which the Western imagination continues to draw its deepest meaning from, including human limitation.

Let’s get one thing straight: I will not be lamenting on the culture war concerns coloring this film. Nothing I can say about the problematic nature of Nolan’s casting choices will add anything new or significant to the present conversation. However, I am compelled to explore the topic for an entirely different reason. After viewing the film and seeing how the curious casting choices were carried out in practice, I cannot help but see Nolan’s attempts at signaling progressive virtues (somehow!) backfire. For example, Ellen Page’s performance as Sinon (who is not even originally mentioned in Homer’s The Odyssey, but is primarily known from Virgil’s The Aeneid and following classical sources) captures this sentiment best. As a known transgender actor, Page is immediately killed in the first scene of the film, and basically doesn’t return until well over an hour later where an extended performance is given. Page’s return represents a deliberately reimagined moment where Odysseus convenes a meeting with the now dead Sinon over a blood sacrifice, where the fallen warrior emerges from Hades. Page’s portrayal of Sinon is remarkably powerful for all the wrong reasons. ‘He’ is blackened by the mud covering the forgotten casualties of war, where Page’s execution heavily leans into the sheer despair of believing in a lie. Odysseus’ celebrated profile as the clever architect of Greek victory through the art of deception is directly confronted by Sinon, where he openly mourns the tragedy of having believed in Odysseus’ lie that killed him. Odysseus is now forced to confront the calculated choice to sacrifice Sinon’s life without his foreknowledge. However, whether through deliberate artistic intent or mere coincidence, the message of suffering from the consequences of a lie takes on a darker dimension when conveyed by a transgender actor. It is worth noting that the theme of deception and trickery (a recurring motif throughout Homer’s The Odyssey) takes on a more appreciated significance when considering the speculation surrounding the film’s early casting rumors, particularly the initial reports that Page would portray the virile and fierce (and masculine, yes) Achilles. It turns out that this casting was never the intention. (Or, at the very least, it was dropped mid-production.)

Another example of what I mean when I saw Nolan’s culture war casting backfires: his presentation of Helen of Troy. Sadly, removed from the obvious, Lupita Nyong’o’s portrayal of Helen offers little in the way of inspiration or emotional resonance. Her screen time was limited and frankly added little to the story. However, much like Page’s casting, Nyong’o’s introduction in Nolan’s The Odyssey is so jarring and unexpected that it raises questions about the intentions behind the original casting decisions and the choices made with the script. When Odysseus’ son Telemachus travels to Sparta and meets with Menelaus and Helen, the audience arrives at their first encounter with Helen where it is awkwardly marked by Menelaus gripping her face and turning it toward the viewer, revealing a scar that disrupts the image of her beauty. He jokes that she has been downgraded as the face that could launch a thousand ships to only five-hundred. I don’t think I need to explain in detail why this is a bad decision to introduce Nyong’o as Helen of Troy. Why position the film as a progressive reinterpretation through its casting choices, inviting controversy around questioning the meaning of beauty wrapped in commentary on ethnicity in the coveted role of the world’s most beautiful woman only to undermine that premise through an introduction centered on domestic violence and the physical destruction of said beauty?

Additionally, Nolan decided to portray Helen as the twin sister of Clytemnestra, wife and Agamemon, both played by Nyong’o. Historically speaking, the relationship shared between these two women is, admittedly, debated. The most commonly held position is that the two are half-sisters, and understandably so! Assuming that Helen of Troy, the most beautiful woman in the world, has a twin sister is a ridiculous notion because it would suggest that Helen is indeed not the most beautiful woman in the world. Nolan’s decision to have Helen be a twin only invalidates the assumption that Helen of Troy is the most beautiful woman in the world. In Nolan’s The Odyssey, Helen of Troy is not the most beautiful woman in the world. Lupita Nyong’o was never meant to be a model for that kind of beauty.

This inversion of the Grecian ideals such as these is a key aspect in Nolan’s film. His subversive commentary on the gods and social custom is made rather obvious. Every layer of shared historical knowledge is peeled back to expose an underlying, ugly truth that (at least, according to Nolan) we had missed all these years. Even Helen of Troy’s beauty is not exactly what launched all those ships into war. The film clearly raises the point that Helen’s beauty served as a scapegoat used to justify the war, rather than be the true force inspiring it.

At this point, it is no secret that Nolan’s adaption heavily relies on Emily Wilson’s 2017 translation of Homer’s The Odyssey, which has been notably critiqued for its feminist interpretation and open stigmatization of heroic idealization. Likewise, the film’s appeal to progressive themes finds an interesting parallel in Wilson’s translation, which, despite its modern framing, does not entirely escape the contradictions of the original text. While in previous translations of the myth the final execution of the maids of Ithaca are generally described as an act of justice for their crimes of collaborating with the suitors, Wilson reframes this moment to suggest that the punishments were wholly unjust. The reason? The women are victims constrained by a social order they neither created nor freely chose. Poor, enslaved maidens lacking the agency to do the right thing. How funny is it that in an attempt to rewrite myth in a manner so as to empower women, it only manages to erase their agency and the consequences for their actions?

Subversion: The Good, the Bad, and the more Bad
As noted, the inversion of original meaning and purpose is a key theme in Nolan’s The Odyssey. Although it can be viewed as a post-mortem utilization of postmodernism, this trick is not without merit. A substantial portion of the film’s thematic significance rests in its depiction of the gods, which reflects ideas closely aligned with Biblical themes. Nolan’s portrayal of the deities is essentially non-existent. But then, what of Athena? I hear you asking.

My initial reservations regarding Zendaya’s casting as Athena proved to be premature. Once again, as someone who writes extensively on divine archetypes, I was naturally disappointed to hear of the decision to cast (a very frail) Zendaya as the imposing and radiant Athena. (I want to note that ever since I was a child, Athena has always been my favorite deity in the Ancient Greek pantheon, so I was pretty invested.) However, it is made abundantly clear that, even though the film is set in a time of magic, the gods themselves make no physical appearance. At best, they are presented through the elements, such as Poseidon being embodied by the violence of the sea. Then what of Zendaya’s portrayal? It is not that Athena is absent from Nolan’s universe, but rather that the form she assumes within Odysseus’ consciousness is shaped by the trauma he carries home from war. Zendaya’s Athena is revealed to bear the face of a young woman who was herself a victim of the Trojan War. In the chaos of battle, Odysseus forges an enduring psychological association between the two, causing his patron goddess to become inseparable from the memory of his own guilt and regret. In Nolan’s telling, the gods reveal themselves through the faces of ordinary people. Like I had mentioned, this reframing of the gods is a borderline Biblical interpretation of the original myth.

As a Christian myself, I admit this interpretation is refreshing. The notable difference setting the ancient Greek pantheon apart from most modern religions is the coherent understanding of the divine emanations and archetypes manifest today. Christianity as a religion entirely set on a single, external salvific figure, is traditionally left unhindered by these many forms. (Although Christianity remains deeply archetypal, its historical development has increasingly emphasized a simplified and universal conception of salvation.) Nolan’s interpretation offers a distinctly modern reimagining of the gods.

Nolan’s subversion of the source material’s original meaning is only one of the film’s many significant thematic explorations. He also provides commentary on civilizational decline. It’s in one of the last lines of the film: “the Bronze Age, it’s collapsing.” Odysseus’ failure to uphold Zeus’ sacred law of hospitality sets both himself and the kingdom of Ithaca on a path toward ruin and moral decline.

The Greeks are portrayed not as righteous victors, but as agents of suffering whose actions perpetuate misfortune rather than restore justice. This moral inversion follows Odysseus throughout the film, haunting him long after the war has ended. It is difficult to ignore the possibility that Nolan is using this framework as a broader commentary on contemporary debates surrounding the United States’ immigration policies and questions of national hospitality. Of course, the decision to cast every ethnicity (and I do mean every) as a Greek in this film is clear enough that the intention was to provide some degree of commentary on the issue. Removed from that, the lesson of civilization decline is one that is now often utilized in modern media.

I regrettably failed to write a review for Kane Parson’s The Backrooms when it came out (I am a busy woman–or at least try to be) even though the article would have been a layup as the film provides ample evidence towards my commonly held assertion that degeneration is a common thematic device in modernity. Besides the fact that liminal spaces as an online subgenre (originally born out of the Vaporwave aesthetic movement if you happen to remember that) has somehow emerged into mainstream media, The Backrooms as a standalone film firmly illustrated the fears the ascending generation struggles with the most; namely, alienation and forgotten meaning. Similarly, Nolan’s The Odyssey engages with this theme, though it approaches the subject through a broader and more universal lens. It deals with loss and decline on a scale that all generations can understand. In fact, it is a message that we have known since ancient history. Homer’s The Odyssey masterfully demonstrates the importance of memory in the act of homecoming or returning to what makes us whole. However, it also clearly shows how, even in the process of return, we never return the same person. Change is inevitable, as is loss. In Nolan’s more modern re-telling, this also includes the active process of decay and decline.

Purpose, role, and archetype have been cast and are now lost. We are to find our own meaning today.

A Few Additional Gripes
I decided to dedicate a portion of this article describing general problems (and some positives) I had with the film to polish off the review so as to make it feel complete. Ending on a soliloquy about archetypal meaning and civilizational purpose may not be satisfactory for some people.

I found Matt Damon’s performance of Odysseus uninspired. Nothing about Damon’s demeanor in the film faithfully represented Odysseus’ tricky and persuasive characteristics. The same can be said of Zendaya’s performance; although her underwhelming presentation is intentional as part of the film’s reframing device of the deity, it still would have been nice to see more gravitas in her acting. Although the moment with Odessyus’ reunion with Argos still made my eyes water, the scene deserved more time to fully explore the emotional weight of Odysseus’ return. Argos’ death is arguably one of the easiest emotional appeals available to filmmakers, but Nolan’s handling of it comes across as a convenient and quick attempt at audience manipulation. Again, I cannot stress this enough; as someone with a deep love for dogs, I was prepared for this moment to emotionally dominate and devastate me, but it failed to draw out the level of emotion I expected. Maybe it was for the best, as I don’t like crying in public.

The casting choice for Circe was strange. As a Circe fan, I was expecting someone completely different; someone who accurately captured the Jungian anima; alluring, dark, and transformative. Not to diminish Samantha Morton’s appearance or abilities as an actor, but choosing her to play Circe is a vision I fail to understand. That is not to say the scene with Circe’s witchcraft wasn’t entertaining.

The transformation scene in which the soldiers are turned into pigs was executed so effectively that it remains one of the few moments I would gladly watch over and over again. It flirts with horror in a way I have rarely seen executed, incorporating enough body horror to create genuine discomfort without it being so overwhelming that it removes the sense of magical wonder. The same can be said with everyone’s favorite Cyclops scene. The musical score was great. Anne Hathaway’s performance as Penelope was very well done and, although everyone and their conservative mother are complaining about her noticeably “feminist” outburst midway through the film on her capabilities of running Ithaca on her own, they fail to consider that this soapbox moment was meant to provide additional context on Penelope’s personal ambitions following her son directly questioning her objectives by not removing herself from her current position. Of course, exploring Penelope’s personal strife with Odysseus’ absence would have benefitted the movie greatly, and in doing so it would have warranted her outburst a little more, but I digress. Perhaps cutting out the scenes with Calypso to do this would have been a better idea.

That being said, on Calypso, I like Charlize Theron, but I would have preferred those scenes with her completely removed. Watching Matt Damon languish on a beach with Theron while struggling to remember anything was painfully dull and stretched out for too long. In fact, switch Nyong’o’s and Theron’s roles and the movie would have been infinitely better by that alone. You do not even need to add any additional lines of dialogue for either character.

In the end, Nolan’s The Odyssey is an elegy for a world that has been forgotten. The ancient age of magic is the last moment when mankind still understood itself through enduring archetypes and sacred order. Where do we stand today? Still adrift eating the lotus flower.

Nolan’s The Odyssey ultimately becomes a meditation on cultural memory: a reminder that a civilization does not simply lose power once is conquered, but when it is internally forgotten. Alas, reader, there is hope. The ancient world is not dead but waiting to be remembered.

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**WARNING: There are SPOILERS in this review. If, for some outlandish reason, you decide to see the film: Proceed with caution!**

Good Boy, An Analysis
Good Boy (2025) was independently produced, directed, and written by Ben Leonberg, credited under the production company What’s Wrong With Your Dog? Leonberg used his own canine campaign, Indy, to star as the main character of the film.

The decision to write the film from the perspective of a dog was proven successful, earning widespread praise and recognition for his performance. Its world premiere occurred March 10th, 2025, at the SXSW Film Festival, followed by another screening at the Overlook Film Festival.

Considering the film’s now well-established reputation in the arthouse cinema worship scene, it is not difficult to assume Leonberg’s suspension in the insular film class left him missing the mark for ideologically dissenting and politically “out-of-the-box” narratives. Leonberg is, after all, rolling in the deep of postmodern film studies as he is a sitting assistant professor in MSU’s School of Film and Photography. Yes, I am, in fact, saying that the affluent, liberal-white undertones vibrate through the screen — however, it is challenging to honestly ascertain it without feeling a tinge of conspiratorial thinking upon the initial viewing.

Then, once the credits roll, you reach the post-credit scene: the camera captures Leonberg sitting back on a chair in a cozy attic with his dog, Indy.

He invites the viewers to stay for just a few more moments as he offers a behind-the-scenes look at how he managed to capture Indy’s best acting moments, panning over comedic scenes of a young woman animating a crudely assembled sock puppet to elicit the dog’s reaction as Leonberg films it. And what was the phrase Leonberg made sure to say multiple times in this brief scene? “Remember, Indy doesn’t know he is in the move!”

Yes, we know. He is a dog.

“Oh, and remember, Indy doesn’t know he is in a movie. This entire time, we just film him naturally reacting to his environment,” says Leonberg, again, through a toothy grin.

We know, Ben. He is a dog.

“And so, we thank you for watching Good Boy. And, once again, just remember; Indy doesn’t know he is in the movie.”

Yes, Ben. Yes! We know. We understand. He is a dog.

Leonberg’s persistence to put to rest the possible rumors of animal abuse is indicative of the intensity of inquisition pervasive in the modernity of entertainment. Since the raised consciousness of the dark underbelly of animal abuses in entertainment ushered in by popular documentaries such as Black Fish (2013) or Tyke Elephant Outlaw (2015), or even the unending stories of animal abuse in the filming of blockbuster movies, such as Ben-Hur (1959), Water for Elephants (2011), or even A Dog’s Purpose (2017), it’s partially understandable why Leonberg would tread lightly on having a dog act in his film.

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Note: This article serves as both commentary on and an expansion of the traditional four Jungian masculine archetypes first proposed by Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette’s book King, Warrior, Magician, Lover: Rediscovering Masculinity Through the Lens of Archetypal Psychology. This article also serves as a continuation of my theoretical model of the Four Divine Feminine archetypes. If you wish to understand my comprehensive theory on the archetypal forms, please read this article first to gain a deeper understanding of the following essay, as I will be heavily referencing it.

Archetypal forms, or the metaphysical symbols animating man, is an unperceivable reality interwoven within our material world. Although one may not be naturally inclined to perceive it, this unseen ‘realm’ readily informs and imbues every aspect of our decision-making and agentic progress as we perform our natural roles unconsciously in the public world, together building the social order of our communities.

Determining the causes of modern social ills requires an intuitive understanding of the nature of man and, more importantly, defining the archetypal forms that motivate us. As mentioned in my previous article on the four feminine archetypes, there is a predetermined metaphysical form every individual embodies emotionally, psychology, and, even at times, physically. In modern psychology, the liberal ‘blank slate’ doctrine that has infected social discourses on human intelligence has terminally damaged the currently shared theory of mind. Coming to terms with the permanence of each archetype is requisite for alleviating the many social ills that corrupt our social order today. It will greatly benefit mankind to take an honest understanding of the human psyche and apply it accordingly. Some primitive cultures still understand this ancient concept, and it facilitates communal and tribal composure and functioning, albeit lacking civilizational advancement. Given the natural inclination for technological progress, understanding and deferring to these natural roles will, hopefully, serve as an alternative solution to the corrupting elements of progressive dogmas.

However, we are not here to discuss at length what comprises of these corrupting elements. (You are free to read my other articles in this newsletter for that.) This essay serves to expand upon the Masculine archetypes. This is not to diminish the contributions of Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette; however, it is an expansion of their model. I felt it necessary to expound on my views given the patterns I have seen in this field of Jungian psychology throughout the years.

Men, presumably the more agentic sex, demonstrate the capability to both build and destroy civilizations. Perhaps then, it is for this reason that manhood and masculinity have devolved into an incendiary discussion piece today. However, it is imperative that, as members of a functioning society, it is our duty to describe these qualities and thereby teach them to the masculine youth. Of course, as a woman, I am not suggesting that I have the capability to fully articulate the complex nature of masculinity. However, as someone who has formed relationships with men, lost male friends, gained male enemies, and vise-versa; I will argue that I am adept at noticing patterns of behavior and generalities. Such can only be done when one is accustomed to not only noticing patterns but understanding the Jungian narratives animating our present world. I am a firm believer that the ancient peoples who settled the foundational elements of our religious understanding, including the ancient myths, perceived these animating archetypes far before Jungian psychology was a notion. The myths are sacred insofar that they are a demonstrable understanding (or “knowing”) of these archetypes that imbue what Jung calls the ‘collective unconscious.’ Classical mythological figures, such as Zeus, Orisis, Isthar, Odin, Amaterasu, Shiva, Freya, and more, are all distillations of these archetypes present in the unconscious.

Revitalizing the Old Model: My Alterations to The Four Masculine Archetypes
A recurring belief heralded by modern psychologists is that archetypal forms are either performed or reliably dormant by an individual all at once; that every stage of one’s life is represented by any one of these forms irrespective of their individual terminality. According to the authors who first popularized the four masculine archetypes, Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette, in order to become a healthy masculine individual, you must demonstrate the ability to perform each of these archetypes at once, finding an emotional ‘balance,’ so to speak. Although, I also support the idea that each of us must strive to be balanced individuals, foundational to my theory on the four archetypes is that every person is possessed by a single type due to a myriad of developmental features; whether it be the circumstances of one’s birth, their early upbringing and relationship with their parents, their biochemical makeup, and many other reasons. Therefore, I suggest that any archetype a person embodies is their permanent archetype, and to become the person you were always meant to be involves embracing the qualities of their archetype. Once again, the inflexible nature of my theory is important to understanding the nature of mankind and finding solutions to social ills. We each have roles to play in this world.

Moore and Gillette's contributions have been revolutionary in psychology, namely, their four-quadrant model, which I find is largely accurate. First posited by Hippocrates of Kos (although it is speculated this ancient idea goes back from the Mesopotamians) the Four Temperaments demonstrates the four-plan model to interpreting all major aspects of material reality. In the alchemical sense, we understand this as the four primary elements. In occult symbolism, we understand this as the Four Suits in Tarot. In Kabbalah, the Four Worlds. In literature, the Four Musketeers. In scripture, the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse, and so on and so forth. Four is a foundational number from which rests the four corners of the earth, and all materials wells up from.

For this reason, I believe the four-quadrant model is the most accurate model to interpret archetypal behaviors. However, there is room for improvement including a much-needed revitalization of the archetypes involved. Like in my previous article defining the feminine archetypes, a firm belief I hold to is the potential divinity of these archetypes. I do not mean divinity in the traditional sense. Rather, I suggest a nuanced approach to comprehending the natural world – the emanations of the underlying patterns of the Universe.

A Note on Agency and the Big Three
It is natural for us to attribute positivity and virtue to agency. As you will come to see in the four-quadrant model that I present, not all figures have this attribute listed. This does not mean that the individual possessed by this archetype is not at all agentic, it does mean that they score lower in this quality than the other archetypes. Furthermore, what I call the ‘Big Three’ principles, first introduced in my Four Feminine Archetypes model, include the three main personal qualities that can be used to define each of the four archetypes. For the masculine model, I have included the qualities agency, paternalism, and pleasure. The following is a brief explanation of what each quality involves:

The first principle is agency. Like in the feminine model, this quality represents one's will to impose their ego and identity onto the external world, as well as manipulate their environment. Pater, or paternalism, refers to a man’s proclivity to not only be a father, but more importantly, maintain communal integrity and retain the proper management of indispensable civilizational institutions. Lastly, we have pleasure. Also included in my feminine model, pleasure ordinarily involves one’s desire for an aestheticized lived experience. For men specifically, this quality also places great significance on his love life and the proclivity to eroticize companionship. In addition to this four-quadrant style model, I have incorporated “turbulent” forms of each archetype/deity to signify an individual with all the qualities of the given archetype, but who had to withstand a turbulent developmental period as a child, often manifesting as a negative or unstable variant of the given archetype.

The Quadrants Explained

Top-Left: Zeus
Throughout human history, almost all notable cultures have identified a dominant paternal deity from which a given pantheon is structured around. Emanating from this figure is all of creation and the pantheon itself, each a different extension of the “ancient king” figure. Examples of this archetype include Allah, Elohim, Brahma, Jupiter, Ptah, Odin, etc. This figure serves as the impetus behind civilizational expansion and institutional order. This divine king archetype is classically understood to wade through chthonic forces – the dark and primordial waters from where chaotic femininity dwells, motivating the collective unconscious. From here, the king is the one who first understands how to create activity and life from it. Alchemically, he is the salt and gold that breaks from the Mercurial waters. Like Adam, who was originally created and inspired by Yahweh, this archetype gives names to the animals and establishes order out of uncontrolled nature. Therefore, ‘the King’ figure first proposed by Moore and Gillette is described as a classical leader. This is mostly accurate. In this way, individuals possessed by this spirit are ultimately agentic in how they seek to create order out of chaos and provide material goods out of emptiness. They are motivated to better the lives of others in their immediate vicinity and community. Therefore, they are also very paternalistic. The ancient father uses his social prowess and expansive personality to define the definition-less, feed the hungry and does so by leading with integrity and honor. Yet, he is wholly independent and is not motivated by regulating the primary relationships he presently holds. He is only motivated to provide for those relationships.

Naturally, I found Zeus to be the archetypical representative for this quadrant. The Zeus archetype is the classic embodiment of masculinity; a man naturally inclined to both lead individuals and create communities. These men are typically extroverted, generous, direct, and upright. They do not easily fall to vices. He is honest and not disposed to subversive behaviors. He is a man who is focused on his legacy and may be interested in having children even early in life. These men are focused on empowering communities and initiating institutions, and are typically attracted to entrepreneurial pursuits, but may also be motivated to become civically and politically engaged earlier in his manhood.

In his turbulent form, the Zeus archetype becomes Hades. As god of the Underworld, Hades is a fearsome figure meant to portray the tepid man, unable to fully perform his preordained ‘kinghood.’ This can manifest in tyrannical behavior or brooding misanthropy from the inability to express oneself. This unfortunately may result in systematic destruction of order, abuse of loved ones, and rape.

Top-Right: Ares
Moore and Gillette’s ‘Warrior’ quadrant is where I place Ares, the god of warfare. I will refer to these individuals are ‘Aresians.’ Aresians are naturally driven and embody the alchemical characteristics of Sulfer – the true form of ego and masculinity. As a combustible element, Sulfer is associated with the explosive and generative force exemplified by Ares. Separated from the primordial Mercurial waters, pure ego operates as the executioner of creation as well as one who utilizes it for communal benefit at the orders of his godly father. In other words, it is the ‘birthright’ of Aresians to make use of the material world in order to better the lives of others. They do so steadfastly and without question of the trajectory of where they are going, insofar as they are given direction to do so. (This is why they may score lower in agency.) Aresians are the pinnacle of what it means to be a man in his stage of virility, and represent masculinity. Directly oppositional to the Bottom-Left Dionysian quadrant, also known as ‘the Lover’ archetype, Aresians are inclined to subdue the metaphysical forces operated by ‘the Lover’ archetype – typically identified with a salvific figure like Christ – for it was mankind that subdued and killed Christ. The majority of men are possessed by this archetype. These are also individuals who score highly in the paternalistic and pleasure qualities, meaning they are motivated by material gain and devote themselves emotionally and physically to their earthly relationships, typically their wife and family. Unlike Zeus figures, Aresians are not agentic in the sense of manifesting new product but are more inclined towards the proper stewardship of materials and institutions, whether that be conducting proper action in the office or in the battlefield.

In his turbulent form, Ares becomes Hephaestus. Those already acquainted with Greek mythology will recount the story of Ares' amoral union with Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and sex. (Interestingly enough, on my Four Female Archetypes model Aphrodite is directionally oppositional to Ares’ quadrant therefore also making her easily subdued by her consort.) Hephaestus is the embodiment of the impotent man; one who forges weaponry but is unable to use them in the same manner as Ares, the subduer of his wife. In this way, Hephaestus and Ares are reflections of one-another; both tied to the battlefield in different ways, where one primes and the other executes. He forever was and will be the unused, and impotent man. Men possessed the spirit of Hephaestus may be useful in society but are personally used and abused by its institutions. These types are easily led astray by the female sex either sexually, financially, or both. This unfortunately means they may experience frequent infidelity in their relationships or are conditioned to have their finances abused.

Bottom-Left: Dionysus
Moore and Gillette called this quadrant ‘the Lover.’ Naturally, the divinity associated with this archetype is the principal of pleasure himself; Dionysus. It is important to note that the Lover and Magician (or Trickster) quadrats are uniquely related to one-another, and it is sometimes difficult to ascertain which of these two archetypes one may fall under due to the inextricable nature of both figures. Therefore, this is not surprising in light of the myth concerning the birth of Dionysus: Zeus entrusted Hermes, the archetype associated with the bottom-right quadrant (known as “the Magician” or Jungian Trickster) with the task of protecting the infant Dionysus. Together, with a band of nymphs, Hermes hid the child near Mt. Nysa until Dionysus grew well into his adulthood where he would return to Greece to proclaim his divinity. This is why, when evaluating individuals archetypically, it may be difficult to identify a typical Jungian Trickster (or even Luciferian figure) from a salvific Christlike figure. Like Dionysus, this archetype embodies aesthetic living, hence scoring the highest on the pleasure principle as part of the Big Three.

A man possessed by the spirit of Dionysus is one who is the most misunderstood. The given title of “the Lover” originally posed by Moore and Gillette does not properly describe the complex nature of this character. Ordinarily, one would presume this is an individual simply motivated by romantic endeavors alone, but it is merely one facet of a very complicated and tragic character. This is a man who is best described as purely motivated by experiencing life to its utmost and passionately. The Dionysian is one who is enlivened by unlocking Bacchanalic ecstasy in ordinary moments. For this reason, they are trapped in the confines of the material world, therefore losing themselves to the experiences of emotional connection and belonging. It is not uncommon for these types to find this reality rather vexing during the adolescent stages of development, and perhaps even into young manhood. However, upon maturity, many here will eschew this self-perceived deficiency and happily reap the benefits of their nurturing and dedicated spirit. This quadrant can be best understood alchemically with what Julius Evola described as the alchemical ‘Mercurial Waters’ in The Hermetic Tradition. The quadrant most associated with the Tarot Suit of Cups, an emotional and spiritual being most connected to the feminine waters of the collective unconscious. As already mentioned, the Dionysian is the figure most associated with Christ and Resurrection. Here, he is beset towards nurturing humanity and redeeming them from their downfall. The Mysteries acknowledged the Dionysus-Osiris syncretic connection, more-or-less correctly observing the foundational element of the Resurrection story of Christ. The dying and rising motif of this archetype is a central theme for the development of this character. Progressing from this temperament is an active flux of emotions that may flow proving his inability to conduct objective decision-making. Additionally, these types are creatives. They are naturally lyrical, poetic, and are inclined towards collecting various items and engaging in small pursuits of finding new creature comforts.

In his true form, the Dionysian is a pleasant and sanguine individual. However, in his turbulent form, he is arguably the most off-putting of all the masculine archetypes. I selected the Minotaur as the symbol of the turbulent form given its obviously animalistic features. This latent animalism found within Dionysians emerges when this type loses their virtue. The Minotaur is a love-child of a depraved union between a king’s wife and a bull. Moore and Gillette suggest that the turbulent Lover archetype is the classical Oedipal child; or, a man unable to conceive of an identity removed from the ideologized form of connection found within his mother. Indeed, the Dionysian is directionally oppositional to the Demeter quadrant in my female model. Demeter, of course, is also representative of Mother Goddess, Isis, or the Virgin Mary, mother of Jesus. The Oedipal relationship Dionysians happen to share with this feminine archetype can easily ensnare them into inactivity, especially if she is Demeter-Melaina, or the dark Madonna, also known as the ‘devouring mother.’ Although I find this interpretation compelling, I suggest a greater explanation for this phenomenon.

The Madonna-Child motif both in Christian and ancient Egyptian religious art have uniquely articulated the spiritual significance shared between the mother-son dynamic that would later be physically realized by Christ and Mary. Julius Evola termed this “philosophical incest” in the alchemical tradition. Similarly, during the upper Paleolithic era we see an explosion of symbolic behavior amongst developing civilizations, whereupon artwork depicting the human female-male beast union became a routine thematic in primitive artwork. These art pieces would depict a horned beast with hooves – either a buffalo, bison, bull – ordinarily be used to symbolize the male principle, engaging in union with the female principle, which was usually a human. The Venus of Laussel relief is a good example of this theme. Of course, it is no surprise to those well-read in mythology to understand the unique significance the bull shares with Dionysus/Bacchus and Christ. Other myths depict the connection between the spiritual water and the ‘salvific bull.’ The River god Achelous, the masculine personification of the Achelous river, was a known shapeshifter often taking the form of a bull or snake. Removed from the alchemical significance of water and its symbolic equivalency with human emotion and love, Achelous encapsulates the nature of the Dionysian in the story of seducing the princess Deianeira.

The turbulent Dionysian, or the Minotaur (or Pirpaus for a different interpretation) is a man simply possessed by the drive to exert his sexual prowess. He is devoid of his predisposition to nurture others and their love for life, but rather seeks to use it for his primal benefit. It may be ecstatic at the moment, but the long-term effects are disastrous. He is unable to differentiate virtue from vice, and is incapable of planning for the future. Ultimately, he is more animal than man. Moreover, because of his routine pleasure-seeking behaviors, he is likely to become addicted to drugs, food, entertainment, and/or sex.

Bottom-Right: Hermes
Moore and Gillette’s “Magician” archetype is one afflicted with the pursuit of knowledge and mastering communication, thereby being one of the most transformative of the archetypes. This makes these individuals the most hermetic and best symbolized by the Suit of Wands in traditional Tarot. Indeed, these men are the ultimate masters of will and have not only have control over their own will, but crave to control and manipulate the will of others through the application of information and language. For this reason, they are represented by Hermes, the Trickster deity. He is also the deity of the Crossroads. I call these types the “Hermetics.” Their feminine counterpart, Artemis, is equally hermetic and attuned to the occult, although they do not exemplify trickery and cunning like Hermes traditionally does.

Hermes and his spiritual equivalents are found throughout all religions and myths; including Eleggua, Renart the Fox, Set, Loki, or the standard Coyote. The Trickster figure is one of the most well understood and yet elusive figures in human history. It is to be reiterated the Dionysians and Hermetics are difficult to distinguish apart from another given their mythological linkages, but I find the best way to differentiate the two is done by the following: Dionysians are ultimately redemptive in their virtue of self-sacrificing emotionality while Hermetics are Luciferian in their pursuit of knowledge and instinctively selfish nature. Unlike Dionysians, Hermetics are what they are – hermits. They are ego-driven and self-seeking in their pursuits. Alchemically then they are best described by antimony, the substance represented by the lone wolf. They do not lose themselves in material entanglements whether that is close relationships or material gain, but are fully agentic in their pursuit for knowledge and understanding the secrets of the universe. In their upright form, Hermetics use the information they gather to better themselves and ultimately their community.

In their turbulent forms, Hermetics tend to either manipulate and destroy the confidence of those closest to them or withdraw completely from the expectations of their concrete reality. This elusive and antisocial behavior paints them as social targets for persecution and public shaming. Lucifer/Prometheus, the illuminating givers of light and knowledge, are representatives of this type. Even though they seek to enlighten others with their hidden knowledge, their role is to destroy and devour others, ultimately leading them to their own downfall. Their feminine counterpart, Hestia, the vestal protector of the hearth fire, also shares these fire-like qualities as the turbulent form of the Artemis archetype. The devouring state of fire is a common theme with the turbulent Hermetics, both for women and men.

A Note On Apollo and the Pleasure-Agentic Figure
In my feminine archetypes model I present the theory that the classically understood Nietzschean Apollo-Dionysian dichotomy is inaccurate to place Dionysus as Apollo’s antithesis. Instead I pose Eris, the goddess of chaos, as the opposing force. I assert that here as well.

At the center of every four-square chart is the pure embodiment of that sex in its childlike form; for the four feminine archetypes Eris rests at the center, the archetype representing a woman who is wholly agentic and wholly motivated by pleasure without the confines of motherhood. In other words, an individual wholly agentic and motivated by pleasure is one in their pure childlike essence removed from social dictates of conscripting one to various communal requirements. For women, their true form is Eris in this manner. For men, it is Apollo. Therefore, a man wholly agentic and wholly motivated by pleasure, removed from his paternalistic duties, embodies the antithesis of Chaos, being Apollo.

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