the matriarchal cultures are sedentary (remember that the mother stays home either as penelope or as the princess confined in the tower), that is, agricultural, chthonian, centering around the earth mother. the rites are mostly nocturnal, lunar, voluptuous, and licentious. the classic image is that of the great, rich, corrupt, age-old, and oppressive city babylon, queen of the world, metropolis, fashion center, the super mall, the scarlet woman, the whore of all the earth, whose merchants and bankers are the oppressors of all people. though the matriarchy makes for softness and decay, beneath the gentle or beguiling or glittering exterior is the fierce toughness, cunning, and ambition of miss piggy, becky sharp, or scarlett o’hara.

the patriarchal order lends itself to equally impressive abuses. it is nomadic. the hero is the wandering odysseus or knight errant, the miles gloriosus, the pirate, condottiere, the free enterpriser—not the farmer tied to wife and soil, but the hunter and soldier out for adventure, glory, and loot; not the city, but the golden horde, the feralis exercitus that sweeps down upon the soft and sedentary cultures of the coast and the river valley. its gods are sky gods with the raging sun at their head. its depradations are not by decay but by fire and sword. as predatory and greedy as the matriarchy, it cumulates its wealth not by unquestioned immemorial custom but by sacred and self-serving laws. the perennial routine calls for the patriarchal tribes of the mountains and the steppes to overrun the wealthy and corrupt cities of the plain only to be absorbed and corrupted by them in turn, so that what we end up with in the long run is the worst of both cultures.

robert graves takes us through all the primal myths of the greeks, where this deadly rivalry is the name of the game. “in this archaic religious system,” he begins, “there were as yet neither gods nor priests, but only a universal goddess and her priestesses, woman being the dominant sex and man her frightened victim.” not a healthy relationship; but matriarchy and patriarchy must always be mortal enemies. why? because of the last part of the word, the -archy. in bailly’s dictionary, the first definition given for the word -arche is “beginning, specifically the origin of a quarrel or a murder”; the second definition is “command, power, authority,” which is what the quarrel is about. the suffix archy means always to be first in order, whether in time or eminence; the point is that there can only be one first. to be first is satan’s first principle: “better to reign in hell, than serve in heav’n.” whatever the game, the object is to be number one.

why do we lay more emphasis on the patriarchal order than the matriarchy in our world today? that is unavoidable if we would maintain a balance between the two, for the matriarchal succession enjoys a great natural advantage that, where it prevails, renders the other all but helpless. there is rarely any doubt as to who a baby’s mother is, but paternity may always be challenged. in the end the only assurance we have of a true patriarchal succession is the word not of the father but of the mother, as the egyptians well knew—maat is the official approval of the mother, without which no dynasty could be secure. to assure a true patriarchal succession therefore requires something in the way of checks and controls on the women, a stricter moral code than that required by the matriarchy, which, as we have noted, tends to become lax and promiscuous with the passing of time. with close rules, safeguards, and vigilant surveillance it was only too easy for the patriarchs to become arrogant, dictatorial, self-righteous, and oppressive.

according to the oldest mythologies, all the troubles of the race are but a perennial feud between the matriarchy and patriarchy; between men and women seeking power and gain at each other’s expense.

with infallible instinct shakespeare takes us into a timeless world of elemental spirits where a fairy king and queen are found shamelessly bickering over a piece of property—a little slave. proud titania and jealous oberon are playing a silly game of one-upmanship—silly, but with appalling results. all nature is blasted and blighted, and the only progeny of the squabbling pair is universal sterility, described in harrowing detail by the queen: “and this progeny of evil comes of us, we are its parent and original!” what dismal parenthood! and it all comes of ambition and greed, to which gods and goddesses as well as kings and queens are prone.

as a sampling of what goes on and on and on, take the olympian creation myth: “at the beginning of all things mother earth emerged from chaos and bore her son uranus as she slept”; the two of them united to beget a race of monsters as “earth and sky parted in deadly strife,” which, according to graves, “must refer to the clash between the patriarchal and matriarchal principles.” the giant children revolted against their father, uranus, who threw them into tartarus; in revenge the mother persuaded their leader, cronus, to murder his father; upon coming to the throne, cronus in turn imprisoned his own sons and married his sister rhea. jealous of his children, he destroyed them to keep them from deposing him until their mother conspired with her son, zeus, to dispatch cronus exactly as he had his father, uranus. prometheus became chief advisor to zeus, the new king, who chained him to a mountain for being “too philanthropic.” on the mountain prometheus had a conversation with the girl io, who was fleeing for her life; zeus had brutally attacked her in his lust, and his jealous wife, hera, to avenge herself on him, ordered that io should be pursued forever by a gadfly. prometheus prophesied to her, however, that zeus, the supermacho tyrant, would fall in turn before a hero descended from io herself. and so it goes, on and on.

there must be a better way, and there is.