The Culture Wars and the Soldier’s Matrix: A Tale of Loyalty and Light

The Fairytale of “The Blue Light”

Once, a soldier served his king through the chaos of war, his body scarred by loyalty. When peace arrived, the king dismissed him—wounded, penniless, and unthanked. Wandering a dark forest, he met a witch who offered shelter if he retrieved a blue light from a dry well. He descended, seized its glow, and outwitted her when she tried to trap him. The light was magical: it summoned a dwarf to do his bidding. Returning to the kingdom, he forced the princess to serve him as he had once served, then claimed her hand and the throne. Through the king’s betrayal, he forged his own triumph, no longer a quiet man but one who took what was due.

Collected by the Brothers Grimm, “The Blue Light” emerged from early 19th-century German oral traditions, likely influenced by the Napoleonic Wars’ aftermath—soldiers returning to a society that discarded them (Grimm & Grimm, 1812).

Its themes echo across time: Europe after World War I, with veterans broken by trenches facing unemployment and a shattered order; then post-World War II, amid displaced masses and moral wreckage, where loyalty to nations turned to distrust.

This tale of war and betrayal leads us to the group analytic concept of the Soldier’s Matrix.

Reflections with “The Soldier’s Matrix” and Historical Contexts

The Soldier’s Matrix, defined by group analyst Robi Friedman, describes psychosocial patterns in societies shaped by war and violence (Friedman, 2018). It features existential fears, hierarchical command-obedience structures, and a drive for glory and honor, fostering over-identification with power.

Aggression-inhibiting emotions like shame, guilt, and empathy fade, impacting not just soldiers but all societal roles through a “soldier-like self.” This matrix pervades societies engaged in organized aggression—think Iraq, Afghanistan, or post-World War II Europe—where everyone adopts a soldier’s identity.

In “The Blue Light,” the soldier embodies this matrix. He serves until he’s expendable, his voice silenced by the king’s command, bound by duty and trauma. Cast out, the matrix collapses, and his descent into the well mirrors a plunge into his shadow self. The blue light—a spark of agency—lets him rewrite his fate, though not without cost.

This reflects post-war Europe: after 1918, the “lost generation” grappled with inflation, humiliation, and the Versailles Treaty’s resentment; after 1945, a divided continent saw survivors wrestling with guilt and loss (Hobsbawm, 1994). In both eras, loyalty—to king, Kaiser, or Führer—dissolved into betrayal, driving individuals to reclaim their place.

The soldier’s rage, seizing power to invert the hierarchy, parallels veterans who turned to radicalism when old systems failed.

Reflections in Our Times: Culture Wars and Beyond

The themes of betrayal and agency in “The Blue Light” resonate not only in history but also in our current societal struggles. Today, the tale refracts through a fractured matrix.

The rise of what some call “woke authoritarianism,” a progressive push for caregiving purity, feels like a new king’s edict. Dissent is met with shame: challenge the demand for unconditional acceptance, and you’re labeled a bigot or heretic. “Be kind,” it insists, “and put others’ children before your own.”

Here, the blue light might be a whistleblower’s voice or a contrarian’s blog, defying the sanctioned narrative. Yet this triggers a counter-matrix—a right-wing surge of nostalgia and exclusion, rallying around its own betrayed soldiers: those silenced by “political correctness” or globalisation.

Both sides wield their lights, yet both risk echoing the king’s tyranny. Friedman’s work highlights the Soldier’s Matrix’s cycle: groups form under stress, demand loyalty, expel nonconformists, and new matrices emerge from the ruins (Friedman, 2015).

In my practice, I see this in microcosm—patients caught between family dogma and personal truth, or teams enforcing unspoken rules.

The soldier’s revenge in “The Blue Light” isn’t true freedom; it’s a new throne, a new matrix. Similarly, our ideologies—the woke and the reactionary—claim justice but can trap us in silence or rage. The post-war mindset of disillusionment turned to power-seeking persists in these culture wars, each side clutching its glowing light, blind to the well’s shared depths.

In the face of these clashing matrices, Friedman offers a path forward with the Sandwich model, a group analytic approach that uses small and large group interactions to foster dialogue and resolution (Friedman, 2018). This structured method typically begins with a small group session, moves to a large group interaction, and concludes with another small group discussion. It creates a safe space for expression, helping people work through tensions—transforming hate into coexistence. By reviving violence-inhibiting mechanisms like guilt and empathy, it aids community healing.

This model shines in settings where large groups—communities or organizations—face conflict, balancing individual voices with collective discussion. It’s not just talk; it’s a process for understanding and resolution.

Friedman’s work could orientate us to a light that illuminates rather than conquers. It suggests by fostering a combination of empathy ans guilt, and sitting with the mess, we might find resolution through breaking the unsayable to rebuild.