The Fourth Political Theory isn’t just a book — it’s a manifesto, a bomb, a slap in the face of everything you’ve been fed. Alexander Dugin walks into the room, uninvited, and smashes the three pillars of the 20th century: liberalism, communism, fascism. They’re done. Over. Dead, or should be. Liberalism, the last zombie standing after the Soviet Union collapsed, now drags us all into a one-world nightmare. Dugin’s here to scream: “Enough!” We need a fourth way, something that spits in the face of the old, something that doesn’t bow down to the liberal machine.

Dugin rips apart their sacred cows. Liberalism? It worships the individual — me, me, me. Communism? It shackled itself to class. Fascism? A boot on the face of the nation. But Dugin, he’s talking about something deeper, darker. He wants to put Dasein at the center — yes, that heavy, slippery word from Heidegger. It’s about Being, but not the lame, surface-level crap. It’s the primal scream of existence, before all the -isms poisoned the well. He wants us back there, in touch with the raw, the real, the things that burn beneath the skin.

Eurosiberia is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Subscribed

Dugin’s disgust with modernity is visceral. Modernity is a disease, spreading its filth, erasing who we are, turning culture into cheap fast food. He’s saying: kill it. If we want to survive, if we want something more than the soul-crushing uniformity of the global West, we have to ditch modernity. We need a world where civilizations stand tall, separate, strong. No more melting pot — burn that idea. He’s dreaming of a world where everyone isn’t forced into the same ugly mold.

This vision is wild. It’s not the kumbaya world liberalism sells; it’s a brutal mosaic, a universe of difference. He’s calling for Russia, China, the Islamic world to rise up, to carve out their own paths. Forget the West’s rules. Forget its tired stories of progress. Dugin’s talking about a revolution of civilization, not just politics. Each world, each culture stands on its own. Each one fights to survive, to thrive, against the avalanche of Western influence.

But here’s where things get really thorny. Dugin isn’t afraid to dive into the dark stuff. He reaches for the old-school Traditionalists like René Guénon and Julius Evola, men who saw modernity as poison. He doesn’t care if you think he’s reactionary or worse — he’s not here to be liked. Tradition, to him, is the lifeblood, the only thing that can save us from this endless spiral of progress that’s really just destruction in a shiny suit. He’s saying we’ve lost ourselves, and only by clawing back to those ancient roots can we find meaning again.

So, where does that leave us? Dugin’s Fourth Political Theory is a battle cry, a call to burn down the false idols of the 20th century, especially liberalism. It’s a vision that’s terrifying and exhilarating, a world where the old gods rise and modernity falls to ashes. Love it or hate it, Dugin’s offering you a choice: stay a slave to the dying world or embrace the chaos of the new. But beware — this path isn’t safe, it’s not comfortable, and it’s definitely not what you’ve been told to believe.

In the grimy underbelly of ideology, where the rats of history gnaw at the bones of the present, Oge Noct muttered to himself, “Is this the new junk, or just the old cut with fresh blood?” He thumbed through The Fourth Political Theory like a pusher checking his stash. “You think you’re Burroughs, Dugin?” he sneered, half to the book, half to the void. “Another Naked Lunch nightmare, but instead of kicking the habit, you want us to shoot up on tradition, mainline it until we’re seeing god in the rubble of modernity?” The words bled off the page, dripping like the needle from which there’s no turning back. “No escape from this fix, Oge,” the shadows whispered, mocking him. “The old high is dead. The new high is death itself.” Dugin’s Fourth Political Theory is a trip down the rabbit hole, a plunge into a world where ideologies overdose, and tradition becomes the only drug that’s left.

Tradition sliced, bleeding ink, modernity’s veins open — needle in, push — civilization screams, shattered skulls of ideologies past. Dasein junk, fix it, break it, burn it. Words fracture, scatter, liberalism’s rotting corpse, dead man walking. Multipolar — worlds collide, crack, ancient ghosts rise, unholy visions dance. Cities crumble, truth twisted, lies drip — cut the past, stitch the future, flesh torn, sewn together with blood, bones. High on power, overdose on chaos — civilization spirals, Dugin speaks, shadows laugh, no escape, only the fix — tradition kicks back, mind blown, reality splinters.

Eurosiberia is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Subscribed