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Steve Herrmann's avatar

The West is not dying, it is being hollowed out. What we mistake for decay is in fact a kind of spiritual anorexia, a starving soul growing thinner and more translucent until it becomes, at last, a perfect vessel… either for divine light or for darker fires. In channeling St. Nikolai’s prophetic voice, you diagnose our condition with unsettling precision. We have traded depth for surface, eternity for immediacy, the vertical for the horizontal. We have become flatlanders in a three-dimensional universe, proudly mapping our two-dimensional kingdoms while the heavens weep above us.

But here is the mystic’s secret: a hollowed thing is not a ruined thing. It is, rather, a thing prepared. The very emptiness that terrifies us, the god-shaped hole at the center of Western civilization, is the precondition for renewal. When St. Nikolai calls the West to "cross itself”, he is not invoking nostalgia for some imagined Christian past. He is speaking of death and resurrection. The cross was never a symbol of cultural dominance, but of scandalous surrender… the ultimate repudiation of horizontal power in favor of vertical love.

This is why the transformation must come "from the bottom up.” The Kingdom of God has always been an underground movement, a conspiracy of salt and light working silently in the wounds of the world. The early Christians did not convert Rome by seizing the levers of power, but by becoming the kind of people for whom power was meaningless. They understood what we have forgotten: that true revolution begins not in the halls of government, but in the human heart, that tiny, infinite space where fear and divinity compete for occupancy.

The West’s crisis, as I see it, is not political or even cultural, but mystical. We have not lost our way, we have lost our wonder. We have traded the pearl of great price for the false glitter of our own inventions, and now we stand bewildered in the marketplace, clutching our trinkets and wondering why we feel so poor. The solution is not another program, another war, another ideology. It is the ancient, foolish, impossible solution of the saints: to love God and love our neighbor, and to do so not as abstract principles, but as a fire in the bones, a madness in the blood, a cross on the heart.

Let the West cross itself indeed… not as a gesture of empty piety, but as an act of radical reorientation. Let it turn from the mirror of its own cleverness to the window of divine mercy. And then, perhaps, it will discover that its long emptiness was not a tomb, but a womb.

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