The Greek world offers one illustration. Before the emergence of the Classical civilization that Spengler called Apollonian, much of mainland Greece belonged to the shared cultural world of the Mycenaeans. This world possessed considerable cultural commonality, alongside political divisions and local differences. After the collapse of the Mycenean world around 1200 BCE, communities underwent centuries of disruption and reorganization. From this changing landscape, drawing on both inherited traditions and new institutions, the Greek city-states, or poleis, gradually emerged. By the eighth and seventh centuries BCE, increasingly distinct civic communities were taking shape around shared sanctuaries, public institutions, and territories. The differentiation characteristic of the later Greek world thus developed through a prolonged transformation of an older cultural inheritance.

China offers a related pattern, although its chronology and political structures were different. The Western Zhou order brought numerous regional lordships within a common framework of royal authority, kinship, and ritual. These communities already possessed their own rulers and local characteristics. Following the crisis of 771 BCE and the eastward relocation of the Zhou court, regional powers gained greater independence while continuing to inhabit a shared cultural world. Through the later period and subsequently the Warring States period, their institutions, ambitions, and regional identities became increasingly pronounced. Here, too, an overarching order provided the setting within which distinct political communities developed and asserted themselves.

The Middle Eastern world, which Spengler called Magian, presents a more complicated variation. The Achaemenid Empire formed part of its preparatory history; Spengler himself compared Persian rule to a “Merovingian” phase. After Alexander’s conquests, the Seleucid and Ptolemaic kingdoms placed much of this region within a Hellenistic political and cultural framework. Long-established peoples and religious traditions continued to develop within these imperial structures. The Maccabean revolt against Seleucid rule, beginning in 167 BCE, illustrates how an existing religious identity could become the basis of a forceful political assertion. In subsequent centuries, Jewish communities and the developing Christian traditions of Syria, Mesopotamia, and Egypt gave increasingly distinct institutional expression to collective belonging organized around faith.

This development was complicated by what Spengler called pseudomorphosis: the pressure exerted by an older civilization’s forms upon an emerging culture seeking expression of its own. He located the decisive consolidation of the Magian pseudomorphosis in Roman domination, while recognizing its Hellenistic antecedents. The region nevertheless never remained continuously united under a single state. It was divided among competing empires, eventually including Rome and the Parthian and Sasanian powers. Its religious communities developed both within and across these political boundaries. In this case, differentiation found a particularly powerful expression in communities of belief, even where political independence was absent.

For Western (Faustian) culture, the Carolingian world provides the closest point of reference. Charlemagne’s empire brought much of western and central Europe within a common imperial framework. Its ninth-century divisions, including the partition at Verdun in 843, established political settings within which later French and German identities would develop. During the tenth century, the rise of the Ottonians in East Francia and the eventual accession of the Capetians in West Francia further distinguished these historical trajectories. French and German nations took shape through a much longer process, but their medieval foundations were becoming more recognizable. Elsewhere in Europe, other kingdoms and collective identities were developing within the wider world of Latin Christendom.

At the opposite end of the cultural lifecycle a countervailing tendency emerges: the integration of formerly competing communities into larger political and civilizational wholes. In Spengler’s account, the late movement toward empire culminates in Caesarism, when personal power increasingly overrides inherited political institutions. This political consolidation takes place alongside the strengthening of a broader sense of belonging. Local identities may endure, but they increasingly coexist with an allegiance extending across the larger cultural realm. The movement is therefore from the assertion of distinct identities toward their incorporation into an overarching identity and imperial order.

In the Classical world, Alexander’s conquests and the Hellenistic kingdoms expanded the scale on which Greek cultural life operated. The already existing shared Hellenic consciousness gained further strength. Though civic attachments remained vigorous for a while – e.g., Athenians and Spartans did not simply cease to identify with their cities – the poleis increasingly operated within a world dominated by larger territorial powers. Roman expansion carried this political integration further, bringing the Mediterranean under a common imperial framework. Roman citizenship and imperial belonging gradually extended beyond their original civic setting, adding a broader identity to the many local and cultural affiliations that existed within the empire.

In China, this movement toward imperial consolidation assumed an especially clear political form. In 221 BCE, Qin conquered the remaining rival kingdoms and established a centralized empire. Its standardization of writing, measures, and administration helped bind together territories previously governed by competing states. After the Qin dynasty’s rapid collapse, the Han restored imperial unity and developed a more durable order. In spite of regional differences, the conception of a common Chinese cultural and political world strengthened over time.

In the Magian world, Islam became a powerful vehicle of wider integration, although its emergence preceded the phase Spengler identified as mature Caesarism. The Arab conquests of the seventh and eighth centuries brought the Middle East and North Africa under a common imperial authority. Over subsequent centuries, the spread of Islam and Arabic helped establish a broad civilizational community across these territories. Political conquest was rapid, whereas religious transformation was gradual, with substantial Christian, Jewish, and other communities enduring for longer. The resulting Muslim world had its own internal differences, but its overarching identity survived the fragmentation of the caliphate into competing states. It therefore illustrates a form of integration in which a common religious and cultural allegiance could extend beyond the boundaries of any single state.

With this framework in mind, we can turn to the Western (Faustian) world and Russia. Europe has entered its pre-imperial age: the period in which the competing nations of a cultural realm increasingly move toward a larger political unity. European integration, and potentially the wider consolidation of the West, belongs to the same broad historical movement that found different expressions in the Greco-Roman, Chinese, and Middle-Eastern worlds.

The European Union is the institutional embodiment of this tendency. Its emergence reflects something deeper than the designs of particular politicians or bureaucrats. Whatever the shortcomings of its present institutions, the movement it represents has roots in the historical evolution of the Faustian world. Accordingly, European integration is a natural phase in that evolution.

The conditions for closer integration were already becoming visible in the nineteenth century. Expanding commerce, transport, and intellectual exchange connected European societies, while visions of European unity acquired increasingly explicit expression. In the decades before the First World War, European travelers could cross many European borders without presenting a passport. This relative freedom of movement coexisted with intense national rivalries, but it also revealed the increasingly close cultural unity felt by Europeans.

The two World Wars interrupted the advancement of that feeling of unity. They were essentially devastating internecine struggles among peoples belonging to the same civilization. Yet their aftermath also gave renewed impetus to European unity. The trajectory has consequently been uneven, marked by reversals, resistance, and renewed advances. In the grand scheme of things, these upheavals merely alter the pace and form of integration without extinguishing its underlying impetus. Europe’s long-term direction remains toward closer consolidation and, ultimately, a European civilizational state.

The geographical reach and institutional structure of that future order remain open. It might be centered on the European continent, with the United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand remaining sovereign partners linked to it through alliances and common cultural heritage. Europe and the United States might instead develop into two large political poles within the same Faustian civilization. Alternatively, if the United States continues to pursue a more separate course, a united Europe could draw Canada, Australia, and New Zealand into closer association, with different degrees of economic, strategic, and political integration. Alternatively, Faustian unity might assume its full intercontinental form, bringing Europe, the United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand into a common political framework – potentially culminating in a single state.

The recent proposal to make Canada the European Union’s first “associate member” is suggestive in this regard. Although the proposed status remains to be defined, the initiative points toward forms of association extending beyond Europe’s geographical boundaries. Australia’s expanding cooperation with the EU, and New Zealand’s participation in European research frameworks, likewise demonstrate the possibilities for closer institutional ties across these distances. Within the larger historical framework, such developments acquire a deeper significance. They are all steps towards cultural and political consolidation of the Faustian world, which need not be confined to its European heartland. Its eventual boundaries may remain uncertain even as its movement toward larger forms of association becomes more apparent.

Russia presents a fundamentally different case. To understand its trajectory, we must first ask where it stands within its own cultural development. Western observers commonly treat “Russian” as a designation equivalent to “German”, “French”, or “English”. However, such parallels are fundamentally flawed because these terms belong to different levels of comparison. “Russian” describes an entire cultural realm, and therefore is equivalent in scope to “Western” or “Faustian” than to the name of any one Western nation.

Russia now occupies a position in its lifecycle structurally comparable to the late Carolingian and early Ottonian periods in Western history. Thus, the structural counterparts of the mature Western nations have yet to acquire their distinctive historical forms within the Russian realm.

Europe and Russia therefore stand at opposite ends of their respective historical lifecycles. Europe is moving toward consolidation, as its established national identities increasingly coexist with wider institutions and allegiances, and its different peoples acquire a stronger sense of unity. Russia, in contrast, stands before a further period of internal differentiation, in which distinct communities within its cultural world will develop more definite identities, political aspirations, and institutions of their own. Recognizing this difference changes how we interpret Europe’s and Russia’s present circumstances and anticipate their futures.

This gives an unexpected significance to the insistence of Russian imperial nationalists that Russia constitutes a separate civilization. Their claim reaches beyond the familiar assertion that Russians are a distinct people or that Russia is a sovereign state. They describe an entire cultural world with its own historical character. And they are correct with this identification. Where they are mistaken, however, is what follows from this premise.

A civilization’s cultural coherence does not mean its permanent incorporation into a single state. The Greek poleis, the competing Chinese states, and the nations of Europe all demonstrate how a shared cultural world sustains a plurality of identities and political communities throughout its lifecycle. That plurality is a characteristic expression of the culture’s unfolding possibilities. If Russia is (correctly) understood as a separate civilization, its future differentiation into several states becomes compatible with – and in fact expressive of – its civilizational distinctiveness.

The comparison with China and India makes the difference in historical timing especially important. Advocates of Russia as a civilization-state often invoke these countries as relevant examples – i.e., vast cultural worlds embodied in unitary political entities. But resemblance in outward political form does not establish equivalence in historical development. This is where the mistake of Russian imperial nationalists lies.

China and India are well beyond the late stage of their respective civilizational lifecycles. This phase is characterized by the leveling of intra-civilizational distinctions and the strengthening of an overarching civilizational identity. Moreover, it often involves the incorporation of numerous formerly distinct communities (“nations”) into an overarching political order.

Differently from China and India, Russia occupies a much earlier position. Its imperial state holds together a cultural realm whose further internal differentiation still lies ahead. The political unity of China or India therefore cannot, by analogy alone, establish that Russia’s present unity represents its natural or final form. The same outward condition – a vast territory governed by one state – can have a different historical meaning at different points in a culture’s lifecycle.

In this structural sense, China and India offer images of the encompassing political order toward which Europe is moving, while Russia still stands before the intervening age of internal differentiation. What appears appropriate to one cultural stage may constrain the possibilities of another.

The implication is that the dissolution of the Russian imperial state need not entail the dissolution of the cultural world it contains. That world could acquire fuller expression through several independent states, each developing its own identity within a shared inheritance. They would be “post-Russian” in the geopolitical sense of succeeding the present Russian state, while remaining “Russian” in the broader cultural-morphological sense.

Those who affirm Russia’s civilizational distinctiveness must therefore explain why its cultural continuity should depend on the permanence of its current political structure. On the contrary, consistency would require them to welcome its differentiation into independent political communities. The disintegration they fear could become the means through which the civilization they invoke finally unfolds its plurality.

The Interrupted Formation of Russian Nations

Applied to Russia, the Spenglerian perspective allows us to interpret its recurring crises of political unity in the last century as episodes within a longer process of internal differentiation.

The Russian realm stands at the stage when distinct historical communities begin to acquire political forms of their own. This process has been visible for more than a century. Its repeated interruption has delayed the emergence of a more differentiated political landscape. Internal coercion has been decisive, but external involvement has also mattered. At critical moments, Western governments – particularly the United States – have enabled the preservation or restoration of a unitary Russian state.

The revolutions of 1917 exposed the breadth of these possibilities. Finland declared independence on 6 December 1917. The Ukrainian People’s Republic, initially proclaimed in November within a projected federation, asserted full independence in January 1918. Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia issued independence declarations during 1918, while the Belarusian People’s Republic declared independence in March. In the South Caucasus, Georgia proclaimed independence on 26 May, followed by Armenia and Azerbaijan on 28 May. Across the former empire, the weakening of central authority opened the way for communities to claim political existence in their own right.

Other political entities appeared beyond these better-known cases. The Mountainous Republic of the Northern Caucasus declared independence in May 1918, seeking to unite several peoples of the region. The Don and Kuban developed separate Cossack political formations. Siberian regionalists established the Provisional Government of Autonomous Siberia (often referred to as the “Siberian Republic”). In the Volga-Ural region, the Idel-Ural project advanced another conception of regional statehood, while the Bashkir movement proclaimed territorial autonomy in 1917. Farther south and east, the Alash movement established a Kazakh autonomous government, and the Turkestan autonomy emerged at Kokand. The Russian Far East also briefly acquired a separate political structure. Established in 1920, the Far Eastern Republic was formally independent and possessed its own government and institutions. Their objectives differed, but together they reveal how many alternatives to centralized imperial rule had become politically imaginable within the Russian imperial realm.

These political movements ranged from demands for autonomy to declarations of complete independence. Some represented established national movements, whereas others expressed regional interests. Within the broader historical framework, their collective significance lies in the emergence of multiple centers of political initiative across a space previously governed from one imperial capital.

This was a moment when the political map of northern Eurasia could have developed very differently. The victorious Entente powers, however, continued to envisage a restored unitary Russia encompassing much of its former territory, instead of supporting or even simply recognizing the legitimacy of national and regional self-determination within that realm. Finland, Poland, and the Baltic states nevertheless secured independence, so the outcome was not a complete restoration of the old imperial boundaries. Elsewhere, however, aspirations to statehood encountered opposition from powers that regarded Russian unity as an important component of the European order.

The American position toward Ukraine is particularly revealing. At the Paris Peace Conference in 1919, Secretary of State Robert Lansing explicitly told Ukrainian representatives that the United States favored a single Russia rather than Ukrainian independence. In August 1920, his successor, Bainbridge Colby, likewise advocated preserving the territory of the former Russian Empire, with specified exceptions for Finland, Poland, and Armenia. These positions provide direct evidence that Washington’s commitment was to maintaining a large, politically united Russia.

Moreover, when the Bolsheviks were teetering on the brink – Russia starving, the new regime fragile – the United States stepped in with humanitarian relief which ended up stabilizing their hold on power. In the early 1920s, substantial material and financial aid flowed into Russia, helping the Bolsheviks consolidate control.

In this regard, what is often referred to as the “Russian Civil War” is in fact a deeply misleading label. The struggle between Reds and Whites was only one dimension of a much larger upheaval. It also encompassed wars of independence and regional struggles for self-government. For many participants, the central question was whether their communities would remain subordinate to a government claiming authority over the former imperial space.

The Bolsheviks ultimately recovered control over much of that space. They acted essentially as imperial restorers reassembling the Russian Empire, albeit under a different name and ideology. The empire’s name changed, its ideology shifted, but its essence remained the same.

A related tension resurfaced in 1991. The Soviet Union’s collapse did produce a major and lasting transformation: its constituent republics became independent states. Yet Washington initially approached the prospect of dissolution with apprehension. Its clear preference was for preserving the Soviet Union.

President George H. W. Bush’s address to the Ukrainian parliament on 1 August 1991 captured that preference. In the speech later dubbed “Chicken Kyiv”, he warned against “suicidal nationalism”. The desire to preserve a (seemingly) manageable unitary political order in Russia took precedence over an endorsement of Ukrainian independence.

The challenge to centralized authority also extended inside the Russian Federation. Tatarstan, Bashkortostan, and Yakutia (Sakha) declared sovereignty in 1990, while Chechnya asserted independence in 1991. Tatarstan’s referendum in March 1992 endorsed a sovereign status and a relationship with Russia based on negotiated agreements. Ural Republic was proclaimed in Sverdlovsk Oblast in 1993.

However, the imperial authority over the realm was subsequently restored. Chechnya faced a brutal military reconquest. The first war, beginning in 1994, failed to establish lasting Russian control and left Chechnya with de facto independence after the 1996 settlement. The second war, launched in 1999, reversed that outcome. Meanwhile, others were brought to heel through coercion, blackmail, and the unspoken threat of meeting Chechnya’s fate.

During this time, American policy continued to support the restoration of Russia’s unitary-imperial structure. In April 1996, President Bill Clinton defended the position that Chechnya belonged within Russia by invoking Abraham Lincoln and the American Civil War. This analogy placed Chechen secession within a framework in which the preservation of the existing unitary structure possessed the stronger claim to legitimacy. From the perspective of Chechen self-determination, this supplied Moscow with consequential diplomatic support.

At the same time, the United States provided economic assistance, technical expertise, and political backing to Yeltsin’s government, while supporting Russia’s integration into international financial institutions. The effect of this assistance was to reinforce the central government’s capacity to survive the crisis and eventually reassert its authority. The preservation of a unitary Russian state remained the West’s major policy objective.

This support continued alongside Russia’s efforts to retain influence beyond its new borders: engineering a coup in Georgia in 1991 to oust its popular president Zviad Gamsakhurdia, invading Moldova in 1992 and occupying Transnistria. Formal recognition of the post-Soviet states thus coexisted with considerable tolerance of Russia’s continued coercive influence across the former Soviet space.

The parallel between the two periods lies in this recurring preference for a unitary Russian state. After 1917 and again around 1991, imperial crisis opened possibilities for national and regional independence, autonomy, and alternative political arrangements. Military reconquest, political blackmail, and renewed centralization subsequently narrowed those possibilities. Western policy reinforced that outcome.

Within the cultural-historical morphology developed here, these episodes represent successive interruptions of a longer process of differentiation within the Russian realm. With time, various communities within that realm would have developed into independent nations. What their repeated assertion demonstrates, moreover, is that the existing state has never exhausted the political possibilities of the realm it governs. Russia’s apparent unity should therefore be understood as a historical outcome significantly enhanced by outside forces, rather than as proof that its internal differentiation has reached its final limit.

It can be therefore argued that Western influence on Russia’s development extended beyond the pseudomorphosis described by Spengler. Pseudomorphosis compelled an emerging Russian culture to express itself through imported European institutions, conventions, and intellectual forms that were alien to that realm. Western involvement also affected the political conditions under which that culture could develop. By repeatedly reinforcing the imperial center, it helped obstruct and postpone the differentiation of the realm into distinct political communities.

A Carolingian thought experiment makes the argument clearer. Following the death of Louis the Pious, his surviving sons struggled over their inheritance before agreeing, in the Treaty of Verdun of 843, to divide the empire into West Francia, Middle Francia, and East Francia. Dynastic rivalry determined the immediate circumstances of this settlement, but the territories being divided already contained significant ethnic, linguistic and regional differences. Those differences would acquire new historical significance as the successor kingdoms developed along increasingly separate paths.

The Oaths of Strasbourg, sworn a year before Verdun, offer a revealing glimpse of this underlying diversity. Charles the Bald and Louis the German affirmed their alliance against their brother Lothar in Romance and Germanic vernaculars, each using a language understood by the other’s followers. The ceremony made linguistic differences within the shared Frankish world publicly visible. It illustrated the inherited distinctions around which later identities would develop, eventually giving rise to French and German nations.

Political fragmentation subsequently gave these distinctions more room to develop. Imperial unity remained a possibility: Charles the Fat briefly reunited most of the Carolingian territories before his deposition in 887. Yet that reunification proved temporary, and the successor kingdoms continued to acquire their own political histories. In the eastern kingdom, the accession of Henry I in 919 established the Saxon dynasty later known as the Ottonians, shifting the dynastic center of gravity. Over generations, separate rulers, institutions, and political allegiances helped deepen the differentiation of communities that continued to share a broader cultural inheritance.

Now imagine that a power from the Islamic world – such as the Umayyad rulers of al-Andalus or the Abbasid Caliphate – had intervened decisively in these struggles. Suppose it had supplied one claimant with the resources and support necessary to subdue his rivals, restore the empire, and sustain its unity over successive generations. Such intervention could have substantially altered the conditions under which the successor communities developed. Their institutions might have been suppressed, their political aspirations contained, and their separate historical trajectories repeatedly redirected toward the preservation of a unitary imperial structure.

The resulting unity would tell us little about whether those communities possessed the capacity to develop into distinct nations. Their continued incorporation within one state would instead reflect the power preventing them from acquiring political forms of their own. The possibilities visible in their languages, regional traditions, and emerging allegiances would remain real, even if their institutional expression were delayed or constrained.

This hypothetical comparison captures what has happened repeatedly within the Russian realm over the past century. Whenever the imperial center weakened, possibilities for a more differentiated political order became visible. The subsequent recovery of unitary-imperial structure narrowed those possibilities, with Western assistance at important moments contributing to that recovery. Russia’s continued political unity therefore reflects an artificial condition. It is the result of the repeated interruption of the natural process of internal differentiation by the forces sustaining the imperial state.

Formation of Russian Nations

The morphology of cultures provides a framework for anticipating Russia’s future. A historical model has value because it generates predictions: it suggests which developments are likely, how apparently disconnected events might be related, and what evidence we should examine.

If nations assume different forms within different High Cultures, the next question is what will define the emerging nations of the Russian realm. Political differentiation alone does not answer this. We must also ask which distinctions people will regard as meaningful, and through which features they will recognize belonging.

The characteristic basis of Greco-Roman nationhood was membership in a particular civic community; in the Magian world, it was religious confession; in the Western world, ancestry and historical descent acquired particular importance. As I argued in my last article, language occupies a similarly central position within the Russian realm. It carries exceptional weight in determining who belongs – and who ought to belong. One can therefore expect language to play a decisive role in the differentiation of that realm into distinct nations.

This could unfold through several paths, which need not be mutually exclusive. A common language might continue to bind politically independent communities together. Alternatively, the formation of separate states might encourage those communities to cultivate linguistic differences as expressions of their independence and distinctiveness. Both tendencies could operate simultaneously, with language sustaining a wider cultural affinity while particular forms of speech distinguish its constituent nations.

Spanish-speaking Latin America offers a useful analogy for the first possibility. Mexico, Colombia, Argentina, and other countries possess independent governments, distinct historical experiences and national identities, while sharing a language that facilitates communication across their borders. Their political independence coexists with participation in a wider cultural world. The common language makes their national cultures readily accessible to one another without dissolving their separate identities.

A comparable arrangement is conceivable within the Russian realm. Several independent states could retain Russian as their principal language while developing their own institutions, public memories, and national allegiances. Their political boundaries might become firmly established even as the cultural boundaries between them remained comparatively permeable. This would accord with the tendency toward leveling that is present in the Russian world: internal differentiation would occur, but the distinctions could remain relatively fluid, and a powerful sense of underlying commonality could persist.

In such a configuration, Russian would occupy a position comparable to Spanish across much of Latin America. Siberian, Uralian, Ingrian, or Novgorodian might become national designations analogous to Mexican, Colombian, Paraguayan, or Argentinian. A shared language could sustain a family of related nations, each politically independent and conscious of its own identity.

Yet the importance of language could also produce a different tendency. If language is the principal criterion through which belonging is understood within the Russian realm, emerging states may become particularly attentive to linguistic distinctions. Communities seeking to establish their independence might cultivate precisely those features of speech that distinguish them from their neighbors. What appears to be a minor regional peculiarity could acquire considerable symbolic weight.

Across the wider territory of the present Russian Federation, this could first take the form of renewed prominence for existing non-Russian languages. Tatarstan, Bashkortostan, Sakha, Udmurtia, Chuvashia, Chechnya and others already possess their own languages associated with their respective peoples. Russian is also widely used in these republics, although patterns of bilingualism, language retention, and language shift differ substantially.

Greater autonomy or independence would create opportunities to expand the use of local languages in education, administration, broadcasting, and public life. Processes of this kind have already unfolded, in different forms and to different degrees, across the post-Soviet states. A future Tatarstan, Bashkortostan, or Sakha could pursue similar efforts, making their languages the most prominent expression of political community.

Strengthening a local language could become a way to assert a community’s capacity to define itself and resist claims made upon it from outside. Russian might remain widely spoken while ceasing to possess the same authority as the language through which public belonging is primarily expressed.

A related process could unfold within Russian itself. Separate states might encourage the development and recognition of their own varieties, giving regional vocabulary, pronunciation, and usage greater standing in schools, media, and literature. Over longer periods, some varieties might become sufficiently distinct – or acquire sufficiently separate literary and institutional traditions – to be recognized as related languages.

The English- and Spanish-speaking worlds illustrate how a shared language can accommodate several nationally recognized varieties. The Arabic-speaking world demonstrates how extensive differences in everyday speech can coexist with attachment to a common formal language. These arrangements suggest different possibilities for the future of Russian: continued mutual intelligibility, distinctive national standards, and potentially deeper divergence over time.

Centralized education, administration, publishing, and broadcasting have helped maintain a common Russian linguistic space. The repeated restoration of unitary imperial structure has also restricted opportunities for separate centers of linguistic authority to become established. Independent states would possess institutions through which their own usage could gain prestige and permanence. Features previously corrected or discouraged might instead be taught, published, and celebrated as expressions of national distinctiveness.

The decisive transformation would therefore concern both speech and its meaning. A regional pronunciation could become an emblem of belonging; a familiar local word could be elevated to an indication of national identity. Even relatively small differences might be defended with considerable intensity since language carries the identity-defining weight within the Russian realm.

What one can anticipate, then, is the emergence of several communities claiming authority over their own linguistic expression. Siberian Russian, Uralian Russian, or other regional varieties could acquire recognized national forms, alongside the renewed prominence of non-Russian languages. A common linguistic inheritance might continue to connect these societies even as their particular ways of speaking became central to their separate identities. Language would thus serve both as the bond of the wider cultural realm and as a principal means through which its constituent nations differentiate themselves.

A United Europe and a Divided Russia

As Europe moves toward closer integration and the form of a civilizational state, and as Russia moves, conversely, toward disintegration and further internal differentiation – each according to the phase of its own cultural lifecycle – the question arises of what a united Europe should do in relation to a Russia undergoing that process.

The first and most obvious requirement is to resist the temptation to save Russia once again. As disintegration begins, there will almost certainly be renewed pressure to halt or reverse it. Europe must refuse that pressure. Better still, it should facilitate the process and obstruct those who attempt to restore Russia’s unitary imperial structure.

At the same time, the primary aim of a united Europe must be to enlarge its scope, and with it the civilizational state itself, by drawing into its sphere the regions and successor states that emerge on Russia’s western and north-western margins. Places such as Novgorod, Pskov, Smolensk and Ingria have a long history of close relations with Europe and of gravitation toward it – a history from which they were later forcibly detached by Muscovy. Even within the Russian cultural space, therefore, some territories retain a deeper affinity with Europe and a historical memory of belonging nearer to it.

Spengler’s High Cultures are not fixed entities. Over the course of their lifecycles they can enlarge their scope by incorporating other places and peoples, often – though not only – through war and conquest, and frequently at the expense of neighboring civilizations. This is especially true of borderlands lying between cultural realms.

At a certain point in the development of the Greco-Roman world, Greeks came to regard Macedonians as their own, although they had not previously done so. Romans were later accepted into the same realm. Anatolia, too, might have remained part of that world; instead it was absorbed into the Middle Eastern (Magian) civilization defined by Islam – the realm which came to be known as the Muslim world. Central Asia followed a similar path when Turkic peoples converted to Islam and, in time, carried Anatolia with them into the Muslim world.

Indian civilization offers another parallel. Territories that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh once formed an integral part of that civilization, yet they were eventually incorporated into the Muslim world, so that they are today more readily assigned to Magian civilization than to the Indian one.

A comparable enlargement has already taken place within European civilization. Greece and the Balkans are now recognized as belonging to Europe and to its civilizational sphere. That enlargement is still underway. Ukraine, long treated as part of the Russian realm, is choosing with great determination to enter the European one; Europe would be remiss to let the opportunity pass. A future free Belarus belongs in the same category. If the chance exists, there is no reason why Europe should leave Ukraine and Belarus to Russia when it can incorporate them itself. The European realm would be strengthened and the Russian realm correspondingly weakened.

The same logic can be pressed further. Had the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union never collapsed, a different future might have placed much of Central and Eastern Europe – the Baltic states, Finland, Poland and the rest – inside the Russian realm. However, they now belong to the European one. EU and NATO enlargement should be understood in this light: not merely as a bureaucratic or even a geopolitical undertaking, but as a process with deeper historical meaning. It is the enlargement of the European cultural realm, of the same kind that other High Cultures have undergone in the past.

There is no reason not to extend that process into what is today Russia. Just as Ukrainians naturally gravitate toward Europe rather than toward the Russian world, and just as they will form a welcome and natural part of European civilization, so there are other potential “Ukraines” inside the present Russian Federation – Novgorod, Pskov, Smolensk and comparable territories – that once gravitated strongly toward Europe before being drawn into the Russian realm. They can, and should, be reincorporated into the European civilization-state.

This raises a further question: is there a limit to such civilizational enlargement? How far can the European realm extend, and what defines the eventual natural borders of a civilization? If the Balkans, Ukraine, Belarus, and even the western and north-western regions of present-day Russia can become part of European civilization, why should Turkey, North Africa, and the rest of the Middle East not be incorporated as well? What distinguishes Eastern Europe or the Balkans from those regions?

In each High Culture, enlargement and incorporation follows the metric by which identity is understood in that culture. In the Magian world that metric is creed – i.e., Islam. Thus, to accept Islam, or to be converted to it, is to be incorporated into that cultural realm – into the Muslim world.

The Western (Faustian) world is animated by depth, and its metric of identity is ancestry and historical memory. Enlargement and incorporation are therefore naturally bounded by shared descent and a common historical memory. Greece and the other Balkan nations, for example, share with the rest of Europe the memory of invasion by the Muslim world and of a common struggle against it. Novgorod, Smolensk and Pskov fit this pattern almost exactly. In the Middle Ages they belonged culturally to Europe; there remains a historical memory of close association with it, followed by violent detachment at the hands of Muscovy. The same is still more evidently true of historical Ruthenia – Ukraine and Belarus. Those regions and peoples can therefore be taken into the European realm as a natural extension of it.

With the Middle East and North Africa the case is altogether different. Firstly, their ancestry is distinct from that of Europeans. More than that, their historical memory stands at odds with Europe, and in important respects against it. There is a long history of the Muslim world invading Europe, of armies and raiders killing, raping and enslaving Europeans. A memory of that kind cannot furnish the basis of membership in European civilization, because the sense of identity and pride it sustains, and the heritage it transmits, is at its core inimical to that civilization.

The situation of those parts of Eastern Europe now seeking to free themselves from the Russian realm is different. Once they possess sovereign independent states, their historical memory and self-identification can stand in congruence with European civilization.

What, then, should be Europe’s relationship to the remainder of the Russian realm – to a future Siberian Republic, Uralian Republic, Yakutia (Sakha), Tatarstan, Bashkortostan and the rest? The answer is straightforward. A European civilizational state must ensure that these “Russian” successor states never again present a danger to European civilization and that they remain aligned with Europe. They should be demilitarized and denuclearized, and they should lie within Europe’s sphere of influence. Europe must also ensure that no revanchist power emerges with the aim of reuniting the Russian realm.

Much has been said about incorporating Russia into Europe. Until now, however, that project has been conducted from a position of weakness. The arrangement proposed by pro-Russian voices, and in practice followed for decades, has amounted to Europe paying tribute to Russia in exchange for natural resources and a measure of quiet – tribute that Russia used to strengthen its military and then turned against Europe. Neither the tribute nor the attempt at incorporation eventually succeeded.

Nor was that outcome accidental. The attempt was made from weakness, military and moral alike. Successful enlargements of High Cultures, however, have proceeded either by force – that is, by successful conquest – or from a position of moral and intellectual superiority. That was the character of European civilization’s eastward enlargement from its cradle in Western Europe. It is also what draws Eastern Europeans toward Western civilization and leads them to aspire to it – in the case of Ukrainians, even at the cost of blood. It is the recognition that the West represents a higher civilizational standard, one worth striving toward.

A united Europe must act in that spirit. Russia can potentially be incorporated into European civilization, but not as a unitary imperial entity – only in weak parts, and only on the condition that Europe holds the moral, intellectual and civilizational high ground to which those successor states may aspire, or with which they may choose to align. As for resources, Europe can obtain them from demilitarized post-Russian states on its own terms, without the fear that payments for those resources will one day be turned against it. It must be ensured that never again a threat arises to Europe from that part of the world.

The future is a united Europe and a divided Russia.

Yet the significance of the prime symbol extends much further. For Spengler, it is not merely an intellectual metaphor. It is the deepest spatial intuition of a Culture, a primordial form that expresses itself again and again throughout that Culture’s historical development – in its religion, mathematics, politics, art, architecture, science, and social organization. The same underlying world-feeling assumes different forms at different stages of the Culture’s lifecycle.

In this essay, I want to examine one further manifestation of that world-feeling: identity.

From what vantage point does a Culture understand belonging? What determines the boundary between us and them, between insider and outsider, friend and stranger? More specifically, what constitutes the decisive criterion of belonging for the Russian soul, and how does that criterion differ from those of other High Cultures?

Spengler himself approached this problem through his discussion of the meaning of the “nation”. Yet nation is already a historically Western concept, carrying associations that do not necessarily translate into other cultural worlds. I will therefore use the broader term identity: the principle by which a community determines who belongs to it and who does not.

Seen in this way, the cultures compared by Spengler employ strikingly different metrics of belonging.

In the Magian Culture of the Middle East, the decisive criterion is creed. The Magian community is fundamentally a community of believers. What matters is adherence to a faith, considered as the true faith, and incorporation into the religious body. Spengler therefore describes the Magian nation as coinciding, in essence, with the Church or community of salvation. This fits naturally with the Magian prime symbol of the cavern: an enclosed spiritual world possessing an inner truth and sharply distinguished from what lies outside it.

The Apollonian world of Classical Greece and Rome understands belonging differently. Here the decisive unit is the visible, bounded civic body of the polis. One belongs through citizenship in a particular city. The Classical nation is therefore concrete, local, and physically delimited: Athens, Sparta, Rome. This accords with the Apollonian prime symbol of the self-contained body. The political community, like the sculpted body, possesses a definite contour. It ends at a boundary.

The Faustian case is different again. For Spengler, Western peoples are above all historical peoples. They experience themselves not merely as inhabitants of a place or adherents of a creed, but as communities extended through time. Hence the peculiar importance of dynasty. The ruling house becomes the visible embodiment of historical continuity, binding generations into a single destiny. The Faustian nation is therefore inseparable from the Western feeling for depth, distance, historical becoming, and infinity.

It is at this point that Spengler’s argument needs to be taken one step further. Spengler identifies dynasty as a fundamental form of Faustian national consciousness. But what, ultimately, gives dynasty its meaning? A dynasty is itself a genealogy: a chain of descent extending backward through time. Therefore, beneath dynasty lies an even more fundamental Faustian criterion – ancestry. This is not Spengler’s explicit formulation. It is an extension of his morphology.

The Faustian soul is animated by depth. It is seldom satisfied with what appears immediately before it. It seeks what lies behind the visible surface: causes behind effects, structures behind appearances, histories behind present conditions. Its mathematics proceeds toward infinity; its perspective painting opens space toward a vanishing point; its science penetrates ever further into invisible mechanisms; its historiography reconstructs ever more remote origins.

The same impulse manifests itself in questions of identity. The Faustian instinct asks not merely: Where do you live? What language do you speak? What do you profess to believe? It asks: Where are you originally from? Who were your parents? Who were their parents? What history lies behind you?

Identity becomes genealogical. The Western impulse is therefore to dig deeper and deeper into the past in order to determine who a person really is. Family history, descent, roots, heritage, and historical continuity become evidence of belonging. The further back that continuity can be established, the greater the perceived validity of the claim.

This helps explain a recurrent tension within modern Western societies. Formal citizenship, birthplace, language, and adherence to civic values do not provide enough criteria of belonging for the Faustian soul. Ideas that now circulate less openly, muted by censorship and stigma, still assign decisive weight to descent and historical continuity. Debates over whether somebody is really German, French, English, Swedish, or European reveal precisely this Faustian world-feeling that is animated by depth. What manifests itself here is the underlying Western tendency to seek depth of evidence – to regard immediately visible or legally defined characteristics as insufficient and to ask what historical reality lies behind them.

In this sense, “discrimination” should be understood here in its original and neutral meaning: the drawing of ever finer distinctions. It is in the nature of the Faustian soul to discriminate, because it is animated by depth. The Faustian spirit discriminates because it differentiates. It separates, classifies, analyzes, and probes. It refuses to leave things undivided when further distinctions can be made. This same impulse contributed to the extraordinary achievements of Western science and scholarship: the drive to decompose phenomena into ever more precise categories, to distinguish what initially appears identical, and to search beneath appearances for deeper structures. The morphology of identity reflects the same instinct.

Against this background, the Russian case appears radically different. The Russian metric of identity is fundamentally linguistic. This, in turn, is congruent with the Russian prime symbol: the endless plain.

The endless plain is flat, monotonous and undifferentiated. It stretches outward horizontally, flattening differences and dissolving sharp contours. Things appear the same upon the wide expanse. The corresponding Russian world-feeling, as I argued in my earlier essay, exhibits a powerful leveling impulse: an instinct toward equivalence, a numbness to distinctions, and a dislike of strongly differentiated forms.

Language is precisely the kind of criterion that corresponds to such a world-feeling. Among the possible metrics of identity considered here, language is the least existentially restrictive. It demands comparatively little sacrifice of conscience. It does not require a particular ancestry. It does not require birth within a particular territory. It does not necessarily require the abandonment of one’s metaphysical beliefs.

Consider, by contrast, the Magian criterion. To embrace a new creed sincerely involves an enormous inner transformation. A person has to abandon inherited beliefs, sacred commitments, moral assumptions, and an entire conception of the world. Conversion is technically open to everyone, regardless of ancestry or birthplace, but psychologically and spiritually it may demand an immense sacrifice. One may simply be unable to believe something without violating one’s conscience.

The Magian criterion is therefore universal in principle yet profoundly discriminating in practice. Everyone may enter, but entry requires an inward transformation.

The Apollonian criterion imposes a different limitation. Membership in the Classical civic body is connected with a particular bounded political community. One must belong to this city rather than another. The Classical world therefore draws a concrete spatial boundary. Citizenship distinguishes the member of the civic body from the foreigner, just as the contour of the Apollonian statue distinguishes one physical body from surrounding space.

The Faustian criterion is more restrictive still because it reaches backward into history. A person may change his creed. He may move from one city or country to another. He may learn another language. But he cannot change his ancestry. He cannot rewrite the sequence of generations from which he descends. Precisely for this reason, ancestry represents the most depth-oriented criterion of identity. It requires historical evidence extending beyond the individual himself.

Language stands at the opposite extreme. Learning another language certainly requires effort. But it does not demand a sacrifice of conscience. Learning Russian does not require a German to cease being German in his inward convictions; learning German does not require a Japanese person to abandon Japanese beliefs or ancestry. Language can be acquired without renouncing one’s inherited religion, family history, or worldview.

It is therefore the least intrinsically differentiating of the criteria considered here. And precisely for that reason it is extraordinarily congruent with the Russian soul.

The Russian world-feeling is animated by breadth rather than depth, equivalence rather than differentiation. Its prime symbol is not the bounded body, not the cavern enclosing a community of faith, and not the infinite depth of Faustian space, but the endless plain upon which distinctions tend to flatten. Linguistic identity expresses this perfectly.

One obvious objection immediately presents itself: do not Faustian nations also attach enormous importance to language?

Of course they do. German national consciousness developed around German; French around French; English around English; Swedish around Swedish. Yet in the Faustian world language has functioned not as the ultimate criterion of identity but as an indicator of something deeper. It has served as a proxy for historical continuity; as a proxy for ancestry.

Speaking German suggests upbringing within a German historical environment. Speaking Swedish suggests being part of a Swedish cultural inheritance. Language points backward toward a historical community and, ultimately, toward descent. It is evidence, but not necessarily sufficient evidence in itself.

Hence the intuitive Western distinction between speaking German and being German, between speaking English and being English. Even perfect linguistic fluency does not automatically collapse those categories into one another.

The Faustian soul demands depth. Language alone remains too superficial as a criterion. The Faustian man wants to know what lies behind the language – history, lineage, continuity, origin.

The Russian tendency moves in the opposite direction. Here language becomes not merely evidence of belonging but the criterion of belonging itself.

This distinction is fundamental. In the Faustian soul, language points beyond itself. In the Russian soul, language points to itself.

To put it as succinctly as possible: in the Faustian case, language functions merely as a proxy for the deeper metric of historical continuity and ancestry. In the Russian case, language becomes the metric. And from this difference follow consequences far beyond linguistics itself.

Language as Creed: The Russian World after Pseudomorphosis

If language constitutes the Russian metric of identity, then this principle should become increasingly visible as the Russian world sheds the foreign European forms imposed upon it and begins to express itself more directly.

In Spenglerian terms, this is precisely what has been happening as Russia gradually sheds the European pseudomorphosis of the Romanov era. The process did not begin with Putin. Its first violent rupture came with the Bolshevik Revolution, which shattered the Petrine political and social order. Yet the deeper emancipation from Western forms continued after the collapse of the Soviet Union. What we are witnessing in Putin’s Russia is another stage in that process: the gradual replacement of inherited European categories by forms more congruent with the Russian world-feeling itself.

Identity is one of them. If the deepest instinct of the Russian soul is leveling – if its prime symbol, the endless plain, expresses breadth, equivalence, and a relative numbness to sharply differentiated forms – then it follows that Russian understanding of identity should increasingly seek a criterion capable of transcending distinctions of ancestry, locality, and even religion.

That criterion is language. Russian increasingly becomes not merely the language spoken by Russians but a principle through which the Russian world imagines itself. It provides a way of determining who belongs, where the boundaries of the community lie, and, just as importantly, where betrayal of that community begins.

Here an illuminating Spenglerian parallel presents itself. The historical phase through which Russia is passing bears, morphologically, a certain resemblance to the emergence of Islam in the Magian world. Spengler interpreted the rise of Islam as the liberation of the Magian world from the Classical pseudomorphosis under which it had long existed. The Middle East had for centuries been covered by Greco-Roman political, intellectual, and artistic forms that did not correspond to its own deepest world-feeling. Once that shell broke apart, Islam emerged as an extraordinarily powerful expression of the Magian soul itself.

With that emergence came expansion. The newly self-conscious Magian world turned violently against the Greco-Roman world that had previously dominated it. Creed supplied both the principle of identity and the universal medium of incorporation. To enter the community was to embrace the faith.

Something analogous is occurring in Russia – but with language occupying the position that creed occupied in the Magian world. Russia’s present war against Ukraine and, more broadly, against the West can therefore be interpreted morphologically as a holy war, a kind of Russian jihad – a civilizational struggle against the West, accompanying Russia’s attempt to cast off the remains of its European pseudomorphosis and define itself in opposition to the Faustian world.

The comparison becomes especially revealing when we ask what functions as the rallying cry in each case. For the Magian realm, it was creed. For the Russian realm, it is language.

The central idea in Russia’s current confrontation with the West is the notion of Russkiy Mir (Russian World). It occupies central position in the self-perception of Russians. It defines who they are and who they think their enemies are. Importantly, this central idea is defined, not by creed, not by ancestry, not by official citizenship, but by language – by linguistic belonging. Speaking Russian determines who belongs to this community, and, as we will see below, who Russians believe must belong to this community.

The notion of the “Russian World” discloses the underlying Russian metric of belonging. In this world-feeling, to speak Russian is already to stand inside a shared field. The “Russian World” is conceived not as an ethnic nation in the Faustian sense but as a linguistic-cultural realm whose borders are drawn by language itself. Language does not point beyond itself toward ancestry or historical depth; it is the principle of inclusion.

From this vantage point, the Ukrainian case appears as apostasy to Russians. Ukrainians are seen as a Russian-speaking population that once inhabited the same linguistic community and then chose to leave it – to attach itself to the Faustian West. Within a world-feeling in which language is the decisive criterion of identity, such a departure is seen as a betrayal of the community defined by that language. The peculiar intensity of Russian hostility toward Ukrainian people becomes intelligible only against this background. A Russian-speaking people that refuses the Russian World is, in Russian terms, committing heresy. Language here functions as creed; everything else is subordinated to it.

The morphological parallel with the Magian world therefore becomes even sharper. Just as the Magian community defined itself through faith and treated conversion as incorporation into the community of salvation, the Russian community defines itself through language and treats linguistic affiliation as incorporation into the Russian World. Correspondingly, the impulse to expand that world takes a linguistic form. Where the Magian realm sought to convert others to Islam in its confrontation with the Greco-Roman world, the Russian realm seeks to draw others into its linguistic field – i.e., to make them speak Russian, or if they already speak Russian, to make them view themselves as “Russian”. The Faustian West therefore becomes the primary object where Russian language must be spread, which, in turn, would constitute a conversion according to the Russian world-feeling.

The territorial implication follows the same logic. In the Magian world-feeling, lands where Muslims live become legitimate objects of conquest – i.e., the places that must be incorporated into the Islamic world. In the Russian case, the presence of the Russian language functions analogously. Any place where Russian is spoken is viewed as already part of the Russian World – and therefore as a legitimate object of political claim. Language, rather than ancestry, religion, or civic boundary, becomes the map on which belonging and conquest are drawn.

It is telling that, over recent decades, Russians have increasingly spoken of “Russian-speakers” rather than of “Russians” when justifying claims to a territory or identifying those whom they claim to protect. This is not a trivial change of wording. It is the gist of the matter. What appears here is the Russian soul giving rise to a form of belonging natural to it – a form increasingly freed from Western pseudomorphosis and congruent with the prime symbol of the endless plain.

One specific case may seem, at first glance, to contradict this morphology. Examined more closely, it confirms it.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, and until recently, Russia officially maintained a deliberate distinction between two identifications: russkiy, Russian by ethnicity, and rossiyanin, citizen of the Russian Federation. The distinction was introduced under Boris Yeltsin in an effort to hold together a multiethnic state that, even after the Soviet collapse, remained imperial in its structure. The fear was Russia’s further disintegration, and a civic formula superimposed upon an ethnic one was chosen as the supposed remedy.

To a Western observer – and especially to a Faustian right-wing observer – this may look like evidence that Russians do, after all, think in terms of ancestry. The argument can be pressed further. There are devoted Russian ethnonationalists who oppose Putin, and some of whom are even fighting on Ukraine’s side. Does this not show that ancestry remains an important criterion of belonging for Russians as well? Does it not show that Russian self-identification is, at bottom, ethnic?

That conclusion would be mistaken. The distinction between russkiye and rossiyane was a remnant of the European pseudomorphosis still present within the Russian realm. Within that adopted framework, ethnicity remained a usable category. But race and ethnicity are quintessentially Faustian notions. They correspond to the Faustian prime symbol of infinite space and to the Faustian demand for historical depth. Inside the Russian world-feeling they sit uneasily. They feel alien.

What followed – especially in the years after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine – is therefore highly revealing. The term rossiyane has gradually been all but abandoned. In Putin’s Russia that distinction no longer does real work. Increasingly, every inhabitant of the Russian Federation is regarded as russkiy. The natural Russian world-feeling has imposed itself upon the sense of identity. Russkiy has been stripped of the ethnic implication attached to it under European influence – an implication that had never sat comfortably on the Russian soul.

A term originally imbued with an ethnic meaning, under the influence of European thought-forms, has changed its substance. It no longer designates an ethnic identity. It has become a linguistic category. Russkiy now means, increasingly, anyone who speaks Russian. And it is this linguistic identity that defines the “Russian World”.

The concept of ethnicity itself is alien to the Russian soul. Ethnicity presupposes depth: a genealogical past, a historical origin that differentiates one group from another. To a soul animated by breadth and by a powerful leveling impulse, that demand for depth is unnatural. It does not fit.

It is fair to say that there is, in this sense, no such thing as a “Russian ethnicity” – not necessarily because no biological grouping of that kind exists, but because the category itself is alien to the Russian psyche. Increasingly, Russians view everyone who speaks Russian as russkiy. Buryats, Yakuts, Tatars, and Bashkirs, and likewise Belarusians and Ukrainians, are regarded simply as “Russians”: as russkiye.

There is, accordingly, no ethnic component at the center of the Russian sense of identity. That the ethnic connotation of the word russkiy has been gradually superseded by a linguistic one is not an arbitrary development. It is a natural evolution of the Russian realm as it sheds the imposed forms of European pseudomorphosis and takes on forms organic to itself.

Within this framework one may still ask: what, then, of the Russian ethnonationalists? The answer is simple. They are remnants of European influence and outliers within the Russian realm. They represent neither its natural trajectory nor the world-feeling of the great majority of Russians. They determine nothing decisive in Russia, and they are not likely to do so. One may admire them – and those who oppose Putin and fight for Ukraine especially deserve admiration – but they are not representative of the Russian populace or of its historical evolution.

What they can do, for instance, to remain true to their worldview and remain attached to the European Civilization, is to call themselves “Russian-speaking Europeans”; and they may be regarded as such by Europeans. Or they may identify with a regional identity that once stood in closer relation to Europe and was later drawn, by force, into the Muscovite-Russian realm – Novgorod, Smolensk, Pskov. They may call themselves Novgorodians, Pskovians, Smolenskers, and they may be accepted on that basis into the European family. They cannot, however, be accepted as russkiye. For russkiye, in the sense now taking shape, are drifting away from Europe, to which they never organically belonged. They are acquiring a self-identification proper to themselves, and the metric of that self-identification is taking an organically Russian form: a linguistic one.

Christianity as Vessel, Not as Primary Criterion

But what of religion, understood in the narrower sense? What role does Orthodox Christianity play within the Russian realm? And, for comparison, what role did Christianity play in forming the self-identification of the Faustian world? One might ask: was creed – Christianity in both cases – not the decisive factor in establishing identity, and in drawing the line between self and other?

The question rests on a misunderstanding. It treats Christianity as a fixed doctrine that stamps the same form on every people it encounters, rather than as what it has historically been: a cultural vessel, shaped and reshaped by the cultural realms that receive it. Christianity has not been the force that first forms the soul of a people. It has been formed by that soul. Wherever it spread, it adapted to the prevailing character and psychological structure of the population. It was recast in accordance with the prime symbol of the cultural realm it entered.

Let’s begin with the Faustian case. Europeans did come to call themselves the “Christian world”, especially in rivalry with the Magian world: in the face of invasions they had to endure, and in the Crusades they undertook. Behind that self-designation, however, something else was already at work. By “Christian world”, Europeans meant, in practice, the peoples of Western Christendom – the world of the Latin Church, which was in large measure shaped by Germanic peoples.

The implication was not yet conceptualized as race or ethnicity. Those terms did not yet exist back then, and belong to a later scientific vocabulary. Yet the underlying world-feeling that gave rise to those terms was already at work.

There were other Christians. Miaphysite and Nestorian communities had existed for centuries in the Near East. Faustian Europe did not regard them as members of its own family. Relations with Byzantium were strained even before the Great Schism of 1054 and before they became completely catastrophic. The Greeks were also Christians, yet they remained persistently other: schismatics, Graeci, not members of the Western family of peoples. The sack of Constantinople in 1204 made that distance brutally visible. Shared creed did not produce a shared “we”.

The same pattern appears in the way Faustian Christendom waged its holy wars. The confrontation of the so-called Christian world with other realms – above all with the Muslim, Magian world – was not primarily aimed at turning outsiders into members of the Western community by converting them to Christianity. Conversion occurred sporadically, but it was not the inner purpose of the enterprise. There was no persistent large-scale conversion attempt. The purpose was to recover, hold, or clear land.

The Crusades to the Levant were framed as wars to liberate the Holy Places and to restore formerly Christian territory. They were not a program for turning Middle Eastern populations into Westerners by baptism. The Crusades were wars of conquest and recovery, not wars of incorporation through creed. The logic was possession of a sacred landscape, not the manufacture of new co-religionists who would thereafter count as “us”. Deep down, the Faustian crusader could sense that a baptized Middle-Easterner would still not belong to his community. Belonging already pointed beyond profession of faith.

A similar dynamic is visible in the Northern Crusades. Officially, the Northern Crusades were wars of conversion. Pope and preachers said so. Bernard of Clairvaux, urging the Wendish Crusade of 1147, forbade peace with the pagans until “either the rite itself or the nation be wiped out”. In Prussia, baptism was imposed. But it was not enough. The Peace of Christburg in 1249 promised converted Prussians rights comparable to those of German settlers. After the great Prussian revolts of the 1260s those rights were withdrawn. Importantly, the revolts were wars against Teutonic lordship, not simply wars for the old gods, but the Order did not separate the two. Rebellion was treated as apostasy, and the baptized Prussian who took up arms was classified as a relapsed pagan rather than as a Christian subject in revolt.

Eventually, more colonists were brought in from the German lands. Over the following centuries the Old Prussian language and the old tribal structure disappeared. What emerged was not a baptized Baltic people accepted as a sister nation, but a Germanized colonial land. Conversion merely opened the door; but ancestry, settlement and much deeper integration into the German culture decided who actually stood inside.

The case of Lithuania makes the point still more clearly. What happened there is quite telling. In 1386, Jogaila accepted baptism, married into the Polish crown, and Lithuania officially entered the Latin Church. However, the Teutonic Order did not conclude that the crusade was therefore over. It continued to campaign, arguing that the conversion was incomplete or insincere. A Magian community, once the profession of faith has been made, would in principle have gained a new member. The Faustian community looked through the faith and asked what substance lay behind it. Baptism was not treated as a sufficient ticket of admission.

The Reconquista displays the same instinct in its most explicit later form. Large numbers of Jews, and later Muslims, were baptized, often under coercive pressure. Jewish converts and their descendants continued to be distinguished as conversos or, pejoratively, marranos; after the mass conversion of Muslims in the early sixteenth century, Muslim converts and their descendants were known as moriscos. The Spanish Inquisition was established in 1478 not chiefly to convert Jews and Muslims still outside the Church, but to examine those already inside it. In 1449, the rebel authorities in Toledo promulgated the Sentencia-Estatuto, the first recorded statute of limpieza de sangre: purity of blood. Conversos of Jewish ancestry were barred from public offices and benefices. New Christians, however baptized, remained marked by ancestry. In Christian doctrine, baptism incorporated the convert into the Christian community. Iberian practices, however, increasingly treated descent as a distinction that baptism could not erase. Also in this case, the scientific language of race did not yet exist, but the world-feeling that would later speak that language was already at work: the Faustian refusal to accept the visible profession of faith as the last word, and the corresponding turn toward ancestry as the deeper metric of belonging.

The contrast with the Magian world therefore becomes evident. Magian identity is creed. The profession of the faith incorporates one into the community. That is why jihad can treat conversion as the decisive act of entry, and why the community of believers can, in principle, be recruited from any ancestry. In contrast, Faustian identity is historical. Creed may furnish the banner, but it does not determine the criterion. Hence the recurrent Faustian pattern: holy war that recovers or colonizes land; conversion that is treated as insufficient; and, when the vocabulary at last appears, ancestry named as what had been felt all along.

Something analogous is now visible in Russia, especially in its war against Ukraine. That Ukrainians are also Orthodox Christians counts for very little for Russians. To the Russian soul, as it begins to express itself in forms increasingly free of the European pseudomorphosis, Orthodoxy is not the decisive metric. The decisive metric is linguistic belonging. That is why Russian forces can bombard and desecrate Ukrainian churches without any deep sense of sacrilege against a shared faith. That is why the torture and killing of Ukrainian priests does not register, in the Russian mind, as violence against members of the same religious community. Shared Orthodox Christianity does not “save” Ukrainians from the Russian wrath, because, according to the Russian world-feeling, shared creed is not what constitutes the community.

What Russians demand of Ukrainians is not that they become better Orthodox Christians. It is that they regard themselves as part of a cultural realm defined by the Russian language and by the “Russian World” built around it. Ukrainians refuse that identification. In Russian terms, that refusal amounts to heresy. According to Russians, Ukrainians thereby transgress against the Russian metric of identity, which is defined by language. Thus, they are to be converted not to Orthodoxy, which they already possess and which is not the Russian metric of identity anyway, but to the status of russkiye: an identity determined neither by ancestry nor by creed, but by language.

The converse is equally revealing. Muslim peoples living within the Russian realm – Chechens, Tatars, Bashkirs, Dagestanis etc. – can be incorporated into the same Russian World without abandoning Islam, provided that they accept their belonging to that world and participate in its common linguistic and political field. From the Russian vantage point, there is therefore no necessary contradiction between being Muslim and belonging to the Russian World, because religion has never been its true metric of identity. The decisive criterion is linguistic belonging. A Muslim, an Orthodox Christian, or an adherent of another faith may stand inside the Russian World so long as he speaks Russian and accepts himself as part of that wider community. The conflict begins only when a people insists upon remaining a distinct historical subject – when Chechens, Tatars, Bashkirs, or others cease to understand themselves as components of the Russian World and instead assert a separate national destiny. At that point, the distinction becomes intolerable and is liable to be suppressed. Their Islam, in itself, is not the problem; their refusal to be part of the Russian world, however, would be. They may remain Muslims. What they may not do, within the logic of the Russian world-feeling, is refuse incorporation into the common Russian realm defined by language.

This is why it would be a mistake to treat Latin Christianity as the source of Faustian self-identification, or Orthodox Christianity as the source of the Russian one. In both cases the inherited faith was a vessel. What filled it was the world-feeling of the culture that received it. In the Faustian realm that filling was the sense of depth, which, in matters of belonging, corresponded to ancestry. In the Russian realm the vessel is filled by the sense of breadth, which, in matters of belonging, corresponds to language.

What Russian Rule Would Mean for Europe

This distinction matters especially for European right-wingers who assume that Russian control of Europe would allow their nations to remain what they are. They imagine that, under Russian rule, Germans will again be permitted to feel German, that France would remain French and Italy Italian, and that European states would at last be free to reverse non-European settlement and let indigenous cultures recover and flourish.

That is a grave delusion. Russian rule would not mean any such restoration. It would mean the opposite. A world-feeling animated by leveling instinct does not look upon a mosaic of distinct nations as something to be protected. Variety is not a good to be conserved. It is a disturbance. Distinct peoples, rooted in their own histories and unwilling to be flattened into a single field, are an expression of depth. Depth is precisely what the Russian soul cannot endure.

The recurring Russian imperial pattern is therefore not the guardianship of particular cultures, but their dilution. Peoples are moved, mixed, and resettled until compact identities lose their contour. Especially under the Soviets this pattern manifested itself in full force; entire nations were uprooted and scattered into Kazakhstan, Siberia, Central Asia and the Russian Far East – Volga Germans, Baltic peoples, Ukrainians, Chechens, Ingush, Crimean Tatars, Koreans – while Russian-speaking populations were settled in their place.

With the current Russian invasion of Ukraine the same historical pattern re-emerges. Ukrainians are uprooted from their homes and deported to different corners of Russia. And in their place, Russians bring people from Caucasus and Central Asia, thereby re-populating the Ukrainian territories with peoples who have no historical connection to that land.

The motive need not even necessarily be anything deliberate. It is more instinctive: an inability to endure a landscape of sharp, durable distinctions. What cannot be left standing is a German, French, Polish, Ukrainian, Tatar, or Yakut identity that remains itself. Those identities are to be leveled into a bland, encompassing “Russianness” – into russkiye, defined by the Russian language. Therefore, compared with what Europeans would endure under Russian rule, the Third World migration that Western Europe is currently facing would look like a drop in the ocean.

This Russian leveling impulse was fully at work in the Soviet Union. Here lies a persistent misunderstanding, especially shared by the European right: the belief that the Bolsheviks were the patrons of national plurality, and the related propaganda claim that “Lenin created Ukraine”.

The claim confuses a tactical concession with a governing principle. Ukrainian national culture was not a Bolshevik invention. It had its roots deep in history and had been forming through the nineteenth century. When the Russian Empire collapsed, that culture found political expression in the independent Ukrainian People’s Republic of 1918. Similar movements appeared in Belarus, the Baltics, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. The Bolsheviks did not summon these nations into being. They found them already in motion, and they had to decide how to recapture an empire that was breaking along national lines.

Hence the promises. Lenin’s slogan of the “right of nations to self-determination”, the early recognition of Soviet republics, and the 1920s policy of korenizatsiya – staffing local institutions with native cadres and promoting local languages – were merely temporary measures – a tactical retreat. They were not the aim. Self-determination was, in Lenin’s own formulation, always subordinate to the unity of the proletariat and the centralism of the party. As Soviet power consolidated, expressions of national distinctiveness were increasingly denounced as “bourgeois nationalist” or counter-revolutionary. The intended end was not a realm of distinct peoples, but a single uniform community in which particular identities would wither.

That is why the later turn was not a betrayal of some original Bolshevik multiculturalism. It was a return of the underlying aim. In the 1930s korenizatsiya was reversed, national elites were executed as “bourgeois nationalists”, Russian was restored as the language of the whole, and peoples judged too distinct were deported wholesale. The forms borrowed for survival of the Soviet rule were discarded once they had served.

The contrast with Austro-Marxism makes the foreignness of pluralism to the Russian soul still clearer. In the Habsburg lands, Otto Bauer and Karl Renner developed a doctrine of cultural-national autonomy: nations as enduring communities of culture, organized even without compact territory, entitled to their own schools, languages, and institutions inside a common state. Bauer’s The Question of Nationalities and Social Democracy (1907) treated national difference as a historical reality that socialism would have to house, not erase. That was a European answer to a European problem – an attempt, in a world of deep particular identities, to preserve distinction rather than flatten it.

Lenin and Stalin rejected that answer explicitly. National-cultural autonomy was, they said, “refined nationalism”, a device for segregating workers by nationality and distracting them from class. Stalin’s Marxism and the National Question (1913) was written in large part against Bauer. Whatever national institutions the Bolsheviks later built, they did not build them on Austro-Marxist ground. They made concessions to national-cultural autonomies as a temporary measure, in order to later neutralize distinct national identities and prepare their disappearance. The idea that many nations might flourish side by side as a lasting good was the European residue within the Russian realm – the remnant of European pseudomorphosis. As the Russian realm later shed that remnant, the idea was dropped.

In the early Soviet years there was, it is true, a flourishing of national cultures – Ukrainian above all, but also in the Caucasus and Central Asia. To a distant observer this can look like the implementation of the Austro-Marxist idea: many peoples, each developing its culture and institutions inside a single state. That resemblance is, however, deceptive. The flourishing was not a Bolshevik gift, and it was not the implementation of Bauer’s program. It was the natural order of things asserting itself once the imperial lid came off. Ukrainian culture did not bloom because Bolsheviks invented it. It bloomed because it already stood on a deep foundation, and for a short time the new imperial power could not yet afford to crush it.

What followed is the revealing part. As those cultures continued to develop – not because of Bolshevism, but in spite of it – the Russian soul could no longer bear the sight. The leveling impulse reasserted itself. A landscape of distinct nations, growing more articulate rather than less, was intolerable to the Russian soul. Therefore, in the 1930s the hammer fell. National intellectuals were executed en masse. Ukraine’s case became emblematic: the generation now remembered as the Executed Renaissance was wiped out, and the assault on the Ukrainian nation reached its most terrible pitch in the Holodomor. The Ukrainian population was replaced by arrivals from the Russian interior. Survivors were subjected to accelerating Russification. The Ukrainian language was increasingly suppressed and replaced by Russian. Other peoples under Soviet rule suffered their own versions of the same blow. The framework that had briefly housed national distinctions was scrapped, because that framework had never sat comfortably on the Russian psyche. It had been a borrowed form. It was therefore only a matter of time before that form was discarded.

A similar sequence would await Europeans if they came under Russian rule. At first Russia might even appear to favor the recovery of national identities across Europe. It might tolerate, or claim to welcome, the deportation of non-European populations and the reconstitution of ethno-racially homogeneous European states. That is the story Russian propaganda already offers Western right-wing movements – and it is uncomfortably close to the story Bolshevik agitation once offered the national movements of a collapsing empire: support our rise, and your culture will live. The support was a tactical retreat. Once power was secured, the promise was withdrawn.

Russia would repeat the same pattern in Europe. Once German or French particularity began to recover in earnest, the leveling impulse would return. The intellectuals who gave that particularity a voice would be the first to be eliminated. The language that carried it would be the next. Populations would be moved until compact nations no longer sat intact on their own ground – Germans eastward, others westward – and the resulting mixture would be coerced, implicitly or explicitly, to speak Russian and to call itself russkiy. What cannot be left standing, under the Russian world-feeling, is a people that remains itself. What must replace it is a single, uniform linguistic field defined by the Russian language.

A European listener hears this and waits for the blush or the smirk – some sign that the speaker knows he is standing on the wrong side of an obvious contradiction. The sign, however, does not come. That absence is not really a trick of media training. It is the essence of the Russian soul.

In his morphology of cultures, Oswald Spengler assigns to each high culture a specific prime symbol. This symbol expresses itself concretely across the entire life cycle of a culture. It manifests in architecture, music, science, political behavior, and in the way people of that culture experience themselves in relation to the world. The prime symbol permeates everything – from intellectual achievements to everyday instincts.

European Civilization, which Spengler names “Faustian”, lives under the symbol of limitless space. The Greco-Roman world, named “Apollonian”, lived under the symbol of the self-contained body. The Near East, which Spengler names “Magian”, is defined by the symbol of the cavern. Russia, Spengler said, lives under another symbol still: the endless plain.

From that last image alone almost everything that follows can be deduced. The Russian soul is inherently numb to distinctions, even to those between diametrically opposed states of the matter. The plain is undifferentiated, everything along it looks the same. And so is the Russian psyche – for it, different, even opposing, states of the matter feel the same.

Two infinities

Spengler’s method is morphological. He asks what form a culture is, the way a botanist asks what form a plant is. A prime symbol is the metaphor conveying the world-feeling of a culture.

For the Faustian soul that gave rise to the Western Civilization, the prime symbol is pure and limitless space. The Gothic cathedral yearns to the skies, to infinity. The nave is a vector. The organ is sound thrown into volume that has no inherent end. Western oil painting discovers depth and atmosphere; Western mathematics gives rise to infinitesimal calculus, discovers the function, the infinite series, the limit approached and never possessed. Galilean dynamics replaces Classical statics. The explorer, the astronomer, the critic, and the experimentalist are so many occupations of one and the same directedness: towards infinity, without a last station.

These prime symbols carry moral and intellectual consequences that Spengler himself did not isolate into a formal “theory of truth”, but which follow from them with almost mathematical necessity. Among other things, a culture’s prime symbol reveals its characteristic attitude toward truth: what truth is understood to be, where it is thought to reside, and how it may be approached or attained. Since the prime symbols differ fundamentally from one culture to another, so too do their respective conceptions of truth.

European civilization is built on a fundamental reverence for truth. It is in the European nature to dig deeper, to question, to analyze. This impulse is deeply ingrained in the European psyche. In the Faustian world-feeling, the truth exists, but it lies in the depth, and depth has no floor. Thus, the Faustian soul is animated by an ever-deepening quest, a restless drive toward inner complexity, precision, and ultimate clarity. To be European, in this civilizational sense, is to be haunted by depth. Especially the depth of truth.

The infinity in question is vertical. It is the infinity of ever approaching something, but never feeling content that one has reached it. It is the infinity of more and more distinction. A European can spend a lifetime on a single question and feel that he has only begun. Faustian culture is thus defined by the relentless pursuit of truth, however hidden, abstract, or ultimately unattainable it may be. The Faustian spirit is never satisfied with its discoveries and understanding of the world. It seeks to probe, dissect, and penetrate ever more deeply into reality. In this sense, European civilization is defined by depth. Depth is the essence of the Western psyche.

At first glance, the Russian prime symbol of the endless plain also presupposes some kind of infinity. But Russian infinity is of another kind. The infinity Russians experience is quite different, in fact diametrically opposite to the European experience. European infinity is vertical, whereas Russian “infinity” is horizontal. It is the infinity of sameness; it is the infinity of lack of distinctions.

The Russian psyche is inherently indifferent; it is numb to distinctions – including distinctions between obvious truth and glaring falsehood. The endless plain is flat, wide and undifferentiated. Hence, the Russian psyche is marked not by depth, but by breadth – by boundless sameness. And this world-feeling of boundless breadth applies to their attitude towards truth as well. There is no compulsion to search for truth. Because everything is equivalent. Whereas a European digs infinitely deeper and deeper to approach the truth, to find the truth in its purest form, a Russian wanders around infinitely, along the horizontal axis, along the endless plain without being bothered even by the distinction between truth and falsehood. Because along the endless plain everything is the same.

A brief look sideways: body and cavern

Before turning fully to Russia, and its contrast to European Civilization, it is worth placing two other high cultures in view to make the Russian peculiarity visible by contrast. Faustian, Magian, and Apollonian souls do not agree about how truth is reached. But they all agree that an objective truth exists.

The Apollonian soul of Classical antiquity took as its prime symbol the isolated, sensuous body: the statue that can be walked around, the temple that is a crystalline arrangement of loads and members, the city-state that is a visible political body among other visible bodies. Space, for Classical man, is not a boundless container. It is the sum of formed things present to the eye. What is true is what is out there – finite, plastic, local, complete in the daylight. The Olympian gods are perfected bodies. Classical mathematics is proportion among magnitudes. The corresponding attitude to truth is therefore not a quest, but recognition. What is true is the evident form. There is no pathos of the unattainable. There is the pathos of the well-made and the present.

The Magian soul of the Near East – Persian, Jewish, early Christian, Byzantine, Islamic – inhabits another extension entirely. Spengler called it the cavern. It represents an encompassing, meaningful cosmos, illuminated from within, in which the drama of spirit unfolds. Here the decisive truth is concealed from ordinary sight, and its disclosure is possible through revelation and the community’s participation in divine spirit. Human beings can receive and understand truth, but its ultimate authority is divine, perceived and transmitted by the elect and initiated, rather than the achievement of an autonomous individual in an infinite quest.

So, the three cultures differ in the definition of truth and the ways to attain it. The Apollonian sees what is recognizable. The Magian receives what is revealed. The Faustian pursues the infinite. But in all three, there is eventually an objective truth.

The Russian case, however, is inherently different. For the Russian soul, there is no objective truth in the first place. If the endless plain makes every stretch of ground equivalent to every other, then the difference between the true stretch and the false stretch is not a drama. That is what makes the Russian soul peculiar among the great world-feelings Spengler described. The others disagree about the source of truth. The Russian soul doesn’t even recognize the existence of truth.

Numbness to distinctions as a world-feeling

Once the Russian prime symbol is seen, the examples cease to look like a catalogue of hypocrisies and begin to look like different natural manifestations of the same psyche.

Consider first the Russian relation to the dead. The Immortal Regiment – the ritual, born in 2012, in which crowds march with portraits of relatives killed in the war of 1941–45. It reveals something deeper about the Russian realm. The portraits are not tokens of absence. They are treated as company. The dead are not commemorated across a distance; they are walked with, as if the two conditions, life and death, were adjacent rooms rather than mutually exclusive states.

The same gesture appears in a quieter and older practice: to sit at a grave with a bottle and drink “with” the buried man, speaking to him as if the conversation were two-sided. Other cultures honor the dead too. They do not, however, blur the lines between life and death as Russians do.

That numbness has a military price and a military use. A psyche that is numb to distinctions and which does not feel the contrast between living and dead with Faustian sharpness will accept death tolls that would break a Western public. It will also accept fictions about those deaths. The same psyche that can make one drink with a corpse can be told, for instance, that a massacre was committed by its victims.

When Russian forces invaded Ukraine in 2014, they did not do what almost every previous invader in European history has done: admit the crossing. Others might dress invasion in legal formulae, but they won’t claim that no army had crossed the border of a foreign state. Russians did exactly that. They invaded Crimea, then insisted it was a “spontaneous uprising”. Then they invaded Donbas but claimed it was an internal “civil war”. Even as Russian operatives, weapons, and military poured into eastern Ukraine, Russia framed it as “internal discontent”.

Other aggressive powers in the historical record have obfuscated details. Russia, however, went beyond ordinary euphemism or justification: it denied the character of the event itself. The peculiarity is not that an aggressor lied. Aggressors can lie. The peculiarity is the straight face with which Russians can churn out asinine lies in the face of obvious facts – like claiming that 1 + 1 = 5. The same pattern returned in 2022 at Bucha, the Mariupol Drama Theatre and other places in Ukraine: the killings Russians committed were assigned, without blush, to “Ukrainian Nazis”.

Katyn already contained the whole pattern. In 1940, the Soviet state shot more than twenty thousand Polish officers and officials in the forest and then spent half a century attributing the massacre to the Germans. When the attribution collapsed, it collapsed as a file is closed, not as a conscience is torn. The point is not that the lie was eventually admitted. The point is that Russians can carry a lie of that magnitude as a normal load.

That is the same psychological mechanism that defines Lavrov’s sentence at the opening of this essay. When he said that “Russia has not attacked anyone”, he was not searching for a softer word. He was denying the attack outright, while the attack was underway. The sentence is a blatant lie delivered without embarrassment. It is yet another manifestation of Russian indifference to truth, which is numbness to the distinction between opposed states of affairs.

Such numbness to the contrast between obvious truth and glaring falsehood is why Russians managed to convince a sizeable portion of the Western audience of their asinine lies. Because the best way to convince others of your lies is to believe those lies yourself. For Europeans who deeply value truth, such absurd lies would create an emotional and intellectual dissonance. But Russians feel no internal recoil from even the most glaring falsehood. For them lies are equivalent to facts. In fact, this is also how Russian society operates. A Russian will lie to you not necessarily because he wants to take advantage of you, but just for the sake of it – because he feels like it. Their ability to lie nonchalantly is what makes Russians effective manipulators.

This is what makes the West so vulnerable in its engagement with Russia. Many voices still call for dialogue with Russia, for listening to the Russian perspective. But this is the worst kind of advice. A dialogue between Europeans, a people who deeply value truth, and Russians, a people indifferent to truth, is the worst kind of interaction imaginable, where the latter would easily manipulate the former. Such a constellation is essentially asymmetric warfare. It is a psychological mismatch, where the party committed to truth is left confused and disoriented, while the party indifferent to it exploits that confusion to advance its agenda. In this dynamic, truth-seekers are at a structural disadvantage. Whereas manipulators indifferent to truth thrive.

The same numbness to obvious contradictions shows itself in law. Russians are at home with legal ambiguity: what the law says, the de jure, more often than not does not describe what actually happens, the de facto. In a Faustian state that gap would be a scandal. In Russia it is ordinary. The country is called the “Russian Federation”, yet, in reality, it is not a federation, or anything close to one – it is an empire ruled from Moscow. The name and the thing have lived side by side for decades. Moreover, the Soviet Union was not, in practice, a union of equal republics as proclaimed by its name and constitution, but a continuation of the Russian Empire under a different ideological guise, with the other “union republics” effectively subordinated to the Russian imperial center. A European would feel such mismatches as a kind of nausea. Russians do not. They are not bothered by obvious contradictions, or by the manifold discrepancies between written law and practice.

The same mental mechanism manifests itself in the name of the war Russia is currently waging against Ukraine. This is the biggest war in Europe since the Second World War. Yet in official Russian discourse it is still called a “special military operation”. Russians do not recoil from the glaring contradiction, and the government does not expect them to. The contradiction is not resolved; it is simply inhabited. The gap between the thing itself and the word used to define it is obvious, yet in Russian society it produces no inner necessity to make the two correspond.

Russia is the epitome of a place where the de facto contradicts the de jure. Russians are fine with that. Their consciousness does not recoil from obvious contradictions. Because correspondence between written law and its implementation would require being receptive to contradictions when the law is evaded. A cultural realm defined by the endless plain is, however, not receptive to contradictions.

George Orwell, in Nineteen Eighty-Four, thought he was describing the nature of a totalitarian state. Most of his readers have followed him and treated the book as a reflection of communism. However, unbeknownst to him, what Orwell was actually describing in the book is not communism or totalitarianism per se, but the Russian psyche in its purest form. Europeans encountered communist rule through Russia, as a Russian manifestation, and assumed that its features reflect the political system itself. In reality, those features reflect not the political system, but the Russian psyche that feels at home living in contradictions – a psyche represented by the prime symbol of the endless plain.

Look at what Oceania actually does. The Ministry of Truth does not merely hide an awkward document. It nonchalantly rewrites the archive. Winston Smith’s daily work is to drop yesterday’s newspaper down the memory hole and put a new sentence in its place: the chocolate ration has been raised, though it was cut; a war hero named Comrade Ogilvy has always existed, though Winston has just invented him. A photograph of Jones, Aaronson and Rutherford at a Party function in New York – on the very day they later confessed to having been on enemy soil – is not a problem to be explained. It is a scrap to be destroyed.

One day Oceania is at war with Eurasia and is allied with Eastasia. The narrative tells this has always been the case, and that Eurasia has been Oceania’s bitter enemy since time immemorial. But then suddenly, the narrative changes. The orator is nonchalant. Mid-sentence he switches the name of the enemy, and the crowd tears down the old posters as if they had never been hung. Oceania is now allied with Eurasia against Eastasia, as has always been in the past. Now Eastasia is the eternal enemy. No one is expected to be bothered by the blatant contradiction. Doublethink is the name Orwell gave to that state of mind: holding two contradictory beliefs at once, and being untroubled by it.

And here is the gist of the matter: doublethink is not a feature of the communist society (or any totalitarian system) as such, but of Russian society. It is the manifestation of a uniquely Russian mindset represented by the endless plain: a mindset numb to distinctions, a mindset that does not recoil from blatant contradictions, a mindset of radical equivalence. This is how Russian society lives. Seen through the morphology developed here, Orwell was describing something profoundly Russian.

The same world-feeling found a striking expression in a nineteenth-century phenomenon that came to be known as Russian nihilism. The word itself did not originate in Russia. It had entered modern philosophical vocabulary in Germany by the end of the eighteenth century, most notably through Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi, who used it polemically against the idealist philosophy of Fichte. But in Russia the word acquired something more concrete. After Turgenev gave it literary form in Bazarov, the protagonist of Fathers and Sons, the nihilist became not merely a philosophical position but a recognizable social type: the young radical who refused inherited authority, religion, metaphysics, aesthetic convention and traditional morality. Russian nihilism became a broad cultural phenomenon rather than merely an abstract doctrine.

Yet even the name itself is a misnomer when applied to the Russian context. The Russian nihilists did not literally believe in nothing, as the word “nihilism” would suggest. What distinguished them was the intensity of their leveling impulse: no inherited rank, principle, institution or aesthetic value was entitled to reverence.

Seen through the Spenglerian morphology, the significant feature of Russian nihilism is that it subjected distinctions to a radical leveling. What had stood vertically – sacred above profane, noble above common, canonical above vulgar – could be pulled down onto one plane and stripped of authority. From a Spenglerian perspective, one may see in the peculiar intensity with which this impulse took hold in Russia another manifestation of the endless plain: the instinct to flatten hierarchies until nothing possesses authority.

The factory of fakes and show-offs

A culture numb to the distinctions between obvious truth and glaring falsehood will not only lie about its crimes. It will lie about its stature, and it will do so at civilizational scale.

Throughout its history, including now, Russia has been able to present itself as much stronger than it is. It can be reliably called a factory of fakes and show-offs. The important point is not only that the fakes exist. It is that Russians can make others believe them. They hide weakness and backwardness with a straight face, and a large part of the European public accepts the performance: Russia as a strong, developed country with a high culture in the Western sense.

The Potemkin village belongs to the same habit. In 1787 Catherine the Great toured the newly conquered south – Crimea and the lands then called Novorossiya (New Russia). Her favorite, Grigory Potemkin, arranged the display. The story that stuck was this: fake villages were put up along the Dnipro River, peopled for a day, then taken down and rebuilt further along the river so that the Empress would see prosperity twice. Historians argue over how much of the story is literal. That is not the point. The point is that such a thing could have become proverbial only in Russia. Only a soul with an urge to pretend, to produce fakes, to lie, and to lie convincingly, could have given the world that image. In fact, Russia itself is a Potemkin village the size of Eurasia.

Even Russian piety takes this form. The yurodivy, the fool for Christ, is one of the most distinctive figures of Muscovite-Russian religiosity. The type did not begin in Russia. Byzantine Christianity already knew the salos: a man who feigned madness as an ascetic act, walked half-naked, spoke in riddles, and provoked the city in order, so the claim went, to hide his virtue and serve God. In that older form the pretense was a veil. Sanctity was supposed to lie underneath. The crowd was not meant to take the madness itself for holiness; the elect were meant to see through it. Importantly, such type remained, in Byzantium, a vocation of the few. It never became a mass phenomenon among the Greeks, South Slavs, or Ruthenians-Ukrainians. It almost vanished later in the Greek world that had invented it.

What happened in Muscovy-Russia, however, was structurally different and much larger in scale. From the fifteenth century, fool for Christ became a public institution. In Muscovy, holy fools slept on church porches, wore chains or nothing at all, begged, and insulted the powerful. Importantly, they were venerated by the crowds – not only after their death, but even while they lived. Muscovites were treating them as prophets whom even “the very highest” may not control. After their death, many of them were canonized by the church. In other words, the Muscovite-Russian holy fool was greater in scope than the Byzantine archetype.

The Russian Church came to number dozens of yurodivye among its saints. The most famous is Basil the Blessed of Moscow. He walked the city naked, loaded with chains, and was allowed to rebuke Ivan the Terrible. The cathedral on Red Square that foreigners take as the emblem of Russia bears his name. Initially, he was buried under an arch near the cathedral walls. Then, in 1588, during the reign of Tsar Feodor I, he was canonized, and a separate chapel was built over his grave and attached to the main cathedral building. People were going on pilgrimage to that chapel and over time started calling the whole cathedral complex after his name – “St. Basil’s”.

Moreover, differently from Byzantium, the phenomenon of the fool for Christ in Muscovy reflects a society granting holiness to a performance. And performance is the point. The Muscovite yurodivy was not simply a madman whom the Church later pitied. The tradition itself insists that the madness is assumed – a pretense undertaken for God.

For the Magian (Byzantine) soul the world is a cavern. Truth is a substance hidden under a cover and visible to the elect. The Byzantine salos fits that structure almost too well: sanctity is concealed under the mask of madness; the crowd is uncertain; only those with the right inner eye see the light behind the scandal. The pretence serves as a veil that hides the virtue beneath.

For the Russian soul, however, the world is an endless plain, in which distinctions do not hold. The Muscovite yurodivy is not a veil over a secret holiness. He is a public performance that the society views as holiness. There is no veil hiding some virtue under the scandalous behavior. The deliberately assumed performance of madness itself becomes a recognized form of ascetic holiness.

Other Christian cultures also knew ascetics, and Byzantium itself venerated holy fools. What was distinctive in Muscovy was the extraordinary prominence, persistence and cultural authority that holy foolery acquired. Perhaps no symbol expresses this more vividly than the cathedral on Red Square: one of Russia’s most recognizable monuments came to be known as St Basil’s Cathedral, after a Muscovite holy fool buried beside it. The figure who elsewhere remained an exceptional ascetic type had, in Muscovy, become important enough to leave his name upon one of the culture’s defining monuments.

This theatre of assumed madness could acquire an exceptional cultural resonance only within a soul that is already at home with pretense. The yurodivy is a characteristic manifestation of the prime symbol of the endless plain in Russian religiosity: a performance inhabited so completely that it comes to be experienced as equivalent to lived reality, and blessed.

The same world-feeling appears with almost theatrical clarity during the Time of Troubles in the early seventeenth century. Within the space of only a few years, Muscovy produced not one but three successive “False Dmitrys” – three men who claimed, in one form or another, the identity of Tsarevich Dmitry, the youngest son of Ivan the Terrible, who had died in Uglich in 1591. Nor were they alone. More than a dozen pretenders appeared during the Time of Troubles claiming to be lost tsars or tsareviches.

The first False Dmitry was by far the most successful. Appearing publicly as the supposedly surviving son of Ivan the Terrible, he exploited the dynastic crisis surrounding Boris Godunov, attracted substantial military and popular support, entered Moscow and was crowned tsar in 1605. What is moreover noteworthy here is that after his murder in May 1606, almost immediately, rumours began circulating that the man killed in Moscow had merely been a substitute and that the true Dmitry had once again escaped death.

Within a year another man emerged claiming to be that same Dmitry. The Second False Dmitry gathered an army, established a rival court at Tushino and acquired enough support to become a serious challenger to Tsar Vasily Shuisky. After his fall, a third False Dmitry appeared in 1611. The identity of “Dmitry” had, by then, almost ceased to belong to a particular human being. It had become a political role capable of passing from one body to another.

Royal impostors were not unknown elsewhere in Europe. England had Lambert Simnel and Perkin Warbeck; Portugal produced pretenders claiming to be the vanished King Sebastian. What distinguishes the Muscovite case is therefore not the mere existence of an impostor, but the extraordinary proliferation of them and the repeated willingness of substantial groups of people to organize themselves around pretenders.

Seen through the morphology developed here, this historical episode is revealing. Dmitry had died; then the first man who claimed to be Dmitry died; yet “Dmitry” remained politically alive, ready to inhabit another body. The distinction between the original and the imitation, between the dead prince and the living performer, could repeatedly be suspended when circumstances demanded it. Just as the yurodivy turned performed madness into a socially recognized form of sanctity, the Time of Troubles repeatedly transformed performed identity into political reality. In Muscovy, under the right conditions, the mask did not merely conceal the man. The mask could become the man.

This also explains why, in the present Russian state, the security organs are not simply an instrument of government, but they are the government. In Russia, the state itself has acquired the inner form of a security service: obstruction, disinformation, legend, kompromat, the cultivation of agents and controlled opposition. The security apparatus has become the state.

Seen from a Spenglerian vantage, this is not an accidental feature of Putinism. It is the gradual actualization of the Russian prime symbol at a particular stage in the historical development of the realm. Nor did it appear suddenly when Putin entered the Kremlin. Its prehistory reaches deep into the Soviet state. The Communist Party remained formally supreme throughout the Soviet period, but beneath that supremacy existed powerful institutional complexes with their own interests and cultures: the Party apparatus, the armed forces and the state-security organs. The KGB remained subordinate to the Party, yet it possessed something the Party itself increasingly lacked: an organization trained to observe the whole of society from above, accumulate hidden knowledge about individuals and institutions, and operate through deception, fabricated identities and manufactured narratives – through the deliberate creation of falsehoods capable of functioning as political reality.

The career of Yuri Andropov already hinted at what was possible. After heading the KGB for fifteen years, he ascended in 1982 to the highest office in the Soviet system, becoming General Secretary of the Communist Party. The security service had not yet conquered the Party; rather, one of its own had reached the summit by entering the Party hierarchy. But morphologically the episode was suggestive. A structure whose modus operandi is faking and lying had begun producing men capable of ruling the Russian realm.

The collapse of the Soviet Union removed the institution that had previously stood above all the others: the Communist Party. Yet the security apparatus survived the destruction of the ideological system that had once commanded it. It fragmented, changed names and was reorganized, but it did not disappear. The Soviet KGB’s principal domestic successor eventually became the FSB.

Then came a sequence that, viewed retrospectively, almost appears symbolic from the Spenglerian lens. Vladimir Putin, himself a former KGB officer, became director of the FSB in July 1998. In March 1999 he also became secretary of the Security Council. In August Yeltsin appointed him prime minister. On the last day of that year, Yeltsin resigned and Putin became acting president. Within eighteen months, a man formed professionally inside the security apparatus had moved from directing Russia’s principal domestic security service to occupying the presidency itself.

What followed under Putin’s rule was telling. Men from the security services and other coercive structures – the siloviki – entered the presidential administration, government, regional administration and state corporations in large numbers. Seen morphologically, the important point is that the transformation was evolutionary and represented a natural progression. The security-service milieu moved progressively toward the center of power. What had once been one organ of the Russian state increasingly became the state itself. One could say that, among the competing institutional forms inherited from the Soviet collapse, the security-service form proved the most congenial to the emerging Russian order.

And why should this be surprising? What, after all, is the professional world of an intelligence service? It is a world built upon deception: invented identities, fabricated narratives, disinformation, concealment, infiltration, legendirovanie and kompromat. Its métier consists precisely in manufacturing false appearances and making others act upon them as though they were real. The successful intelligence operation creates an alternative version of reality convincing enough to acquire consequences of its own. Lies cease to be occasional instruments and become an entire method of operating in the world.

It is difficult to imagine a political institution more congenial to the Russian world-feeling. A cultural realm whose prime symbol is the endless plain – a realm in which the distinction between truth and falsehood carries little inner weight – eventually finds its consummate political form in an institution professionally devoted to faking identities, manufacturing narratives and inhabiting falsehoods. What the security service practices deliberately as a profession corresponds, on the level of the state, to a deeper cultural disposition toward the interchangeability of the real and the fabricated.

The rise of the security apparatus can therefore be interpreted as something more than the contingent victory of one bureaucratic faction over another. It is the political form toward which the post-Petrine Russian realm had been moving as it was shedding the European pseudomorphosis. Putin’s Russia continues the process initiated by the Bolshevik Revolution: the stripping away of imported Western forms and the re-emergence of older Muscovite instincts beneath them. The ideology has changed from Orthodoxy to Marxism and from Marxism to imperial revanchism; the institutions have changed from prikazy to commissariats and from the Cheka to the KGB and FSB. But beneath those changes, the direction remains recognizable.

From this perspective, the triumph of the security-service milieu is not merely an episode in Russian political history. It is a morphological consummation. The institution professionally devoted to masks, hidden identities and manufactured realities has moved from guarding the Russian state to furnishing the state with its governing form.

Living in a metaverse

This striking capacity to blur the line between truth and falsehood, to treat them as equivalent and interchangeable states of matter, also enables Russians to disengage from daily reality into an imagined world – or a world provided to them by propaganda.

What they imagine does feel very real for them, even though it might starkly contradict the facts on the ground. For radical egalitarians like Russians, the separating line between physical reality and inner fantasy grows thin. They can easily substitute their imagination for the physical reality in a way Europeans cannot.

Many Russians live without indoor plumbing, without proper roads, under conditions that would feel intolerable to others, and still believe that their country is envied, respected and feared. They sincerely believe that the West longs to destroy Russia and seize its resources, though the record points the other way. The West has repeatedly helped keep the Russian state from collapsing, and even now prefers its stability to its chaos. Russians inhabit something close to a metaverse. If that technology ever became widespread, they would adopt it first, and they would be its most loyal users.

That is why so many of them support the current war against Ukraine even as their own lives get worse. They live the victory vicariously and are uplifted by it. For a people who do not keep reality and imagination sharply apart, the imagined greatness of the country is enough to cover daily misery. The belief that Russia is mighty and feared – a nuclear power facing a hostile world – supplies a personal pride that the realities of daily life cannot. As long as the wars Moscow wages, especially now the war against Ukraine, appear to move forward, even by one taken village, many Russians feel fulfilled. The success feels like their own. A small military gain gives them a sense of accomplishment that their circumstances do not.

Vicarious glory thus becomes a substitute for personal success. Misery that would otherwise accumulate is reduced. Millions can accept hardship and still feel raised, even fulfilled. The propaganda offers another reality, and Russians can easily substitute that alternative reality for the one that is in their own homes and outside the door. The psyche defined by the prime symbol of the endless plain does not recoil from the blatant contradictions between the imagined world and the real one.

The same mechanism, however, also works in reverse. If Russia begins to lose in a way that cannot be denied, Russians will feel like losers more deeply than even their abysmal material conditions alone would justify. The 1990s made the pattern clear. When the Soviet Union collapsed, Russian self-esteem collapsed with it. Many came to see themselves as the worst people on earth, the greatest losers among nations. The emotional fall went below even the economic wreckage of those years.

The Endless Plain Enters the Gothic Cathedral

Spengler regarded Petrine Russia as one of the great examples of historical pseudomorphosis: a young culture prevented from developing its own forms because the forms of an older, foreign civilization had been imposed upon it. St Petersburg was the supreme symbol of this condition: a European city deliberately planted on Russian soil, facing westward, built as though Russia could be remade by decree into another Europe. Spengler explicitly describes the foundation of St Petersburg as the beginning of the Russian pseudomorphosis, through which the still-young Russian soul was forced successively into the alien forms of the Baroque, the Enlightenment and nineteenth-century Europe.

The process, however, had begun before Peter. One can already discern its preliminary stages in the seventeenth century, under Peter’s father, Tsar Aleksei Mikhailovich, and especially in the reforms of Patriarch Nikon. Beginning in the 1650s, Nikon sought to bring Russian Orthodox ritual into conformity with contemporary Greek practice. The resulting changes – in liturgy, ritual gestures and religious texts – provoked the great schism of the Old Believers, precisely because many Russians experienced them not as harmless corrections but as an assault upon inherited Muscovite-Russian sacred forms. What Peter later accomplished on the scale of the state had thus been foreshadowed in the Church: the native form was declared defective because it failed to correspond to an external standard.

Spengler saw another, even greater pseudomorphosis in the Middle East. The young Middle-Eastern (Magian) culture developed beneath the immense weight of an already mature Greco-Roman civilization. From Alexander’s conquests onward, and still more under Roman rule, a new soul was forced to express itself through alien Classical forms. Greek philosophical vocabulary, Roman political institutions and the artistic forms of Hellenism remained standing like an enormous shell within which an entirely different world-feeling was coming to life. This is almost the textbook case of what Spengler meant by pseudomorphosis.

Islam, within this interpretation, represents the violent act of liberation. It was the moment at which the Magian world finally acquired an outward form adequate to its inward soul. Spengler himself writes that with Islam, the Magian soul at last found its proper expression and was finally released from the pseudomorphosis under which it had lived for centuries. The old Greco-Roman shell shattered. What had previously been compelled to appear in borrowed forms now appeared openly as itself.

Something comparable happened in Russia with the Bolshevik Revolution, although Spengler regarded Bolshevism as the final consequence of Petrinism (i.e., Western pseudomorphosis) rather than its negation. Marxism itself was Western, rationalistic, urban and social, and therefore, for him, another foreign form imposed upon Russia. But the historical function of Bolshevism should nevertheless be interpreted differently. An imported form can be appropriated by a foreign soul and made to serve purposes radically different from those for which it was created.

That is what happened in Russia. Communism supplied the vocabulary, but the Russian realm supplied the meaning. The ideology was European; the historical energy that seized it was not. Through Bolshevism, Russia destroyed the Petrine social order, annihilated the old Westernized aristocracy and bourgeois intelligentsia, detached culturally from Europe, and created a cultural realm that, despite its Marxist vocabulary, increasingly bore recognizably Russian forms. The Bolshevik Revolution was therefore simultaneously Western in doctrine and anti-Western in historical effect.

Putin’s Russia represents a further stage of the same process. Marxism has been discarded while the deeper historical movement continues. What remains is the progressive stripping away of the Westernizing forms that accumulated from Peter onward and the re-emergence of older Muscovite instincts.

Yet cultural pressure does not operate only in one direction. Strictly speaking, Spengler reserves the term pseudomorphosis for a particular situation: a young culture trapped beneath the forms of an older one. But his own account of Late Antiquity contains something remarkably close to a reverse movement. Once the Greco-Roman (Apollonian) soul had begun to exhaust itself and the Magian soul had become stronger, the relation between them changed. The younger culture no longer merely endured Greco-Roman forms. It began transforming those forms from within.

Spengler explicitly describes this reversal. At first, the religions of the East were forced to assume the form of Apollonian cults. Mithraism, Christianity, the Syrian cults and even Judaism appeared in the Greco-Roman world as though they were simply additional cults alongside the innumerable cults of the ancient city. Each had its temples, rites and local communities. The form remained Apollonian even when the religious feeling contained within it was already Magian.

But as the Classical soul weakened, something extraordinary happened. The direction of assimilation reversed. The old Greco-Roman cults themselves began assuming Magian characteristics. Instead of merely practicing a cult, one increasingly belonged to a religious community. Ritual acquired doctrine. Religious participation acquired the character of belief. A plurality of local cults increasingly came to be understood through the categories of adherence, orthodoxy and community. In Spengler’s formulation, the sum of individual cults began turning into a community of believers.

Historical paganism remained extraordinarily diverse, composed of numerous local cults, inherited rites and religious traditions rather than a single unified creed. Yet the rise of Christianity increasingly compelled these disparate traditions to understand themselves in relation to a universal community of faith that claimed exclusive possession of religious truth. Practices that had never before conceived of themselves as parts of one religious system were gradually drawn into a common opposition to Christianity and, in that very confrontation, began to acquire something resembling a collective identity. From a Spenglerian perspective, this development is itself revealing: the Magian form of religion – the community of believers defined by doctrine and truth – was beginning to reshape even the way the older Greco-Roman religious world understood itself.

Morphologically, the triumph of Christianity in the Roman Empire therefore represented the victory of an entirely different conception of what religion is. The Apollonian cult belonged to a place, a city, or an inherited rite. The Magian Church belonged to a community of believers united by possession of the truth.

Even the Roman emperor was gradually drawn into this transformation. Spengler interprets the late Roman state itself in Magian terms. He attributes Magian characteristics to Diocletian and calls him the first caliph – the sacred ruler of the community of believers. Constantine nevertheless carries the development further: in Spengler’s reading, his conversion effectively changes which community represents the true faith of the empire. The emperor is no longer merely the political ruler of subjects practicing various cults; political sovereignty increasingly acquires the character of guardianship over a community defined by religious truth. In other words, in Late Antiquity, the shell had begun to take the shape of what once lived trapped inside it.

Something analogous is now happening between the Faustian West and Russia. For centuries the dominant direction of influence was obvious. Russia borrowed from Europe. European philosophy, science, technology, military organization, political vocabulary, literature and social manners poured eastward. Even Russian revolutionary thought clothed itself in Western concepts. But cultural influence need not remain permanently asymmetric. An older civilization can eventually begin absorbing the psychological habits of the younger world that once borrowed from it.

Viewed through a Spenglerian lens, several tendencies that increasingly permeate modern Western society bear a recognizably Russian stamp. The suspicion that no source can ultimately be trusted; the reflexive insistence that conflicts rarely contain any meaningful distinction between right and wrong; the reluctance to rank competing interpretations of reality; even the elevation of perpetual experimentation in life into an end in itself – trying one thing after another simply because no path possesses an inherently higher claim than another – all reflect the same movement toward horizontality. What once appeared in the Faustian world as skepticism, openness and freedom of thought increasingly risks being transformed into something quite different: the dissolution of distinctions themselves. In this sense, Russian influence does not necessarily arrive in recognizably Russian forms. It enters through familiar Faustian concepts and quietly alters their inner direction.

The clearest example is the transformation of the Western understanding of skepticism. Skepticism is profoundly compatible with the Faustian soul. Indeed, properly understood, it is one of its characteristic instruments. In line with the prime symbol of the infinite space, the Faustian mind distrusts his findings continuously. Because the truth may be located one layer deeper; and deeper and deeper, till infinity. It questions authorities because authorities may be wrong. It tests propositions, compares explanations, challenges inherited assumptions and devises experiments in his infinite quest to unravel the truth deeper and deeper.

Faustian skepticism therefore has a direction. It is animated by depth. It doubts in order to find the truth – or rather to approach it till infinity. The scientist who refuses to take an established theory on faith does not conclude that every theory is equally valid. He demands better evidence. The historian who distrusts a source does not conclude that every account of the past is merely a “narrative”. He searches for another source, compares testimony, reconstructs chronology and attempts to move closer to what actually happened. The philosopher who dismantles an argument does not deny the possibility of truth. He clears the ground because he wants to penetrate further.

The direction is vertical. This is the same Faustian verticality that appears in the Gothic cathedral, in perspective painting, in infinitesimal calculus, in the telescope and microscope, and in the endless Western compulsion to ask one question after another. There is always another layer beneath the previous one. Every answer opens another depth.

Truth may never be possessed completely. But it exists as the pole toward which inquiry is directed. That distinction is decisive. For when skepticism is detached from this vertical orientation, it changes its nature entirely. Doubt ceases to be a method and becomes a destination. Distrust ceases to mean do not believe this until you have investigated it and comes to mean nothing can ultimately be believed. Pluralism ceases to mean that competing explanations must be tested against one another to find out which one helps approach the truth more closely and begins to mean that no explanation may legitimately claim superiority over another. The existence of many perspectives is transformed from a problem to be overcome into proof that there is no reality beyond perspective.

And here is where the encounter with the Russian world-feeling manifests itself in the Faustian civilization. The Russian world-feeling is horizontal rather than vertical. Its characteristic movement is not toward an objective truth and ever finer distinction, but toward the dissolution of distinctions upon the endless plain. Applied to the Faustian quest for knowledge, this produces a very different kind of skepticism. It distorts and abuses the Faustian soul.

The question is no longer: Which source is reliable? It becomes: Can any source be reliable?

The question is no longer: Which side is telling the truth? It becomes: Surely everyone is lying.

The question is no longer: Which interpretation corresponds most closely to reality? It becomes: There is no objective reality, there are only interpretations.

At that moment skepticism has ceased to serve truth. It has begun to abolish the category. This is the crucial mutation. The Faustian soul doubts because truth matters so much that it cannot tolerate a premature answer. The Russian soul doubts because no answer possesses an inherently higher status than another. Faustian vertical skepticism aims to approach the truth and produces discrimination: finer distinctions, better instruments, more exact measurements, more rigorous standards of evidence. Russian horizontal skepticism produces equivalence: one source against another, one narrative against another, one alleged fact against another, until the exhausted observer concludes that everything is propaganda and that attempting to determine what happened is itself naïve.

Russian nihilism offers an instructive historical precursor (see above). The word was not born in Russia, and nihilism was certainly not exclusively Russian; its European intellectual genealogy is much broader. But it was in nineteenth-century Russia that the nihilist became an especially powerful social type, and Turgenev’s Bazarov made that Russian type famous throughout Europe. An imported intellectual possibility had acquired a distinctly Russian intensity and could then travel outward again. Ideas do not merely move from one culture to another unchanged. They are absorbed, transformed by the receiving culture, and sometimes returned in altered form.

Something comparable is happening to skepticism in the Western world. The West treats doubt as an instrument of inquiry, as a means of approaching truth more closely. The Russian world-feeling transforms doubt into radical equivalence, and transmits this transformation to the West.

The resulting form wears familiar Western clothes: anti-authoritarianism, critical thinking, pluralism, suspicion of official narratives. The vocabulary remains Faustian, but the essence becomes heavily Russified. The Faustian skeptic says: I do not yet know what is true. The Russian, or Russified, skeptic says: there is no reason to believe that truth can be distinguished from falsehood at all. The sentences may sound superficially similar. Spiritually, they are opposites.

In the Faustian world, to question authority once meant that authority must justify itself before truth. Increasingly, in its distorted form as a result of Russian cultural penetration, it came to mean that there is no authoritative source at all. To consider multiple explanations once meant comparing them in order to determine which survived scrutiny. Increasingly it means refusing to rank them at all. To keep an open mind once meant postponing judgment until sufficient evidence had been gathered. Increasingly it becomes a permanent refusal to judge.

The forms remain Faustian. The soul animating them becomes Russian. This is precisely what makes a reverse cultural penetration so powerful – be it penetration of the Magian soul into the Greco-Roman world in Late Antiquity or the ongoing penetration of the Russian soul into the Faustian world since at least the Bolshevik Revolution. The foreign influence does not arrive announcing itself as foreign. It occupies familiar concepts and gradually alters their inner direction and substance. The vocabulary survives: skepticism, freedom of thought, pluralism, criticism, distrust of power. Yet their purpose changes. What once existed to discriminate more accurately between true and false begins to erode the legitimacy of making that distinction in the first place.

In its infinite quest for truth, the Faustian soul is disoriented by the Russian influence. It is being persuaded that the quest itself is meaningless. Depth is replaced by the typically Russian lateral movement – one opinion, another opinion, another source, another narrative, another possibility, endlessly juxtaposed and never ranked. The restless Faustian drive survives, but becomes deprived of direction. It moves incessantly and arrives nowhere.

In modern Western society, the endless plain has entered the Gothic cathedral.

The same clarity, however, is nowhere to be found when it comes to Western Europe’s predicament and the migratory onslaught it faces from Africa and the Middle East. This onslaught did not begin with the recent scenes at Ceuta, nor did it start in 2015, though those remain among the most conspicuous and shocking examples in recent history. The process began in the 1960s, when people from the Third World first began arriving in the West in significant numbers.

It is harder to recognize this as an invasion than it is to recognize Russia’s war on Ukraine. Yet the two are structurally equivalent. The fact that one proceeds in a more gradual and insidious fashion, wrapped in the language of humanitarianism, does not change the underlying reality. The details differ; the essence does not. Both are invasions.

A common objection runs as follows: “But Middle Easterners and Africans do not arrive with guns, tanks, missiles, and drones. They come seeking a better life. How can anyone call them invaders?”

The objection fails on several levels. First, the absence of conventional weapons is a question of capacity, not of intention. Were the populations of Africa and the Middle East able to organize, arm, and project military force on the scale required for a classical invasion, there is little reason to suppose they would refrain from doing so. Lacking those means, they employ the instruments available to them: the exploitation of Europe’s immigration systems, the mobilization of moral sentiment, and tapping into the feeling of guilt among Europeans. The tactics differ, but the objective - displacement and eventual subjugation of the host populations - remains recognizably the same.

Moreover, the justification of “looking for a better life” can be offered for virtually any invader in history. At bottom, invasions occur because, among other things, the invaders seek to improve their own circumstances at the expense of those they invade. The pursuit of spoils, booty, and the resources of the conquered has been an important driving force behind conquest since time immemorial.

One could apply the same “better life” argument to the Huns, the Arabs, the Mongols, the Turks, and the Russians of today. A decisive factor driving each of these peoples into Europe has been the prospect of plunder and enrichment. They killed the men, raped and enslaved the women, and seized the wealth of the host populations. Yes, all of them were motivated by the desire for a better life - and in a narrow sense they achieved it. Their own lives improved through theft, pillage, and violence against the native populations. They achieved that improvement by stripping the native populations of their prosperity, their security, and often their very lives. They provided a “better life” for themselves by depriving the host populations of better lives.

The identical reasoning applies with equal force to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine - the one liberals have no difficulty recognizing as a genuine invasion. Beyond the polished showcases of Moscow and St. Petersburg, Ukraine outstrips much of Russia in both prosperity and everyday refinement. In countless Ukrainian villages one finds indoor plumbing, dependable infrastructure, and ordinary comforts that remain unavailable across wide stretches of the Russian interior. Soldiers recruited from the country’s poorer provinces were often stunned in 2022 by the “riches” they discovered: jars of Nutella on kitchen shelves, functioning household appliances, the modest conveniences of a higher standard of living. Even Yevgeny Prigozhin, the late commander of the Wagner Group, conceded shortly before his 2023 revolt that the opportunity to plunder Ukraine’s wealthier territories ranked among the principal motives for the war.

That same economic desperation sustains the Russian war effort. Recruits are attracted by elevated military pay, lucrative defense contracts, and the tacit prospect of personal gain through looting. Their conduct bears this out: the systematic stripping of refrigerators, toilets, furniture, and entire households from the Ukrainians they kill or expel. One can therefore argue that Russian forces, too, are propelled by the search for “a better life” amid the destitution of their own land. Does this somehow exonerate them? Does it soften their crimes or render the occupation legitimate? Does it make it wrong to call them invaders? Of course not. It leaves entirely intact the demand that they leave Ukraine without delay.

By the same token, the economic motivations of people from the Third World do not absolve them of their invasive character or the harm they inflict. They remain invaders who inflict pain and suffering on native Europeans, just as Russians do to Ukrainians. The crimes that Africans and Middle Easterners commit in Western Europe are of the same brutality that Russians commit against Ukrainians. They erode the West’s integrity, just as Russians undermine Ukraine’s very existence. They are invaders, in the same lineage as their predecessors - the Huns, the Arabs, the Mongols, the Turks, and now the Russians.

Throughout its history Europe has been the object of successive invasions. Its cities have been burned, its men slaughtered, its women raped. Contrary to the familiar leftist narrative, Europe has consistently been the victim of history rather than its perpetrator. Europeans achieved global dominance not because of their inherent evil or exploitative impulse, but in spite of centuries of victimization, and because of their superior qualities: hard work, discipline, and intellect. Europeans rose to dominate the world not because they abused others, but despite having been abused by others for so long.

The Ottoman Turks ravaged southeastern Europe for centuries. Populations were killed or enslaved; entire villages laid waste. Girls were seized as sex slaves; men slaughtered; boys taken and conscripted into the Ottoman war machine as Janissaries.

Under Ottoman suzerainty the Barbary pirates from North Africa terrorized European coastlines for centuries - even far beyond the Mediterranean. Over that span, millions of Europeans were enslaved, castrated, and subjected to brutal conditions by North Africans. Europeans are routinely condemned for the African slave trade, yet far more Europeans were enslaved by Africans than the reverse, and African slave masters treated their European captives with markedly greater cruelty. Moreover, Europeans never invaded African territory in order to seize people by force; those Africans sold into European hands had first been enslaved by other Africans. By contrast, the Barbary pirates physically penetrated European soil and carried Europeans away into bondage.

European history is filled with such episodes. And today the same pattern repeats itself. Europe faces invasion on two fronts: from the east, the Russians; from the south and southeast, Africans and Middle Easterners.

Both are invaders. Both despise Europe and its civilization with every fiber of their being. Both come to pillage, to rape, and to kill. Their methods differ, but their essence remains the same.

The Russians invade in the “traditional” manner - with weapons and armies. Africans and Middle Easterners, for their part, deploy emotional appeals and guilt as their weapons. They arrive with the same intentions as the Russians, merely cloaked in the guise of innocence. That disguise, however, does not alter their nature.

Europeans must finally recognize this equivalence and act accordingly. Europe’s two predicaments must be understood as a single, indivisible challenge. They are not separate or unrelated processes; they are phenomena of the same order.

Treating them as such, and responding to both with matching clarity and resolve, will strengthen Europe’s position against each. To withstand and defeat Russia, Europe requires a stable and proud society - one in which the indigenous peoples of the continent feel secure, at home, and proud of their heritage and history. In the final analysis, the struggle against Russia will rest on indigenous Europeans. They alone regard Europe as their ancestral home and heritage; they are the ones who will take up arms or sustain the economic effort required for victory.

At the same time, the military technology and renewed militarization Europe is developing in response to the Russian threat can also be brought to bear against the African and Middle Eastern states that continue to send or facilitate the movement of invaders. A strong European military will serve as a deterrent to countries such as Morocco, Algeria, Turkey, Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and others that export invaders and then refuse to accept their return. They decline to take their people back? Let them confront the prospect of being bombed into submission. They persist in smuggling invaders across European borders? Let them discover how they fare when those invaders are met with lethal force, or when their own territories face the power of a rearmed Europe.

This recognition will mark the liberation of Europe - not merely a physical liberation through the expulsion of invaders, but, more profoundly, a spiritual one.

The logical inconsistency that has long distorted Europe’s understanding of the world, and the moral inhibitions it has bred, must be overcome. Once Europeans grasp their predicament as a single, coherent whole, the confusion, hesitation, and self-contradiction will fall away. Physically and spiritually free, Europe will not only defend itself against its enemies but prevail over them, neutralizing every threat so thoroughly that noone will endanger Europeans ever again. Europe will rise to new heights. The leftists and open-borders advocates of today will be remembered only as fleeting symptoms of a sickness that European civilization finally cured. When - not if, but when - that day arrives, Europe will be reborn: strong, invincible, and proud of its common history. It will enter its next golden age by remembering clearly what it endured across the centuries at the hands of barbarians, and by ensuring that noone can inflict such misery upon the indigenous Europeans ever again.

In confronting Russia today, Europe cannot afford to rely solely on defense. Defense alone is never enough. To prevail, it must seize the initiative and go into offense. History offers valuable guidance here. One particularly relevant example that I have been often mentioning in my writings is the Great Turkish War (1683–1699), when Central-Eastern Europe faced another existential threat from the East – the Ottoman Empire. Then, as now, Europe was confronted by an expansionist Asiatic power, one that sought to undermine and overwhelm Western civilization.

But instead of retreating inward or simply fortifying their borders, European powers rallied. They formed a broad coalition, repelled the siege of Vienna, and carried the fight into Ottoman-held territories. The war ended not in stalemate, but in decisive victory. The Treaty of Karlowitz (1699) marked the permanent expulsion of the Ottomans from Central Europe. This was a demonstration of what European unity could achieve when animated by shared purpose and the will to strike back.

What made that moment exceptional was Europe’s collective resolve. For once, fragmented states and rival powers set aside their differences to confront a common threat. Their success was not due merely to holding the line – it was because they pushed beyond it. They liberated lands that had endured Ottoman rule for generations, some for over a century. It was this offensive spirit, not mere survivalism, that turned the tide.

However, there is another good historical parallel that proves this point. It is the campaign of Stephen Báthory, the King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania, during the latter phase of the Livonian War (1558–1583). Leading the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and allied with Sweden, Báthory launched a forceful campaign against Muscovy-Russia. His offensive did not simply check Russian ambitions – it destabilized them profoundly, laying the groundwork for what would become the Time of Troubles, one of the darkest and most chaotic periods in Russian history.

After conquering Kazan in 1552, Muscovites under Ivan IV The Terrible turned their greedy gazes westward. The prize now was Livonia: a land of wealthy Hanseatic cities like Riga, Reval (Tallinn) and Dorpat (Tartu), with a prosperous, cultivated countryside and a mostly German urban population. To the Muscovites, Livonia was a glittering gem on the Baltic coast – rich, refined, and, crucially, vulnerable.

Indeed, by the mid-16th century, Livonia was politically fragmented. Once ruled by the Livonian Brothers of the Sword and later incorporated into the Teutonic Order, the region had thrived under centuries of German enterprise and ingenuity. But by the time Ivan IV cast his ambitions there, the old structures had frayed. Internal divisions, conflicting allegiances, and waning military strength left Livonia exposed.

Ivan assumed conquest would be swift and effortless. He saw a land ripe for the taking – just as, centuries later, his spiritual successor Vladimir Putin would convince himself that Kyiv could be seized in a matter of days. This was Ivan’s “Riga in 3 days” moment! The Muscovite war machine, centralized, autocratic, and brutal, against which Livonia seemed to stand no chance, launched its campaign with speed and ferocity. Narva and Dorpat fell quickly. Livonia’s defenses crumbled. The invading Muscovite-Russian forces looted, massacred, tortured and raped with the level of savagery that was unfathomable to Europeans. These were all characteristic Russian behavioral patterns that would repeat throughout history, most recently in Ukraine in places like Bucha, Irpin, Izyum and Mariupol. Prosperous Livonia was devastated by Russian barbarity. It seemed imminent that its gems – Reval and Riga – would soon fall to the Russians too.

But, like his 21^st century successor, Ivan underestimated not just Livonia’s will to resist but, more importantly, the broader European response. Poland-Lithuania, Sweden, and Denmark-Norway began to push back. Their counteroffensives halted the Muscovite advance. Despite early victories, Ivan failed to capture his main objectives – Reval and Riga remained beyond his grasp. What he imagined would be a quick, glorious “special military operation” turned into a long, grinding war.

The consequences for Muscovy were severe. The failure to achieve a decisive victory shook the Tsar’s confidence and sent him into a spiral of suspicion and paranoia. Convinced that betrayal lurked within his own court, Ivan divided his realm into two parts: the Zemshchina, governed by the boyar council, and the Oprichnina, a state-within-a-state under his direct rule.

What followed was a reign of terror. Ivan unleashed the oprichniki, his personal henchmen, on the population. They tortured, executed, and dispossessed thousands with utmost, typically Russian brutality – the kind of brutality that is utterly alien to Europeans. The patterns of this period would be echoed centuries later in the Red Terror of the Bolsheviks and the purges of Stalin’s NKVD.

The Muscovite advance had been stalled, but it had not been reversed. Despite the window of opportunity created by Ivan IV’s mounting instability and paranoia, Europe failed to capitalize. The Russians remained in parts of Livonia, and the opportunity to strike a decisive blow passed – for a time.

Around this same period, the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth entered its own moment of uncertainty. In 1572, the last Jagiellonian king, Sigismund II Augustus, died without an heir, bringing an end to the dynasty. A brief interregnum followed. The first elected king, Henry of Valois, fled to France to claim the throne after the death of his brother, leaving Poland without a monarch once again. Eventually, after considerable internal debate and resistance, the crown was offered to Stephen Báthory, the Prince of Transylvania, who became King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania in 1576.

From the outset, Báthory saw clearly what many in Europe had not: Muscovy was not merely a regional nuisance – it was a rising nemesis of Europe (alongside the Ottoman Empire at the time), and unless it was broken, it would continue to threaten Europe for generations. He understood that it was not enough to contain Muscovy; it had to be confronted directly, even crushed. For too long, Lithuania had borne the brunt of Russian aggression, retreating slowly, losing ground year after year, most painfully the historic city of Smolensk in 1514. That pattern had to end.

Báthory’s strategy was unapologetically offensive. His vision was to drive the war into Muscovite territory, to strike at the heart of the beast rather than merely fend off its claws. But his task was formidable. The Polish nobility – Szlachta – viewed him with suspicion, wary of his efforts to centralize royal authority and strengthen the state apparatus. They were fiercely protective of their “Golden Liberties” and inclined to resist any attempt at consolidation. Báthory also had to bridge the divide between the Commonwealth’s fractious elements – Poles, Lithuanians and Ruthenians, Catholics, Orthodox and Protestants – whose unity was essential for any serious military campaign.

Through shrewd diplomacy and relentless negotiation, he gradually overcame these internal divisions. He convinced the Sejm to approve funding for the war and forged a consensus among the Commonwealth’s competing factions. What he assembled in the end was a truly European army, composed of Poles, Lithuanians, Ukrainians, Belarusians, Germans, Hungarians, and bolstered by an alliance with Sweden.

Báthory’s campaign was a masterpiece of strategic clarity and political resolve. His forces expelled the Muscovites from Livonia entirely, reclaiming territory that had seemed lost. But he didn’t stop there. He carried the war deep into Muscovite soil, capturing Velikiye Luki and laying siege to the city of Pskov, bringing the Tsar’s forces to the brink of collapse.

The war concluded with the Treaty of Jam Zapolski in 1582. It restored the pre-war borders and Muscovy had been humbled – its territorial ambitions thwarted, its armies exhausted, and its prestige diminished. More importantly, the campaign demonstrated that when Europe acts decisively and in concert, it can not only contain Russian aggression but push it back.

The failure of Muscovy’s Livonian campaign set in motion a chain of events that would plunge the Tsardom into crisis. Ivan IV’s Oprichnina had already devastated the realm, eroding its economic base and leaving deep scars on its political fabric. The Tsar himself was descending further into paranoia and brutality. Then came the infamous moment that has echoed through history: in a fit of rage during a quarrel, Ivan struck his eldest son – also named Ivan – a fatal blow. The blow not only killed his heir but, as his daughter-in-law, who was present during the scuffle, miscarried soon afterward, also endangered his direct bloodline (which would eventually be extinguished) in a single instant. This loss contributed to the succession problem that would erupt decades later into the Time of Troubles – a period of famine, war, and near-collapse for Muscovy.

For Stephen Báthory, however, the victory in the Livonian War was not the end but the beginning. Livonia was free, but Muscovy still stood. It was wounded but not killed. It was vulnerable and momentarily disoriented – a rare alignment of circumstances that could have allowed the Commonwealth to strike a decisive, perhaps fatal, blow. Báthory’s aim was to march on Moscow itself, to crush Muscovite power at its core and end the threat to Europe for generations to come.

The Commonwealth, however, did not share his vision. The Szlachta, absorbed in their own privileges and rivalries, refused to fund another campaign. The Sejm blocked his requests, preferring short-term comfort to long-term strategic vision. The moment slipped away. Then in 1586 Báthory died, and with him died the best chance in centuries to permanently neutralize Muscovy.

Muscovy, for its part, moved quickly to disguise its weakness. It projected strength abroad, exaggerating its capabilities and hiding its fragility. It also sought to disrupt and confuse its enemies through political manipulation. When the Commonwealth faced the task of electing a new king, the Russians cynically put forward Tsar Feodor as a candidate – knowing he had no real chance of winning. The point was not victory, but distraction: to sow confusion, stir debate, and buy precious time to recover.

This episode was an early demonstration of a pattern that would become a hallmark of Russian modus operandi for centuries to come. Whether in the 16^th century, under the Soviet Union, or currently under Putin, Russia has repeatedly succeeded in persuading much of the West that it is a formidable military power. In reality, its strength has often been brittle, its victories dependent on opponents’ hesitation rather than its own invincibility. Through successful deception Russia has always managed to appear much stronger than it really is. Moreover, it has always striven to manipulate and sow confusion within its adversaries – be it in the 16^th or the 21^st century.

If Russia has ever mastered one craft, it is the art of bluff. For centuries, it has been a factory of deception – carefully curating an image of power to paralyze adversaries with doubt, delay decisive action, and manipulate them to its advantage. This was as true in the 16^th-17^th centuries as it is in the 21^st century. And it remains one of the most dangerous illusions for Europe to fall for.

After Báthory’s death, the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth elected Sigismund III Vasa as king – and with him, nearly everything that could be done wrong was done wrong. He lacked Báthory’s strategic vision and clarity of purpose. Where Báthory had understood the necessity of decisive action against Muscovy, Sigismund became consumed by internal and sectarian concerns.

One of the Commonwealth’s great strengths until that point had been its tradition of religious tolerance. While much of Europe in the 16^th century was torn apart by confessional wars, Poland-Lithuania had avoided them, allowing its diverse populations – Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant – to coexist. This unity had been vital in moments of crisis, such as Báthory’s Muscovite campaign, when internal cohesion enabled the Commonwealth to act with speed and focus against an external threat.

Sigismund, however, undermined this balance. A staunch and uncompromising Catholic, he pursued policies aimed at forcing the Orthodox Ruthenian population – Ukrainians and Belarusians – to accept papal supremacy. His pressure culminated in the Union of Brest in 1596, which brought parts of the Orthodox hierarchy into communion with Rome. While intended as a unifying measure under the Catholic Church, it had the opposite effect: alienating large swathes of the Orthodox population, particularly the Cossacks in Ukraine. Over the decades, resentment deepened, setting the stage for the Khmelnytsky Uprising fifty years later – a cataclysm from which the Commonwealth would never fully recover.

Sigismund’s religious intransigence also sabotaged a potentially transformative geopolitical opportunity. As a member of Sweden’s royal Vasa line, his accession opened the door to a dynastic union between Poland-Lithuania and Sweden – two of the most powerful states in north-eastern Europe. Together, their combined military and naval strength would have crushed Muscovy once and for all, reshaping the balance of power in the region and stably entrenching European Civilization at Europe’s northeastern frontier. For Muscovy, such an alliance would have been a nightmare. Yet Sigismund’s sectarian stubbornness and political missteps ensured that this union never materialized. Instead, relations with Sweden soured, culminating in open conflict.

Most critically, Sigismund squandered the most promising moment in history to destroy Muscovite power: the Time of Troubles. During this period, Muscovy was wracked by famine, internal rebellion, and competing pretenders to the throne – the so-called False Dmitrys. It was a moment when the Tsardom was at its weakest, teetering on the edge of collapse. A decisive, united, and well-coordinated intervention – especially in alliance with Sweden – could have ended the Muscovite threat for generations.

But Sigismund hesitated. Instead of committing the full might of the Commonwealth’s forces, much of the so-called “Polish intervention” consisted of private mercenary bands recruited by the Muscovite pretenders themselves. Sigismund’s regular army entered the conflict only later, and even then, it was not with the full weight of the Commonwealth’s military strength. By the time Polish forces reached Moscow, the moment had passed. Muscovite insurgents regrouped, rallied, and struck back.

Had Stephen Báthory still been alive, it is hard to imagine him letting such an opportunity slip away. For him, the Time of Troubles would have been the moment to press the attack, to finish what he had begun, and to reshape the fate of Eastern Europe. Instead, under Sigismund, the Commonwealth traded strategic vision for sectarian politics – and the chance to remove the Muscovite threat at its weakest was lost.

The lessons of the Livonian War and its aftermath should resonate with us today, as we face our own “Livonian War” in the form of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. In fact, this might even take on a more literal meaning as Russia is also poised to invade the Baltic states – the territories of the former Livonia. The parallels are striking. Now, as back then, the Russian advance has stalled, yet the enemy still occupies large swathes of territory. In the late 16^th century, before Stephen Báthory’s campaign, Livonia remained partly in Muscovite hands despite the stalemate. Today, parts of Ukraine remain under Russian control. And just as then, this is not a situation Europe can accept as a permanent reality.

But we must think beyond the immediate goal of liberation. Yes, Ukraine’s occupied territories must be freed – on that there can be no compromise – but even that will not be enough. The war will not truly be over until Russia itself is broken, until its capacity to wage war against Europe is destroyed. That means taking the fight onto Russian soil, as Stephen Báthory envisioned, but never had the chance to do. Because as long as Russia remains intact, it will continue to undermine Europe – whether through direct military aggression or through subversion, manipulation, and psychological warfare, just as it did after its defeat in the Livonian War.

History gives us two contrasting models. The Livonian War shows us what happens when a victory is left incomplete: Muscovy survived, recovered, and came back stronger. The Great Turkish War shows us the opposite: after Vienna was saved in 1683, Europe carried the war deep into Ottoman territory, and by the Treaty of Karlowitz in 1699, the Ottoman Empire was expelled from Central Europe forever. One was a missed chance. The other was a decisive blow from which the enemy never recovered.

So the question before us is stark: will the war in Ukraine end as another Livonian War – or as another Great Turkish War? At present, we have not yet even achieved what Báthory achieved – namely, the full liberation of the territories seized by the aggressor. But the answer should be clear. We must not stop halfway. We must embrace the vision that Báthory could not realize in his lifetime, the vision that his successors applied so effectively against the Ottomans a century later. Europe must carry the war to Russia itself and win total victory – victory on Russian soil – so that it can never again recover, just as the Ottoman Empire never recovered after Karlowitz.

This will require Europe to step out of its comfort zone. The goal must not be the false and fragile “peace” so often peddled as an excuse for inaction, but victory – total, irreversible victory. One could argue that Muscovy’s survival after the Livonian War was due in part to its historical momentum: it was still a young and ascending power, full of passionarity, able to absorb blows, adapt, and strike back. The Ottoman Empire at the end of the 17^th century, by contrast, had passed its zenith. Its internal dynamism was gone, and when the blow came, it could not rise again.

Today’s Russia is far closer to that late-Ottoman condition than to Muscovy during its ascendance. Its peak is long past. Its military and economic vitality have been sustained not by its own strength, but by the West’s hesitation – and at times, by the lifelines the United States has extended at critical moments. Its aggression now rests less on inherent power than on the weakness and division of its adversaries. And after the failure of its Ukrainian campaign, it stands uniquely fragile, internally unstable, and vulnerable to decisive action.

This is the moment Europe’s ancestors would have seized without hesitation. The only question is whether today’s Europe can rise to the occasion. This opportunity will not last forever. If Europe falters, Russia will recover – as it has before – and the cost of defeating it later will be far greater. But if Europeans act boldly, with unity, clarity, and the will to finish the fight, then Kyiv 2022 will be remembered as “Vienna 1683” moment of Russia – the turning point that ensures Europe’s final victory over the Russian threat.

Yet, the most profound question Europe faces today is not geopolitical, but rather moral and civilizational. Fundamental questions are emerging about what it truly means to be European and how to define “Europeanness”. Clarifying these core concepts is paramount to any meaningful discussion about the unification of the continent.

Today, Europe is confronted by two extremes. On one hand, it is being pulled back into the gravity of petty nationalism. This is essentially the vision promoted by the populist, national sovereigntist Right. On the other hand, however, Europe is caught in a different but equally corrosive current: a radical, flattening universalism that seeks to erase all distinctions, all boundaries, all rootedness. This view is promoted by mainstream left liberals.

In the Western world, the dominant worldview today revolves around the idea that empathy must be expanded endlessly – until every human being on the planet is equally embraced. At first glance, this impulse may seem noble. But beneath its surface lies a spiritual void. Because when empathy is expanded to include everyone, it risks meaning nothing. When everyone belongs, noone truly belongs.

The total empathy that an individual human can manifest is of fixed amount. When it is indiscriminately distributed across all of humanity, its power is diluted – i.e., the net empathy each human receives becomes negligible. The math is simple: if empathy is finite, and you divide it among a lot of people, each receives little. This is essentially what Western liberal universalism demands: the dispersal of attention, emotion, and allegiance under the banners of tolerance, diversity, and multiculturalism. But by trying to love everyone equally, one risks loving noone meaningfully. By trying to maximize the breadth, he sacrifices the depth of feeling. The result is a thinning out of identity, a kind of emotional entropy.

On the opposite end of the spectrum lies petty nationalism. Unlike liberal universalism, it narrows empathy rather than disperses it – focusing all care and concern on a narrowly defined in-group. It deepens feeling at the expense of reach. Following the same math, if you divide the finite amount of empathy among fewer people, each receives more. But those left outside the circle receive nothing. And when the circle is drawn too tightly, it breeds hostility. It fosters the hatred of one’s closest neighbor, even when that neighbor shares the same roots, the same fate, the same historical memory and the same enemies.

This is the true danger: that in narrowing their sense of solidarity, some European nations and movements are turning their animosity not toward an existential enemy that once enslaved them – but toward each other. Today they often drift to Russia. But they do that not because they really admire Russia, but because they lack the emotional range to maintain unity with their neighbors. Due to lack of a larger circle of empathy, they end up hating their fellow European neighbors more than they dislike Russia. And Russia, parasitic as ever, knows exactly how to exploit this. It feeds on these resentments like a vulture circling a wounded animal, encouraging division, inflaming old grudges, and keeping Europe fragmented.

Petty nationalism is not new. It is one of Europe’s oldest afflictions. Long before the current wave of liberal universalism, Europe was ravaged by its own tribalism. The continent tore itself apart in endless fratricidal wars. The First and Second World Wars were the culmination of this tendency to elevate the narrow petty identity above any broader sense of shared destiny.

Today, both extremes – petty nationalism and limitless universalism – are failing Europe. The former forgets the common good in favor of parochial pride and narrow short-term “interests”. The latter forgets identity altogether in pursuit of an abstract sameness. Both lead to vulnerability. Both make Europeans easy prey for enemies like Russia.

Thus, Europe today is caught between two dead ends: open-border limitless universalism that dissolves identity into abstraction and petty nationalism that clings to old wounds and sees allies as adversaries. Each in its own way undermines Europe’s cohesion. Each drains the instinct for self-preservation. And both leave Europe weak and vulnerable.

If Europe is to survive and rise to new heights it must transcend both. Universalism flattens our sense of who we are – it deprives us of depth; petty nationalism narrows the identity to the point of suffocation – it deprives us of breadth. One leaves us too detached to defend ourselves. The other too divided to stand together. In this vacuum, there can be no real unity, no common front, and no common sense of destiny.

On one hand, it is necessary to expand the circle of empathy so that Europeans do not stand isolated. And on the other, as you gradually expand the circle of empathy, at some point you must draw a boundary – you must stop the expansion, you need to discriminate – in order for that enlarged circle to retain its emotional depth. So that empathy, as a finite resource, is not dissipated too much.

What is needed therefore is a new synthesis – civilizational nationalism.

Civilizational nationalism is the true universalism that carries both meaningful depth and enough breadth. It balances depth of feeling with breadth of feeling. It bridges the chasm between abstract cosmopolitanism and parochial tribalism. It carries the emotional depth of real belonging while expanding its scope to include the full European family. It is rooted in common ancestry, shared historical memory, and the recognition of common destiny.

Europe cannot be defined solely based on values, like liberalism, freedom and democracy. Sure, these are unique manifestations of European essence and important achievements of European civilization that need to be cherished. But they are not what define Europe. Europe is not an ideology. It is a civilization defined by common ancestry of its members, their shared heritage and historical memory. Its roots go back to the rise of Ottonians and Capetians in the 10th century, rising from the ashes of Charlemagne’s empire. Europe was Europe long before it became liberal and democratic. In that early medieval world, no one spoke of “human rights”. No one could articulate “liberal values”. But this doesn’t make people of that era less European.

Civilizational nationalism does not mean retreating behind national borders, nor does it mean dissolving them into global sameness. It means forging a broader identity that gives meaning to the word “Europe”. It provides substance to the definition of “European”. It means recognizing that Poles, Ukrainians, Romanians, Hungarians, Germans, French, English and others are not simply neighbors by geography – but kin with shared ancestry and historical memory. That there is no need for Europeans to choose between their individual nations and the whole civilization.

Petty nationalists, such as Viktor Orban or members of the AfD, frequently justify their anti-Ukrainian stances and push for rapprochement with Russia by claiming to defend Hungarian or German interests. Furthermore, they present this position in an aura of moral superiority. They assume the moral high ground, arguing that safeguarding the narrow “interests” of an individual European state is an inherent virtue – even when it comes at the direct expense of a fellow European nation and involves making deals with an enemy of Europe like Russia.

This stance, however, is a profound perversion of morality. There is no moral virtue in defending the alleged “interests” of one European nation if it means abandoning another that is fighting for its survival against an anti-European power. Rather than being morally virtuous, the position of these petty nationalists is reprehensible. Ultimately, there are no strictly Hungarian, German, French, or Polish interests; there are only European interests. The self-contained unit that has valid interests which need to be defended is not Hungary, Germany, France, or Poland – it is Europe. Moreover, “interests” of an individual European nation cannot be fundamentally opposed to the survival of a fellow European state like Ukraine. Therefore, those who adopt this parochial mindset are not true defenders of their nations’ interests; they are traitors. This is the proper term to define them, not “defenders of national interests”. They are traitors to the broader European family.

Even well-meaning supporters of Ukraine sometimes fall into this mental trap. For instance, in an interview with the conservative German weekly Junge Freiheit – a publication largely sympathetic to the Ukrainian cause – Tim Schramm, an AfD member who notably fought for Ukraine against Russia, was asked whether he considered himself a German or a Ukrainian patriot. But this is a false dichotomy. Such a question is fundamentally flawed because one cannot truly conceive of German patriotism in isolation from Ukrainian patriotism, and vice versa. There can be no distinct, isolated German, Ukrainian, French, or Polish patriotism; they are all one. There is only European patriotism.

Historically, Europe has been moving steadily toward closer integration and a deeper recognition of its underlying unity. Already in the 19^th century, Europeans could travel around Europe into different countries without the need to show their passports. This momentum toward European unity, which was already being felt and intellectually conceptualized in the 19^th century, was violently interrupted by two World Wars – conflicts that were, at their core, bloody internecine struggles. Yet, the broader trajectory of history remains steadfast. While there may be detours and zigzags, the overarching current cannot be halted. Europe’s natural historical progression leans toward closer integration, unification, and ultimately, a European civilizational state. It continues to move unstoppably in this direction despite the turbulent zigzags of the past and distractions of the present. Civilizational nationalism provides precisely the moral and intellectual framework essential for embracing a unified European identity and realizing this unification.

Only such a framework can provide Europe with the spiritual architecture to triumph over external enemies like Russia and to reach new heights. A Europe that draws strength from its common ancestry and historical memory – in other words, Europe that espouses civilizational nationalism – that Europe would no longer be weak and vulnerable. It would become something stronger than the sum of its parts.

And that Europe would be meaningful. It would be inspiring. It would possess the identity expansive enough to unite hundreds of millions of people, yet intimate enough to be deeply felt by every single European. That Europe would be unstoppable.

Russia recently introduced a draft law permitting the deployment of its troops for the defense of Russians abroad. For any keen observer familiar with Russian tactics, this signals a clear willingness to invade foreign sovereign nations – and they are actively laying the legal groundwork to justify it.

Given the specific emphasis on protecting “Russians abroad”, the implication heavily points toward the Russian-speaking populations in the Baltic states, particularly in Estonia and Latvia. Corroborating this thesis, there has been a recent surge in activity on social media channels discussing the “Narva People’s Republic” and pushing the narrative that Russians are “suffering” under Estonian rule. Taken together, these developments suggest a Russian attack is imminent.

Skeptics might counter this prediction. They will point out that unlike Ukraine, the Baltic states are members of NATO, protected by the Article 5 mutual defense clause. Russia, they will argue, would not dare risk a direct war with NATO. Estonians, Latvians, and Lithuanians in particular might cling to the hope that their NATO membership guarantees bulletproof security.

But they would be gravely mistaken. Ultimately, NATO’s Article 5 is merely an agreement, and abiding by any agreement is, first and foremost, a moral decision. Consider this: deciding whether to defend Ukraine against a barbaric Russian invasion was also a moral decision. Those who argued against coming to the rescue of a fellow European nation facing existential destruction – citing arguments that Ukraine is not in NATO, or that the West must not risk a “confrontation” or a “nuclear war” with Russia – were essentially taking an immoral stance. The choice to abandon an innocent victim to a savage aggressor is a moral failure and speaks to the inherent immorality of its proponents.

Now, imagine this scenario: do you truly expect the same people who refused to adequately protect Ukraine or accept it into NATO – out of fear of Russia’s nuclear arsenal – to suddenly abide by the agreement enshrined in Article 5? In other words, why should you expect the people who have already demonstrated their inherent moral corruption by taking one immoral stance, not to take another immoral stance? What is to prevent them from using the exact same perverse immoral logic, claiming that “honoring Article 5 is not worth triggering a nuclear confrontation”? Why assume that people who have already justified abandoning a fellow European nation to brutal genocide will magically honor a contract for another? Article 5 is not a magic wand that guarantees protection. On its own, it does not make NATO members intrinsically more secure against invasion than non-NATO members; its implementation is entirely dependent on the moral compass of people bound by it. As the response to Ukraine demonstrated, moral resolve is sorely lacking among many European policymakers. That is the real risk.

Opponents might present a second argument: Russia is bogged down in Ukraine. They will claim that Russia has depleted its resources and simply cannot afford to open a second front. If Russia cannot defeat Ukraine, the logic goes, how could it possibly take on NATO?

This logic is flawed for several interconnected reasons. First, as previously argued, NATO might hesitate to intervene, or fail to show up at all. More importantly, even if NATO were to mobilize, Putin might think differently. He might well believe that NATO is unlikely to intervene and that occupying the Baltic states would be a walk in the park. And from a strictly military standpoint, he might be right; the Baltic countries are significantly smaller and less militarily prepared than Ukraine. Just because Russia stumbled in Ukraine does not guarantee it will stumble in the Baltics.

Furthermore, while Russia has been unable to defeat Ukraine – partly because Ukraine adapted exceptionally well to the realities of modern combat – Russia has adapted, too. It may not have become stronger than Ukraine, but it could very well have surpassed NATO armies in certain critical domains, specifically drone warfare. Unlike Ukraine, the Baltic states and the broader NATO alliance currently seem ill-prepared for this new paradigm of war. Russia, battle-tested by its experience in Ukraine, is well-prepared. Putin likely believes that while he cannot overpower Ukraine, he can certainly overpower the Baltics.

Finally, the fact that Russia is failing in Ukraine is not a reason for it not to open a second front; paradoxically, that very failure might be the exact justification for Russia to do so. On a tactical level, the Baltics appear like easier prey. But also on a deeper psychological level, let’s look at it from Putin’s perspective. If he is losing in Ukraine – a non-NATO country – expanding the war to attack NATO directly could frame a potential defeat as more honorable and excusable. Full-scale confrontation with NATO would make the devastating hardships of war easier for the Russian public to digest. By attacking NATO countries – and predictably framing it as a “defensive” war – Putin can more convincingly claim that the “satanic” West has united against Russia, and that the country is fighting for its very survival. This propaganda trick could finally be used to justify full domestic mobilization. It would no longer be a “special military operation”, but an open full-scale holy war against the “evil West”.

Furthermore, Russia may not even need to launch a full-scale conventional invasion. It can simply replicate its 2014 Donbas playbook. By dispatching operatives and military personnel to cities like Narva or Daugavpils – while simultaneously activating pre-existing intelligence networks – Moscow can manufacture a crisis. They will rely on the same manipulative narrative utilized in Ukraine and throughout Russian history: framing an orchestrated destabilization campaign as an organic, grassroots uprising of ethnic Russians fighting for their rights against “oppressive” Estonian and Latvian governments. This is the standard Russian modus operandi: completely inverting the roles of victim and perpetrator, and disguising their invasion as a domestic “civil war”.

Shockingly, when this tactic was deployed in the Donbas, much of the West swallowed the narrative. What began in eastern Ukraine in 2014 was by no means an organic uprising; it was a Russian invasion cloaked as an internal conflict, facilitated by local collaborators long cultivated by the FSB.

This type of geopolitical manipulation closely mirrors the psychological dynamics of personal abuse. The abuser strikes, then outright denies the attack ever happened. By feeding the victim a barrage of absurdities that contradict reality, the abuser slowly forces the victim to doubt their own sanity. Was I really hurt? Am I overreacting? Is this my fault?

This is precisely how Russians treated Ukraine for years prior to the 2022 full-scale invasion. They annexed Crimea and called it a “spontaneous uprising”. They invaded the Donbas and labeled it a “civil war”. Even as Russian operatives, weapons, and troops poured across the border, Moscow flatly denied any involvement. The true danger of this manipulation is that it corrodes a nation’s sense of reality. It leaves victims and their allies paralyzed, wondering if their outrage is even justified. Ukrainians were subjected to this exact abuse: invaded, and then gaslit into wondering whether they were imagining it.

Russia is highly likely to attempt this exact strategy in the Baltic states: invade, then deny it. This exposes NATO’s greatest vulnerability. A hybrid, manipulative invasion of this nature will trap the Alliance in endless, futile debates over whether an “actual” attack has occurred, effectively stalling the invocation of Article 5. Meanwhile, Russia will rely on its allies and useful idiots in the West – figures like Viktor Orbán or Robert Fico – to amplify its narrative. They will argue that unrest in Narva is a purely internal Estonian matter, that the rights of the Russian minority are being trampled, and that an “evil, warmongering EU” is aggressively provoking Russia. Ultimately, they will argue that Russia is the true victim and deserves to be heard.

Furthermore, Russia will find eager sympathizers among Western leftists. Moscow will peddle the notion of infringed minority rights, painting a picture of “poor” Russians being abused by “fascist” Baltic governments. Here again, the victim and perpetrator are inverted. It must be clearly understood: current Russian-speaking populations in the Baltic states are descendants of Russian invaders. The very invaders who have raped, murdered and tortured Baltic people, pillaged their towns and then settled in those conquered lands. Or in other cases descendants of Russians who were deliberately resettled into those conquered countries by the Soviet government in order to dilute the proportion of the native population – an act of ethnic replacement.

However Russian propaganda presents the Russians in the Baltic states as some kind of indigenous inhabitants whose customs and language must be respected. In reality, however, they are the descendants of the very perpetrators against the actual indigenous populations. They were resettled there to deprive the native Baltic peoples of their rights and freedoms. Upon regaining independence, the Baltic states would have been entirely justified in treating them as colonizers who bear the demographic and moral legacy of their ancestors’ crimes, and expelling them. Instead, the Baltic nations exercised remarkable restraint, asking only that these populations integrate, learn the national languages, and abandon their allegiance to the Soviet past.

Yet, from the very beginning, Russian propaganda weaponized these civilized integration efforts, framing them as “suppression” and “fascism”. Unfortunately, this deceitful framing often finds fertile ground in the West, ignoring the fact that Estonians and Latvians are the historical victims, whereas the Russian populations in those states are the actual perpetrators.

Ultimately, these manipulative tactics are designed to slowly erode Europe’s resilience. By employing this strategy, Russia can gradually destabilize the continent and absorb territory after territory without Europe ever officially admitting it has been attacked. Stripped of a clear-cut justification to respond to Russian aggression, Europe will remain paralyzed – first and foremost morally – trapped in a cycle of self-doubt, wondering if the Baltic peoples are somehow to blame and if the Russians are not entirely guilty.

Europe’s actions must therefore be swift, unapologetic, and bold. There is no time for endless deliberations or clumsy bureaucratic procedures. Crucially, the requirement for unanimity – which ought to be abolished regardless – must be bypassed so that bad-faith actors like Viktor Orbán and Robert Fico cannot thwart joint European efforts.

European nations must stop relying on NATO. Trump’s America will not come to the rescue of the Baltic states; it will never antagonize Russia. Europe is on its own. Furthermore, waiting for an EU-wide consensus would be a fatal error, as it would mire the war effort in futile negotiations. Instead, a separate coalition of NATO and EU members alongside Ukraine must emerge that will operate independently of these cumbersome institutional structures.

A core, rapid-response alliance must be forged immediately between the Baltic states, Ukraine, Poland, Romania, and the Nordic countries, with Germany, France, and the UK likely joining the fold. The objective of this alliance must not be merely to defend a European country at the specific time and place of a Russian attack. Its explicit aim must be to take the fight to Russian soil the moment Moscow escalates.

For too long, Europe has trapped itself in a purely defensive posture – a strategic blunder that has cost it dearly and resulted in squandered opportunities. A strictly defensive mindset, paralyzed by the fear of “escalation”, guarantees defeat before the battle even begins. This mindset must be abandoned. The moment Russia escalates – whether through a direct invasion or by inciting local proxies to declare a “Narva People’s Republic” or a “Daugavpils People’s Republic” – this European coalition must strike Russia in response. Without hesitation. Without pathetic fears of “escalation”. Without going into endless paralyzing debates about whether Europe was really attacked by Russia.

This offensive can take several forms. First, the European alliance should be prepared to cross into Russian territory. For instance, Russia shares a massive, largely unprotected border with Finland. Moscow has felt so confident in its western flank that it freely relocated troops and resources to Ukraine. Russia must be stripped of this comfort; it is strategically absurd to allow it. Any destabilization in Estonia or Latvia must be immediately recognized as a 100% Russian act of war triggering a direct incursion into Russian territory, whether from Finland, from Poland and Lithuania toward Kaliningrad, or into Belarus, which essentially functions as a Russian-occupied territory.

Additionally – and not mutually exclusive with ground operations – Europe must be prepared to strike Moscow and other critical Russian targets using long-range weaponry, such as Taurus missiles. The alliance should also leverage Ukraine’s highly advanced drone technology. Drones should launch toward Russia not only from Ukraine, but from the Baltics, Finland, Poland, and beyond. After all, Russia routinely fires missiles and drones at Ukraine, not only from its own but also from Belarusian territory. Russia must not be allowed to feel safe. The Russian populace and leadership must lose the arrogant assumption that they can bomb Europe from the absolute safety of their own borders without facing the exact same devastation at home.

Why is it that Russia is permitted to bomb European cities – currently in Ukraine, and quite possibly in other nations soon – while Europe remains psychologically paralyzed, terrified of striking back at Russia? Such a state of affairs is unacceptable.

Europe has already missed golden opportunities to crush Russia simply due to its over-reliance on NATO consensus and American leadership. For example, while Russia was deeply bogged down in Ukraine, Poland could have decisively intervened in Belarus. This would have been a masterstroke, permanently tilting the balance of power in Europe’s favor. But Poland could not act alone; it was constrained by the expectation of US and NATO approval. By outsourcing their military decisions to NATO, individual European nations have surrendered their freedom of action. Why is it acceptable for Russia to attack Europe, but utterly taboo for Europe to attack Russia? It is strategic insanity. This timid, subservient stance must finally come to an end.

Europe has faced barbarian invasions in the past, and each time, it has emerged triumphant. At pivotal moments in history, Europeans have managed to set aside their differences, make swift, effective decisions, and not only defend themselves but utterly defeat their invaders. The last time Europe faced a predicament of this magnitude was during the Ottoman expansion. At the end of the 17th century, Turks stood at the gates of Vienna. But Europeans united; they not only repelled the assault on the city but pressed forward into occupied territory, eventually driving the Turks out of Central Europe and permanently crippling their offensive capabilities.

Today’s Russian threat mirrors the Ottoman menace of centuries past. The Siege of Vienna ultimately catalyzed Europe’s rebirth, ushering in an era of unprecedented greatness and global influence. The same must happen with the Russian threat. Yes, Russia will attack Europe – and in a grim sense, this will be exactly what Europe needs. It will finally force the continent to unite and fight. The goal must not merely be to repel a Russian attack, but to crush and dismantle Russia for good. In this context, the Russian siege of Kyiv in 2022 will go down in history as Russia’s “Vienna 1683“ moment.

Dismantling Russia through a unified European effort – spurred by the stark realization that there is no alternative but to fight – will be more than a geopolitical victory. It will be a moment of profound psychological cleansing for European civilization. For too long, particularly since the Bolshevik Revolution, Russia has distorted the European consciousness. The very existence of Russia has acted as a continuous abuse on the European psyche, serving as the primary cultural disruptor of Europe and the West at large. Therefore, for European civilization to reach new heights, Russia must be fundamentally eliminated and dismantled.

This dismantling will usher in a new Golden Age for Europe. On a deeper level, it will liberate the European consciousness, ending many decades of psychological distortion. It will ignite a modern Age of Discovery, opening up the vast Eurasian expanse – which has long remained obscured to global awareness behind imperial Russian rule – to true rediscovery and deeper understanding. Europe’s ultimate destiny lies in disintegrating Russia into dozens of independent states with their own regional/national identities that disavow their “Russian” past and administering that vast Eurasian space. Then, and only then, will Europe reach its full potential. Then, and only then, will Europe be great... again.

And then something turned. The Western help stalled for a moment. The West, led above all by the Biden Administration, grew afraid. But what it feared was not a Russian advance. It feared a Ukrainian victory. Let the weight of that sink in: the Western world’s foremost power grew frightened at the prospect that the victim might actually defeat its aggressor, its long-time abuser. The one additional push that was needed – the decisive delivery of additional arms and authorization that could have tipped the scales for good – never came. The Ukrainian offensive ground to a halt. The West did not allow Ukraine to win.

Russia, meanwhile, found a way out of its predicament. While Ukraine’s allies faltered, Russia could count on its own. This is where Iran entered the picture. As Russian stockpiles of missiles and munitions ran critically low, Tehran stepped in to fill the void, supplying Shahed drones in vast quantities – and just ahead of winter. Armed with this new tool of terror, Russia began a systematic campaign against Ukrainian civilians and energy infrastructure during the coldest months.

It is here that the full wretchedness of Western policy became impossible to ignore. The central fear of the Biden Administration was that supplying Ukraine with long-range weapons capable of striking targets inside Russia would amount to a direct Western attack on Russia – and therefore mean war between NATO and another nuclear power. That was the logic, however debatable. But consider what had just happened. Iran had provided Russia with long-range strike drones. Russia has not been using those drones to defend its own territory. It has been using them – in enormous quantities, relentlessly, for years – to terrorize Ukrainian cities. To damage civilian energy infrastructure. To bomb residential neighborhoods, schools, hospitals. And it was doing so with Iranian-made weapons, among others.

All Ukraine asked for in return was permission to use Western-supplied long-range capabilities to strike military targets – specifically the launch sites and production facilities from which those very missiles and drones were being fired at its people. But this, the West deemed, would be “escalation”. When Ukraine sought to target Russian military infrastructure with Western arms, it was treated as tantamount to a NATO–Russia war. Yet when Iran handed Russia the instruments of mass terror and Russia rained them down on Ukrainian cities without restraint, this was apparently not escalation at all.

The double standard was staggering. Russia was free to solicit military help from anywhere in the world – long-range weaponry included – to fuel its invasion and continue committing atrocities in Ukraine. That was simply how things were. But when Ukraine sought external help to thwart those very atrocities, it was branded as provocation. And it is worth noting the obvious: nobody, Ukraine included, ever suggested that Iran was now “at war” with Ukraine simply because it was furnishing Russia with the drones being used to devastate Ukrainian cities. Yet somehow, the reverse logic was applied with full seriousness to any Western arms that might reach Russian soil.

But it gets worse still. The refusal to supply long-range weapons was bad enough. What I have never been able to comprehend, however, is the neurotic refusal to close the skies over Ukraine. Consider what this would have actually meant in practice: shooting down inanimate objects – missiles, drones – over Ukrainian territory. Not engaging Russian pilots. Not killing Russian soldiers. Simply intercepting projectiles in flight over a sovereign nation under bombardment. How could this conceivably be construed as an attack on Russia? And yet it was. The reasoning, if it can be called that, was that even this minimal act of defense would constitute escalation.

But let us, for argument’s sake, accept those fears – pathetic and irrational as they were. Let us grant the Western decision-makers their terror of “upsetting” Russia. Even within that cramped and timid framework, one would have expected that once Russia enlisted a third country in its assault – once Iranian drones became a primary instrument of Russian terror – NATO would at last find the justification it apparently needed. After all, the symmetrical response would have been to give Ukraine the means to strike deep into Russia, now that Iran had given Russia the means to strike deep into Ukraine. But set that aside. At the very minimum, why not shoot down those very drones – again, inanimate objects – over Ukrainian skies? Even this, apparently, was unacceptable.

And there was yet another option the West chose not to take. When Iran began supplying Shahed drones to Russia, the Western allies could have struck the factories producing them, or interdicted the routes – the ships, the logistics corridors – by which they were being transferred. This would have been the bare minimum of solidarity. Ukraine, in fact, was imploring the United States and its allies to do precisely this: to cut the supply line at its source. Those calls went unheeded. They fell on ears deafened by fear.

And so, Russia could count, firmly and without interruption, on Iranian support for its genocidal war against Ukraine. Iran became an accomplice – the provider of one of Russia’s weapons of terror.

Fast forward to today. The United States, under Trump, together with Israel, is waging war on Iran. At first glance, for many supporters of Ukraine – people who are, more broadly, supporters and well-wishers of Western civilization – this would seem a reason to celebrate. Most of them are deeply critical of Trump, often disgusted by his morally obnoxious treatment of Ukraine and his barely concealed sympathies for Russia. But in this particular instance, they find themselves applauding. Iran, they reason, deserves to be attacked. They argue that setting Trump’s motives aside, at least this war harms Russia indirectly. Iran has been Russia’s accomplice – its arsenal in a genocidal war – and so its destruction is a form of delayed justice, so the argument goes. Their enthusiasm is further reinforced by a familiar compass: the usual suspects, the anti-Western left, are against it – which, for many, is confirmation enough.

There are two ways to assess this war against Iran: the moral, and the practical. That is: Does it avenge Ukraine and punish the guilty? And does it actually help Ukraine and weaken Russia?

On the moral ledger, there is a surface-level satisfaction to be had. Ayatollah Khamenei and much of the Iranian leadership are dead. These were men who made themselves accomplices in Russia’s genocidal war against Ukraine. They supplied the Shahed drones – Russia’s crucial instrument of terror and destruction, a weapon that dramatically amplified its capacity to devastate Ukrainian cities. They deserved their fate. Justice, one might say, was served. Ukraine was avenged.

But this is only true if the matter is viewed superficially. Because when you divert your attention and your power to a lesser evil at the expense of confronting the greater one – the core evil – you are not actually making the world a better place. Because as long as the core evil persists, as long as it remains untouchable, the world lives in permanent suspense. You can chase down subsidiary troublemakers. You might even neutralize them. But as long as the far greater evil endures, and you are too timid or too paralyzed to confront it, then you are not fighting evil in any meaningful sense. You are performing the theater of justice while the real crime continues.

Consider an analogy. You witness an unspeakable crime – a girl being gang-raped at knifepoint. At the same time, you notice someone stealing bread from the bakery next door. And you choose to go after the shoplifter. Or consider the policeman who arrives at the scene: he neither rescues the girl nor properly punishes the rapists. Instead, he tracks down the man who sold them the knife and arrests him.

Sure, the shoplifter is guilty. And the man who provided the knife is guilty too, if he knew the buyers were criminals. But did the world really become a better place because you punished perpetrators of lesser crimes while the rapists went free? Worse still – you turned away from the girl at the very moment she was being brutalized and poured all your energy into overpowering the bread thief. Can that policeman, in good conscience, say he fulfilled his duty?

In mathematics, infinity remains infinity. Add a million, subtract a million – infinity does not change. Its value is unmoved. This is the relationship between Russia and Iran. Russia is the infinite evil – the prime, singular, most consequential threat to the civilized world. Iran is the shoplifter or at worst the seller of the knife. By harming or even destroying Iran while leaving Russia undefeated and unscathed, you contribute nothing to making the world a better place.

Those who support both Ukraine and the American–Israeli war on Iran tend to reason as follows: yes, Trump’s treatment of Ukraine has been morally obnoxious, but at least in this case he is doing something right. Iran is part of the Axis of Evil, and by striking it, Trump is dismantling that axis one node at a time. Their mental model is of a multi-front war against a coalition of equivalent evils. If you cannot destroy one node (Russia) then destroying another (Iran) still counts as achievement – i.e., a point scored. A step toward reducing the total evil in the world.

But the reality is far different. This is not a war against a coalition of equivalent nodes. Russia is the ultimate evil. It is the single node from which all the rest emanates. It is the one node worth destroying. Russia is the singular actor that destabilizes the West, that is animated with apocalyptic fervor to destroy Western civilization. Everything else, Iran included, is a subnode – something of lesser importance.

And there is a deeper dimension still. Return to the above analogy. Suppose you know that the violent criminals are somehow untouchable – e.g., they belong to a gang that will kill you if you cross them, or they are under some powerful protection. And so, unable to confront them, you turn your righteous energy toward other criminals: the shoplifter, or perhaps even the perpetrator of another crime who happens not to be “protected”. You punish them. Will your conscience be clean? And more to the point – can you honestly say you have made society safer, that you have reduced the sum of evil in the world? Because deep down you will know: there exists an evil that is beyond your reach. It has unlimited power to abuse its victims, and you can do nothing about it. You are afraid to punish it. You are afraid to destroy it.

This maps precisely onto the relationship between the war on Iran and the war in Ukraine. Those supporters of Ukraine who insist that destroying Iran means less evil in the world are mistaken. As long as Russia remains untouchable – shielded behind the West’s fetishistic neurosis of “nuclear escalation” – as long as it is permitted to exist in its current form and to continue its crimes against its helpless victims, then no victory over any lesser evil will make the world a better place. As long as you refuse to confront the greater and more formidable evil, victories over other evils will mean nothing. Literally zero. Like subtracting from infinity.

That was the moral dimension. Now let us turn to the practical one. Does this war against Iran actually help Ukraine? Or does a campaign that superficially appears to weaken Russia in fact serve Russia’s interests?

Supporters of Ukraine who also back the war on Iran argue that Russia is thereby losing an important ally. And on its face, this sounds reasonable. But consider the arithmetic from Moscow’s perspective. Russia may be losing an ally in Iran – but if in return it gains the United States as an ally, that is not a bad deal at all. And this is precisely what Trump is engineering: an American–Russian alignment. It is also what Russia is banking on by seemingly abandoning Iran to American and Israeli firepower – at least not defending it vigorously enough. Moscow would certainly welcome losing Tehran if the prize is Washington.

They might also argue that since Iran was Russia’s principal supplier of drones and a key military partner, destroying Iran’s military capacity will degrade Russia’s own. But this argument, too, is fatally outdated. Striking Iran’s drone factories two or three years ago – when Ukraine was imploring the West to do exactly that – would indeed have crippled a vital Russian supply line. Russia was still dependent on Iranian deliveries and had not yet replicated the technology domestically. But that window has closed. Russia has since established its own production of Shahed-type drones. It no longer depends on Iran for them. The moment when this strike would have mattered has passed, squandered by the very Western inaction described in the first half of this article.

And there are further perverse consequences. Oil prices are climbing as a result of the war and Iran’s closure of the Strait of Hormuz. And in what should surprise no one paying attention, Trump seized this turbulence as a “defensible” pretext to lift sanctions on Russian oil – ostensibly to bring prices back down. The prices that rose because of his own actions in the first place. If one needed any more proof that Trump functions as Russia’s ally, this is it: a self-created crisis, resolved by gifting Moscow exactly what it wanted.

At this point, some Ukraine supporters might counter that this is precisely the reason to wish for a swift American victory over Iran – so that the Strait of Hormuz reopens, oil prices stabilize, and the pretext for coddling Russia evaporates. They might argue that Europe should help the American navy unblock the strait, that Ukraine itself should lend its expertise in drone interception to the Arab Gulf states against Iranian attacks, and that the fastest possible conclusion of this war, with an American victory, is in Ukraine’s interest.

But this is short-term thinking of the most dangerous kind. An American success in Iran will boost Trump’s standing. And we, as supporters of Ukraine, cannot want that. Trump must fail. He must crash and burn. His popularity, his credibility must continue to erode. Rescuing Trump’s America from an Iranian entanglement may offer a fleeting tactical gain, but in the longer term it will strengthen the most powerful ally Russia has – an ally far more valuable to Moscow than Tehran ever was. Trump himself. Russia would gladly trade Iran’s partnership for Trump’s America. It already has.

Europe’s course should therefore be unambiguous. Europe must not lose focus. The continent’s resources, energy, and strategic attention must remain fixed on one objective: supporting Ukraine and defeating Russia. That is the only war that matters. That is the evil that must be confronted.

If, however, Europe were eventually to assist in the Iranian theater by helping unblock the Strait of Hormuz, then the approach must be strictly transactional. No goodwill gestures. No promises. No memoranda of understanding. In return for European help with Iran, Trump must deliver concrete, transformative support to Ukraine first: a license to produce Patriot missiles on Ukrainian soil; a large supply of Tomahawk cruise missiles; and substantial financial assistance – €90 billion (its dollar equivalent) would be a reasonable starting point, given that Trump’s ally Orbán is currently blocking precisely such a sum within the EU. Round it up to €100 billion, as compensation for the moral damage inflicted by Trump’s morally obnoxious treatment of Ukraine since he took office.

The sequence matters absolutely. First Ukraine receives these things. Then, and only then, does Europe provide its service. Not before. Not on faith. Not on the strength of a handshake or a joint communiqué.

The same principle applies to Israel and the Arab Gulf states, and their requests for Ukraine’s help in countering Iranian drones. The Gulf states possess enormous wealth. Ukraine should demand a significant share of it in return for its drone-interception expertise – and again, payment first, service second. Israel, too, can contribute financially and militarily to Ukraine’s defense. This should also be demanded as a precondition, not hoped for as an afterthought nor agreed upon as a mere promise.

Russia is the supreme nemesis of Europe today. It is the absolute evil that dwarfs all others. There is no moral or strategic substitute for destroying it. We must not allow ourselves to be distracted – not by Iran, not by Trump’s theatrics, not by secondary/tertiary conflicts that serve only to diffuse our attention. All our resources, concentration and moral energy must be directed toward one clear, unwavering goal: the defeat and destruction of Russia. No distractions. No detours. Only this one thing that actually matters.

Europe has a civilizational task before it, which is of world-historical significance. This is ensuring the collapse and disintegration of Russia, and reorganizing that large Eurasian expanse. Not only must the economy and the industry of the continent be mobilized for this task, but even more importantly – the hearts and minds of its people.

Thanks to Ukraine’s resistance and sacrifice, Europe has finally awakened to the Russian threat. European leaders now speak openly of the danger Russia poses and the need to strengthen Europe’s defense capabilities. That’s a good start, but it’s not nearly enough. Even the language they use is too soft, too cautious. The reality is far more dire.

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is not an ordinary conflict for a chunk of territory, resources or “geopolitical interests”. It is an existential war that Russia wages not only against Ukraine, but against whole Europe. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is part of its holy war against Western Civilization. And under such a confrontation, there cannot be a peaceful settlement; one side must perish – that’s how such wars end. Moreover, since this is an existential struggle, Russia will always remain a bitter enemy of the West and aim at its destruction even if it doesn’t attack militarily.

The danger is not even primarily in what Russia does; it is in what Russia is. Its very existence – as a viscerally anti-European entity that hates European Civilization with every fiber of its being – is a standing act of terror. Even at rest, it is at war with the West. Its weapon is not just the tank or the missile, but the whisper, the doubt, the lie. Russia attacks not only through armies, but through narratives. It infects and rots the soul from within.

Ukraine knows this better than anyone. Since the Orange Revolution in 2004, Russia has tried to undermine Ukraine from the inside by seeding its agents into government, intelligence and media. Ukraine’s institutions were compromised; Russian narratives were spreading through Ukrainian society unabated.

After the 2014 Maidan Revolution, and even in the years leading to the full-scale invasion in 2022, Russian influence continued to operate like a virus in Ukraine’s body politic. Influence agents pushed Russian narratives. Key figures served Russian interests. But beyond the infiltration, the greater danger was psychological. Russia sought to plant self-doubt, to cloud judgment, to redirect anger away from the real enemy toward internal divisions, which are in reality of secondary or tertiary importance. It worked to make Ukrainians doubt the righteousness of their cause. It aimed to demoralize.

This strategy nearly succeeded. Though Ukraine fought back with resolve, the extent of Russian manipulation meant it wasn’t as prepared as it could have been. Putin’s delusion that Ukrainians would welcome his troops with flowers was absurd – but not baseless. It was grounded in years of subversion and the false sense that Ukraine had already been hollowed out. And in the south, at least initially, Russian forces met weaker resistance. The seeds of demoralization bore fruit.

What happened in Ukraine is now happening across the West. Russia doesn’t need to invade Europe to weaken it. It’s already inside. It corrodes the collective will, manipulates public discourse, exploits every fracture. Its disinformation spreads like rot – confusing, dividing, paralyzing.

This confrontation is not only geopolitical. It is primarily spiritual. First and foremost, Russian influence desecrates the West. Russian narratives and manipulation appeal to the worst in us. They elevate the worst character qualities: fear, cynicism, apathy and greed. And that’s basically the essence of evil – to corrupt, to rot from the inside. Russian influence boosts our worst instincts and helps elevate morally corrupt people to positions of power. It makes strong societies turn against themselves. In this sense, Russian influence is not just political or military – it is satanic. Because that’s exactly what Satan does – it corrupts the soul.

This is the danger Europe faces. Not just tanks and missiles, but the slow, strategic degradation of our moral core. That is why the task before Europe should not be only defense. It should be purification and renewal. The survival of Western Civilization depends on confronting Russia not just as an enemy state, but as a civilizational virus. And it must be destroyed – not managed, contained or tolerated, but destroyed – utterly and finally.

Although Europe has finally recognized the need to rearm and the need to prepare for open confrontation with Russia (better late than never), the dominant discourse remains centered on deterrence, defense, and security. But to frame the challenge this way is already to accept a position of weakness. You do not win wars by fortifying walls. You win by breaking the enemy. You win by attacking.

Europe must not merely be strong enough to discourage a Russian offensive. It must become strong enough to launch one. Its military doctrine, its arms industry, its national budgets, and above all its collective psyche must shift toward one goal: victory in a decisive, offensive war. That war should not end in ceasefires or frozen conflicts. It should end with Russia defeated and dismantled.

This same principle applies to the current war in Ukraine. Even when Ukraine reclaims every inch of its pre-2014 borders – and it will – that will not be the end of the war. Because this war is not truly about Crimea or Donbas. It is about the existence of Russia in its current form. The war ends only when Russia, as a unitary imperial entity, ceases to exist.

Where the final lines are drawn – whether at Belgorod, Kursk, or the outskirts of Moscow – is ultimately secondary. What matters is the outcome. Russia must be denuclearized and its military apparatus dismantled. It must pay reparations – not just to Ukraine, but to every nation and people it has brutalized. It must acknowledge and atone for its historical crimes. And the empire must fall – broken into dozens of independent states, each with its own unique national/regional identity that disavows its “Russian” past and stripped of the capacity to ever again threaten the world.

We don’t need “peace” or “security”. We need victory. We need glory. “Security” is a bureaucratic word. A word used by people who have already lost. For decades, the West has buried itself in the language of appeasement – talking of “security architecture”, of “lasting peace”, of “fair settlements”. Even Europe’s new militarism is cloaked in apologetic terms – “arming for peace”, “defending peace”. But this framing is pathetic. You don’t fight for peace. You fight for victory. Peace is simply the byproduct of total triumph. Real and lasting peace comes only when your deadly enemy is totally defeated and destroyed, not when it is pacified.

To be fair, the mood is shifting. The Russian invasion of Ukraine – and the growing realization that America under Trump may abandon Europe altogether – has shaken the continent awake. European leaders now speak more plainly. Rearmament is underway. For the first time in decades, there is serious talk of a European defense capacity independent of the United States. And there is, finally, a willingness to admit the unthinkable: that Europe must prepare for a direct, hot war with Russia.

But here is the real crux: weapons, budgets, and industrial output will matter, but they won’t be enough. What matters more is the animating spirit of a civilization. Its internal fire. Its sense of destiny.

Wars are not won by GDP alone. They are won by belief, by conviction. By how a people see themselves, what they believe they stand for, what future they are willing to suffer for, and what enemies they are willing to destroy to achieve it. It is vision, not just economic and technical capacity, that wins existential wars.

And this is where Europe still wavers. Everyone speaks of “European unity”, but few can define what it truly means. For too long, being “European” has meant little more than geography and bureaucracy: living within the EU, speaking a European language, subscribing to abstract values like freedom and democracy.

In the post–World War II era, European identity has been increasingly defined not by history or heritage, but by abstract values – freedom, democracy, human rights. The West’s confrontation with Russia is likewise framed as a clash between liberal democracy and tyranny. But this interpretation is both shallow and false. It misunderstands the deeper nature of the conflict and misrepresents what it truly means to be European.

Yes, liberal democracy is a uniquely European, and valuable, contribution to political life. But it is not what defines Europe. It is a product of European Civilization, not its essence. Europe existed for centuries before values of freedom and democracy emerged. To reduce Europe to an idea is a mistake. First and foremost, Europe is flesh-and-blood lineage of its people, the depth of their historical experience and the continuity of their memory.

Europe is not an ideology. It is a civilization rooted in ancestry and historical memory. Its roots go back to the rise of Ottonians and Capetians in the 10th century, rising from the ashes of Charlemagne’s empire. Europe was Europe long before it became liberal and democratic. In that early medieval world, no one spoke of “human rights”. No one could articulate “liberal values”. But this doesn’t make people of that era less European.

This matters. Because if Europe is defined solely by adherence to liberal democracy, then it becomes indistinguishable from any state that happens to hold elections or write rights into law. That’s not only false – it is dangerous. Being democratic doesn’t make a state European. Nor does it guarantee that a state will stand with the West.

Take a country like India, for example. It is a democracy, yet it stands openly aligned with the enemies of the West. It supports Russia diplomatically and economically. It leans toward those who seek to dismantle the Western-led world order. Many Western commentators, especially in the pro-Ukraine sphere, express disbelief at this. They assume that because India is democratic, it must be aligned with the West. But that assumption is based on a category error. The conflict we face is not about political systems. It is not a battle of ideas. It is not a battle of liberal democracy against authoritarianism. It is a war of civilizations.

One need not even look that far afield. Modern Russian history itself serves as stark evidence that adopting liberal democracy does not automatically transform a country into a friend of the West. The most revealing example is the Yeltsin era, when Russia embraced liberal democracy, held elections, and introduced Western-style institutions. At the time, the West naively assumed that because Russia had democratized, the overarching threat had vanished. The prevailing delusion was that Russia was now part of the Western family and could be seamlessly integrated into the Western world. It was even invited to join the G7 – transforming it into the G8 – with virtually no questions asked.

This was a catastrophic mistake, for which Ukraine first and foremost, but also the broader Western world, is now paying a terrible price. Merely adopting liberal democracy under Boris Yeltsin did not magically make Russia a part of the West. Beneath the surface, its society remained viscerally hostile toward Western Civilization. Even during the liberal Yeltsin years, Russia remained the West’s bitter adversary; the West was simply too shockingly oblivious, or willfully blind, to recognize it. Russia’s “liberalization” and “democratization” in the 1990s was a superficial, artificial aberration – a fleeting moment that was naturally and inevitably extinguished the moment Vladimir Putin came to power.

Russia and its allies – from Iran to China to India, through BRICS and beyond – do not share a common ideology. What they share is a visceral hatred of the West. What unites them is not communism, or autocracy, or any doctrine at all – but the animosity towards the Western Civilization as a whole. The confrontation is not simply ideological or political. It is civilizational and most importantly – visceral.

Therefore, European policymakers, intellectuals, and leaders must realize a basic fact: you cannot mobilize a people to defend their civilization if those same people feel dispossessed in their own ancestral homelands. A population told to be ashamed of its history, to despise its ancestors, and to yield its lands to newcomers with no loyalty to Europe will never march with conviction against Russia, nor will be ready to endure privation for the sake of that high civilizational goal. A people bombarded with guilt, taught that their very identity is evil, will not fight for their homeland. They will surrender by default.

This is why the first and most crucial task is for Europeans to recover pride in who they are. Pride in their history, their inheritance, their ancestors. Without this, there will be no will to resist the enemy. No army fights for abstractions alone. Soldiers risk their lives and physical health, civilians endure economic hardships only when they believe they are defending their own – blood, soil, family, heritage. That’s essentially why Ukraine has been successful in fending off Russian aggression. Because Ukrainians are fighting not for some abstract values, but for blood and soil. If Europeans are stripped of that belief, then no appeal to “democracy” or “values” will move them when the test comes.

Analysts often lament that Europeans are unwilling to fight, that they lack the spirit of mobilization in the face of Russia’s aggression. But the reason is simple: you cannot ask Europeans to die or endure hardships for a realm that disowns them. Why should they risk their lives for countries that treat them as strangers in the lands of their forefathers? Why should they sacrifice for leaders who sneer at their heritage and chastise them as “racists”? They will not fight for abstractions. They will not die for shame.

But if Europeans once again regain pride in their civilization, in their history and ancestors, if they see their governments and institutions standing for their identity rather than apologizing for it, then everything changes. Conviction will return. The willingness to sacrifice comfort for victory will return.

That last part is important. For decades, Europe has wallowed in philistinism. Even worse: European societies have elevated philistinism to the highest virtue. Europeans have treated comfort and prosperity as something permanent, and even more crucially, as an end in itself. This delusion must go away. The comfort that we got used to is not coming back. And this is good. Because that era of comfort was never normal to begin with. It was a grand aberration. It made our lives hollow, aimless and boring.

History now offers us a unique opportunity to rediscover passion, meaning, and purpose. Europe has frequently faced barbarian invasions and imperial threats from the outside, yet it has invariably emerged victorious. The last threat of this magnitude was the Ottoman Empire, which was defeated during the Wars of the Holy League in the latter half of the 17th century. Central and Eastern Europe stood united, dealing a decisive blow to the Ottomans. The Treaty of Karlowitz in 1699 marked the beginning of the Ottoman Empire’s long, slow decline.

Europeans of that era did not try to placate their adversaries. They did not “strive for peace”, nor were they content merely to survive the Siege of Vienna in 1683. Instead, they pressed forward and went on the offensive. They did not prioritize “diplomacy”, “deals”, or “caution” – words that belong to the pathetic lexicon of modern bureaucracy. They wanted victory. They wanted to crush the enemy. And ultimately, the enemy was crushed.

One can look even further back to antiquity. The Greek city-states were perpetually threatened by their long-time nemesis, the Persian Empire, yet they frequently wallowed in fratricidal wars despite this existential danger. In the end, however, they set aside their differences, joined forces, and obliterated their ancient abuser. In a remarkably short period, the vast territories of the Persian Empire were conquered by the united Greek armies under Alexander the Great.

Europeans must draw inspiration from this history. The past should not be viewed merely as a catalogue of events, but as a guide for future action – and European history is replete with such glorious guidance. Time and again, Europe has faced external invasions and imperial threats. Each time, despite initial division and fragmentation, Europeans have cast aside their differences, rediscovered their common destiny, and emerged triumphant. Centuries ago, the threat was the Ottomans; today, it is Russia. And Europe will triumph once more. Just as the failed Siege of Vienna in 1683 signaled the beginning of the end for the Ottoman Empire, Europe must ensure that Russia’s failed assault on Kyiv marks the beginning of its own demise. Kyiv 2022 must become Russia’s “Vienna 1683”.

Today, Europe’s world-historical task is the dismantling of the Russian state and the reorganization of that vast Eurasian expanse. Russia must be demilitarized, denuclearized, and disintegrated into dozens of independent states, each cultivating a unique national or regional identity that disavows its “Russian” imperial past. Only then will Europe achieve its Manifest Destiny.

To many Western observers, Russia appears far more homogenous and consolidated than it truly is. The reality, however, could not be further from the truth. What is known today as “Russia” is an artificial construct, cobbled together entirely by force. The vast and diverse territories stretching across northern Eurasia share very little with Moscow and often harbor deep-seated resentment toward the imperial center.

Europe must capitalize on this vulnerability by actively sowing discontent within Russia. It should support nascent secessionist movements across various regions and national republics – not only through coordinated information campaigns but also by providing material and military support. The unique regional and national identities already exist. The profound resentment toward Moscow already exists. The underlying currents of secession are already there; they are simply being suffocated beneath the weight of a brutal state security apparatus.

For far too long, Russia has operated with impunity, sowing discord and division across Europe. Now, the tables must turn. Europe must effectively mirror Russia’s own asymmetric tactics, weaponizing the currents of dissent and disenchantment that run far deeper within Russia than they do in Europe. Russia is, in reality, far more heterogenous and fractured, than it appears behind its façade of monolithic unity. Conversely, Europe is a far more unified and cohesive whole than it might appear given its different nation states and distinct national identities. Europeans must awaken to this reality and act decisively upon it.

Engaged in this existential struggle, Europe must serve as the vanguard of Russia’s disintegration. It must systematically amplify Russia’s natural internal fault lines and embrace the world-historical task of reorganizing that vast Eurasian expanse to secure its own civilizational future.

This, however, does not mean replacing one colonial overlord with another. Rather, it will necessitate deep European involvement – including stationed peacekeeping forces and institutional oversight – to ensure these new sovereign states survive their fragile infancy, do not drift into the orbit of Europe’s enemies, such as China, and to crush any localized revanchist movements attempting to “re-gather” the old empire. These newly independent post-Russian states, emerging from destitution and internal decay, will require European leadership during their transitional period to prevent internal chaos.

Over time, some of these newly independent states could be incorporated into the larger European family – specifically those in the west and northwest, such as the Republics of Smolensk, Novgorod, Pskov, and Ingria. These regions were already part of the European realm in the Middle Ages before being forcefully torn away from it and subjugated by Muscovy-Russia. Others – such as the Ural Republic, the Siberian Republic, the Russian Far East, Bashkortostan, Tatarstan, Yakutia, and the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria – should be cultivated as strong European allies as they forge their own independent paths.

Importantly, Europe should avoid half-measures and temporary solutions. The only goal should be the disintegration of Russia and destruction of its unitary imperial structure. Nothing less. Europe should not settle for a “democratized” and “liberalized” Russia. Yeltsin’s era and what followed afterwards serves as vivid reminder that Russia will always remain a bitter and dangerous enemy of Europe as long as it keeps its unitary imperial structure, regardless of its “democratization” and “liberalization”. The mistakes of the past must not be repeated. The goal must not be a “free” Russia. It must be a non-existent Russia.

Moreover, on a profound level, the collapse of Russia and the subsequent restructuring of northern Eurasia will launch a new age of discovery. Shattering the Russian state will finally enable the peoples of these territories to uncover their true identities – to reclaim the histories, cultures, and ancestral traditions that were systematically smothered under the weight of Muscovite-Russian domination.

Despite its colossal geographic scale, this immense expanse has effectively functioned as an intellectual terra incognita. The Russian imperial apparatus never possessed any genuine interest in the distinct cultural and historical wealth of northern Eurasia. Meaningful archaeological and historical inquiry was limited, if it was carried out at all. Simultaneously, political blockade kept Western scholars from conducting sustained, rigorous research in these lands.

The birth of sovereign nations across this expanse will radically overturn this paradigm. These territories will be thrust open, achieving not just political emancipation but also an academic awakening. A vanguard of Western historians, archaeologists, anthropologists, and other researchers will pour into these newly independent states. In stark contrast to the former Russian overlords, Europeans will plunge deeply into the societal fabric of these post-Russian nations, elevating customs and histories that have long been relegated to the margins of global awareness. While the ultimate hope is for these fledgling states to foster their own academic traditions and homegrown experts, the initial, catalytic push will come from Europe. Guided by Western expertise, the populations of northern Eurasia will unearth their own suppressed heritage. They will reconnect with their deepest roots and, in a sense, rediscover themselves. And alongside them, the entire world will finally comprehend the true nature of northern Eurasia.

The horizon before us is exhilarating. The dismantling of Russia promises far more than mere geopolitical realignment; it guarantees a monumental intellectual renaissance. It will trigger breathtaking revelations, drawing back the curtain on a vast, intricate world that has been kept in the dark for centuries by the willful ignorance and neglect of imperial Moscow.

In conclusion, as long as Russia exists in its current unitary form, Europe, and Western Civilization at large, will always be under threat, no matter how many “agreements” or “deals” are made. Europe, and the whole Eurasia, can truly prosper, not only technologically and economically, but more importantly – spiritually, only when the Russian threat is completely annihilated. Only when Russia is disintegrated and that vast Eurasian expanse is reorganized under European leadership. True peace and prosperity will come only when Europe achieves its Manifest Destiny.

Yet a closer look reveals that Russian and Western styles of expansion differ profoundly – indeed, in some respects they are almost antithetical. Western colonialism can best be described as intensive. That single adjective captures its defining logic. Russian colonialism, by contrast, has been extensive.

When Europeans conquered a territory, they did not merely subjugate its population. First and foremost, they focused on developing the area itself. They built roads, schools, hospitals, and other civilian infrastructure. They introduced new technologies and medical practices. They took great care to establish bureaucracy, institutions, and systems of law and order. In short, they developed their colonies intensively.

But Western colonialism went even deeper than material development. Europeans were curious. They showed a genuine interest in the cultures, customs, and histories of the peoples they ruled. Wherever Europeans arrived, extensive historical, archaeological, and ethnographic research followed. Excavations were conducted, chronicles were compiled, languages were studied, and entire civilizational pasts were documented.

Take Egypt as an example. The very fact that we know as much as we do about the great civilization of ancient Egypt is due largely to British rule. In Cairo stands the Egyptian Museum – an extraordinary institution with vast collections dedicated to Egypt’s ancient history and one of the city’s most popular tourist attractions. Who built it? The British.

Or consider India. Many Indians, animated by a familiar Third Worldist ressentiment, accuse the British of having stolen their historical treasures. Yet the uncomfortable truth is that without British colonialism, much of this heritage would never have been systematically discovered, catalogued, or preserved in the first place. Without the British, Indians themselves would not know their own history in anything like the detail they do today.

Russian colonialism, however, followed an entirely different logic. It was the opposite of Western intensive development. Russian expansion was extensive. Russians expanded their empire outward, in sheer width, without any serious concern for developing the territories they conquered. Unsurprisingly, they showed little interest in the cultures, customs, or histories of the peoples they subjugated. Their method was simple: subjugate and plunder the land, kill and rape its inhabitants along the way, establish a military garrison, and move on.

This also explains why Russia was able to expand so rapidly and over such vast distances. Intensive development requires time. If you care about building institutions, infrastructure, and social order, you must stop somewhere and remain there for a while. There is no alternative – and that inevitably slows imperial advance.

Because Russians never felt burdened by the task of developing conquered territories, they never had to stop. Unencumbered by development, investment, or care, they pushed forward relentlessly. The result was the conquest of nearly all of northern Eurasia – and even, for a time, lands beyond the Bering Strait in Alaska – in a remarkably short historical span.

At the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth century, Muscovy-Russia set out to conquer Siberia for one reason alone: fur. The sole objective was to hunt fur-bearing animals, extract their pelts, and sell them to Europe, where fur commanded high prices at the time. The logic was purely extractive. And this pattern has not changed in the slightest. In the past, Russians enriched themselves by extracting fur from Siberia; today, they extract Siberian oil and gas, and diamonds from Yakutia. Meanwhile, these resource-rich regions remain impoverished at an almost African level – lacking proper roads, basic infrastructure, or even indoor plumbing in many places.

The same logic is visible today in Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, which is marked by the systematic destruction of entire towns and villages. This is how Russia advances. Settlements are carpet-bombed into oblivion, reduced to rubble, and only then entered by Russian troops. The resulting wasteland is presented not merely as a military success, but brazenly as a “liberation”.

Many Western observers have noted that Russia appears to be failing in Ukraine precisely because it captures only destroyed settlements. News reports of Russian advances are often accompanied by commentary pointing out that these “victories” are hollow: Russia takes empty, ruined towns. What, then, can it do with them? How are they to be administered? How can they be rebuilt or developed? From this line of reasoning follows a broader assumption – that Russia is achieving nothing of value in this war and will therefore eventually be forced to give up.

A striking illustration of this misunderstanding occurred last year, during celebrations marking the eightieth anniversary of the Soviet victory in the Second World War. The Russian pop singer Valeriya performed the old Soviet patriotic song Where the Motherland Begins on the ruins of a Ukrainian city – ruins created by her own countrymen, in a war she herself was glorifying through that performance.

For many in the West, this scene was genuinely shocking. How could anyone rejoice amid the destruction of a town? How could the conquest of a leveled city be celebrated as a victory? How could one sing a patriotic song against a backdrop of ruins? This is utterly alien to the Western mindset.

Yet this is precisely where the core misconception lies. Western observers instinctively project their own way of thinking onto the Russian psyche, assuming that Russians evaluate success in the same way they do. This is a grave mistake. For a Westerner, occupying a destroyed and empty landscape is not a marker of success. For Russians, however, it very much is.

Where Europeans measure success by cultivation and intensive development, Russians measure it by purely by expansion. For them, gaining territory – regardless of its condition – is a success in and of itself. Territorial enlargement alone is what brings satisfaction. Indeed, for the Russian psyche, expansion in sheer width is the primary, even the quintessential, metric of success.

This also explains why Russians would produce a patriotic music video celebrating military victory amid ruins. What matters is not what they have taken, but that they have taken it. The condition of the territory is irrelevant. Quantity matters; quality does not. Pure enlargement outweighs any notion of intensive development or long-term cultivation. This logic is unfathomable to the Western mind – but it is a central feature of the Russian psyche.

This way of thinking reminds me strongly of how history was taught in Turkey – or, more precisely, of what I absorbed and instinctively felt from the way it was taught. Whenever the greatness or success of a Turkic state was discussed, especially that of the Ottoman Empire, my attention was drawn almost automatically to the map. How large was the state at that moment? How much territory did it control?

When the reign of a particular sultan was evaluated, the focus lay almost exclusively on the battles he had won and the lands he had conquered. What mattered – both to me instinctively and as it was conveyed through the school curriculum – was the degree to which the empire’s territory expanded during his reign, or over a given century. The metric of success, the measure of greatness in my mind, and very likely in the minds of my classmates as well, was territorial extent. Size on the map equaled greatness. Turks and Russians are strikingly similar in this regard, as in many others – and here, once again, that similarity becomes apparent.

Only later did I come to realize that territorial expansion is not the true measure of greatness. Success in a given historical period is not defined by battles won or lands conquered. The real measure of greatness lies elsewhere: in scientific discovery, cultural achievement – painting, music, architecture – in great literature, philosophy, and intellectual depth. In other words, greatness is not a matter of width on a map, but of depth and substance brought to the territory one inhabits.

Seen from this perspective, the Ottoman Empire was never truly great – not even in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when it reached its greatest territorial extent. By contrast, during those very centuries, the German people lived in a highly fragmented political landscape and could boast no vast empire of their own. Yet they were – and remain – great. It was Germany, and by extension Europe, that embodied true greatness, not the Ottoman Empire, even as the latter exerted immense military pressure on Europe and expanded westward toward the German lands of the Holy Roman Empire.

This difference in attitudes is visible not only when comparing modern European colonial empires with Russian imperial expansion. It can already be observed deep in the Early Middle Ages, during the period of German expansion and colonization in Eastern Europe. Whether in the tenth and eleventh centuries under the Ottonians, when Germans expanded into Slavic lands east of the Elbe, or in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries during the conquests of the Teutonic Order in the lands of the Baltic peoples, a clear and consistent pattern emerges.

Anyone who studies the history of German expansion into Central and Eastern Europe cannot fail to notice how deliberately and meticulously it was carried out. Unlike Russians, the Germans were not simply conquering land and moving on. They stopped – at every stage. They founded new towns, established bishoprics, built administrative structures, and developed infrastructure, all with the proverbial German attention to detail. Great care was taken to cultivate and organize every newly acquired territory. Nothing was left half-formed or merely provisional.

This leads to another important contrast with Russian expansion, which will become even clearer later on. The towns founded by Germans in newly colonized eastern territories did not remain peripheral outposts. On the contrary, they often became just as important as older German cities – and in some cases even surpassed them in political, economic, or cultural significance.

Take Magdeburg as an example. It rose to prominence during the German eastward expansion in the tenth century, particularly with the establishment of the archbishopric. By the standards of the time, Magdeburg was a relatively “new” German city, yet it came close to matching much older centers such as Aachen, Cologne, Worms or Speyer. Magdeburg was not only a key base for the Christianization of Slavic lands to the east; it also became a legal and institutional model for urban development through the famous Magdeburg Law, which shaped the founding of countless cities across Central and Eastern Europe.

Or consider the German crusades in northeastern Europe – first conducted by the Livonian Brothers of the Sword and later by the Teutonic Knights. These campaigns were not limited to warfare and territorial conquest. The Germans created thriving and prosperous cities in the lands they took or expanded existing settlements into major urban centers: Königsberg, Riga, Reval, Elbing, Thorn, Danzig, and others. These towns, founded or transformed in newly conquered territories, quickly became important administrative, commercial, and cultural hubs.

A very different picture emerges when we turn to Russian conquest and colonization. No territory colonized by Muscovy-Russia ever rose in status to rival Moscow. The vast Eurasian space absorbed by the Muscovite-Russian state remained precisely that: an uncultivated expanse, valued primarily for resource extraction or used as a dumping ground for prisoners and political dissidents. The towns that were founded served mostly as frontier outposts and temporary waystations. There was no sustained interest in developing or cultivating the immense territories that had been conquered.

Even the example of St. Petersburg ultimately reinforces this point rather than contradicting it. Its rise does not testify to any organic Russian tradition of intensive development. The city owed its existence and prominence almost entirely to the Europeanization project of Peter I. By arbitrarily relocating the capital closer to Europe and the sea, Peter imposed importance on St. Petersburg from above.

The development of St. Petersburg was not driven by an intrinsic impulse to cultivate newly acquired territory. It was a strategic outpost – an artificial window onto Europe – from which a Muscovy transformed into Russia could continue its expansion. The logic remained unchanged: expansion in width without depth. St. Petersburg was an exception created by force of will, not the expression of a broader civilizational pattern – and precisely for that reason, it proves the rule rather than refuting it.

The key to understanding the Russian psyche lies in the concept of prime symbols as formulated by Oswald Spengler. Spengler’s comparative morphology of cultures, developed most fully in his magnum opus The Decline of the West, offers a powerful lens through which to grasp the deeper, pre-rational structures shaping different civilizations – and it is particularly illuminating when applied to Russia.

In his morphology of cultures, Spengler assigns to each high culture a specific prime symbol. This symbol is not merely metaphorical; it expresses itself concretely across the entire life cycle of a culture. It manifests in architecture, music, science, political behavior, and in the way people of that culture experience themselves in relation to the world. The prime symbol permeates everything – from intellectual achievements to everyday instincts.

For Western culture, which Spengler called Faustian, the prime symbol is infinite space. This symbol reveals itself unmistakably in Gothic cathedrals, with their flying buttresses and soaring towers that seem to pierce the heavens and reach toward infinity. It appears in infinitesimal calculus, in contrapuntal music, and – most importantly – in the restless scientific drive of the West: the relentless pursuit of truth, however hidden, abstract, or ultimately unattainable it may be. The Faustian spirit is never satisfied with surface appearances. It seeks to probe, dissect, and penetrate ever more deeply into reality. In this sense, European civilization is defined by depth. Depth is the essence of the Western psyche.

Spengler correctly identified Russia as a cultural realm distinct from the West – and therefore governed by a different prime symbol. The Russian prime symbol is the endless plain. This image explains a wide range of Russian historical, cultural, and psychological manifestations.

The fundamental contrast is this: whereas depth is paramount for the European psyche, breadth reigns supreme in the Russian one. Where the Western soul values quality, differentiation, and inner structure, the Russian soul emphasizes quantity and extension. The European mind strives to differentiate, categorize, and systematize; the Russian mind, by contrast, is radically egalitarian in the most literal sense of the word. It is largely indifferent to distinctions – even to distinctions between opposing states of being.

The endless plain is flat, monotonous, and undifferentiated. Everything upon it appears equivalent. Nothing stands out as fundamentally distinct. And so, in the Russian psyche, everything tends toward equivalence.

The European soul is three-dimensional, with depth as its indispensable feature. The Russian soul, by contrast, is two-dimensional. A defining characteristic of the Russian psyche is precisely this lack of depth, compensated by an overwhelming emphasis on breadth. In short, the Western (Faustian) soul is driven by depth, while the Russian soul is governed by breadth.

This fundamental difference between European and Russian mindsets manifests itself in many domains. One such domain – which I have touched upon in earlier writings (here and here) – is their respective attitudes toward truth.

The European mind is obsessed with truth. It holds truth in the highest esteem and pursues it relentlessly. It abhors ambiguity and seeks clarity, coherence, and certainty. This attitude follows naturally from the pronounced sense of depth that characterizes the European psyche. Truth is something to be uncovered by digging ever deeper beneath appearances.

The Russian mind, by contrast, is largely indifferent to truth. For it, an obvious truth and a glaring falsehood are often equivalent. Ambiguity is not a problem to be resolved; it is something in which the Russian soul feels at home. The Russian mind experiences little cognitive dissonance when confronted with contradictions between truth and falsehood. This indifference flows directly from the radical egalitarianism of the Russian psyche, expressed through its prime symbol – the endless plain – where everything appears level, equivalent, and interchangeable.

This same contrast between European depth and differentiation on the one hand, and Russian breadth and numbness to distinctions on the other, also manifests itself in their respective modes of conquest and colonization. European expansion reflects the same insatiable drive to penetrate ever more deeply: to develop and cultivate conquered territories, to study their histories, to investigate their peoples, to dig layer by layer into the past in search of truth and meaning.

Russian expansion, in contrast, is driven by a restless urge to spread outward – to expand in sheer width. In the process, perfectly in line with the Russian world-feeling embodied by the prime symbol of the endless plain, every conquered territory appears dull, undifferentiated, and essentially the same. Everything beyond the immediate center of power feels interchangeable and uninteresting, valued only insofar as it yields extractable resources.

Consistent with the logic of the endless plain – flat, monotonous, and undifferentiated – the Russian psyche shows little interest in what lies beyond its immediate headquarters. It does not feel compelled to explore, to probe, or to discover. Expansion, not understanding; possession, not cultivation – this is the governing instinct.

This civilizational psyche reveals itself not only in patterns of conquest and colonization, but even in science fiction literature. The contrast between Western and Russian science fiction once again reflects their differing prime symbols – and, consequently, their differing approaches to expansion.

In Western science fiction, protagonists frequently travel to distant planets with the intention of settling them. The narrative arc typically revolves around exploration, colonization, and the establishment of new and lasting forms of life beyond Earth. The journey outward is not temporary; it is existential. The goal is to create a new home – to transplant civilization and cultivate it in alien soil.

In Russian/Soviet science fiction, however, a different pattern often emerges. Other planets are treated less as destinations for permanent settlement and more as temporary stations – almost as cosmic tourist sites. The protagonists travel outward, observe, perhaps intervene briefly, but ultimately return to Earth. The Earth remains the unquestioned center, the permanent headquarters. Everything beyond it is secondary, provisional, not meant for deep cultivation or lasting transformation.

This literary pattern mirrors historical reality with striking precision. Just as in Russian science fiction other planets serve as temporary outposts rather than future homelands, so too have Russia’s vast territories often functioned as peripheral extensions of a single center. It may sound exaggerated to some, but in a deeper sense Russia is indeed a city-state! A city-state organized around Moscow. The enormous Eurasian expanses exist primarily to serve that center.

Like the temporary planetary excursions of Soviet science fiction, the territories beyond Moscow remain conceptually “over there” – distant, undifferentiated, and interchangeable. They do not evoke a strong impulse for careful cultivation or development. Everything flows toward Moscow; everything is organized around it. The immense territories possessed by what we call Russia – more precisely, by the Moscow city-state – serve primarily as reservoirs of extraction: oil, gas, minerals, and, as the current war in Ukraine grimly demonstrates, human resources to be expended as cannon fodder.

Even today, many inhabitants of Moscow display little genuine interest in the regions beyond their metropolitan orbit – let alone in the vast lands beyond the Urals. This indifference has become the subject of countless memes and jokes. A Muscovite meets someone from Dagestan, Bashkortostan, or Tatarstan and asks where they are from. “I’m from Dagestan”, the person replies. The Muscovite responds: “Oh, interesting. And how do you like Russia?” The joke reveals more than it intends. The center does not fully register the periphery as part of itself.

All of this leads to a clear conclusion: the diverse regions currently subsumed under the name “Russia” – Siberia, Yakutia, the Urals, Bashkortostan, Tatarstan, the Caucasus, the Russian Far East, the northwest (Ingria, Novgorod, Pskov, Smolensk), and many others – can truly develop only if they gain independence. Only by seceding from what is today called “Russia” – which in reality functions as a city-state of Moscow – can these regions begin to cultivate themselves according to their own interests and priorities.

The city-state of Moscow holds together these vast territories through force and treats them primarily as reservoirs of extraction. As independent countries, these regions would finally have both the incentive and the agency to develop their own infrastructure, institutions, and economies. Only then will they acquire the chance to build proper roads, indoor plumbing and much more…

Yet the question goes far beyond infrastructure. The disintegration of Russia would also allow the peoples of these regions to rediscover themselves – to reconnect with their own histories, cultures, and traditions, which have been neglected under Muscovite-Russian rule.

In a deeper sense, such a transformation would inaugurate what might be called a new age of discovery: the discovery of northern Eurasia. For all its vastness, that immense landmass has remained, intellectually speaking, a kind of terra incognita. In line with the prime symbol of the Russian soul – the endless plain – Muscovite-Russians showed limited interest in the differentiated cultural and historical richness of the regions they absorbed. Serious archaeological and historical research was limited, if it was carried out at all. At the same time, political barriers significantly limited sustained engagement by Western scholars.

The emergence of independent states across northern Eurasia would change this dynamic fundamentally. These regions would open not only to political self-determination but also to scholarly engagement. There will be a massive influx of Western historians, archaeologists, anthropologists, and other researchers into those newly independent states. Unlike Russians, Westerners will deeply engage with the societies of those newly independent post-Russian states – with their cultures, customs and histories, all of which have until now remained peripheral in global consciousness. Our hope is that, in time, these new states (at least some of them) will cultivate their own academic traditions and homegrown specialists. But the initial, transformative push will come from the West. And thanks to those Western specialists, the peoples of northern Eurasia will rediscover themselves. They will rediscover their cultures, their deeper selves. And together with them the whole world will discover northern Eurasia.

What lies ahead is truly exciting. Russia’s disintegration will not simply bring about political transformation; it will bring about intellectual renewal. It will bring about fascinating revelations – the unveiling of a vast and complex region that long remained obscure due to negligence of a single center.

These would be extraordinary times. To witness the emergence of new cultures, new states, and newly articulated identities across northern Eurasia would be nothing less than a historic turning point. It is indeed a great time to be alive.

Looking back, the 2010s – especially their second half – were extraordinarily good years. They were good for Europe, good for the West, and very good for me personally. After moving from Turkey to Germany, I experienced a sense of relief that I had not known before. Life felt easier, smoother, almost frictionless. Things worked. Infrastructure was reliable. Public transport functioned well. There was a sense of abundance, of stability, of a system that quietly carried you along if you followed its rules.

Part of this comfort was, of course, structural. Germany is simply a more developed society than the one I came from, and that difference is felt in countless small, daily interactions. Interacting with Germans is truly a delight. But another part had to do with timing. I went to school and completed my bachelor’s degree in Turkey, and those years were defined by constant pressure. Success meant relentless studying. Exams loomed perpetually. Work did not end when you left the school building or the university campus. Home was not a place of rest but an extension of the classroom. Stress followed you everywhere.

My academic life in Germany was different. During my PhD and later my postdoctoral work, many of the standard complaints about academia did not really apply. When I came home, I was done for the day. There were no exams every few months, no permanent sense of being evaluated. I had time to think, to read, to travel. Scientific conferences also increased my opportunities to see the world. For the first time, life felt genuinely comfortable.

And yet, beneath that comfort, there was a quiet unease. A sense that this comfort was not entirely real, that it was somehow artificial. I felt, at times, almost guilty for enjoying it. True, the West was not free of problems even back then. Tensions were building and political conflicts were simmering. But nothing seemed to break through into something immediate, something that demanded real sacrifice or decisive action. Everything remained abstract, distant, manageable.

That illusion shattered in 2020. Even now, I am struck by how accurately my vague intuition captured what was coming. The COVID-19 arrived, and with it lockdowns, mandates, hysteria, and a sudden erosion of assumptions that had felt unshakable. Life was no longer smooth or predictable. And even before the trauma of that period began to fade, Europe was confronted with Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. History, long assumed to be dormant, returned with force.

We are entering a new age, and this is especially true for the West. The comfortable life that so many Europeans took for granted is not coming back in the same form. But more importantly, that life was never normal to begin with. Decades of peace, stability, and growing prosperity were not the historical rule; they were the exception. A grand aberration. A fleeting moment that stood out precisely because of how unusual it was.

We were privileged – not in the shallow, accusatory sense the word often carries today, but in a deeper, more literal one. Privileged to be born into and to live through remarkably good times. Recognizing this matters. It reframes loss of comfort not as injustice, but as the end of an extraordinary grace period.

Internalizing this truth is essential if Europe is to face what lies ahead. The coming years will demand sacrifices. They will require an acceptance of hardship as something continuous, not temporary. Comfort is not a baseline to which history naturally returns; it is a rare and fleeting occurrence.

I came to this realization between 2020 and 2021. I accepted, consciously, that the life I had enjoyed might not continue. And you know what...? That acceptance was liberating. Letting go of the expectation of comfort brought relief rather than despair. The years of ease are not something to mourn, but something to remember with gratitude – as one chapter ending before the beginning of another, entered with clear eyes and a clean conscience, ready for a life that may be harder, but no longer illusory.

When I was a child and a teenager, I spent summer holidays at my grandmother’s home in Azerbaijan. Those summers were amazing, and I always dreaded the moment when it was time to leave. One year, a few days before my flight back to Turkey, my sadness was especially visible. My grandmother noticed and asked why I looked so upset. I told her the truth: I did not want to leave.

She listened, smiled gently, and said something that stayed with me long after the summer ended. I should not be sad because I was leaving, she said. I should be happy because I had spent such a beautiful time there, and because I was now returning home. Years later, I encountered a famous saying that captured my grandmother’s wisdom: “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”

As Europe enters a new historical stage, this is precisely the mindset it needs. Do not mourn the loss of comfort as though it were a birthright stolen from you. Be grateful that you experienced it at all. Do not cling desperately to the past or attempt to preserve it at any cost. Hold it as a fond memory, then step forward with a clear conscience into what comes next. Paradoxically, this acceptance is not demoralizing. It is liberating. It brings relief. It restores purpose.

It is usually a thankless task to make predictions for the New Year, so I will offer mine with a slight hedge. Russia will attack Europe. It may happen in 2026, perhaps in 2027, or slightly later – but it will happen, and likely sooner rather than later.

And perhaps, in a dark sense, this is for the best. Ideally, Europe should have long ago shaken off its lethargy and launched its own crusade on Russia, a preemptive strike to neutralize the threat emanating from the Eurasian hinterland. But if Europe lacks the will to act, we must hope that Russia itself provides the necessary provocation. Because once the attack comes, Europe will be left with no other choice.

Paradoxically, that will be a moment of liberation. It will liberate Europe’s soul. It will be the time to cast aside nonsensical inhibitions and timidities, forcing Europeans to finally unleash their full potential. Because the danger from Russia has never been solely physical; it is metaphysical. The very existence of Russia acts as a rotting agent on the European soul. Russia’s very existence is an act of terror, not necessarily through missiles and tanks, but through manipulation. Russia sows confusion, it sows doubt, and abuses the European psyche with asinine narratives and shameless lies. To dismantle Russia is to do more than defeat a geopolitical adversary; it is to liberate the West’s conscience.

Europe, therefore, faces a task of grand historical importance: the destruction of Russia and the administration of that vast Eurasian expanse – at the very least, everything west of the Urals. This is Europe’s Manifest Destiny. Without achieving it, Europe cannot fully cleanse its conscience – it cannot liberate its soul.

To accept this challenge requires sacrifice. It demands that we walk away from the soft, frictionless life we grew so accustomed to. And this is where my grandmother’s wisdom becomes vital. As we embark on this new, harsh trajectory, we must not look back with resentment at the comforts we are losing. We must not cling to the “summer holiday” of the last few decades or try desperately to recreate it.

Instead, we should be happy that we had those beautiful years and decades. We should cherish the memory of that comfort, tuck it away with gratitude, and turn to face the future with a clean conscience. Just as my grandmother told me to view my return to Turkey as a happy homecoming with fond memories of an amazing summer holiday, Europeans must view this return to history – to the natural order of struggle, challenge, and warfare – as a homecoming of its own. We are returning to the state of affairs that has defined the vast majority of human existence. The era of peace, comfort and prosperity was our summer holiday; the era of struggle, sacrifice and resolve is our home.

Don’t cry because the comfort is over. Smile because it happened. And then, let yourself be animated by enthusiasm for the exciting journey that lies ahead. We were born too late to explore the earth. We were born too early to explore the stars. But we were born just in time to dismantle Russia and tame Eurasia.

Happy New Year!

Many still haven’t comprehended that the world changed forever on the 24th of February 2022, and that our lives cannot be the same anymore. We simply cannot allow ourselves to enjoy our lives of peace and comfort, while Ukraine is bleeding - protecting that very peace and comfort that we take for granted.

When you spend your Christmas in the warmth of your home with your families and loved ones, remember this: There are people similar to you, sharing the same heritage and culture, with similar mindset, interests and behavioral mores who, unlike you, had the misfortune of living right next to spiteful, savage barbarians. The barbarians who hate them with every fiber of their being precisely because those people are very much like you.

As you celebrate Christmas, live your life in comfort, busy yourself with mundane tasks and make plans for the future, a person just like you, with the same interests and cultural background, who had the same plans for the future, is either going through an ordeal in Russian captivity, risking his life in the trenches, or living his life in constant fear without heating and electricity because those spiteful savages bombed everything.

Why do those people just like you have to go through all these ordeals? Because of your philistinism and insouciance. Because you continue to prioritize mundane matters over higher aims. Because you still wallow in comfort. Because you still think that a 5% increase in the price of goods is the greatest tragedy that could happen - that it is even worth considering a problem. While you fret over the economy, the cost of living, your material comfort, people just like you suffer barbaric torture, lose their loved ones, have their residential areas, hospitals, kindergartens bombed by spiteful barbarians.

You complain about prices in the supermarkets? Those other people just like you are being bombed while shopping in the supermarkets. You complain about the price of housing? Those other people just like you have their houses destroyed.

What is more, those other people just like you endure all these ordeals so that you don’t have to! Because make no mistake: those spiteful barbarians would also commit the same crimes against you and your loved ones if they could. If they could run over those other people just like you, they would come for you. For you personally. And none of your pleas would help. You could say all you want that you don’t care about politics, that you just want to do your job and live your life, but none of this will matter. Because those barbarians hate you, and those other people just like you, precisely for these things - they hate you for your prosperity, comfort, beauty and sophistication. And they will inflict the same ordeals on you and your loved ones.

Therefore, when you celebrate Christmas in comfort, remember that there is currently only one thing worth striving for. There is only one thing to be bothered with that trumps everything else in our lives. It is the destruction of Russia - that eternal den of filth from which the spiteful barbarians emerge. Then, and only then, you will be entitled to a peaceful, prosperous and comfortable life. Only when those other people just like you do not have to face those spiteful barbarians anymore will you deserve your happiness and comfort. Then, and only then, you can allow yourself to fret about mundane matters like the price of groceries, gasoline or housing.

What value does improving civilian infrastructure have, when all that can be destroyed by the spiteful barbarians in an instant? What value do our scientific advancements possess, like curing cancer and Alzheimer’s, leaps in AI & robotics etc., if people just like us who could have participated in these achievements are being killed and tortured by spiteful barbarians? When all that advancement could be destroyed by those barbarians and knowledge could be lost.

Everything else is secondary, even tertiary and quaternary. The annihilation of those barbarians is primary. This, and only this, should be the sole aim that animates every single one of us. This is the only thing worth striving for in this time and age. This should be what imbues us with meaning and purpose in life. This noble goal should be felt by every fiber of our being, it should be felt in our bones.

To paraphrase a popular saying: You were born too late to explore the world. You were born too early to explore the stars. But you were born just in time to destroy Russia.

Whatever you do in your lives never lose sight of the fact that Russia must be destroyed. Demilitarized, denuclearized, and disintegrated into dozens of independent states, each with its own unique national/regional identity that disavows the “Russian” past. Then, and only then, could we live our lives with clean conscience and be entitled to care about something else. Currently Ukrainians, those other people just like us, are our sole conscience. Their fate and sacrifice is what should stir our souls.

Russia must be destroyed. Whatever it takes. Rusia delenda est.

Yet, through sheer ingenuity, Ukrainians managed to hold the line and erode Russia’s numerical superiority. Consequently, Russia has been forced to engage in a slow, grinding offensive at a staggering cost. Facing the exhaustion of their domestic manpower, the Russians devised a solution: tapping into the vast human reservoirs of the Third World to sustain their war effort. They began by introducing North Korean troops in significant numbers. As the war progressed, increasing numbers of Africans, Indians, Cubans, and Nepalese began appearing within Russian ranks.

The logical response would be for European armies to intervene directly on Ukraine’s behalf. Ukraine is no longer fighting merely against Russia – a daunting task in itself – but against a force bolstered by global recruitment. It is no longer just Ukraine against Russia; it is Ukraine against Russia, North Korea, and a coalition of others. Since Russia does not shy away from importing fighters from all over the Third World to wage war against Ukraine, Europe, at the very least, should not hesitate to match the amount of foreign recruits that Russia has assembled. This is only logical.

However, if Europeans remain unwilling to deploy their own troops, I propose an alternative, perhaps even better, solution that will solve Ukraine’s manpower problem and will protect both Ukrainian and European lives: Europe should facilitate Ukraine’s recruitment from these same regions. Why should Russia be the only power capable of recruiting soldiers from Africa or India? Ukraine can, and should, do the same. If European nations are unwilling to fight, they can at least provide the necessary financing for Ukraine to recruit en masse from the Global South.

This mirrors Russia’s strategy, yet with a crucial moral distinction. Ukraine’s cause is just, whereas Russia’s is not. Furthermore, there is a significant humanitarian difference: unlike in the Russian army, foreign recruits in the Ukrainian army will be treated with dignity, and their chances of survival will be significantly higher. The compensation they will receive for enlisting to fight for Ukraine will represent a life-changing amount in their countries of origin. With better survival odds, they could plausibly return home with the financial means to secure a prosperous future.

Russia has no qualms about utilizing the vast manpower of the Third World to fuel its war against Europe. Europe, with its vastly superior economic potential, has the capacity to attract far greater numbers of recruits from Africa, India, and beyond. If Russia intends to play this game, Europe and Ukraine must respond in kind.

Finally, this proposal dovetails with the issue of financial aid to the Third World, a topic I have raised recently (here and here). Europe should end unconditional financial aid – especially now, when those funds would be better spent on Ukraine and Europe’s own rearmament. Instead, Europe should implement a transactional form of aid: funds should flow to people of the Third World strictly in exchange for service to Western Civilization in its existential struggle. A significant portion of the huge sum of money that European countries currently spend on foreign aid can, and should, be used to build recruitment centers in the Third World and enable Ukraine to recruit mercenaries. To receive the financial support from Europe, individuals would need to demonstrate a willingness to help, and indeed, to risk their lives for the West. This, and only this, is aid worth giving.

In the end, those foreign recruits for Russia are fighting for an unjust cause – they are fighting on the side of Evil. They are aiding, or directly participating, in plunder, mass executions, rapes and torture. Those fighting for Ukraine, however, will be fighting for a just cause – on the side of Good. They will be fighting to protect Europe.

Current events lack any true historical equivalent, at least in the modern history of the 19th and 20th centuries. Trump’s treatment of Ukraine stands as a unique colossus of depravity. It does not follow a historical precedent; it sets one. It will serve as the dark touchstone against which all future acts of geopolitical treachery are measured.

When Czechoslovakia was pressured to make concessions to Nazi Germany in Munich in 1938, there was no active war. Nazi Germany had not yet attacked anyone and had not yet turned genocidal. The Germans were not torturing, raping, mutilating, and slaughtering the Czech people. Germany had not flattened Czech cities or bombed hospitals, kindergartens, and residential buildings. Russia has done all of this and more. Furthermore, by the time the Munich Agreement was signed, Czechoslovakia had not been successfully fighting off Germany for nearly four years, as Ukraine has done today against Russia.

The Munich Agreement was a desperate attempt by Europeans to avoid another bloodbath while the harrowing memory of World War I was still fresh. Today, America faces no such risk. Simply maintaining the current, relatively minuscule support for Ukraine will not drag the United States into war.

In essence, Munich 1938 was an attempt by Western European powers to reconcile with a fellow civilized European nation – the Germans – who simply went astray at the time. There was a plausible assumption that Germany would reciprocate the gesture because Germans are a civilized European nation. Russians, however, are not. If anything, Russians represent the antithesis of Germans, and Europeans in general. Consequently, one cannot expect them to reciprocate; this is axiomatic.

What Trump is doing, however, is neither appeasement nor an attempt at reconciliation. It is the active sabotage of the Ukrainian war effort. It is active support for Russia – nothing less. Trump wants Russia to win. He glosses over Russian atrocities as if they never occurred. He is indifferent to the moral reality; he simply wants to do business with Moscow. He seeks to reintegrate Russia into the international community without preconditions and without demanding atonement for its crimes. If it were solely up to him, he would likely arm Russia himself; one could easily imagine him providing Tomahawks to Moscow rather than Kyiv.

Moreover, the US is not losing money by supporting Ukraine. It is selling weapons, and the sharing of intelligence – the most crucial component of US aid – costs the American taxpayer nothing. If Trump were simply “disinterested” in this war, he could continue allowing sales to Europeans and permit intelligence sharing to continue. That wouldn’t be a burden at all. He could simply step off the stage, and Ukraine would continue to fight Russia successfully.

But he refuses to do so. He threatens to withdraw the very aid that costs America nothing but is existential for the Ukrainian defense. He does not simply leave the scene – he actively undermines Ukraine. He is acting as Russia’s ally.

Although Western European powers appeased Germany in 1938, they never aimed for economic cooperation or investment in the Nazi economy – not even in their wildest dreams. Trump, however, intends to invest substantially in Russia, boosting an economy that will inevitably be used to launch another invasion of Europe. He ignores that Russians have committed savage war crimes unfathomable to the Western mind. He ignores that Russia views its invasion of Ukraine as a war against the West itself. None of this matters to Trump.

The Russian economy is collapsing. It is becoming obvious with each passing day that Russia cannot sustain its war effort much longer. Yet, at this precise moment – when the collapse of the aggressor is near – the Trump administration begins pressuring the victim to sign a capitulation ultimatum. But his plan goes beyond mere surrender: he aims to heavily invest in Russia, restore it to the G8, and provide amnesty for its war crimes. This is a level of moral depravity to which the Western powers in Munich 1938 never sank.

One might draw another historical parallel: Yalta 1945, where the US and Britain abandoned Central and Eastern Europe to be devoured by the Russians. In fact, I have previously drawn parallels between Trump and Roosevelt (here and here), noting that Trump is, in many ways, a modern-day Roosevelt – a comparison meant not as a compliment, but as an indictment. Both men demonstrated a profound, misguided sympathy for Russia – albeit in its different historical incarnations – and both administrations were permeated by ardent Soviet or Russian sympathizers who swayed America’s geopolitical decisions at critical historical junctures. Just as they did in the 1930s and 40s, they attempt to do so again today.

However, even this comparison falls short. During the Roosevelt era and leading up to Yalta, there existed another unjust state alongside the Soviet Union: Nazi Germany. Although I have repeatedly emphasized that the Soviet Union was the greater evil – and that it was a grave error for Western powers to throw their unconditional support behind Russia to defeat Germany – one could still plausibly argue at the time that an alliance with the Soviets was a strategic necessity to crush Nazism. There was, undeniably, a degree of moral ambiguity. It is therefore understandable, albeit not justifiable, that the US chose the Soviet Union over Nazi Germany, despite the tragic consequences that followed.

Today, however, there is absolutely no such moral ambiguity. The distinction is absolute: Ukraine is the victim fighting a legitimate war of self-defense; Russia is the brutal aggressor launching a barbarian invasion. Ukraine is good, Russia is evil. Pure and simple. The moral lines are drawn far more clearly now than they were in the 1930s-1940s. Yet, despite this clarity, the Trump administration still seeks avenues to align with Russia. They aim for joint financial projects, pressure the victim to surrender, and, shockingly, view Russia as a partner while viewing Europe as a rival.

Therefore, what we are witnessing is not another Munich. It is not even another Yalta. It is a phenomenon entirely its own – something far worse – that will require a new entry in the history books to serve as a reference point for future infamy. If, like in other examples, we must assign a place name to this betrayal, then perhaps for future historians, this moment will be known as “Mar-a-Lago”.

Fortunately, however, Trump lacks the immense popularity that Roosevelt enjoyed in his time. This is where the analogy ends. With his political capital, Roosevelt could sway a reluctant American public toward alignment with Russia and away from Europe. Trump and his coterie desire the same outcome, but Trump is deeply unpopular. Moreover, the American public remains staunchly pro-Ukraine and anti-Russian. As recent polls indicate, support for Ukraine has actually increased during Trump’s second term – defying the administration’s rhetoric – reaching its highest levels since the start of the full-scale invasion. Consequently, unlike Munich 1938 or Yalta 1945, this “Mar-a-Lago” moment is unlikely to bear fruit. It will go down in history as a mere aberration without lasting geopolitical success, remembered only as a stain of infamy on Trump, his inner circle, and the Russian sympathizers within his administration.

This yet another attempt by the US administration to save Russia from total collapse will fail. History will proceed along its natural course. Ukraine and Europe will emerge victorious in their confrontation with Russia. Russia will be denuclearized, demilitarized, and disintegrated into dozens of independent states, each based on unique national and regional identities, finally renouncing their imperial Muscovite-Russian past.

However, this did not happen. Even Ukrainians themselves, who know Russians best, often shared this assumption. General Valery Zaluzhnyi later admitted this was a serious misjudgment. The Russian public proved willing to endure levels of hardship that few expected. Only now has the realization settled into Western policy circles that Russia’s strongest asset is not its economy or its demographics, but the astonishingly high threshold of suffering its people will tolerate for the sake of the war.

Europe outnumbers Russia. Europe’s economy dwarfs Russia’s on every metric. Yet Russia manages to extract a larger share of its smaller population and fewer resources, while Europeans and Americans recoil from similar levels of sacrifice. However, this imbalance is not simply about economics. It is rooted much deeper. It reflects a difference in the way Westerners and Russians process reality.

Many explanations circulate for this Russian willingness to withstand hardship: slave mentality, complacency, the force of propaganda etc. All carry some truth. Yet there is a deeper reason that touches upon the depths of the Russian psyche and their world-feeling. It lies in the Russian relationship to truth, imagination, and the limits of what feels real.

As I have written before (here and here), Russians possess a striking capacity to blur the line between truth and falsehood. In essence, Russian psyche is radical egalitarian in the truest sense of this word. For Russians different, even opposing, states of being are equivalent: truth and falsehood, life and death, beautiful and ugly. This can be captured very well by the prime symbol of the Russian realm as posited by Oswald Spengler: that prime symbol is endless plain. The plain is undifferentiated, everything along the plain looks the same. And so is the Russian psyche – for it, different, even opposing, states of the matter feel the same.

This unique feature of Russians makes them unusually able to step away from daily reality and into an imagined world. What they imagine does feel very real for them, even though it might starkly contradict the facts on the ground. For radical egalitarians like Russians, the separating line between physical reality and inner fantasy grows thin. They can easily substitute their imagination for the physical reality in a way Europeans cannot.

So, although many Russians live without indoor plumbing, don’t have proper roads, and face conditions that would feel intolerable to others, they sincerely believe their country is envied, respected and feared. They sincerely believe the West longs to destroy Russia and seize its resources, though the historical record points in the opposite direction. The West has repeatedly helped prevent Russia’s collapse and even today prefers stability over chaos in the Russian state. Russians inhabit what feels almost like a metaverse. If the metaverse ever became widespread, Russians would adopt it with ease – in fact, they would be the first to adopt it and would be its most reliable customers.

This capacity to live in imagined success explains why many Russians embrace the war effort even as their own lives become ever more miserable. They can experience victory and success vicariously and feel uplifted by it. The closest analogy is the psychology of sports fans. I say this as a sports fan myself. When your team wins, the feeling is intoxicating. It feels like your own triumph, even if your personal life is full of setbacks. The team’s success becomes a substitute for private disappointment. As a result, one can feel oneself accomplished in life more than his personal achievements warrant.

A similar process unfolds in the Russian psyche, only far more intense. For a people who do not sharply distinguish between reality and imagination, the imagined greatness of their country is powerful enough to cover the hardships of daily life. The belief that Russia is mighty and feared, a nuclear power standing against a hostile world, supplies a sense of personal pride that compensates for personal misery and destituteness. As long as the war appears to move forward for Russia, even by a single captured village, many Russians feel their team is winning. The victory feels like their own – like their own personal achievement. Russia’s military gains, no matter how small, provide a sense of accomplishment that their personal circumstances cannot offer.

This psychological mechanism reduces the misery that would otherwise rise from daily life. Vicarious glory becomes an emotional substitute for personal success. In this way, millions can accept hardship while feeling uplifted, even fulfilled. The refrigerator does not defeat the television because the television does not merely feed propaganda. It supplies an alternate reality that many Russians find more livable than the one in their real physical lives.

But this dynamic works the other way too. The loss of a favorite team can feel like a personal failure. A lost game can send a loyal fan into a depressive fog even when his own life is stable and good. I remember this clearly from my own teenage years. When my team lost, the sadness stayed with me for weeks. Nothing in my day-to-day life had changed, yet the defeat felt heavy enough to shape my mood.

This reaction carries serious implications for Russians, whose imagination can so easily overtake the facts of daily life. If Russia begins to lose the war in a visible, undeniable way – not in abstract metrics but through the loss of territory and a steady pattern of failure – then Russians will begin to feel like losers in a deeper sense than their material conditions alone would justify (and their material conditions are already abysmal enough). The 1990s showed this clearly. As the Soviet Union collapsed, Russian self-esteem collapsed with it. Many believed themselves to be the worst in the world, the greatest losers among all peoples on Earth. Their emotional fall reached far below even the painful economic reality of the time.

This brings us to the heart of how the West should think about dealing with Russia, especially in the context of its invasion of Ukraine. Western policymakers assumed that worsening daily life inside Russia would pressure society into pushing against the war. That assumption missed the point. Hardship at home does not break Russians. Losing the war, i.e., destruction of their vicarious reality, does.

The key is not the deterioration of real life, but the deterioration of the imaginative world that sustains them. When the source of their vicarious pride dries up, when the intoxication of imagined greatness turns sour, then the system begins to shake. Russians will give in only when they feel the one thing they cannot emotionally endure: the sense that their team is defeated. If battlefield outcomes turn decisively against Russia, and if this continues long enough, there will be nothing left in the imaginary realm to compensate for the bleakness of daily life. And as with passionate sports fans, the emotional crash will fall even lower than objective conditions warrant. This is the moment when support for the war will crumble. Not when sanctions squeeze harder, not when living standards fall, but when Russians can no longer tell themselves a story of victory.

The implication for the West is straightforward. Support Ukraine not only to avoid defeat, but to achieve a real, sustained victory. Support it enough that Ukraine can not only hold its ground against slow Russian advances but consistently captures territory from Russians. And even better, Western countries should intervene more directly on behalf of Ukraine. At some point, the losses will become too visible and too continuous for Russians to ignore. Their imagined world will turn against them. They will feel that their team is losing. That is the moment when the population will no longer accept the sacrifices demanded by the war. Not because their daily reality becomes harsher, but because the source of their vicarious glory, their imaginary world – the one that made harshness tolerable – finally collapses.

With this understanding of the Russian psyche in mind, it is essential to turn our gaze to the other side of this looming confrontation. If Russia’s resilience stems from its people’s extraordinary capacity to endure hardship through vicarious glory, what, then, would compel Europeans – or Westerners more broadly – to mobilize, sacrifice, and persist in a prolonged struggle against Russia? Europe holds undeniable advantages: a population that outnumbers Russia’s, an economy that eclipses it in every measure, superior technology, and most importantly a reservoir of high human capital that Russia sorely lacks. Yet, as observers have noted, Europe’s Achilles’ heel lies in its comparatively low threshold for pain. While Russia can wring near-maximum compliance from its populace over extended periods, even modest deteriorations in living standards could erode European resolve, sapping the will to sustain a war effort. This asymmetry poses a profound risk: a weaker adversary prevailing not through strength, but through sheer endurance.

At the heart of this vulnerability is a fundamental difference in the European psyche, which can be explained by the prime symbol that Oswald Spengler assigned to the Western (Faustian) Civilization. Whereas the Russian soul is represented by the endless plain – an expanse of undifferentiated equivalence, where truth and falsehood, reality and imagination are indistinguishable from one another – the Faustian West is defined by infinite space. This symbol evokes boundless depth, a relentless drive to differentiate, to probe, and to seek absolute truth. In the Russian psyche breadth prevails, whereas European psyche emphasizes depth. For Europeans, therefore, ground realities loom large, unignorable, and unyielding. Unlike Russians, who can fluidly substitute fantasy for fact, Europeans cannot so easily abstract away from the reality of their circumstances. A potholed road, a rising cost of living, or a disrupted supply chain registers not as a minor inconvenience to be overlaid with imagined triumphs, but as a stark, undeniable affront that demands resolution.

Yet these traits are not absolute binaries – Europeans are not wholly incapable of vicarious fulfillment, nor are Russians entirely detached from reality. The capacities exist on a spectrum. Europe already wields overwhelming edges in demographics, economics, and ingenuity; Russia counters primarily with its populace’s dogged tolerance for suffering. To tip the scales decisively, the West need not elevate its endurance to Russian extremes – an impossibility given the innate psyches at play. Instead, a modest enhancement in Europeans’ ability to experience success and pride vicariously could amplify these advantages, fostering the resilience needed for a drawn-out conflict.

The challenge is that, for decades, Western societies have systematically eroded this very capacity. Nationalism, once a wellspring of collective identity, has been vilified as retrograde or dangerous. Pride in one’s civilization, race and heritage has been cast as taboo, equated with exclusion or extremism. This cultural shift has left Europeans starved of avenues for vicarious joy, amplifying their fixation on realities of everyday life. In an era of introspection and self-critique, the team spirit that could vicariously uplift amid hardship has been dismantled, leaving individuals dealing only with their personal realities.

This suppression carries dire implications for the impending clash with Russia. European leaders and policymakers appear to grasp the stakes: they are bolstering armies, urging youth to enlist, and steeling the public for sustained opposition to Russian aggression. Yet all these mobilization efforts will hinge, inevitably, on the native populations of Europe – i.e., white Europeans. It is they who view their countries as their own and who have the deepest attachment to Europe through their ancestry, heritage and history. To rally them for the impending war while simultaneously demonizing their identity, rewriting their history as one of unmitigated shame, and denying them any outlet for collective pride is not merely counterproductive – it is self-sabotage. How can a people be expected to endure sacrifices when deprived of the emotional sustenance that makes those sacrifices meaningful?

To prevail, the West must restore this vital mechanism: the permission, and indeed the encouragement, for Europeans to revel in the triumphs of their civilization. The anti-white policies that have defined the last decades must be abolished and their consequences reversed. Every European should thereby be empowered to view the defeat of Russia as a personal victory – the conquest of Smolensk, Novgorod, St. Petersburg, the fall of Moscow, the taming of the Urals and Siberia. These should be viewed as personal accomplishments by every European that infuse life with purpose. By rekindling this vicarious pride, Europeans can partially transcend the grind of daily hardships. In doing so, the West will mitigate the liabilities of its psychological profile and augment its other assets. This will ensure that when the confrontation inevitably escalates, it is not Russia’s dull and undifferentiated endless plain that prevails, but the deep and meaningful infinite space of the Western (Faustian) soul.

However, preparing for the civilizational confrontation with Russia that lies ahead, and in fact is already ongoing in Ukraine, will require more than weapons, industry, and budgets. Europe also needs moral rearmament. In fact, it is the pre-requisite for success of the physical rearmament program that European leaders and policymakers at least finally recognized as necessary and inevitable. The continent has spent decades wallowing in guilt about its past, and that guilt has become a strategic liability. It is time to recognize how heavily this burden is being used against the West by its enemies. And it is time for the West to get rid of that guilt.

Russia heavily exploits the West’s guilt complex in its rhetoric. Its propaganda leans on the idea that the West is forever stained by its colonial history and therefore unfit to defend its interests. Every firm response to Russian aggression is twisted into a supposed act of Western expansionism. Both the Soviet Union and Putin’s Russia have long tried to portray even the weakest Western pushback against Russian aggression as evidence of a colonial project aimed at them. Today, Russia even presents Western support for Ukraine as a colonial war against Russia itself!

At the same time, Russia cynically casts its own invasion of Ukraine as an anti‑colonial struggle. This messaging is designed to paralyze Western confidence. A society trapped in self‑reproach is a society that hesitates. Russia knows this and uses it. The more Europe indulges in self‑flagellation, the easier it becomes for Russians to undermine Western resolve.

Part of this strategy relies on resurrecting the ghosts of Europe’s Nazi past, especially Germany’s. By labeling any form of Ukrainian nationalism as Nazism, Russia plays directly into Western neurosis. The tactic works because it lands on sensitive ground. Whenever Europe stands firmly against Russian encroachments and hostility, Russian officials and propagandists claim that old Nazi spirits are rising again. Even in recent months, as Europe increased its support for Ukraine due to Washington’s instability, Russian voices compared Europe’s stance to Nazism. Russia’s intention is thereby to shame Europe into moral confusion, so that Russians can present themselves as the righteous side.

This is why, capitalizing on the current pro-Russian US administration, Putin and Russian commentators recently evoke the Soviet‑American alliance of the Second World War. They want to wrap themselves in the memory of fighting Hitler and present their assault on Ukraine as the same kind of struggle. The goal is to make Europe feel ashamed for supporting Ukraine and resisting Russian aggression, as if doing so were a betrayal of its own historical lessons.

The same tactic appears in the rhetoric of parts of the German Left that are sympathetic to Russia. They point to Germany’s past to scold it for supporting Ukraine. The message is always the same. Because Germany once committed terrible crimes, it must now silence itself and stand down in the face of Russian brutality. Russia and its advocates know which emotional triggers work. Europe has many. But if these triggers are neutralized, Russian leverage evaporates.

Admitting past crimes is honorable. So is apologizing for them. Europe’s willingness to atone reflects its humanity. Yet this virtue becomes dangerous when it is used by hostile actors that feel no shame themselves. Europe cannot allow its enemies to turn its conscience into a weapon against it. Europeans may choose to remember their history and learn from it, but they must not let outsiders use that history to manipulate them. Only Europeans have the right to judge the faults of their ancestors. No one else can claim that authority.

For this reason, Europe needs a moral reassessment of the Second World War narrative. Above all, this is needed in Germany, whose leadership will be decisive in any future mobilization for European war effort. This reassessment does not mean denying Nazi crimes or going into revisionism. It means moving from total self‑condemnation toward a fairer, more nuanced view of history.

Different actions of Nazi Germany carried different moral weights. For example, the persecution and murder of Jews and Poles were crimes that deserve condemnation – albeit without guilt-complex and moral self-flagellation. But the invasion of the Soviet Union is another matter. Germany, and the rest of Europe, should not feel guilty towards Russia for that campaign. The Soviet Union was the greatest threat to European Civilization at the time, just as its successor state is today. Confronting that threat was not a crime against humanity. It was a recognition of reality. The Soviet Union needed to be attacked and destroyed. The tragedy was that the only major European power who clearly saw that danger at the time, and was willing to act, was a regime that had already isolated itself morally and alienated many other Europeans – its natural allies. And hence it couldn’t convince enough of them to join in its just cause. Essentially, a just cause was being pursued by an unjust state.

Furthermore, Russia’s claim to be fighting a noble “anti-colonial” struggle against the West is not only manipulative – it is laughably dishonest. For if there is a colonial empire in this war, it is Russia itself.

No one denies that the colonial record of the European powers is mixed and includes injustice. But the West has nothing to be ashamed of in the way its enemies, above all Russia, want it to be. Most former European colonies – despite the legitimate grievances they may hold – benefited in tangible ways from European presence. Roads, railways, schools, hospitals, modern bureaucracies, and legal systems were built. Diseases were treated. Lifespans rose. One need only look at the population boom in post-colonial Africa, driven by medical advances and humanitarian aid brought by the West, to see how beneficial this legacy has been.

Were there abuses? Certainly. But in the final balance, Europe’s colonies were left better off than they had been before European contact. Africa, for instance, was not some flourishing civilization interrupted by colonialism – it was a deeply underdeveloped place even before contact with Europeans. European colonization often brought the first semblance of modern infrastructure, public health, and administration. The notion that the continent’s current challenges are simply the fault of colonialism is both historically false and politically convenient for the West’s enemies.

Russian colonialism, by contrast, brought none of these benefits. Wherever Russia went, it made things worse. This is not a matter of opinion, but of historical fact. The peoples who once lived under Russian or Soviet domination – Poles, Balts, Ukrainians, Finns, and others – did not flock to Russia after independence. They built their own futures in their newly independent countries, and they built them better. In fact, it was Russians who migrated into these countries, eager to live among their former subjects rather than in the destitute realm they left behind. Also, unlike Africa before European colonialism, Poland, Baltic territories, Ukraine (Ruthenia), Finland were already developed and prosperous before being subjugated by Muscovy-Russia. Russian rule sent them backwards; in contrast, Europeans uplifted the colonies which they ruled.

This tells you everything you need to know. When the Baltic states regained their independence, it wasn’t Estonians or Latvians who rushed to settle in Russia. It was the Russian settlers and their descendants who chose to stay. They preferred life among their former subjects to life in their ancestral homeland they felt attachment to.

The pattern repeats itself across Russia’s other former holdings. Ukraine, for example, has always been more developed and culturally sophisticated than the Muscovite-Russian heartland. In the 17th century, it was Ukrainian scholars, theologians, and writers who brought learning and cultural refinement to Muscovy. Kyiv was a beacon of civilization while Moscow (its conqueror) was civilizational backwater. Even during the Soviet period, Ukraine remained richer and more productive than much of Russia.

Yevgeny Prigozhin, before his brief rebellion, openly admitted that one motive behind Russia’s invasion of Ukraine was plunder. Moscow coveted Ukraine’s richer lands and industries, just as it had in the past. This isn’t new. For example, what came to be known in history as the Russian Civil War was, in essence, an attempt by the impoverished north-eastern Muscovite realm to seize control of the wealthier and more developed Ukrainian territories.

Even today, the contrast between Russian and European colonialism is visible in the direction of migration. It tells the real story. Ukrainians, Balts, and Poles have stayed and built. Russians, however, leave to those very places they colonized before, and also further west. But it is the opposite of the pattern we see with former European colonies. Africans, South Asians, and others continue to seek a future in Europe. Whatever their historical grievances, they choose to live among their former colonizers. Because, unlike in the case of Russians, the societies built by Europeans are prosperous, sophisticated, and offer opportunity and dignity.

This is the crucial difference. Russian colonialism was extractive, repressive, and backwards. It dragged down the peoples it ruled. Western colonialism, even when marred by exploitation, often brought advancement. This is not to whitewash anything. But we must be clear-eyed about history, especially when the very country with a centuries-long brutal expansionist record dares to lecture others on colonial guilt.

The hypocrisy of this so-called anti-colonial movement runs even deeper. In practice, it has rarely functioned as a consistent moral principle. Instead, it has often served as an ideological weapon – one wielded selectively, and almost exclusively, against the West.

During the peak of decolonization in the 1960s, when African nations were gaining independence, many of the most vocal anti-colonial activists were also passionate supporters of the Soviet Union – the most brutal colonial empire at the time. They condemned British and French imperialism with fervor, yet remained silent on the Soviet occupation of Eastern Europe, the Baltics, Central Asia, and the Caucasus. The same pattern continues today. Many of those who rail against the West for its colonial past – and accuse it of perpetuating neo-colonialism today – are some of the most ardent defenders of Russia’s current invasion of Ukraine, which is nothing less than a colonial war waged with terror, looting and crimes against humanity.

The reason is not hard to see. Since shedding its artificial European veneer with the Bolshevik Revolution, Russia has been the vanguard of Third Worldist anti-Western resentment. Therefore, it is admired in the Global South and in the anti-colonialist circles within the West itself in spite of its colonial crimes, which were even more brutal than European ones. Essentially, the anti-colonial movement is less about defending the oppressed than it is about attacking Western Civilization. At its core, it has often been not anti-colonial, but anti-Western – and sometimes, quite plainly, anti-white.

This double standard is staggering. Over the centuries, Russia has killed, deported, and subjugated more non-white peoples than most Western empires combined. Entire Turkic, Uralic, and Caucasian peoples have lived for centuries under brutal Russian domination – stripped of their resources, languages, and identities. Today, large swaths of the Russian Federation are home to indigenous non-Russian peoples who are still subjected to cultural Russification and economic exploitation. From the Siberian Yakuts to the Bashkirs and Chechens, Moscow’s grip remains tight.

Yet Western anti-colonial activists who claim to stand for justice rarely mention them. They remain fixated on “Islamophobia” in Europe while ignoring the Russian wars in Chechnya – two genocidal campaigns that flattened cities, killed tens of thousands, and continue to cast a shadow over the region. Even Turkey, the leading Turkic power and self-declared champion of pan-Turkism, seems more interested in scolding Europe and the United States than in confronting Russia’s centuries-long oppression of Turkic peoples.

Nowhere is this moral inconsistency more obvious than in the treatment of settler populations. When Algeria won independence from France, millions of French settlers were expelled – often violently. When India became free of British rule, few questioned the departure of the British. In both cases, the world accepted that colonizers had no rightful claim to stay.

But when the Baltic states regained independence after the fall of the Soviet Union, no one called for the expulsion of Russian settlers – many of whom had been brought in after World War II to replace the native populations, large portions of which had been murdered or deported to Siberia. In Latvia and Estonia in particular, this demographic shift was not accidental. It was a deliberate policy of ethnic dilution implemented by the Soviet Union.

Moreover, these Russian settlers were not innocent bystanders. Many were complicit – directly or indirectly – in the brutal Soviet occupation of these countries. Yet when Latvia or Estonia tried to assert control over their own language, culture, and citizenship policies after independence, they were morally hamstrung by the prevailing sentiment in the West. They were not praised for their restraint. Instead, they were chastised by some Western circles for “violating human rights” of Russians. If they chose to expel those Russian settlers (and their descendants), such an act would have been frowned upon in the West. Russia capitalized on this sentiment, using it to paint itself as the protector of “oppressed Russian minorities” and to cast the Baltic peoples – victims of occupation – as perpetrators.

Meanwhile, no one wept for the French who were killed or expelled from Algeria. No one demanded that India extend political rights to the British who had ruled them. Those colonial removals were accepted, even justified. But in the case of Russia, the rules changed.

Here, the anti-colonial movement revealed its true face. The French in Algeria were labeled as occupiers who had to leave. The Russians in Latvia, in contrast, were cast as victims whose presence must be honored and preserved. Never mind that the Baltic peoples had far stronger moral grounds to expel their colonizers. Never mind that they showed restraint far beyond what was shown to the French in Algeria. In the eyes of the Left the Baltic peoples were wrong – because in this case the colonized were Europeans and the colonizers (i.e., Russians) were not. And therefore, in this twisted moral logic, Russians could not be colonialists.

Russian propaganda has mastered a grotesque reversal: it casts its victims as perpetrators. It has learned to manipulate Western concepts like “human rights” and “minority rights” to shield its own colonial legacy. In this twisted narrative, the descendants of Russian settlers – often brought in to replace native populations that were brutalized, massacred or deported – are painted as innocent victims, while the nations they helped subjugate are branded as “fascist” for wanting to reclaim their identity and independence.

Worse still, large parts of the Western establishment have accepted this inversion. Because in this case, the colonizers weren’t Western – they were Russian, and therefore, in the eyes of the anti-Western Left, beyond reproach. French settlers in Algeria or British officials in India were vilified and expelled, often violently, with the tacit or open approval of the global anti-colonial movement. But Russian settlers in Latvia or Estonia? They are treated with sympathy. The West mourns for them, not for the native populations they displaced.

This double standard is alive today, and it reaches deep inside Russia itself. The so-called “autonomous republics” inside Russian Federation, like Bashkortostan, Tatarstan or Yakutia are not genuine expressions of self-rule. They are occupied territories, ancestral homelands of non-Russian peoples who have lived for centuries under Moscow’s boot. And yet, when voices from those republics speak of independence, they are met with warnings – including from so-called Russian liberals – about the fate of the ethnic Russians who live there. The concern, once again, is not for the colonized but for the colonizers.

This is nothing less than moral inversion. The burden of guilt is again shifted from the abuser to its victims. The Bashkirs, Tatars, and Yakuts are told to think first about the human rights of those whose very presence is the legacy of conquest. When the French were driven out of Algeria, few in the West raised such concerns. When India gained independence, no one demanded guarantees for the British who had ruled it. But now, the descendants of Muscovite settlers in northern Asia are to be protected at all costs – while their hosts remain voiceless.

This is the moral trap that Europe must escape. If it is to prevail in this historic confrontation with Russia, it must shed the burden of self-imposed guilt. Europe owes no apology to anyone. It does not need to explain itself. Its civilization has been the greatest force for advancement in human history. The world is better because Europeans exist. Even Russia, in its brief and partial flirtation with European values, briefly became less cruel. The rest of the world, whether it admits it or not, has benefited greatly from European Civilization.

The tables must now turn. It is not Europe that should feel shame. It is Russia. It is not Europe that must apologize. It is Russia that owes an apology – to the peoples of Eastern Europe, to the nations of Central Asia and the Caucasus, to its own colonized republics, and above all, to Ukraine.

Traditionally, this prophecy has been understood solely with reference to the Bolshevik Revolution. The vision was interpreted to mean that if this revolution were not averted, Russia would disseminate communist ideology across the globe. And indeed, that is precisely what occurred. During the Soviet era, Russia became the chief exporter not only of communism but more importantly of anti-Western, Third-Worldist ideology throughout the world. As Oswald Spengler foresaw, the Soviet Union positioned itself at the forefront of cultivating ressentiment among the global South toward Western Civilization.

Yet the prophecy of Fátima has been understood far too narrowly. When the communist regime collapsed and Orthodox Christianity experienced a renewal in Russia, many concluded that Russia had been “converted” and would no longer “spread errors throughout the world”. Even today, many right-wing circles in the West assume that the fall of communism restored Russia to its rightful place in Western Civilization. According to this view, the Bolshevik Revolution and the Soviet period were aberrations – and with communism gone, Russia is now harmless, a normal country once more.

This assumption is profoundly mistaken. In the context of Fátima especially, the prediction is still being interpreted far too narrowly. The error was not merely the Bolshevik Revolution or the rise of communism. The error is Russia itself. In other words, what must be confronted is not a particular episode in Russian history, but Russia as a grand-historical Error. The error is the very existence of Russia as a political-civilizational form. The error is its imperial, unitary nature.

Rejecting communism and nominally embracing Christianity did not make Russia better. It was not converted, nor did it cease to be the adversary of the West. The truth is that the Bolshevik Revolution was not an isolated anomaly in Russia’s history; it was its natural progression. What was anomalous – what was historically out of place – was actually the “Europeanized” Petrine Russia, the very condition Spengler described as a Pseudomorphosis. Yet popular Western consciousness still equates Russia with the Romanov era of the 18th and 19th centuries, as if that brief imitation of Europe represents Russia’s true nature.

This is a serious illusion. The “Europeanization” imposed by Peter I – and initiated even earlier by his father, Aleksey Mikhaylovich – was cosmetic. It was rejected by ordinary Russians and never penetrated the deeper cultural core of Muscovy. Russia has never been part of European Civilization. Even during its “Europeanized” phase in the 18th and 19th centuries, it remained fundamentally hostile to Europe and persistently sought to undermine it.

The Bolshevik Revolution was, in essence, a revolt against this artificial European façade. Through it, Russia shed its imposed mask and reasserted its pre-Romanov self. The horrors of communism – the Red Terror, the NKVD, Stalin’s purges, and the unfathomable brutality with which these crimes were committed – cannot be regarded as “errors” in the sense of deviations. They fit seamlessly into the long-standing patterns of Russian-Muscovite history: Ivan III’s brutal destruction of Novgorod in the 15th century, Ivan IV’s Oprichnina in the 16th century, and countless similar episodes. In each case, the same behavioral patterns reappeared – patterns later manifested in the Red Terror, Stalinism, and the Red Army’s rampage across Europe in 1944–45: a kind of wanton brutality and perverse sadism that lies beyond the comprehension of the European mind.

Geopolitically as well, the Bolsheviks simply continued the old Russian-Muscovite trajectory. In the wake of the revolution, numerous nations declared independence from the collapsing empire – among them Ukraine – or sought autonomy within it. The Bolsheviks re-conquered virtually all of these states, except Poland, Finland, and the Baltic countries, which they also attempted but initially failed to subjugate. In effect, they rebuilt the Russian Empire, albeit under a different name and a different ideological banner.

Thus, the Bolshevik Revolution, communism, and everything that followed were not really “errors” of Russia. They were the natural outgrowth of the far deeper and more comprehensive historical Error that is Russia itself. Today’s Russia under Vladimir Putin is simply the continuation of the Soviet Union – a continuation of the processes initiated by the Bolsheviks: imperial expansion, hostility toward the West, and ceaseless attempts to undermine it from within.

The fall of communism did not convert Russia. Like the Soviet Union before it, today’s Russia is driven by imperial ambition. It exists as a unitary-imperial state defined by its opposition to the West. It is animated by an almost apocalyptic hatred of Western Civilization. And, as before, it spreads confusion, demoralization, and division within Western societies, promoting asinine narratives and exploiting every fissure it can find. Even its Orthodox Christianity – the supposed evidence of its moral renewal – is at odds with much of the wider Eastern Orthodox Christian world. Russia is Christian in name only. Russian Orthodoxy functions essentially as a civilizational weapon: not something that shapes the Russian psyche, but something shaped by it, a tool of its anti-Western identity and self-perception.

Russia is therefore still spreading “errors throughout the world”, as predicted in Fátima – only these are not errors within Russia. Russia itself is the Error.

The true conversion of Russia would mean nothing less than the dismantling of Russia as an idea. It would mean the deconstruction of Russianness itself. Conversion would require abandoning the unitary-imperial identity that has dominated that vast Eurasian expanse and replacing it with the multitude of national and regional identities long suppressed by centuries of coercion and violence. The true conversion of Russia will come when the people of that territory cease to think of themselves as “Russians” and begin to see themselves as Ingrians, Novgorodians, Uralians, Siberians, Bashkirs, Tatars, Chechens, and many others. Only when Russia is disintegrated into dozens of independent states – each with its own unique regional/national identity – will “Russians”, whether voluntarily or by necessity, lose the ability to spread their historical Error to the world.

This shift is tied to the long-term demographic and ideological changes that took place in the West after WWII. For over 60 years, Western societies have been subjected to a steady stream of anti-white narratives – primarily in media and academia. Movements like BLM, policies like affirmative action, DEI initiatives, and mass Third World immigration are all symptoms of this broader mindset. Now, this resentment has found a new outlet: Jews.

Why? Because in the eyes of the Third Worlders and their ideological allies in the West, Jews are perceived as white. And Israel, a Westernized nation with a high standard of living, is seen as a white state oppressing non-whites. Essentially, the Israel-Palestine conflict is filtered through this specific lens: of whites oppressing non-whites. Israel is cast as a stand-in for “white colonialism”. Consequently, Jews across the West are now targeted not for being Jews, but because they are lumped in with Europeans.

Jews, of course, may have their own view about their identity and racial/cultural belonging. Many of them might not identify as white in racial, cultural or historical terms. Likewise, White Nationalists, for example, can have their own views of Jews. But in this case, none of this matters. What matters is that Third Worlders and their ideological allies see Jews as white – and hate them as such.

This explains why the same crowds that looted stores and attacked white bystanders during the 2020 BLM riots are now harassing Jews on the streets of Amsterdam, Berlin, London, or New York. The underlying ideology is the same – it is anti-white hatred.

Mainstream commentators are quick to invoke the specter of the 1930s, searching for historical analogies to explain the present. Moreover, odiously enough, such an analogy is used, yet again, to guilt-trip Europeans – to blame them and their history for rising anti-Semitism today.

But these comparisons are not only misleading – they betray a total misunderstanding of what’s happening. The Nazi regime targeted Jews because it viewed them as not European. Today’s “anti-Semites” – non-white migrants and radical leftist activists – hate Jews precisely because they perceive them as European.

The truth is that native Europeans today are not anti-Semitic. Most right-wing parties in Europe are in fact pro-Israel. This is because, unlike in the past, Europeans now view Jews as one of them. Therefore, today’s anti-Semitism is coming not from Europeans and has no connection to Europe’s past. It is a totally different phenomenon. It comes from those who hate Europeans – non-whites and their anti-white leftist allies. This also explains the seeming paradox that confuses many mainstream commentators: that in the past anti-Semitism came from the political Right, but now “for some reason” it comes from the political Left. But once one grasps that the anti-Semitism of the past and anti-Semitism of today are totally different and unrelated phenomena, then everything falls into place.

Moreover, the mindset of today’s anti-Semitism extends beyond Israel. It is visible in the broader ideological alignments of the Third Worlders and the political Left. Take Roger Waters, for example – former musician and now a loud supporter of Russia even in the face of undeniable war crimes like mass rape, torture, and the targeting of civilians in Ukraine. He supports Russia so fervently that he even appeared on Russian state TV two years ago accusing the West of everything. Yet at the same time, he has been a vocal critic of Israel since the resumption of the Israel-Palestine conflict two years ago, accusing it of those same crimes that Russia has been committing all the way through in much larger scale and with more gruesome cruelty.

Another odious example is John Mearsheimer. He rails against Israel, calling its actions in Gaza “genocide”. Yet in the same breath he whitewashes Russia’s crimes, instead blaming the West for Russian invasion of Ukraine. Needless to say, he prefers to gloss over the more obvious and barbaric genocide that Russia is currently committing in Ukraine.

One could at least expect that the leftists condemn Russia and Israel equally. One might of course argue about the validity of such an equivalence. Because, however one might criticize Israel’s response to the October 7^th massacre, unlike Russia, it certainly did have a valid and morally justified reason to attack. But at the very least such a stance would be consistent in a certain way – in both cases defending the weak against the strong.

But that’s not what happens. What we observe is that the most fervent pro-Palestinians usually also happen to be the most fervent pro-Russians. In fact, Palestinians themselves are staunchly pro-Russian and support Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. The reason for this logical and moral contradiction is that political support is often tribal and is not guided by universal values. In fact, it’s noteworthy that whites seem to be the only people on Earth who choose their side based not on tribal loyalty but on moral principles. Whereas non-whites often choose their allegiance based on tribal loyalty and perceived shared enemies.

This explains the seemingly contradictory stance of the Third Worlders and their leftist allies in the West with regards to Russia and Israel. Israel is regarded by them as a white Western country, and thus its conflict with the Arabs is viewed through the lens of whites oppressing non-whites. Whereas Russia, after the Bolshevik Revolution, has always been in the anti-Western, anti-white camp – in fact, it has been the vanguard of anti-Western ressentiment. Most importantly, the Third World has always viewed it as such, namely as the leading power for their revenge against the West, and the agent through which their deeply held ressentiments found expression. This explains why the Third World societies and the anti-white leftists in the West are pro-Russian but anti-Israel.

So, when Jews today become the target of what looks like “anti-Semitism”, we need to look deeper. What we observe today isn’t a revival of the 1930s. In fact, it has nothing in common with that era. Rather, it is the continuation of anti-white ideology that now permeates much of the Western world. Unlike in the 1930s, today Jews are hated not because they are not perceived as Europeans, but precisely because they are perceived as such. The anti-Semitism that we observe today is an offshoot of anti-whiteism. Its roots should be traced back not to the 1930s, not to the Middle Ages, but to the 1960s – the period when anti-white ideology began to be entrenched in Western institutions.

From the beginning, Ukraine’s plea was not for NATO troops, not for boots on the ground, not even for the downing of Russian fighter jets. It was simpler, more modest, and more desperate: help us close the skies to these unmanned missiles. Just the western part of Ukraine, even. Just the incoming threats launched from deep within Russia. Just help us intercept the inanimate objects.

But the West recoiled. What followed was a spectacle bordering on Kafkaesque. NATO countries like Poland and Romania were forbidden from shooting down missiles and drones – even those flying toward them – because doing so might “provoke” Russia. In some cases, they weren’t even allowed to intercept drones that had crossed into their own territory. Instead, they had to watch them pass overhead and return to Ukraine to do their damage. It was absurd.

And here lies NATO’s central flaw. It may function as a deterrent in theory, but in practice it often paralyzes its members. Article 5, supposedly the alliance’s shield, becomes a straitjacket. It dissuades bold individual action out of fear that any move could trigger a collective response. Ironically, this fear of escalation weakens the alliance. Members like Poland, right on the frontline, are barred from defending themselves – not out of military incapacity, but out of diplomatic anxiety that Russia might pretend to be offended. Not even declare war – just imply it. And then NATO would be “obligated” to act.

This leaves the door open for Russia to chip away at NATO without ever triggering its full force. Russians understand this. They know how to strike just below the threshold. They launch attacks with just enough deniability to make the victim second-guess their right to respond. And this is where Russian aggression becomes uniquely insidious: it is psychological as much as physical.

The Russian way of war is not just destructive – it is disorienting. I would even say this is unique in history. There were many other aggressive powers in the past, but none acted the way Russians do. They always acted directly. They did not deny attacking their victims. Russian warfare, however, is very different. It is insidious. It is manipulative. It makes you doubt your own outrage. Russians commit crimes and then deny them. Worse – they accuse their victims of those crimes. This is what happened in the wake of Bucha massacre, for example. Russian propaganda claimed it is some imaginary Ukrainian “Nazis” that committed those crimes. The same was true also of the Katyn massacre that Russians committed against Poles in 1940. The official Soviet narrative flagrantly blamed Germans for it. Historical examples abound.

Also now, when drones violate the airspace of Denmark, Germany, Sweden, or when fighter jets slip into Estonian skies, Russia shrugs and denies everything. They weaponize ambiguity. They make you question whether anything really happened – and whether you’re even allowed to be angry.

And here is the heart of the matter. European civilization is built on a fundamental reverence for truth. It is in the European nature to dig deeper, to question, to analyze – to hold off on making final claims until the evidence is solid and the mechanisms understood. This impulse is deeply ingrained in European psyche, and which gave rise to the great European Civilization. Oswald Spengler once captured this essence in a single image: for the West, the prime symbol is infinite space – an ever-deepening quest, a restless drive toward inner complexity, precision, and ultimate clarity. To be European, in this civilizational sense, is to be haunted by depth. Especially the depth of truth.

But Russians operate on an entirely different axis. In the Russian psyche, truth is not sacred. It is not even relevant. For Russia, Spengler saw a different prime symbol: the endless plain. While at first glance, this prime symbol also presupposes some kind of infinity, the “infinity” Russians experience is quite different, in fact diametrically opposite to the European experience. European infinity is vertical, whereas Russian “infinity” is horizontal. It is the infinity of sameness; it is the infinity of lack of distinctions.

Russian psyche is inherently indifferent; it is numb to distinctions – including distinctions between obvious truth and glaring falsehood. The endless plain is flat, wide and undifferentiated. Hence, the Russian psyche is marked not by depth, but by breadth – by boundless sameness. And this world-feeling of boundless breadth applies to their attitude towards truth as well. There is no compulsion to search for truth. Because everything is equivalent. Whereas a European digs infinitely deeper and deeper to approach the truth, to find the truth in its purest form, a Russian wanders around infinitely, along the horizontal axis, along the endless plain without being bothered even by the distinction between truth and falsehood. Because along the endless plain everything is the same.

The result is a peculiar numbness – a psyche that is not just indifferent to truth, but structurally unable to experience cognitive dissonance at the distinction between truth and falsehood in the way Europeans do. Whereas for Europeans search for truth is the cornerstone of their psyche, and their interactions with the world, for Russians truth has no value. By its nature, Russian soul is nihilistic and amoral.

This is why Russian disinformation is so effective. Russians can claim the most asinine lies, akin to claiming 1+1=2345 – “NATO was about to invade”, “Ukraine bombed Donbas”, “Nazis in Ukraine” etc. – with a straight face, and what is worse, manage to convince others of their lies. Because the best way to convince others of your lies is to believe those lies yourself. For Europeans who deeply value truth, such absurd lies would create an emotional and intellectual dissonance. But Russians feel no internal recoil from even the most glaring falsehood. For them lies are equivalent to facts. In fact, this is also how Russian society operates. A Russian will lie to you not necessarily because he wants to take advantage of you, but just for the sake of it – because he feels like it. Their ability to lie nonchalantly is also what makes Russians effective manipulators.

This is what makes the West so vulnerable in its engagement with Russia. Many voices still call for dialogue with Russia, for listening to the Russian perspective. But this is the worst kind of advice. Those giving this advice are either ignorant or are arguing in bad faith. A dialogue between Europeans, a people who deeply value truth, and Russians, a people indifferent to truth, is the worst kind of interaction imaginable, where the latter would easily manipulate the former.

Under such a constellation, the outcome is not understanding but asymmetric warfare. It is a psychological mismatch, where the party committed to truth is left confused and disoriented, while the party indifferent to it exploits that confusion to advance its agenda. In this dynamic, truth-seekers are at a structural disadvantage. Whereas manipulators indifferent to truth thrive.

This same pattern plays out today with Russia’s drone incursions into NATO airspace. The evidence is overwhelming in its implication – yet, as always, Russia denies everything. And here again, Europe’s reverence for truth becomes its Achilles’ heel.

Europeans, guided by a natural instinct to seek verifiable, objective truth, hesitate to claim anything definitive or act without “scientific” certainty. They search for proof that will leave no room for doubt. But in cases like these, that proof may never come. The nature of Russian aggression – cloaked, deniable, deliberately murky – is designed to exploit precisely that innate character trait of Europeans. Everyone knows who’s behind these provocations, but few dare to say so with full confidence, because the evidentiary bar is set impossibly high. And so, Europeans are left in a state of paralysis – trapped between suspicion and inaction.

Such geopolitical maneuvering is also a psychological tactic that closely mirrors the logic of personal abuse. The abuser strikes, then denies it ever happened. He feeds his victim absurdities that contradict reality. And slowly, the victim begins to doubt his own stance – whether his indignation at abuse is righteous in the first place. Was I really hurt? Am I overreacting? Maybe it was my fault. This is how manipulation works: not by defeating your logic, but by eroding your confidence in it.

This is precisely how Russia treated Ukraine for years before the full-scale invasion of 2022. They invaded Crimea, then insisted it was a “spontaneous uprising”. Then they invaded Donbas but claimed it was an internal “civil war”. Even as Russian operatives, weapons, and military poured into eastern Ukraine, Moscow denied involvement. And shockingly, these lies gained traction – not just in the West, but within Ukraine itself.

At one point, even basic facts became matters of “opinion”. Is this a war with Russia – or just an internal conflict? The answer should have been obvious. But instead, questions like this became political Rorschach tests – used to gauge allegiance, to test who could still see reality, and who had succumbed to the fog.

This is what makes Russian manipulation so dangerous. It doesn’t just distort facts – it corrodes your sense of orientation. It makes you unsure whether you’ve been attacked at all, and whether your anger is justified. Ukrainians, before 2022, were subjected to this exact abuse: invaded, then gaslit into wondering whether they were imagining it.

Even now, during the ongoing full-scale invasion, Russia still officially denies that it is at war with Ukraine. It still calls it “special military operation”. Even at international forums, Russian officials like Lavrov have the gall to claim that Russia “hasn’t attacked anyone”. Such lying without shame, without limits, such indifference to truth and lack of recoiling from obvious absurdity of your statements is a uniquely Russian character trait indeed.

The lesson here is the same as in any abusive relationship: the only way to deal with a manipulator is to cut him off completely. You do not debate with him. You do not indulge his lies. You do not give him the satisfaction of pulling you into endless cycles of argument and self-doubt. The more you try to reason with him, the more he exploits your good faith. The only winning move is refusal: disengage, deny him the stage, and act on your own terms.

This principle applies just as much in international relations as it does in private life. When one side is committed to truth and self-criticism, and the other is committed to manipulation and lying, dialogue is not dialogue. It is a trap. To advise Europeans to “listen to Russia’s position” is not diplomacy – it is a recipe for manipulation. For people that live by truth, the most dangerous interlocutors are those who feel no obligation to it at all.

Europe must therefore stop treating Russia as a good-faith actor. Stop granting its words the dignity of serious consideration. Stop assuming that beneath the bluster lies some rational grievance waiting to be understood. No – there is only performance, only weaponized falsehood. The proper response is not to listen, but to ignore. Not to debate, but to act.

And here lies perhaps the greatest trap of all: the Western presumption of innocence. It is a noble principle, born of European civilization. It assumes European mindset and behavioral patterns. It assumes a society where all parties value truth equally. But when applied to inveterate liars like Russians, Europeans put themselves into huge disadvantage. If Europe insists on waiting for “definitive proof” before it acts, it will always act too late.

The logical stance is therefore the opposite: presume guilt when Russia is implicated. If drones cross NATO airspace and credible signs point to Russia, then act as though Russians sent them. If sabotage is uncovered in the Baltic, assume Russian involvement unless proven otherwise. Not because of prejudice, but because experience has shown – time and again – that this presumption best reflects reality.

Anything less is not fairness. It is self-sabotage. There is no point for Europeans to engage in diplomacy with Russians. In fact, it is damaging to the West. All Russian embassies in Western countries must be closed. All Russian “diplomats” must be expelled, for in reality they are none other than Russian intelligence operatives. There should be no diplomatic channels between the West and Russia – they only cause harm. The only thing such diplomatic channels do is to corrode Western resolve.

Don’t talk to Russians. Don’t try to understand their “concerns”. None of their concerns is legitimate. Instead, fight them, defeat them, crush them.

This is one of the most disturbing aspects of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. While Russians have unleashed countless other savageries upon Ukrainians, the systematic kidnapping and forced relocation of Ukrainian children deserves far more attention than it has received. Russian officials have not only acknowledged these abductions but boasted of them, framing the forced relocation of tens of thousands of minors to remote Russian territories as a "humanitarian rescue". In reality, it is a calculated erasure, a bid to sever these children from their heritage through "re-education" camps where Ukrainian identity is demonized and branded as treason. The International Criminal Court has issued arrest warrants for Vladimir Putin and his children's commissioner, Maria Lvova-Belova, on charges of unlawful deportation and transfer – crimes against humanity that echo across more than 200 such facilities documented in Russia.

Knowing all this and especially seeing that website, where Ukrainian children are advertised as property by Russians, reminded me of a painful parallel in history – the devshirme system in the Ottoman Empire. From the 15th to 17th centuries, Turkish raiders scoured the Balkans, snatching European children – often the brightest, the strongest and the most beautiful – from Greek, Slavic, and Albanian families. These children were marched to Istanbul, stripped of their names and faiths, converted to Islam, and molded into either bureaucrats serving the Ottoman state or fearsome Janissaries – the sultans' elite troops that were being unleashed against Europe and became the nightmare of European armies. Those children of southern Slavic, Albanian and Greek origin were forever separated from their families and were made to forget their roots, inculcated with Islam and with enmity towards Christian Europeans – their ancestors. Their physical fitness and cognitive talents were not only forever lost to their peoples of origin but were weaponized against them.

Russia's playbook today mirrors that barbarity with chilling precision. By abducting Ukraine's youth, Russia firstly tries to solve its own demographic problem. And secondly, it aims to utilize the aptitudes of those Ukrainian children against Ukrainians themselves later in the future. In fact, some Russian officials have already talked in the past about the children that they "relocated" from Ukraine to Russia, and how they are "re-educating" them to become good Russian patriots and abandon "Ukrainian nationalism" (codeword for any flicker of pride in their origins).

Within this context, it is necessary to mention the blind spot afflicting the dissident right in the West. While they correctly recognize that Turks are not a European people, in fact people inimical to Europe, they lose this clarity of thought when thinking about Russia. The truth is, among many different peoples on Earth, Turks come the closest to Russians.

These two peoples are very similar: in their historical trajectory, in their self-perception and, most importantly, in their attitudes towards Europe. Both Turkey and Russia can be called para-European realms – i.e., not originally European, in fact inimical to Europe, but through their close contacts with Europe strongly affected by its civilization. But being thus affected didn't make them European. If anything, it made them resentful of Europe even more due to their inferiority complex. Because both peoples know deep inside that they will never be European; never be as great as Europeans.

Moreover, within their similar historical trajectory one common feature that stands out is that both the Ottoman Empire and Russia owe their longevity and successful conquests to the ingenuity of Europeans that they had subdued during their expansions. Those conquered Europeans outmatched their non-European conquerors in IQ, creativity and other critical character traits. Their intelligence and talents became the very foundation of these empires’ strength.

In the Ottoman case this was achieved by the devshirme system. This process ensured that the empire’s most capable statesmen and generals were not Turks by birth, but Europeans uprooted from their identities and pressed into the service of a foreign power that was inimical to Europe.

The list of prominent figures who rose through the devshirme is long and impressive. Sokollu Mehmed Pasha, perhaps the most famous, was born into a Serbian Orthodox family and taken into Ottoman service as a child. He rose to become Grand Vizier under three sultans, effectively running the empire from 1565 to 1579. Later, his relative Sokolluzade Lala Mehmed Pasha also rose to the rank of Grand Vizier in the early 17th century.

The devshirme produced not only individual statesmen but entire ruling dynasties. The Köprülü family, of Albanian origin, gave the empire a line of powerful Grand Viziers beginning with Köprülü Mehmed Pasha in the mid-17th century. His successors, including Köprülü Fazıl Ahmed Pasha and Köprülü Hüseyin Pasha, revitalized the Ottoman state during a period of crisis, introducing reforms, reorganizing the army, and leading successful military campaigns. Their impact was so great that historians often speak of a “Köprülü era” in Ottoman politics.

Other notable examples abound. An earlier emblematic figure is Pargalı Ibrahim Pasha, a Christian-born boy from Parga in Epirus who was taken to the Ottoman palace household and rose to become Suleiman the Magnificent’s closest confidant and Grand Vizier (1523–1536). As grand vizier and commander, he directed Ottoman conquests in the Balkans and beyond, culminating in the 1533 Truce of Constantinople, which solidified Ottoman suzerainty over Hungary and required Ferdinand I (Archduke of Austria) to pay an annual tribute to the Ottoman Empire.

It is fair to say that the Ottoman Empire owed much of its longevity and power to these people of European extraction. Their intelligence, creativity, and ingenuity enabled the empire to flourish in ways that would have been impossible without them. The 16th century – the empire’s peak – was shaped above all by the work of these European-rooted officials. Their command of administration, military organization, and diplomacy allowed the Ottoman Empire to dominate much of southeastern Europe for centuries – a kind of longevity that was historically unusual for a Turkic state.

But the tragedy lies in what this meant for their peoples. The very talents of these European children, stolen from their families, were turned against their kinsmen. Janissaries marched into battle against the Balkans from which they themselves had been taken. Bureaucrats administered a state that brutalized the very peoples they had once belonged to.

Some of those devshirme remembered their roots and used their standing to help the peoples they were forced to leave behind, extending patronage to kinsmen. For a while southeastern Europeans had such clout in the Ottoman administration that everyday language at the 16^th century Ottoman court was Serbian. Part of this can be attributed to preferential treatment of their kinsmen, but the most determining factor was that people of European origin were simply smarter and more capable than their Turkish conquerors. The most consequential case is Sokollu Mehmed Pasha, who, while serving as grand vizier, helped secure the 1557 restoration of the Serbian Patriarchate of Peć and the appointment of his relative Makarije Sokolović as patriarch.

However, even when devshirme officials used their influence to aid their peoples and regions of origin this was done within the framework of Ottoman rule. From a broader historical perspective, their genius was not serving the flourishing of Balkan peoples and formation of their nations, as was happening contemporaneously in Western Europe, but was instead diverted into sustaining a power fundamentally hostile to them.

The result was that the human capital of the Balkans was drained into Ottoman service. The process of nation-building that reshaped Western Europe in the early modern era was disrupted and delayed in southeastern Europe, because the brightest and strongest children of those societies were absorbed into a foreign system that used them not to empower their own peoples, but to keep them subjugated.

A similar story can be told of Ukrainians under Russian rule. Just as the Ottomans drew on the human capital of the Balkans to power their empire, so too did Muscovy and later Russia lean heavily on Ukraine’s human resources. Ukrainians were the earliest vectors of Russia’s pseudo-Europeanization, a process that began under Tsar Aleksey Mikhaylovich in the 17th century – well before German settlers took over that process starting from the rule of Peter I onwards in the 18th and 19th centuries.

Seventeenth-century Ukraine was a vibrant intellectual hub, home to philosophers, theologians, and writers educated in a dense network of schools and academies. The jewel of this system was the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy, which provided a humanist education steeped in European learning and philosophy – precisely the kind of knowledge Muscovy lacked. After Russia’s conquest of Left-Bank Ukraine and Kyiv in the aftermath of the Russo-Polish War (1654–1667), Muscovy suddenly found itself ruling over a highly cultured and educated population – a population smarter and more talented than in the rest of its realm. This acquisition profoundly altered Russia’s trajectory.

The influence of Ruthenian/Ukrainian intellectuals on Muscovy was immense. One can, for example, reliably state that what is today known as "Russian literature" took its roots in Ukraine. Its main vector was the poet and churchman Simeon Polotsky. Although born in Polotsk (today in Belarus), he was educated at the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy and carried its intellectual spirit with him when he came to Moscow. There he founded the first Latin school, introduced elements of Western thought, and even laid the foundations for Russia’s first academy. He also became tutor to Tsar Aleksey’s children, among them the future Peter I (the Great). While technically Belarusian by origin, his formative education and intellectual identity were products of Kyiv’s intellectual milieu – making him a vessel through which Ukrainian learning Europeanized Muscovy.

He was not alone. Epifanii Slavinetsky, another Kyiv-Mohyla alumnus, led church reforms in Moscow and translated key theological texts into a more standardized Church Slavonic. Other Ukrainian theologians brought rhetorical and pedagogical traditions unknown in Muscovy. Above all, Feofan Prokopovych, Archbishop of Novgorod and advisor to Peter the Great, became one of the chief architects of the Russian Empire’s ideology. A graduate and later professor of the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy, Prokopovych provided the intellectual scaffolding for Peter’s reforms, blending Western political theory with Orthodox theology to legitimize autocracy and empire. Through him and his circle, Ukrainian thought became the backbone of Russia’s imperial self-conception.

Even the Russian Orthodox Church bore Ukrainian marks. It was mainly the Ukrainian theologians that were the driving force behind the large-scale church reforms that took place in Russia in the middle of the 17th century. Moreover, 17th-century Ukrainian heavily shaped the Church Slavonic used in Russian worship. In this sense, the “Ukrainization” of Muscovy’s spiritual and cultural life is no exaggeration: the imprint of Kyiv was everywhere.

This pattern reemerged centuries later under the Soviet Union. Once again, Ukraine became the empire’s place of innovation – only this time in science, engineering, and technology. Ukraine was the most industrially and technologically advanced of the Soviet republics, hosting key centers of research and production. The Dnipro and Kharkiv industrial regions became hubs of heavy industry and aerospace development. The Yuzhmash plant in Dnipro produced intercontinental ballistic missiles, while design bureaus in Kharkiv and Kyiv spearheaded tank, aircraft, and radar technologies.

The Soviet Union’s nuclear and space programs also bore an unmistakably Ukrainian stamp. Serhiy Korolyov, born in Zhytomyr and educated in Kyiv, became the chief designer of the Soviet space program – the man behind the launch of Sputnik, the first animal in orbit, and ultimately Yuri Gagarin’s historic flight into space. The legendary Antonov Design Bureau, founded in Kyiv, produced some of the world’s largest and most advanced aircraft, from the An-2 utility plane to the colossal An-225 “Mriya”. Ukrainian engineers were behind the development of the R-36 ICBM – later modified into the “Satan” and “Sarmat” missiles that Russia brandishes today. Even the Red Army’s most iconic weapons, from the T-34 tank of World War II to postwar armored vehicles, were designed by Ukrainians and mass-produced in Ukraine.

In short, the Soviet Union’s rise as a global military superpower rested squarely on Ukrainian shoulders. Yet in 1994, under the Budapest Memorandum, Ukraine was forced to renounce its nuclear arsenal and nuclear-capable conventional weapons, all of them designed and built by Ukrainians on its own soil, in exchange for guarantees of sovereignty and territorial integrity – guarantees that proved to be meaningless, as events of the last 11 years had shown. Moreover, another bitter fact is that the ballistic missiles that especially in the first year of full-scale invasion Russia was firing onto Ukrainian cities were the ones that Ukraine had transferred to Russia according to that infamous agreement.

Also, as in the case of devshirme under Ottoman rule, the subjugated Ukrainians did not merely toil at the margins – they came, at times, to run the empire. Under late Soviet rule, a dense network of cadres from Dnipropetrovsk (today’s Dnipro) rose with Leonid Brezhnev – himself originally from the region, forming what observers called the Dnipropetrovsk clan: a tightly knit circle that placed allies in the KGB, the interior ministry, the Council of Ministers, and other key posts in the Soviet administration. However, just like the ascent of devshirme, their ascent also took place within the framework of the foreign (i.e., Russian) rule. Just like the talent of the Balkan peoples was channeled to entrench Turkish power, Ukrainian talent was channeled towards fortifying Muscovite-Russian rule.

Their clout was visible also in favors poured back home. In March 1982, the USSR Council of Ministers elevated the Dnipropetrovsk Metro to the list of first-priority construction projects – an unmistakable signal of the clan’s sway near the end of Brezhnev’s tenure. Financing faltered after his death later that year, but the decision itself shows how Soviet-level levers could be pulled for regional gain. The specific order came from the Council of Ministers (not a personal decree by Brezhnev), yet few doubted whose network made such prioritization possible.

And still, the pattern mirrors the devshirme story. Like Sokollu’s carefully brokered favors to the Balkans (e.g., the restoration of the Serbian Patriarchate of Peć) that never escaped the logic of Ottoman rule, the Dnipropetrovsk cohort’s interventions improved conditions “at home” only within the Soviet system. Patronage flowed, factories thrived, a metro was promised – but the broader direction of Ukrainian talent remained outward, into the advancement of a power that was inimical to the Ukrainian people and the European Civilization as a whole.

In truth, this pattern reaches even deeper into Ukrainian history. In the 17th century, Ukraine was alive with intellect and passionarity – that vital force of national awakening which was then reshaping much of Western Europe. A European nation was beginning to emerge on the Dnipro, rich in scholars, theologians and writers. The cultural foundations were being laid: Kyiv-Mohyla Academy stood as a beacon of learning in Eastern Europe, and a distinct Ukrainian identity was taking shape. But just as this nation was beginning to crystallize, its trajectory was hijacked. The talents of Ukraine’s brightest minds were redirected – not toward building a Ukrainian nation, but toward strengthening Muscovy-Russia, an empire fundamentally alien and hostile to Europe.

This historical interruption would repeat itself. In the aftermath of World War I, the moment once again arrived. Ukraine briefly declared independence in 1918, just as other new nations were being born across Europe. But while Poland, Finland, the Baltic states, and others secured their place on the map, Ukraine was pulled back into the Russian fold. The Soviet regime crushed the nascent Ukrainian state, and when it could not erase the nation’s soul, it tried to annihilate its body: the man-made famine Holodomor followed. Millions were starved to death, and yet again, those Ukrainians who survived were redirected into serving a power that was inimical to them and the rest of Europe.

As with the Balkan nations under Ottoman rule, Ukraine’s path to modern nationhood was not only delayed but forcibly rerouted. The human capital that could have built a flourishing European nation was, time and again, siphoned off to sustain an anti-European empire. Only in 1991 did Ukraine finally achieve independence. Only then could its people begin to harness their own potential for their own future. And now, amid the crucible of war, Ukraine is not merely defending its sovereignty – it is forging the very mythos that modern nations are built upon. This struggle, waged against the imperial force that long sought to suppress Ukraine’s soul, may well become the foundational myth of a fully sovereign, European Ukraine.

Seen against this historical backdrop, Russia’s current abduction of Ukrainian children takes on an even darker meaning. This is not only about erasing Ukrainian identity or solving Russia’s demographic crisis. It is also about seizing the very human potential that has sustained Russian imperial power for centuries. Zbigniew Brzezinski once quipped that with Ukraine Russia is an empire, without Ukraine it's not. Most interpret it in a rather shallow way, as Russia needing additional territories to extend further into Europe. The true meaning of that statement, however, is much deeper. Russia needs not as much the Ukrainian territory but Ukrainian people to become a powerful state – it needs their ingenuity, industriousness and creativity. Russia has been an empire only to the extent that it has absorbed, exploited, and redirected the talents of Ukrainians. Without them, it falters. Much like the Ottoman Empire depended on the Balkan people for its perpetuation and military successes, imperial Russia needs Ukrainians to perpetuate itself.

Russia therefore badly needs Ukraine's human potential. As we have seen, in various historical periods it was the aptitudes of Ukrainians that made Russia a powerful state to be reckoned with. Thus, the kidnapping of Ukrainian children by Russia is part of a far-reaching strategy: to capture the ingenuity, industriousness, and creativity of Ukrainians, uproot them from their heritage, and redeploy them as tools of its future aggressions against Europe. Much like in the past the Ottoman Turks had forcefully removed children from the Balkans, inculcated them with Islam and trained them into state administrators or Janissaries to be unleashed against Europe, Russians aim to mold the Ukrainian children they kidnap into devout members of the “Russian world” (the secular religion of Russia that absorbs and supersedes Orthodox Christianity) to be later unleashed against their own kinsmen and other Europeans.

In many Western policy circles – and among the public at large – there persists a dangerously misguided idea: that Russia is too big to fail. That any serious defeat of Russia, let alone its potential disintegration, would unleash uncontrollable chaos on a global scale – worse than any alternative. This line of thinking is not only morally indefensible, but also completely wrong from a strategic perspective. Because the truth is quite the opposite: it is Ukraine that is too big to fail.

Ukraine has already proven itself indispensable – not just as a frontline defender of European Civilization, but as a leader in the future of warfare. Nowhere is this more evident than in the field of drone technology. In the span of three years, Ukraine has become the world’s foremost innovator in drone warfare. Its integration of artificial intelligence, real-time reconnaissance, and adaptive battlefield tactics has set new global standards, so much so that even the United States is now seeking Ukrainian expertise. Ukrainian military personnel will soon train Polish troops, and potentially other NATO forces, in cutting-edge drone operations.

Let that sink in: it is the West that needs Ukraine now. It needs Ukraine’s know-how, innovations and expertise – all results of Ukrainian ingenuity and industriousness. Moreover, it needs the very human capital that Russia is trying to steal. Ukraine has made itself indispensable for the West.

Now imagine what happens if Russia succeeds. Imagine what it would mean if all that Ukrainian ingenuity, all that field-tested innovation in drone technology, autonomous warfare and electronic interference falls into Russian hands. The technology Ukraine developed to defend itself would be turned against the West. Russia, a country whose military was widely exposed as dysfunctional in 2022, would suddenly become formidable, powered not by native ability but by stolen talent and technology.

And it’s not just about hardware. In the age of artificial intelligence, data is the new gold. And Ukraine has something no other country on Earth possesses: an immense, real-time dataset of drone warfare under conditions of large-scale, high-intensity conflict. Every flight path, every target signature, every AI decision under stress – this is the raw material from which future battlefield systems will be built.

Ukraine's battlefield is also the world’s most advanced live lab for military AI. The combat data Ukraine has gathered, much of it proprietary and irreplicable, is of immense strategic value. Nations around the world, first and foremost the United States and its NATO allies, are competing for access to it – to train the AI systems that will dominate tomorrow’s wars.

If Russia were to seize this data, it would gain a generational leap in capability. It would control the algorithms, training environments, decision models, and performance logs that currently give Ukraine its asymmetric edge. And unlike Ukraine, which uses this power to defend the West against barbarians, Russians would wield it against the West.

That is the real threat. Not that a weakened Russia might collapse, but that a revived and rearmed Russia, empowered by Ukrainian innovation, would rise again – not as a sclerotic empire but as a technologically augmented one. One animated by deep resentment against the West and now armed with tools designed by the very people it seeks to erase.

Moreover, a hypothetical Russian conquest and subjugation of Ukraine – even if limited to currently occupied territories – would pose a long-term existential threat to Europe for another reason. Such a conquest would grant Russia access not just to land, infrastructure and innovation, but to something far more valuable: a reservoir of highly capable, talented, and intelligent human capital. This is the very asset Russia, just like Turkey, has historically lacked and has always sought to extract from others. The danger lies in how that human capital is reprogrammed.

While a person’s intelligence and behavioral predispositions are largely shaped by genetics, the direction in which that potential is channeled – whether it serves good or evil – is strongly contingent on education, upbringing, and cultural environment. In other words, it depends on who seizes the child’s formative years. A brilliant mind can become a defender of civilization – or an architect of its destruction. The same spirit of courage and innovation that now protects Europe can, if twisted, become a weapon turned against it.

A grim recent precedent already exists: Chechnya. In the 1990s, the Chechen people fought with ferocious valor against Russian imperialism. They resisted Moscow’s rule in two brutal wars, enduring the carpet-bombing of Grozny, mass killings, torture, and unspeakable atrocities – all hallmarks of Russian conquest. They were, by any historical standard, heroic defenders of freedom.

But they were defeated. And within a generation, that same bravery, that same warrior spirit, was hijacked and corrupted. The children and grandchildren of those who once fought Russia were molded into “Kadyrovites” – Chechen paramilitaries doing Russia’s bidding. It took just one generation to turn Chechens from heroic fighters who resisted Russian rule into Russia’s foot soldiers – murderers, torturers and rapists.

Now imagine the same being done to Ukrainians. Imagine Ukrainian children stolen from their homes, told their parents are dead or abandoned them. Imagine them being taught to hate the very idea of Ukraine, to view the West as their deadly enemy. Imagine Russian “teachers” and propagandists inculcating them with shame, with guilt, with the belief that only by becoming “Russians” can they find redemption and belonging.

This psychological manipulation has historical precedent. Ottoman slave traders told kidnapped European girls that their capture was their own fault – because they were infidels, because they professed the wrong faith. Boys taken through the devshirme were subjected to a systematic campaign of isolation, guilt, and religious indoctrination. They were told their families had abandoned them, that their people were sinners, that their salvation lay in rejecting their roots and embracing Islam. The goal was to achieve their devotion to an alien creed, born of severed identity.

Russia is now attempting the same. Everyone can see that Ukrainians are among the best fighters and most ingenious engineers in the world today. But what happens if that talent is re-molded and turned in the opposite direction – not in defense of Europe, but in service of its arch-nemesis? What if the next generation of Ukrainians, brought up under Russian indoctrination, become the stormtroopers of the "Russian world" – its janissaries?

Imagine Ukrainian engineers building missiles and drones for Russia. Imagine these talents being used to create superweapons for the Russian military-industrial complex, just as they were during the Soviet Union – only now with the added edge of AI and 21st-century warfare. Imagine Russia possessing not only Ukrainian know-how, but also Ukrainian human capital to turn it all against Europe. The West would be in great trouble.

This is why the West must make a decisive choice. It is in its vital interest – not just moral imperative, but also strategic interest – to ensure that Ukraine not only survives but wins. Not a partial victory. Not another frozen conflict. But a crushing defeat for Russia, the full liberation of all occupied territories, and the return of every Ukrainian child stolen from their homeland and identity.

Because Ukraine is too big to fail. Too central. Too indispensable. It cannot be allowed to slip back under the dominion of a power that seeks to erase it. For centuries, Ukrainians were compelled to lend their strength, their intelligence, and their creativity to sustain a foreign adversary – an entity fundamentally hostile to Europe. That time must end.

Now, for the first time in generations, Ukrainians have the opportunity to use their extraordinary potential not in the service of others, but for themselves – for their own future, for their own nation that is an integral part of European Civilization.

In just three years of full-scale war, they have shown what that future could look like: martial excellence, technological innovation, and a will of iron. They’ve held the line for Europe not only on the battlefield, but in spirit. They’ve proven that they are not Europe’s periphery – they are its front line, and increasingly, its vanguard.

That is what is at stake. Letting Ukraine fall, or even partially succumb, would not only mean condemning millions to renewed subjugation – it would mean allowing Russia to reclaim the very fuel it needs to resurrect itself as an empire. It would mean letting history repeat itself, with Ukrainian genius once again hijacked, indoctrinated, and turned against Europe.

But when Ukraine wins – truly wins – it will be the reversal of centuries of theft, a reclamation of human potential stolen time and again. It will mark the rise of a European Ukraine, standing on its own feet, and finally, building a future for itself, not for its conquerors.

This is not just Ukraine’s fight. This is a fight for Europe’s future.