The modern West is governed by a globalist managerial regime that speaks in a neutral, rationalist idiom, presenting itself as the inevitable framework for organising society. This discourse, however, is not neutral; it is a tool of social control, dissolving inherited loyalties, atomising individuals, and rendering them interchangeable cogs in a technocratic system. To resist this managerial liberalism, the West must reclaim a language of loyalty, identity, and belonging, a language that precedes policy and procedure. Christianity, with its deep historical roots and rich symbolic grammar, offers a potent counterforce to this regime, capable of restoring the affective bonds that bind a people into a civilisation.
The managerial regime thrives by monopolising the myths and idioms through which people interpret reality. Its "neutral" discourse, rooted in data, procedure, and universalist abstractions, pre-empts opposition by framing alternative visions as irrational or regressive. Political strategies that operate within this framework, such as policy papers or electoral campaigns, are repeatedly co-opted or subverted, as they concede the regime's terms from the outset. True resistance must begin at a deeper, pre-political level: the level of language, symbol, and myth. These are the foundations of power, shaping how people imagine themselves as a collective "we." Christianity, for around two millennium, provided the West with such a language, weaving parables, rituals, and sacraments into a shared narrative of sacrifice, destiny, and community.
Christianity's power lies not in doctrinal assent but in its capacity to create what Émile Durkheim called "collective effervescence," the sense of being bound into something greater than oneself. Through its liturgy, hymns, and stories, Christianity has historically forged the West into a coherent civilisation, giving form to its deepest sentiments of loyalty and purpose. Unlike the sterile abstractions of managerialism, Christian language speaks to the heart, evoking attachment and devotion. Even in a secular age, its symbols retain affective resonance: a hymn can stir the unbeliever, and scripture can evoke a longing for transcendence. This enduring power makes Christianity a formidable shield against the atomising tendencies of managerial liberalism.
The managerial regime seeks to erase particularities, reducing identity to economic or bureaucratic categories. Christianity counters this by offering a grammar of belonging that is both universal and particular. Its rituals, baptism, communion, marriage, anchor individuals in communities of shared meaning, while its narratives of sacrifice and redemption inspire virtues that managerialism cannot: courage, mercy, and hope. These are not mere ideals but social technologies that foster cohesion and resilience. By reintroducing this language, the West can reclaim a sense of hierarchy and purpose, disrupting the managerial order's claim to inevitability.
Christianity's advantages are practical as well as symbolic. It is embedded in Western consciousness, requiring no invention from scratch. Its rituals and stories are accessible to all, regardless of wealth or status, making it a democratic force for renewal. Moreover, its legal protections under religious freedom render suppression costly, placing the regime in a dilemma: to crack down on Christian expression risks violating its own principles, provoking backlash; to tolerate it allows a rival symbolic order to flourish. This strategic edge makes Christianity a sword as well as a shield, capable of challenging the managerial monopoly on meaning.
Sceptics may argue that secularisation has eroded Christianity's influence, rendering it incapable of galvanising a fragmented West. Yet, this objection misunderstands the nature of its power. Christianity does not require universal belief to function as a cultural force; its rituals and symbols move people through form and feeling, not just propositional assent. Historically, its mysteries were lived truths, embedded in art and liturgy, not empirical claims subject to rational scrutiny. Even today, the affective pull of a cathedral's architecture or a Christmas carol persists, binding people to a shared heritage. By re-saturating the Western imagination with this language, Christianity can create the conditions for organic cultural renewal.
The supposed "decay" of modern Christianity, its alleged capture by the same liberal-rationalist discourse it once opposed, does not negate its potential. The faith that built the West was not a doctrine of surrender, but of dominion, inspiring warriors, kings, and builders of nations. It emphasised self-mastery, duty, and the sacred bonds of kin and community. Reviving this robust Christianity would restore a moral vocabulary capable of opposing managerial liberalism's erosive universalism and globalism. It would foster communities of high trust and purpose, laying the groundwork for a new elite rooted in shared identity rather than bureaucratic credentials.
The path to renewal lies in reclaiming Christian language as a living force. This does not mean imposing dogma, but fostering a cultural resurgence through symbol, ritual, and story. Imagine a West where churches once again serve as centres of community, where festivals mark the rhythms of a shared calendar, and where the language of sacrifice and redemption displaces the jargon of efficiency and compliance. Such a world would not only resist managerial liberalism but transcend it, offering a vision of meaning and belonging that bureaucracy cannot match. Christianity, as the West's deepest reservoir of moral and symbolic resources, remains uniquely equipped to forge this future.
https://www.aporiamagazine.com/p/christianity-as-antidote-to-managerial