The Post-Christian Condition
More sentiment, more spectacle, more fillers, and more AI slop
A dear friend recently complained that I use the term “post-Christian” too loosely and that I apply it to everything until it explains nothing. He had been raising theological objections to dispensationalism, and I told him, with perhaps more impatience than the conversation warranted, that I could not bring myself to care, because the entire dispute was post-Christian theology, and I would rather spend my time on other things. He wanted to know what I meant. I found myself unable to explain it quickly, which is usually a sign that something needs to be written down.
“Post-Christian” is not a label I apply to content — to this position or that doctrine. It names a condition that precedes and shapes ideas before they get to announce themselves. The question is not which specific things qualify as post-Christian. The question is what kind of world makes all of these things possible.
I am entirely indifferent to these theological debates. But I am very interested in their form and in the world that produced them.
The post-Christian condition is far more interesting and more difficult than atheism. It is a dead Christianity, a sealed tomb in which the stone doesn’t roll and nothing but the stench of death fills the air. What follows is an attempt to describe it as I see it.
Tendencies or Phases?
The post-Christian condition should not be strictly seen as a chronological period with a specific start date but as a continuous process of the decomposition of Western Christianity as it historically existed, with identifiable tendencies, none of which has clean boundaries with the others, all of which are recognizable as configurations of the same decomposing substance.
The first of these phases or tendencies, the Exit of the Biblical narrative, is far more radical than the mere relocation of Christian concepts into secular containers — which is how the standard secularization narrative describes it, and which is itself a post-Christian self-description that understates what actually happened. What started to decompose in the Exit were not merely theological ideas but entire structures of human psychological and spiritual experience — structures that Christianity had organized, disciplined, and given their specific form over centuries, and which, when the totality collapsed, did not disappear but were set loose, seeking new objects, new channels, new organizing boundaries, new forms of satisfaction, and in doing so producing what understood itself as modern or secular new modes of being human in the world, which were in reality various reconfigurations of the decomposed element of the Christian psychic and social structure. My refusal to call these formations modern or secular rather than post-Christian is not a pedantic terminological quibble — it is my refusal to accept the patient's self-description as the diagnosis, which is precisely the error that makes the condition invisible to itself.
Romanticism was the first, and remains the most consequential and important, such a new-old mode of being. It is not a literary movement or an aesthetic preference but the eruption of the Christian structure of longing into the aesthetic domain after its older channels were closed. Christianity had organized the constitutive human desire for communion with something infinite and real — the desire that Augustine described as the restless heart — through specific disciplines, specific sacramental channels, specific eschatological hopes that gave the longing its object and its form.
When those methods were closed, the longing did not end with them. It survived intact, even more radicalized, as a structure of experience, and attached itself to whatever the post-Christian condition had left available: landscape, feeling, the interior life, the beloved, the artwork itself. The Romantic poet reaching toward the sublime in nature is not making an aesthetic choice but doing what the mystic did, with the only materials remaining. And because those materials cannot bear the weight of what is being asked of them — because no landscape, no feeling, no human beloved can really deliver the infinite union the Christian structure of longing was organized to seek — Romanticism is constitutively melancholic, constitutively unsatisfied, forever reaching and never arriving. Romanticism is not a temperamental preference shared by a group of hypersensitive poets, though it was indeed vulgarized into that. It is a Christian longing for the infinite surviving the collapse of the ground that gave it its proper object and its proper discipline, and finding nothing adequate to attach itself to.
Vitalism is the same structure in revolt against itself — where Romanticism had aestheticized the longing, dwelling in the melancholy of its own depth as a substitute for what was lost, Vitalism refused the substitution, demanding life directly rather than its elegiac shadow. It operated at the level of the will rather than the imagination — the post-Christian eruption of the Christian sense that life is animated by a force, into a rational structure that has officially closed the world through which that sense was originally organized. Bergson’s élan vital, Nietzsche’s will to power, Lawrence’s blood-consciousness — these are attempts to recover the sense of life as genuinely alive, as participating in something real or real in itself, within a condition that was increasingly dead. The vitalist reaches for life-giving reality because post-Christianity has an atmosphere of a graveyard.
But the most consequential displacement of all is the elevation of art itself to the status of a privileged port through which man touches the infinite. This is not a natural development of aesthetic theory, and it could not have happened in a non-Christian world, because the very structure of feeling it is displacing is specifically Christian in its form and its intensity.
What the Exit produced, in other words, was not a secular culture that had abandoned the sacred but a culture that had displaced the sacred onto every available finite surface: nature, feeling, the beloved, the artwork, eventually politics, sexuality, and the body itself — and was then compelled to discover, repeatedly and without being able to learn from the discovery, that no finite surface can bear that weight of our longing.
The crucial feature is its confidence: it genuinely believes that the wine can be held without bottles without loss and that the theological ground of these concepts is separable from their content. Liberalism inherits universal human dignity and the primacy of conscience, maintaining both while amputating their metaphysical root, and proceeds in good faith for several generations before the internal contradictions begin to make themselves felt and reveal its arbitrariness.
The second tendency runs through the active attempt not merely to relocate Christianity’s functions but to overcome the entire structure. From Schopenhauer’s diagnosis of the will as suffering, through Nietzsche’s revaluation of values, through the French poststructuralists of the twentieth century, all share the confidence that a genuine overcoming is possible, that new values can be founded beyond the Biblical horizon.
What this tendency persistently fails to notice is that its aspiration remains structured by the grammar it is trying to escape. Nietzsche’s child, who creates new values from innocent play, is the secular myth of prelapsarian innocence. Eden without God, the Second Adam without the Cross. The Ubermensch who has overcome guilt and resentment is a Christian eschatological figure with the theology removed. The overcoming did not, ironically, overcome. It merely performed an overcoming while remaining inside what it was overcoming, which is perhaps part of what the madness at the end was about.
Running through both of these tendencies and intensifying dramatically after 1945 is a distinct yet crucial formation that deserves its own name: the Negative Age. The overcoming of Christianity, taken seriously by actual political actors rather than philosophers, produced the catastrophe it produced — a fact the post-war West could not process as mere political failure. It processed it instead as a metaphysical catastrophe requiring a metaphysical response, which it could only generate in the post-Christian mode, which is to say: by negation. Hitler became the secular anti-Christ and The Holocaust became the unrepeatable atrocity around which all subsequent moral reasoning, organizes itself in reverse — “Never Again” as the negative absolute, the singular evil that grounds the ought by telling you only what you must never be.
Adorno could say, “Hitler has imposed a new categorical imperative on unfree mankind: to arrange their thoughts and actions so that Auschwitz will not repeat itself, so that nothing similar will happen,” or that “The premier demand upon all education is that Auschwitz not happen again.” And from this single negative boundary—the Holocaust as absolute evil, man as anti-Imago Hitler—one can build a negative theology around historical catastrophe, and entire moral systems could be constructed: human rights, minority protections, queer rights, the discourse of otherness and victimhood as the only possible source of moral authority. The Jew as paradigmatic victim provides the only stable ground available to myths that rejected all external grounds.
This is the structure of Christian moral theology — the absolute, the unrepeatable event, the obligation that flows from it — operating without Christian ontology. It is functional for perhaps two generations and carried, in the past tense, genuine moral seriousness. But negation is not a telos, and “not Hitler” does not answer the question of what to do, who to be, how to live. As the negative formation slowly exhausts its capacity to orient positive life, its grammar metastasizes — everything becomes Hitler, everyone becomes a Nazi — until the original referent is buried under the weight of its own metaphorical extension.
What we are living through now is the latest phase of the post-Christian condition: the Recoil. This Recoil is not a recoil from the post-Christian condition itself — nobody in the Recoil has actually seen the condition clearly enough, yet, to recoil from it as such. It is a recoil from the discovered dependency. The post-Christian condition slowly realized that the goods it claimed as its own achievements of prosperity, democracy, freedom, rights, human dignity, and the will to defend civilization were never its own production. They were borrowed capital, running on the Biblical substrate, and it had been spending down for two centuries without being able to reproduce it. The Recoil is the moment the account approaches zero, and the response is a desperate attempt at refinancing — reaching back toward Christianity, or what they imagine Christianity to be, to extract from it one more round of civilizational credit, to graft the goods back onto the root they were cut from.
The conservative and evangelical rise of the 1970s was the first tremor — the substrate population that never fully completed the Exit reasserting itself politically. 2000s New Atheism was more interesting: the Enlightenment loyalist faction of the Recoil, men who understood the social emergency clearly enough to defend Western inheritance against Islamic terrorism, Saddam, and the left, but who refused the Christian option on principle, insisting that Enlightenment reason alone could secure the goods without restoring the root. It was the most intellectually honest, albeit delusional, and most structurally doomed position available — clear-eyed about the threat, constitutionally blind to the dependency. It collapsed quickly and completely, as it had to.
What followed was the full inventory of dissolution: wokeness, mass migration, demographic collapse, speech policing, Islamism, radical feminism, radical gender ideology, anti-science ideology, ecological apocalypticism, open borders, political instability — the fruits of two centuries of spending without replenishment arriving all at once and threatening Western economies, politics, and physical safety. So, now come the calls for reconversion, figures reaching back toward Christianity as a civilizational immune system, a technology for recovering what is visibly failing. We must return to being Christian if we are not to be destroyed, so runs the idea.
These calls are sincere and in some respects perceptive. They are also, hopelessly, still post-Christian, for exactly the same reason that the Exit was post-Christian: both evaluate Christianity by something other than its truth. The Exit said Christianity fails by the standard of Reason. The Recoil says Christianity succeeds by the standard of civilizational utility. Neither is actually alive. Both are still operating within the decomposition, reaching for the bottle after the wine had already spilled.
Thus, for the time being, we are stuck in this condition. What does this condition look like, then?
World Made Kitsch
The tendencies described so far are the intellectual and political history of the decomposition, the story of what happened to Biblical theological ingredients at the level of ideas and power. But the post-Christian condition is not only, and not mainly, lived at that level. Intellectuals are often completely oblivious to how ideas actually work. It is primarily lived in the texture of ordinary daily experience, in what people make and consume and celebrate and mourn, in how they decorate their ceremonies and what they expect from their art, and why they cry at the things they cry at. It is, to a large degree, experienced through what they see, the sequence of images that flow into people’s eyes. And at that level — the level of daily aesthetic and ritual life — the decomposition takes a specific and recognizable form, which is kitsch.
Kitsch is not a problem of taste, but the very cultural form of the post-Christian condition.
I’m sure that for some, to say the defining aesthetic category of modern aesthetics is kitsch is perhaps to make a banal observation. But it is important to emphasize that I do not believe that kitsch is primarily or only a problem of taste. It’s not just merely a descriptor for the cheap or the sentimental in the age of industrial mass production. It is the aesthetic regime the post-Christian condition necessarily produces when the human animal, still structured for transcendence, still reaching for myth, still requiring ceremony that points outside itself, is left with nothing but its own reaching.
Once upon a time, beauty was epistemically downstream of goodness: you perceived the beautiful because there was something really good there to perceive, a genuine contact with reality, traces of an actual encounter with the structure of things. The icon derived its power from its transparency to what it pointed at. Art’s greatness was inseparable from its subordination to something that exceeded it.
Kitsch inverts this relationship between the aesthetic and the ethical. The emotional effect — the feeling of beauty, sublimity, grief, moral inspiration — becomes the primary, if not only, consideration of a work of art. It is no longer evidence of contact with reality. It substitutes for reality. The moral claim is validated not by its correspondence to anything true but by its affective register: does it move you? Does it produce the right feelings? Then it is working correctly. And what is contemporary moral, spiritual, and political discourse if not this structure — the insistence on the primacy of feeling, the translation of every ethical question into a question of emotional effect, the treatment of being moved as itself the criterion of being right?
Kitsch is also the condition of the false myth trying to touch the real myth — and knowing, at some subterranean level, that it is false. This is why historicism, in the sense of the sentimental appeal to past histories, real or invented, and romanticism, in the sense of appeal to the profundity of experience, are two typical characteristics of kitsch. This produces kitsch’s characteristic escalation: more sentiment, more spectacle, more grandeur, because the ground that would produce a genuine connection with reality is absent, and so the feeling must be generated by force. Unreality enforced through art becomes the art form of a deeply neurotic world. This is why so much contemporary life feels simultaneously over-stimulated and hollow. It is masturbatory in the worst possible sense. Regular masturbation at least has the consolation of a fantasy, while much of contemporary culture is masturbation to the idea of masturbation.
I’m talking here about the cross around the neck of the hip-hop star with no relationship to the crucifixion, or the Beatles on a pilgrimage to India, shopping for transcendence with the same seriousness and the same fundamental unseriousness with which one might shop for furniture. Of the entire wellness industry, the epitome of kitsch, which offers the pastoral and contemplative functions of religion stripped of any claim about the actual structure of reality. The false myth does not stop reaching for the real myth because it cannot: the structure of the reaching is built into the human animal, and no Exit, however confident, has succeeded in rebuilding that animal from the ground up.
More than simply bad art or cheap aesthetics, our kitsch is the romantic impulse, the genuine human reach toward the infinite, toward beauty that exceeds the finite, toward myth that touches reality, attempting to satisfy itself through finite and rational means, which is to say, through systematic production of the desired effect. It is an industrialization of romanticism, the longing for transcendence converted into a process of consumption. And because the means are finite and the impulse is not, the only available compensation is escalation — more sentiment, more spectacle, more intensity, more volume. This greater and greater falsification of life produces the characteristic trajectory of never-ending sentimentalization, the endless inflation of feeling that is kitsch’s signature and its confession simultaneously. The confession being: it is not working. It was never going to work. The infinite cannot be delivered through finite means, and the attempt to do so does not satisfy the impulse but aggravates it, producing not fulfillment but a neurotic cycle of stimulation and renewed hunger. Hunger for the life that is being falsified.
This is kitsch as a structure of death-avoidance — not the overcoming of death but escape from the reality of death, which is entirely different and far worse. The world of lip fillers, of stretched skin and lifted chins and reconstituted faces, of the aging body desperately performing its own youth — this is not vanity in the old sense. It is kitsch, quite literally, in flesh: the finite and rational means deployed against the infinite demand for vitality, the manufacturing of the effect of life where life is diminishing. It is as much kitsch as it is dead. It escapes nothing. It is the stench of death wearing the appearance of its opposite, which is the post-Christian condition’s most intimate and most literal self-portrait.
Kitsch and Modernism
Now, in the standard account of art history, aesthetic modernism was supposedly a revolt against the flood of kitsch unleashed on the world by late romanticism. I must insist, as I like to do, that the standard account is itself a piece of modernist self-mythology, a variant of kitsch, and it needs to be exposed.
The modernist aesthetic and kitsch are not opposites but the same formation operating at opposite temperatures, with different degrees of self-consciousness, sharing the identical structural problem: the self-referential loop, the gesture that no longer points outside itself, the form that has lost its content and can only make that loss its content. The difference between them is one of register, not of kind. Kitsch fills the form with the feeling of having content — it substitutes the sensation of transcendence for transcendence, the emotion of meaning for meaning, and does so even with enthusiasm.
Modernism makes the empty form itself the subject, turns the loss of content into the only remaining content—kitsch at a lower temperature. But the husk that knows it is a husk and makes its huskness into art is not less of a husk. It is more completely one, because now even the awareness of the condition has been folded back into the condition and aestheticized, foreclosing the one thing that awareness was supposed to make possible — a genuine reckoning with what is lacking and why.
If Kitsch confuses the aesthetic with the ethical by taking the latter for the former, the feeling of depth substitutes for depth itself, modernism makes the opposite error: it takes the ethical for the aesthetic, turning the acknowledgment of meaninglessness into an artistic program, an endless lecture that demands attention and seeks to make itself the object of pleasure rather than any aesthetically pleasing form.
Thus, modernist aesthetics is a highly refined entertainment that lectures you, in the most pedantic and controlled manner possible, that nothing means anything — and expects you to find this enjoyable. Which is kitsch’s essential operation performed with maximum theoretical sophistication.
Thus, in the last analysis, both kitsch and modernism are dead and deadening. It is art whose only object is itself. The former attempts to collapse the infinite into systematized, hence necessarily closed, compositions. The latter orbits itself, making the void its only subject and the orbiting its only method. Both are sealed tombs filled with the stench of death.
Modernist painting then became meta-painting — about the surface, the gesture, the act of painting. Modernist cuisine becomes the deconstructed dish, the performance of its own making. Modernist fiction narrates the impossibility of narration. In each case, the outside referent has been evacuated, and what remains is the lecture about the activity itself, which then becomes both subject and object.
The link between modernism and kitsch becomes most visible in the domain of ritual and ceremony, because it is there that the reversal of the original order is most clear. Pre-modern ritual did not accumulate its authority through mere performance. It accumulated it through participation in something prior to and larger than the performance, something whose reality the ceremony was answerable to.
One would never think this needs to be said, but in the age when the Latin Mass is basically Instagram reels fodder, the Mass was never about its emotional effect, and the liturgy was never about displaying its own beauty. These were genuine transactions, and their power was inseparable from their self-effacement. The moment the Mass becomes an aesthetic experience to be curated and shared, it has already become its own opposite, spectatorship, which is to say, kitsch.
Likewise, modern, secular ceremony is the exact opposite of its original form. The political inauguration, the graduation ritual, the award ceremony, the state funeral, the TPUSA spectacle — all are, often, ceremony about ceremony, a ritual about itself, the collective performance of having shared significance in the absence of anything genuinely shared or genuinely significant. Everyone present is aware, at some level, that what is being performed is performance, which produces the specific quality of embarrassment that underlies all modern solemnity — the awkwardness, the awareness that the gravity is not quite earned, that the form exceeds whatever it is now supposed to be the form of. This is the performative mode as the only available mode, and it is identical to what modernism does in art and what kitsch does in sentiment: the gesture that was once subordinated to a real presence, now circling its own absence.
In letters, too, the crisis of style is inseparable from the crisis of ideas. The era of the great novel and the great poem has disappeared even from the rearview mirror. What the post-Christian condition produces in literature is two equally symptomatic responses. The first is complete sterility — prose that has nothing to say and has stopped pretending otherwise, airless, affectless, technically correct, and spiritually inert.
The second, and by far the more dominant literary mode of our moment, which is flooding our communications thanks to AI, is densely kitsch prose: the artificially avant-garde style deployed to delude the reader into believing they might encounter real art, real ideas, real contact with reality. The syntax is deliberately fractured. Adjectives, poetic images, rhetorical figures, and metaphors are piled one on top of the other without logical or aesthetic necessity, the aim being to stun and intoxicate, to give the impression by means of a facile neglect of syntax that the reader is in the presence of genuine prose. But the aim is also to excite him superstitiously — to suggest that something is promised in the torrent of language that the language never actually delivers. Every paragraph is an attempt to construct a new myth, to find new magic in a world without magic.
Moral Kitsch
Post-Christian morality is perhaps the most consequential kitsch of all. Severed from the Biblical ground that gave moral claims their content and their limits, the Christian moral vocabulary of compassion, inclusion, the preferential option for the victim, etc., survives as pure affective currency, deployed as a mechanism for generating the feeling of moral seriousness without its substance, often for nefarious and exploitative political and economic ends.
What do I mean by post-Christian moral huckstering? I migrated to the United States from the third world in 2012. America gave me the opportunity to build a good life, for which I am genuinely grateful and which I wish many others could have. I am also viscerally opposed to mass migration from the third world, because I believe it will destroy the Western societies I came to and turn them into what I escaped from, which I want neither for my children nor for anyone else’s.
Now, equality. I believe all men are equal. But the keyword is believe, because equality is a religious mystery, or it is nothing — there is no rational, or aesthetic, foundation for it, and anyone who claims otherwise is either confused or lying. We are not all as capable, nor are we all as good-looking. The blonde beasts and nymphs are not just as beautiful as an interbred family from Third World societies, no matter how much European governments pretend otherwise. Rationally, the proposition that all human beings possess equal dignity is an affront to all sense and sensibility. No one actually believes so when they are choosing a spouse. Equality is, historically, a Jewish theological claim universalized through Christianity, and it carries the full weight of that genealogy. I know this, and I hold it anyway, not because reason compels me but because I trust a wisdom older than reason, and because I know that the man who stops believing it — really stops, in his bones — has begun the particular hubris that ends very badly, always, without exception, with death, death, and more death.
This is precisely the structure the post-Christian moral huckster exploits. The Ilhan Omars and Edward Saids are not making arguments and are not believers in the equality they invoke. They are hyenas — using the Christian moral vocabulary of compassion and inclusion as instruments of extraction, leveraging a genuine religious deposit I hold in order to induce a guilt that is recognizably Christian in structure, directing that guilt toward my acquiescence to policies that will dispossess me and my children for their own material gain. It is, in the full sense of the word, a trap. They know I cannot defend myself with reason without both abandoning the mystery and exposing myself to post-Christian accusations of racism, dehumanization of migrants, and secret Nazism. And, at the same time, they know I cannot defend myself with the mystery without conceding to their demands. If I try to call them out on their huckstering, it will become their turn to perform victimhood and outrage at my malevolent, perhaps misogynistic or racist, assault on them. Poor Omar is not being called out for being a conwoman; she is being assaulted for being a black Muslim woman. Said is not being called out as the WASP fraud he was; he is being attacked for being the voice of Palestine. In short, any attempt from me to resist will escalate and produce more sentiment, more spectacle, and more huckstering. More kitsch.
The mechanism is straightforward theft dressed in the language of justice. The huckster does not believe in equality. He believes in the guilt — the only part of the Christian moral structure that survives the removal of its theological ground and which, severed from redemption, can be escalated without limit and weaponized without accountability. This is what the entire Nietzschean revolt was against. The systematic use of equality and compassion as instruments of domination by those who had ceased to believe in anything except the power and guilt, necessarily leads to a violent reaction that brings more kitsch and more death to the world.
“What about the victims?” “What about the excluded?” “What about compassion?” — these are, obviously, not arguments. They are emotional blackmail escalations, kitsch in its most operationally powerful form, because they weaponize the genuine Christian moral feeling toward the suffering while detaching it entirely from the structure of meaning that originally gave that impulse its judgment, its discernment, its capacity to distinguish real compassion from its simulation. The result is a moral discourse that is simultaneously maximally intense and completely groundless — which is kitsch’s precise signature — and which has been one of the primary generators of political violence for over a century, because a morality organized entirely around affective escalation with no ground and no limit produces a permanent prosecution in search of victims to defend and perpetrators to destroy, the Christian guilt structure running without the redemption that was supposed to end it.
(There is a good book that remains to be written about how the religion of Islam, contrary to the German dreams, collapsed and became one big post-Christian moral hustle. The German Romantic fantasy of Islam as a vital, pre-Christian force uncorrupted by slave morality, running from Goethe through Nietzsche through Nazi pseudo-ideas, is itself a perfect instance of the post-Christian condition of death projecting its own longing for vitality onto whatever seems most foreign and therefore most untouched. The irony that Islam then proceeded to become, in its twentieth-century political forms, precisely the post-Christian moral hustle and spectacle it was supposed to save the West from. This same process was also happening, albeit at a different pace and through different means, to Judaism, with the Holocaust becoming the main theater of post-Christian moral kitschism. One reason I’m solidly a partisan of a certain kind of Jewish conservatism is that they are the only ones who understood this and rose to try to stop it. They are allied with some factions of the Recoil, but, on some fundamental level, understand they do not want to be part of the Recoil’s likely doomed desperation. The reason I like them and mostly write just for them is that they are the only ones trying to do something serious about all of this. The rest seem to have nothing to offer and just suck well beyond my ability to tolerate.)
Making Sex Kitsch
Despite what millennials were told to believe, sex has never been merely instinctual for men. It has always carried cultural, ritual, religious, aesthetic, and philosophical weight — always been the site where the body’s most immediate facts intersect with the human animal’s most extravagant demands for meaning. This is not a contingent feature of any particular culture but a universal human one: the same creature that requires myth requires that its sexuality participate in myth, that the erotic be charged with more than biology, that the encounter with another body carry the weight of an encounter with something that exceeds both bodies.
Pornography is one of the defining features of the post-Christian age and perhaps its most consequential assault on human sexuality. It is the lowest grade of eroticism — crude, rude, deformed by repression and morbidity, making no claims beyond what it is, raising no aesthetic or philosophical questions because it does not attempt to answer any. It knows what it is doing and does it without apology. It does not claim to be art, science, or a dignified endeavor. It knows what it is. This makes it, morbid and degrading as it is, one of the more honest products of the post-Christian condition.
Pornokitsch is something far worse. Think of the Instagram profile of women performing desirability for an audience that is not invited to desire them — sexual in form, anti-erotic in intent, calculated for attention rather than arousal. Or Elon’s AI-generated image of the sexualized female figure with cat ears — sexuality processed so far through the kitsch machine that it has shed the biological referent entirely, desire from which the desiring body has been removed, fleshless eroticism.
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