Proofs for The Apocrypha through History

A few days ago (I think it was Christmas Eve), I received the page proofs for my book forthcoming book, The Apocrpha through History: The Canonical Reception of the Deuterocanonical Literature. I've also noticed that there is already a Google Books page. Look for the published book in April or May. 

Here's the list of chapters. 

1. What Are the Apocrypha? 
2. Jewish Scripture at the Birth of Christianity
3. The Apocrypha in the New Testament
4. Jewish Use of the Deuterocanonicals
5. The Patristic Age
6. The Medieval West
7. The Sixteenth Century
8. The Orthodox Tradition
9. The English Bible
10. Does It Matter? 

Navalny's Memoir on Christianity

A few days after Alexei Navalny died, I spoke in a chapel service about his example of courage. The chapel speech was ostensibly about Daniel in the Lion's Den, but I didn't speak much about the biblical text, delaying my consideration of it until the next week. Instead, I focused on a modern example of bravery akin to that of Daniel. At the time I gave that speech, I didn't have any idea whether Navalny was a Christian, or whether—if he was—his Christian faith motivated his work of resistance against the Russian regime led by Vladimir Putin. I hadn't really followed Navalny's career much. I was only vaguely aware that he had been poisoned earlier in his career, and I probably wouldn't have been able to tell you if he was in prison or had been released. Reports of his death drew my interest. 

A few days later I read an essay by Russell Moore, exploring Navalny's relationship to Christianity. 

So, when I read through Navalny's memoir, I was interested to see in what ways Christianity made an appearance. The big take-away: it does come up, not infrequently, but I wouldn't call Navalny's Christianity one of the main themes of the book. I might be wrong about how this book is received, but it does not seem to me to be a theological classic along the lines of Bonhoeffer's Letters and Papers from Prison. 

Of course, Navalny was raised in a largely atheist society. He reports that he had a religious grandmother (p. 29), and he says that he tried to convince her to be an atheist (p. 46). 

It was the birth of his daughter, Dasha, in 2001 that changed things. Navalny was 25 years old. 

Like anyone who grew up in the Soviet Union, I had never believed in God, but looking now at Dasha and how she was developing, I could not reconcile myself to the thought that this was only a matter of biology. That did not alter the fact that I am a big fan of science, but I decided at that moment that, on its own, evolution was not enough. There must be more. From a dyed-in-the-wool atheist, I gradually became a religious person. (p. 181)

But, still, Christianity does not come up much in the memoir until the fourth part of the book, when Navalny was imprisoned for the last few years of his life, after the 2020 poisoning and return to Russia.  Here are some notes.

20 Feb 2021, Saturday (pp. 324–32), Navalny gives an account of his two trials that day, including a copy of his closing speech at the first trial (pp. 325–30). In the first half of this speech, Navalny does talk in passionate terms about his faith in God and how Matthew 5:6 motivates his work and life. But he wasn’t sure that the speech was very effective. He judged that

it didn’t go particularly well. It was too long, and the philosophical and religious considerations don’t go down well with the general public. When I asked Vadim and Olga [his lawyers] what they thought about the speech, they looked at each other skeptically and smiled. After the break they said that if the target audience was religious believers, then I had scored a bull’s-eye. I had to accept that as a consolation prize. The corollary is that nonbelievers will now consider me a nutjob with a messiah complex. (p. 325)

Lent (March 9, 2021, pp. 348–49). Navalny wonders how he’ll do Lent in prison. He mentions Lent again (11 March 2021, p. 355). In the same entry, he says, “as always, the Bible provides the answer: ‘Ask and you shall receive’” (p. 356). Later he says he is fasting for Lent (15 March 2021, p. 357). Part of his resolution for this Lent is to not yell at people (23 March 2021, pp. 369–70), but he ended up yelling at an officer who denied him a pen during a meeting with his lawyers (26 March 2021, pp. 372–73). He seems upset that he failed, but his lawyers were happy. 

Olga, though, was pleased. “There,” she said, “you’re your old self again. You weren’t confronting anyone; you were behaving meekly. I was getting worried.” It was only because I was fasting for Lent and had to love everyone. (p. 373)

A few days earlier, he had written about apologizing to another prisoner. “I wonder if this is not just a lot of hypocritical bullsh--. You feel you are pretending to be some meek little Christian, constantly apologizing to everyone and speaking in a kind, well-meaning tone of voice. People find that worrying” (23 March 2021, p. 370). 

He celebrates Easter on May 2, 2021, in accordance with Orthodox dating practice (see here and here). 

Easter. I was really looking forward to it this year. Of course, I look forward to it every year because I observe Lent, but this year my fast was extra special (ha ha!), and I’ve gotten quite into religion (ha ha!). 

He talks about memorizing the Sermon on the Mount in four languages (Oct 21, 2021, pp. 409–11). 

The end of the epilogue (written March 2022) also has a bit about religion. His main point here is that religion is helpful if you’re in prison. These are the final words that appear in the memoir, though they are not the last written. They were written in response to the new sentencing that would see him stay in prison for several extra years.

The second technique [for maintaining your sanity in prison] is so old you may roll your eyes heavenward when you hear it. It is religion. It is doable only for believers but does not demand zealous, fervent prayer by the prison barracks window three times a day (a very common phenomenon in prisons). 

I have always thought, and said openly, that being a believer makes it easier to live your life and, to an even greater extent, engage in opposition politics. Faith makes life simpler. 

The initial position for this exercise is the same as for the previous one [= imagining the worst]. You lie in your bunk looking up at the one above and ask yourself whether you are a Christian in your heart of hearts. It is not essential for you to believe some old guys in the desert once lived to be eight hundred years old or that the sea was literally parted in front of someone. But are you a disciple of the religion whose founder sacrificed himself for others, paying the price for their sins? Do you believe in the immortality of the soul and the rest of that cool stuff? If you can honestly answer yes, what is there left for you to worry about? Why, under your breath, would you mumble a hundred times something you read from a hefty tome you keep in your bedside table? Don’t worry about the morrow, because the tomorrow is perfectly capable of taking care of itself. 

My job is to seek the Kingdom of God and his righteousness, and leave it to good old Jesus and the rest of his family to deal with everything else. They won’t let me down and will sort out all my headaches. As they say in prison here: they will take my punches for me. (pp. 478–79)

A few weeks ago, I had a chance to preach at church, so I did a Christmas sermon, but I used Navalny as an example. One of my daughters told me that the introduction (where I talk about Navalny) seemed awfully long. I appreciate the critique (I can usually count on this daughter for a critique of my sermons), but I didn't think of the "Navalny section" of the sermon as merely an introduction but as itself making an important point. Anyway, I could have done many things better, I'm sure. One thing I though of later: if I had the sermon to do over again, I would insert the line somewhere: "Navalny will stand up at the judgment and condemn this generation of American Christians." 

Irenaeus and the God of This World

In his wonderful book on the first millennium of Christian history (Yale, 2012), Robert Louis Wilken talks about biblical interpretation in Irenaeus and among the gnostics.

For Irenaeus the "rule of faith" handed on orally was the key to the interpretation of the Bible. The written books were to be understood in light of what was found in a simple confession of faith, that is, in the Church's tradition. Here was the rub for the gnostics. They were disdainful of what had been received from tradition, from earlier teachers, and preferred their own private interpretation to the rule of faith. Irenaeus found their views willful and doctrinaire. For example, they took the phrase "god of this world" in 2 Corinthians (4:4) to be a reference to a lesser God, the creator of the world, who had "blinded the minds of unbelievers." In fact the phrase refers to Satan, the anti-God. (p. 44)

This summary is a bit misleading. I have slowly been making my way through Irenaeus' Against Heresies in the English translation by Dominic Unger and published in the Ancient Christian Writers series (Paulist Press), now complete this year, with the publication of books 4–5 in one volume. Irenaeus brings up 2 Corinthians 4:4 twice (Haer. 3.7; 4.29), as you can find at Biblindex. The first appearance has a more detailed engagement with the biblical text, and here I quote from the ACW translation. 

They [= heretics] maintain that in the second letter to the Corinthians, Paul said openly, In their case, the God of this world has blinded the minds of unbelievers, and therefore they claim that there is one God "of this world" and another who is above every dominion and principality and power. But we are not at fault if these men, who assert that they know the mysteries which are above God, do not even know how to read Paul. For, in keeping with Paul's style, which makes use of transpositions [hyperbatis] as we have shown elsewhere by many examples, if any one reads it thus: In their case, God, and then puts punctuation and a slight pause, and reads the rest together, of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, he will find the true sense. [The passage] would read thus: God has blinded the minds of the unbelievers of this world. That is shown by distinguishing the phrases. For Paul is not speaking of the God of this world, as if he knew of some other above Him. God he acknowledges as God. But he does say that the unbelievers of this world will not inherit the coming world of incorruption. But how God has blinded the minds of unbelievers we will demonstrate from Paul himself, as our study proceeds, so that we do not have to digress from our present topic too much. (3.7.1)

The rest of the chapter provides further examples of transposed words in Paul (e.g., Gal 3:19; 2 Thess 2:8–9). At the end of the chapter he says: "Consequently, in that passage above [i.e., 2 Cor 4:4], we do not read about the God of this world, but about God, whom we truly call God" (3.7.2).  

The point I'm making is that for Irenaeus, the "God" mentioned in 2 Corinthians 4:4 is not Satan but rather the God revered by Paul and by Irenaeus, the Father of Jesus Christ. It is the true God, in the mind of Irenaeus, who has blinded the minds of unbelievers. 

While Irenaeus recognizes that such an assertion may trouble some people, at 4.29 he points to other passages in Scripture in which similar actions are attributed to God: the hardening of Pharaoh's heart; or the dominical quotation of Isaiah 6:9–10; Rom 1:28; 2 Thess 2:11–12. 

I haven't surveyed commentaries on 2 Corinthians 4:4, but I think that the interpretation that sees "the god of this world" in that passage as a reference to Satan is pretty common. I think it's the view commonly assumed by people I go to church with. It is the view argued in a monograph by Derek Brown. But it was not the view accepted (or even considered?) by Irenaeus, who instead related Paul's "god of this age" to the God of the Bible. This latter view has been defended in recent years in a dissertation by Ivor Gerard Poobalan at the University of Cape Town.

Why Did Navalny Return to Russia in 2021?

The memoir by Alexei Navalny deals a lot with the question posed in the title of this post. Navalny recovered in Germany from his 2020 poisoning, and he elected to return to Russia, against the advice of many people, such as Angela Merkel. When she visited him in the hospital and heard about his plans to return to Russia, she responded, "There's no need to hurry" (p. 23). 

I previously mentioned that the best chapter in the book is the out-of-chronological-order ch. 8, written from prison shortly after he was arrested in the Russian airport in January 2021. This chapter reveals that he and his team did not necessarily think he would get arrested straightaway; they gamed out several scenarios for how Putin might greet Navalny's return to Russia (pp. 137–41). Before he left Germany, the bevy of questions from reporters about whether he intended to return to his home country annoyed him. 

How do you like that, I thought irascibly…. You work for twenty years in the full glare of publicity, you write hundreds of articles, every day you back up your words with actions, and they still imagine I might be too scared to go back. (p. 131)

This response suggests that part of the reason for his return was—to put it cynically—to make a show of his bravery. I think a better and truer way of putting it: to provide an example for others, to provide hope. This interpretation is supported by an incident narrated later in the same chapter. Outside of a police station waiting to be transported to prison, he encountered some supporters. 

They took me outside and people started yelling. Unexpectedly for me, I yelled back to them, “Don’t be afraid of anything!” That was an important moment, the kind when you feel at one with your supporters. They are thinking about you and want to show they are with you. You are thinking about them, and that the regime needs this arrest to frighten them, and you do your utmost to help them not to be afraid. You keep your back straight and shout, “Don’t be afraid of anything.” (p. 162)

In a sense, bravery is the point. When the regime lives on fear, courage is resistance. 

A later chapter (ch. 15) prints Navalny's speech at the Yves Rocher trial. Now, this Yves Rocher case—in which Navalny and his brother, Oleg, were accused of, I think, embezzling funds—dragged on for years. I think this particular speech was delivered in court probably in 2015 or thereabouts. He repeatedly mentions how the judges and the prosecutors stare down at the table, which he interprets as an attempt to ignore all the evidence of corruption in the system, to render the verdict that the Kremlin expects. Toward the end of the speech (p. 240), he divides Russian society into a few categories. The whole system is a junta, controlled by about twenty billionaires. There are about a thousand people, but no more, “who are feeding at this junta’s trough,” and these people are “state deputies and crooks.” “There’s a small percentage of people who don’t agree with this system. And then there are the millions who are simply starting at the table. I’ll never stop my fight with this junta. I’m going to continue fighting this junta, by campaigning and doing whatever it takes to shake up these people who are starting at the table. You included. I’m never going to stop.” 

About halfway through the speech, he says: 

Why do you put up with these lies? Why do you just stare at the table? I’m sorry if I’m dragging you into a philosophical discussion, but life’s too short to simply stare down at the table. I blinked and I’m almost forty years old. I’ll blink again and I’ll already have grandchildren. And then we all will blink again and we’ll be on our deathbeds, with our relatives all around us, and all they’ll be thinking about is, It’s about time they died and freed up this apartment. And at some point we’ll realize that nothing we did had any meaning at all, so why did we just stare at the table and say nothing? The only moments in our lives that count for anything are those when we do the right thing, when we don’t have to look down at the table but can raise our heads and look each other in the eye. Nothing else matters. (p. 239)

The last chapter before the memoir becomes a prison diary (ch. 18), Navalny reflects on why he doesn't protect himself more. 

I have always tried to ignore the idea that I could be attacked, arrested, or even killed. I have no control over what might happen, and it would be self-destructive to dwell on it. Should I think, What are the chances that I’ll survive this morning? I don’t know; six out of ten? Eight out of ten? Maybe even ten out of ten? It’s not that I’m trying not think about it, closing my eyes and pretending the danger doesn’t exist. But one day I simply made the decision not to be afraid. I weighed everything up, understood where I stand—and let it go. I’m an opposition politician and understand perfectly who my enemies are, but if I were to worry constantly about them killing me, then it’s not worth my while living in Russia. I should emigrate or change what I do. (p. 271)

So, why doesn't he emigrate or change what he does? Navalny doesn't say so explicitly, but I believe the one action implies the other: emigrating entails changing what he does. What he did could only be done in Russia, because part of what got attention was the audacity of the bravery. Another way of saying it is that exile is a good way to make yourself irrelevant. While I don't remember Navalny in this memoir framing his return in that way, various things he says touch on the same idea, as we've seen. While reading Navalny's memoir, I couldn't help but think of the life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who also (by his own choice) found himself in safety away from his home country and the brutal dictator in charge, and he also made the choice to return to his home country despite the dangers. In June 1939, Bonhoeffer, in New York, wrote to his friend Reinhold Niebuhr: 

Sitting here in Dr. Coffin’s garden I have had the time to think and to pray about my situation and that of my nation and to have God’s will for me clarified. I have come to the conclusion that I have made a mistake in coming to America. I must live through this difficult period of our national history with the Christian people of Germany. I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people. My brothers in the Confessional Synod wanted me to go. They may have been right in urging me to do so; but I was wrong in going. Such a decision each man must make for himself. Christians in Germany will face the terrible alternative of either willing the defeat of their nation in order that Christian civilization may survive, or willing the victory of their nation and thereby destroying our civilization. I know which of these alternatives I must choose; but I cannot make that choice in security. (DBWE 15, #129, p. 210, or here, or here) 

"I cannot make that choice in security." Why not? He says he would "have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people." I think he means that he would feel himself unworthy, a carpetbagger of sorts. I don't think he means that the German people after the war would not respect him, would view him as a carpetbagger if he tried to claim a leadership role in Germany after spending the war years in America, but I think that is another way one might look at it. Living in safety while others are suffering is a good way to make yourself irrelevant. 

That was not something that Navalny (or Bonhoeffer) was willing to do. In an Instagram post from prison on Navalny's 47th (and last) birthday (June 4, 2023), he wrote: 

But life works in such a way that social progress and a better future can only be achieved if a certain number of people are willing to pay the price for their right to have their own beliefs. The more of them there are, the less everyone has to pay. … 

But until that day comes, I see my situation not as a heavy burden or a yoke but as a job that needs to be done. Every job has its unpleasant aspects, right? So I’m going through the unpleasant part of my favorite job right now.  

My plan for the previous year was not to become brutalized and bitter and lose my laid-back demeanor that would mean the beginning of my defeat. (p. 459)

He saw it as a personal defeat if the regime cowered him or embittered him—and in that way controlled him. No doubt Navalny faltered at times, but he provides a compelling example. 

Frederick Douglass on the Devilish Decision of SCOTUS

Frederick Douglass, 1856, Wikimedia Commons

In March 1857, the US Supreme Court announced their decision in Dred Scrott v. Sandford, written by Chief Justice Taney, a decision that I suppose has long been in the lead on most people’s “worst decisions” lists. It “settled” the issue of slavery in favor of the pro-slavery argument, finding slavery enshrined in the US Constitution.

Dred Scott, ca. 1857, Wikimedia Commons

I put “settled” in scare quotes because, of course, this decision did not at all settle the issue, though Taney hoped it would. The same year as the decision, Frederick Douglass gave a speech, “The Dred Scott Decision,” in which he mocked the very idea that the issue had been settled, because in fact the slavery issue had been “settled” many times before (by the Missouri Compromise, by the Kansas-Nebraska Act, etc.). Douglass remarked: “The fact is, the more the question has been settled, the more it has needed settling” (p. 252).

Roger B. Taney, Wikimedia Commons

You can find Douglass’ speech in its original published form here. I am using the edition in The Portable Frederick Douglass (Penguin, 2016), where it appears on pp. 248–68.

Like most of what Douglass wrote, it’s a wonderful speech, eloquent, hopeful, scathing, Christian.

You will readily ask me how I am affected by this devilish decision—this judicial incarnation of wolfishness! My answer is, and no thanks to the slaveholding wing of the Supreme Court, my hopes were never brighter than now.  

I have no fear that the National Conscience will be put to sleep by such an open, glaring, and scandalous tissue of lies as that decision is, and has been, over and over, shown to be. (p. 253)

Douglass calls Taney’s decision full of lies. He means that Taney has misinterpreted the Constitution, and he will explain in what ways the Chief Justice has done so. But first he has some things to say about how Taney might be the highest law in the land, but not in the world.

Your fathers [Douglass says to his white audience] have said that man’s right to liberty is self-evident. There is no need of argument to make it clear. The voices of nature, of conscience, of reason, and of revelation, proclaim it as the right of all rights, the foundation of all trust, and of all responsibility. Man was born with it. It was his before he comprehended it. The deed conveying it to him is written in the centre of his soul, and is recorded in Heaven. Th sun in the sky is not more palpable to the sight than man’s right to liberty is to the moral vision. To decide against this right in the person of Dred Scott, or the humblest and most whip-scarred bondman in the land, is to decide against God. It is an open rebellion against God’s government. It is an attempt to undo what God [has] done, to blot out the broad distinction instituted by the Allwise between men and things, and to change the image and superscription of the everliving God into a speechless piece of merchandise. (p. 253)

Douglass does not find slavery instituted in Scripture nor in the US Constitution. This is an important point because plenty of people in his day, including his fellow abolitionists, said that it was instituted in both. A couple of times near the end of the speech (p. 267), Douglass puts Chief Justice Taney side-by-side with William Lloyd Garrison as twin advocates for the view that the Constitution enshrines slavery. (As Gordon Wood reminds us, Garrison described the Constitution as “a covenant with death” and “an agreement with hell.”)

William Lloyd Garrison, Wikimedia Commons

Garrison’s solution was disunion, emancipating the northern states from the pro-slavery Constitution. Douglass objected to the solution, and spends several pages urging against disunion, before turning to the main point of the speech, the lies in Taney’s decision (lies with which Garrison, apparently, agreed). In fact, the Constitution does not guarantee the right to enslave others.

When I admit that slavery is constitutional, I must see slavery recognized in the Constitution. I must see that it is there plainly stated that one man of a certain description has a right of property in the body and soul of another man of a certain description. There must be no room for a doubt. In a matter so important as the loss of liberty, everything must be proved beyond all reasonable doubt. (p. 260)

Of course, the Constitution never mentions slavery or white people or black people, as Douglass points out. (Douglass never in this speech brings up the 3/5 clause, which, in any case, would not have overturned his point.) In fact, several pronouncements in the Constitution are incompatible with slavery, such as the prohibition of a bill of attainder (p. 262). Taney knows that the Constitution on its surface cannot support slavery; he says as much in his decision. But, he says, you have to look at the intention of the Constitution. Douglass quotes and paraphrases Taney’s decision to establish this line of reasoning (pp. 263–64).

It is this line of reasoning that Douglass declares to be a lie. Taney said that slavery was everywhere accepted at the time of the ratification of the Constitution. Douglass demonstrates the falsehood of the claim. He first cites statements from churches from the 1780s. Then the Founding Fathers themselves.

Washington and Jefferson, and Adams, and Jay, and Franklin, and Rush, and Hamilton, and a host of others, held no such degrading views on the subject as are imputed by Judge Taney to the Fathers of the Republic. 

All, at that time, looked for the gradual but certain abolition of slavery, and shaped the constitution with a view to this grand result. (p. 266)

On this account, Douglass prevails over Taney. The Chief Justice did, in fact, misrepresent the early history of the United States in order to substantiate his specious interpretation of the Constitution. Douglass’ account of the views of the Founding Fathers (at least the ones he names) stands in harmony with modern historical accounts, such as in Joseph Ellis’ book Founding Brothers.

Douglass:

In conclusion, let me say, all I ask of the American people is, that they live up to the Constitution, adopt its principles, imbibe its spirit and enforce its provisions. 

When this is done, the wounds of my bleeding people will be healed, the chain will no longer rust on their ankles, their backs will no longer be torn by the bloody lash, and liberty, the glorious birthright of our common humanity, will become the inheritance of all the inhabitants of this highly favored country. (pp. 267–68)  

Douglass’ speech fits into a broader discussion on the interpretation of the Constitution, one set out, for example, in brief in this book review by Gordon Wood on a book by James Oakes.

The Structure of Navalny's Memoir

I am not yet finished reading the memoir of Alexei Navalny, but I'm getting close. And I have looked ahead to see generally what is upcoming. So I know the structure of the book. That seems like a weird thing to say; usually readers know the structure of a book before reading—not always, with modern novels, for instance, but often even then you can figure it out pretty quickly. Navalny's memoir has an odd structure, half intentional memoir for publication, half prison diary. And there's no table of contents, or preface, or any sort of introduction. 

Should you want to know the structure of the book before reading? Maybe that knowledge will deprive you of the thrill of discovering its structure for yourself. I don't know. If you're planning on reading the book all the way through, maybe don't look at this post. On the other hand, maybe you're like me and you like to know what you're getting yourself into. Anyway, proceed at your own risk. 

By the way, going into the memoir, I was interested especially in two aspects of Navalny's life: his relationship to Christianity, and his bravery. Or, you might say, I was interested in why he returned to Russia after his 2020 poisoning—did it have anything to do with Christianity? Or what was the source of his courage? Or was it rather foolishness? I don't myself interpret his return to Russia as foolishness, but I have talked to people that I respect who do interpret it that way. Anyway, regarding his return and his faith, I have been taking notes, and I plan on posting some things about those topics. 

But here's the structure of the book, first in broad strokes, and then in more detail. The titles of the Parts (i.e., Part I, Near Death) are provided in the book. 

Part I, Near Death, chapters 1–2, pages 3–24

Part II, Formation, chapters 3–9, pages 25–174

Part III, The Work, chapters 10–18, pages 175–276

Part IV, Prison, pages 277–471

Epilogue, pages 473–79

It's Part IV that is the prison diary, with some social media posts thrown in (e.g., at Feb. 17, 2021; March 3, 2021). You could call it "Letters and Papers from Prison." This section covers a three-year period in four different calendar years, and the section is divided into entries dated according to those years. There are many more entries for the first year of Navalny's imprisonment, 2021, than for the subsequent years, and indeed there are more entries for the first half of 2021 than the second half. 

2021 contains entries totaling about 140 pages

2022, about 30 pages

2023, about 20 pages

2024, 4 pages

As for 2021, the first half of the year takes up about 120 pages, and the number of entries plummets in June. Every month of 2021 from June on has only a single entry, except for October, with two entries (one of substantial length), and December, with no entries. In contrast, February 2021 has an entry for every day until Feb 25, when he moves prisons. 

Now back to the memoir section, Parts I–III. Part I has two chapters recounting his 2020 poisoning, including his growing realization on an airplane that he felt not quite right, his recovery in Germany, and his decision to return to Russia. 

Below, I'll attempt to give titles or short descriptions of the chapters in Parts II–III. All of the chapters in the memoir are untitled. 

Part II, Formation

Chapter 3, memories of the USSR before Gorbachev

Chapter 4, memories of the period under Mikhail Gorbachev

Chapter 5, the end of the USSR

Chapter 6, getting into university

Chapter 7, the Yeltsin era

Chapter 8, Navalny's arrest upon his return to Russia (18 Jan 2021). This chapter is out of chronological sequence, but it is in my mind the most engrossing chapter of the book. 

Chapter 9, Yulia

Part III, The Work

Chapter 10, the beginnings of Navalny's political involvement in the early 2000s

Chapter 11, forming an organization called the Democrat Alternative

Chapter 12, Kirov and Yale

Chapter 13, the Anti-Corruption Foundation

Chapter 14, being prosecuted and running for mayor of Moscow

Chapter 15, Oleg Navalny in prison

Chapter 16, from blogging to YouTube, and eventually TikTok

Chapter 17, the presidential campaign in 2017

Chapter 18, bravery? Or: why do I do what I do?

Harpalus, An Unfaithful Servant

Alexander the Great had a courtier named Harpalus, whose story is told by various ancient authors. Here is the account in the first-century BC historian Diodorus Siculus (17.108.4–6; LCL edition, pp. 435–37)

Harpalus had been given the custody of the treasury in Babylon and of the revenues which accrued to it, but as soon as the king had carried his campaign into India, he assumed that Alexander would never come back, and gave himself up to comfortable living. Although he had been charged as satrap with the administration of a great country, he first occupied himself with the abuse of women and illegitimate amours with the natives and squandered much of the treasure under his control on incontinent pleasure. He fetched all the long way from the Red Sea a great quantity of fish and introduced an extravagant way of life, so that he came under general criticism. Later, moreover, he sent and brought from Athens the most dazzling courtesan of the day, whose name was Pythonicê. As long as she lived he gave her gifts worthy of a queen, and when she died, he gave her a magnificent funeral and erected over her grave a costly monument of the Attic type. 

After that, he brought out a second Attic courtesan named Glycera and kept her in exceeding luxury, providing her with a way of life which was fantastically expensive. At the same time, with an eye on the uncertainties of fortune, he established himself a place of refuge by benefactions to the Athenians. 

When Alexander did come back from India and put to death many of the satraps who had been charged with neglect of duty, Harpalus became alarmed at the punishment which might befall him. He packed up five thousand talents of silver, enrolled six thousand mercenaries, departed from Asia and sailed across to Attica. 

Diodorus continues the story just a bit longer, showing that Harpalus found himself unwelcome and, pretty soon,  murdered.

This story reminded me of the Parable of the Unfaithful Servant, told in Matthew 24:45–51.

But if that wicked slave says to himself, “My master is delayed,” and he begins to beat his fellow slaves, and eats and drinks with drunkards, the master of that slave will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour that he does not know. He will cut him in pieces and put him with the hypocrites, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. (Matthew 24:48–51; cf. Luke 12:35–48)

I have long found that last bit of Jesus’ parable to be sort of incredible. Would a master really punish a slave in that way? After reading some ancient histories of Alexander, I am less surprised by the master’s treatment of his slave. Alexander could deal harshly with any hint of insubordination, as you can tell from the passage above about Harpalus, who got scared because Alexander was executing insubordinate servants. I don’t recall a story in which Alexander cut anyone up in little pieces (as in Jesus’ parable), but there are some gruesome things in ancient histories, so while Jesus might be exaggerating for effect (hyperbole), he wasn’t exaggerating much.

My New Study of the Book of Daniel for Churches

A new book of mine—a study of Daniel designed for churches—was published a couple weeks ago by Heritage Christian University Press. This is the fourth book in a series; previous books of mine in this series have focused on the book of Exodus, the Sermon on the Mount, and the Gospel of Luke. How should I describe this series? These studies are beefy—usually fairly long chapters for books aimed at churches (sometimes 6000 words per chapter or more)—and are informed by scholarship but are trying to arrive at a devotional or theological meaning of the text relevant in the twenty-first century. 

This new book on Daniel is unique in the series because my son, Josiah, drew pictures for the book, appearing before each chapter. The cover art of the book is one of his original drawings, representing the mountain of Nebuchadnezzar's dream in Daniel 2.

My book has an introduction and twelve chapters, one for every chapter of Daniel. As I said, it's designed for churches, so I tried to write the chapters in such a way that the book would be useful for teaching or preaching in a church context. That goal determined some of what I chose to discuss, specifically that I do not have discussions of the major critical issues regarding the book of Daniel. I think I mention the historical obscurity of Darius the Mede, but I do not dwell on it, because that issue seems to me completely unimportant when trying to understand the story of the lions' den in Daniel 6—or, at least, when trying to understand how the story might help Christians. For the same reason, I never broach the issue of the date of Daniel. 

Here is a section of the preface that describes the approach of my study. 

Daniel is a difficult book, deceptively difficult. The first six chapters are so familiar to most Christians, even very young ones, that we might think that the book is filled with children’s stories. While the stories in the first half of the book present complexities of their own, it’s the second half of the book where the real difficulties lie. Some Christians spend all their time here, in the apocalyptic visions of Daniel 7–12, trying to relate these ancient prophecies to today’s headlines, attempting to discern how close to the end times we live. Other Christians avoid these visions like the plague. This book encourages a different approach. I do not think that God gave us the apocalyptic visions in order to map out a scheme of the end of history, but he most definitely intended for believers to read and value these chapters. While I acknowledge that the reading strategy I propose in this book is not void of its own share of complexity, I have tried not only to explain the nature of the visions and some of their details but also to show how they can help us cope with life as it is now. 

If you end up reading this book, you'll probably get tired of my saying that I don't know the best interpretation of a passage. I don't know what to do with the Seventy Weeks of Daniel 9. I don't know how to interpret all the details of Daniel 11, especially at the end (but I shy away from an Antichrist interpretation, the traditional Christian approach). Even in the absence of confidence on these matters, I think these chapters have relevance to believers today.