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."