This article, written by Mikhail Epstein, is appearing for the first time in English on the NURPLRT Forum. An expanded version of this article is published in Russian in the book: Mikhail Epstein. Pered kontsom istorii? Grani russkogo antimira (Before the End of History? Facets of the Russian Anti-World). New York: Freedom Letters, 2025. (Series “February/Liutyi”), pp. 85-122 https://freedomletters.org/books/pered-kontsom-istorii-grani-russkogo-antimira?type=ebook
I. Apocalypticism and Nihilism. New Orthodox Schism
Peter Breugel the Younger, The Triumph of Death 1562
In the post-Soviet era, a new pseudo-religious ideology has emerged in Russia. It has absorbed state-sponsored Orthodoxy, the pagan cult of soil, Eurasian hatred of the West, elements of Nazi ideology, and archaic cults of war and the realm of the dead.
Nikolai Berdyaev wrote in The Russian Idea (1946):
“We Russians are apocalyptic or nihilistic. We are apocalyptics or nihilists because we are driven toward the end and poorly comprehend the gradualism of the historical process… In Orthodoxy, the eschatological dimension of Christianity found its strongest expression. And in Russian nihilism, one can discern both ascetic and eschatological elements. The Russian people are a people of the end, not of the middle of the historical process.”[1]
Why “apocalyptics or nihilists”? In fact, nihilism and apocalypticism combine perfectly, like two facets of the same mindset: the denial of values of this world (such as law, property, rationality, individuality, human rights and freedoms, democracy) — and the expectation of its end or even the desire for its speediest end. Berdyaev’s insight illuminates how these twin impulses—the nihilistic rejection of worldly values and the apocalyptic yearning for their destruction—have shaped Russian consciousness across centuries, preparing the ground for today’s dangerous synthesis. This fusion of nihilistic denial and apocalyptic anticipation creates a uniquely volatile worldview that actively seeks destruction as a form of purification, transforming passive expectation into active participation in bringing about the end.
This latest apocalypticism has various religious, nationalist, and political components. Between these seemingly disparate strands of thought—from occult mysticism to geopolitical strategies—runs a common thread: the rejection of modern Western civilization and a yearning for a radical, redemptive unmaking of Western history. This intellectual lineage provides the foundation for today’s Russian apocalypticism, which has found fertile ground in the post-Soviet spiritual vacuum.
Let me elucidate some key terms of this article. Russian apocalypticism refers to an ideological conviction asserting the imminent destruction of the current world order as both inevitable and desirable. Eschatology, derived from the Greek ‘eschatos’ meaning ‘last’ or ‘final,’ is the theological study of the world’s ultimate destiny. “Ethnophyletism” (from Greek ethnos, nation, and phyle, tribe) refers specifically to the prioritization of national identity within church matters, condemned as heresy in Orthodoxy since the 19th century — a heresy Russia exemplifies today. The traditional Orthodox concept of harmonious cooperation between church and state has been called ‘symphonia‘ of heavenly and earthly authorities.
In Russia, however, this ideal has been historically corrupted—and especially so under the Soviet regime—into abject subordination. What should be a balanced partnership of mutual respect has devolved into the church’s servile submission to state power, transforming sacred authority into a mere instrument of political will—a perversion that reaches its apotheosis in the blessing of nuclear weapons. Orthodoxy in Russia has been subordinated to the State transforming the church into a ‘patriotic’ institution functionally indistinguishable from the army or National Guard. The alacrity with which the majority of Russians abandoned their faith after the 1917 Bolshevik revolution—readily destroying churches, converting sacred spaces into warehouses and latrines, and desecrating icons—stands as testament to this tenuous relationship. A century later, this subordination achieved a new formal ecclesiastical expression on October 16, 2018, when the Russian Orthodox Church severed Eucharistic communion with the Ecumenical Patriarchate following its recognition of the autocephalous Ukrainian church. Through this act, the Russian Church effectively declared that not only the Western Catholic-Protestant world but also the broader Orthodox community—particularly ‘fraternal Ukraine’—had succumbed to evil and surrendered to the Antichrist. This theological positioning helps explain why Russian aggression against Ukraine incorporates not merely ‘denazification’ and ‘demilitarization’ but also the more theologically charged objective of ‘desatanization.’
As early as 1872, the Orthodox Council in Constantinople condemned ethnophyletism in general—specifically addressing Greek ecclesiastical dominance in Bulgaria—as a form of ecclesiastical tribalism. Even then, in the 19th c., the dangers of ethnophyletism—the subordination of church to national-political interests—had become evident. This time, one hundred and fifty years later, the global Orthodox community has responded to Russian ecclesiastical separatism with even stronger censure. In 2022, amid Russia’s war against Ukraine, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew emphasized the worldwide danger posed by this heretical tendency:
“After communism’s fall, faith has again become an ideological instrument. The Russian Orthodox Church has aligned itself with President Vladimir Putin’s regime, particularly following Patriarch Kirill’s 2009 election. It actively promotes the Russian World (russkii mir) ideology—a mechanism for legitimizing Russian expansionism and the foundation of its Eurasian strategy. The connection between historical ethnophyletism and the contemporary Russian World concept is unmistakable. Faith thus becomes the ideological cornerstone of Putin’s regime.” [2]
Through this pronouncement, the Ecumenical Patriarch identified modern Russian ecclesiastical Orthodoxy as a schismatic entity—a politically motivated nationalist sect. What emerges is a new state religion—a cult of war and eschatological finality that synthesizes seemingly disparate elements: Orthodoxy, Old Belief traditions, Eurasian ideology, Russian nationalism, fascism, apocalyptic sectarianism, and imperial ambition. This militaristic apocalypticism stands fundamentally divorced from Christianity as the faith in God who became Human. The historical irony proves inescapable: a nation that endured profound suffering under state-imposed atheism now embraces state-sanctioned apocalyptic militarism, clothed in ecclesiastical vestments.
II. The Antichrist in the Church. Dostoevsky’s Prophetic Vision
This fusion of nationalist extremism and religious dogma begs the question: what role does today’s Russian Church serve following its resurrection from Soviet suppression? Dostoevsky’s chapter on the Grand Inquisitor in The Brothers Karamazov presents a prophetic framework that illuminates our present condition. His vision maps with remarkable precision onto the evolving relationship between church and state in Russia today.
While Dostoevsky’s earlier works—Notes from the Underground (1864) and Devils (1871)—portray the “crystal palace of the future” as the aspiration of committed atheists and revolutionaries like Nikolay Chernyshevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky’s last novel (1878-80) probes deeper into the Antichrist’s advent: he emerges from within Christianity itself. The Grand Inquisitor represents this ultimate corruption—not an external assault on faith, but its internal perversion.
According to the Inquisitor’s theological-historical schema, Christianity progresses through three distinct phases. Initially, it expands and conquers nations. Subsequently, a profound rebellion arises against it, championing science, materialism, and atheism—forces promising satiety and power. The Grand Inquisitor addresses the silent Christ:
“Feed men, and then ask of them virtue!” that’s what they’ll write on the banner which they will raise against Thee, and with which they will destroy Thy temple. Where Thy temple stood will rise a new building; the terrible tower of Babel will be built again…”[3]
The twentieth century witnessed this second phase: Christianity’s systematic demolition alongside ambitious attempts to erect a new Babel. This was symbolically exemplified by the Palace of Soviets, designed to be erected on the very site of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior in central Moscow after the cathedral was exploded by the Soviet regime in the 1930s. This projected palace, designed to stand nearly half a kilometer tall, was to represent humanity’s effort to literally storm heaven from terrestrial foundations. Emblematically, the palace was never built due to various factors including WWII, and the site eventually became an outdoor swimming pool before the cathedral’s reconstruction.
“The Third Rome Ascends: Babel Rebuilt with Missiles and Martyrs (a Bruegelian Allegory)” by Mikhail Epstein and DALL-E (ChatGPT4) [4]
Now emerges the third, most significant phase, unfolding before us in the twenty-first century. The church itself, having survived persecution and near-obliteration, resurrects—but with aspirations toward establishing its earthly kingdom:
“[F]or they will come to us after a thousand years of agony with their tower. They will seek us again, hidden underground in the catacombs, for we shall again be persecuted and tortured. They will find us and cry to us, “Feed us, for those who have promised us fire from heaven haven’t given it!” And then we shall finish building their tower… And we alone shall feed them in Thy name, declaring falsely that it is in Thy name”.
Thus, the Church, under the Grand Inquisitor’s guidance, completes the very tower that atheists and communists failed to construct. Dostoevsky presents God’s overthrow not as an end but as prelude to a more sophisticated enterprise—His substitution—whereby Babel tower rises upon the Church’s foundation, erected by ecclesiastical leadership. Moscow’s Cathedral of Christ the Savior exemplifies this progression: destroyed by Bolsheviks in 1931, then meticulously reconstructed in the mid-1990s as an exact replica, now functioning as post-Soviet Russia’s main temple where church and state converge in renewed profaned symphonia.
Dostoevsky’s insight reveals a dialectical progression from naive faith through explicit atheism toward a final synthesis—not authentic religion but cynical manipulation clothed in religious garments. This third phase constitutes the most pernicious threat, corrupting from within what atheism could merely assault from without.
If Satan represents the original rebel against divine authority, the Antichrist manifests as God’s false image. As scripture warns: “A man of iniquity, condemned to destruction… He will even take his seat in the temple of God and pretend to be God” (2 Thessalonians 2:4). The Antichrist’s ultimate strategy, reserved for history’s conclusion, is not rebellion but impersonation.
III. Orthodoxy and Nuclear Armament: A Dangerous Fusion
As early as 1891, philosopher Konstantin Leontiev, following Dostoevsky’s apprehension, prophesied that “in a hundred years Russia would birth the Antichrist.” [5] This prophetic schema ominously prefigured contemporary developments, especially the disturbing alignment of ecclesiastical authority with nuclear militarism. Reflecting on the Antichrist’s manifestation in our era leads inevitably to the disturbing symbiosis between contemporary clergy and weapons of mass destruction.
Russia’s nuclear arsenal—particularly the R-36M missiles designated “Satan” by NATO classification—operates in the post-Soviet period under the spiritual patronage of Saint Seraphim of Sarov (1754-1833), thus receiving Orthodox consecration. These missiles represent the pinnacle of thermonuclear destructive capacity, with Russian propaganda ominously declaring their potential to “make hell in the vast territories of the United States and Western Europe”.[6] As the church obediently follows the steps of the State, Orthodox clergymen routinely bless nuclear weapons of mass destruction, waving censers over them and sprinkling them with holy water, sanctifying instruments designed to kill civilians, including children.[7]
Blessing a multipurpose Sukhoi 30SM fighter jet at an airfield in Chernyakhovsk, Kaliningrad Region. / Igor Zarembo / RIA Novosti
The historical and geographical convergence here transcends mere coincidence. The Federal Nuclear Center of Russia, which produces these “Satan” missiles, was deliberately established on the former site of the Sarov Hermitage—Saint Seraphim’s ascetic dwelling place of the 18-19th cc. While Khrushchev’s regime, in its atheistic rage, demolished the hermitage’s main cathedrals in the early 1950s, a remarkable inversion occurred in 2007 when Saint Seraphim was officially proclaimed patron saint of nuclear weapons. [8] Subsequently, the Federal Nuclear Center at Sarov (previously classified as “Arzamas-16” and “Kremlev”) procured numerous icons bearing the saint’s visage. [9] This facility, employing tens of thousands and housing Russia’s most advanced supercomputing capabilities, primarily serves the “Satan” missile complex. Recently Patriarch Kirill confirmed that nuclear weapons were created “by ineffable divine providence” “under the patronage of Saint Seraphim of Sarov.”[10] Thus, theological symbolism and infernal technology intertwine profoundly through the monastery’s transformation into a nuclear weapons facility.
Bell Tower of the Holy Trinity Monastery, Sarov, Russia.
This transformation instantiates with uncanny precision Dostoevsky’s vision in “The Grand Inquisitor”: the progression from authentic Orthodox tradition through militant atheism to militaristic and apocalyptic Orthodoxy. The fate of Sarov’s Hermitage thus encapsulates Russian Christianity’s historical trajectory as Dostoevsky foresaw it: a sacred space desecrated by an atheistic state, subsequently “restored” as an apocalyptic nuclear orthodoxy’s fortress—essentially a temple of militant fundamentalism.
Nuclear weaponry has become the post-Soviet Russia’s primary, if not exclusive, source of national pride, in absence of any other substantial achievements beyond preserving its Soviet-era inheritance, the world’s largest nuclear arsenal (whose current operational status remains questionable). “Nukies” (yaderka) — this is how nuclear weapons are now affectionately termed in colloquial Russian discourse. Orthodoxy and nukies constitute the twin pillars of contemporary Russian statehood, with the latter arguably predominant. Former president and current Security Council deputy chairman Dmitry Medvedev articulated this centrality: “For Russia’s existence as the largest state on the planet, nuclear weapons have enduring significance…. Nuclear weapons for our country serve as the very bond that holds the state together”.[11]
Model of the “Tsar Bomb” nuclear weapon, at the Sarov Museum of Nuclear Weapons.
One needs only observe the Main Cathedral of the Russian Armed Forces (officially called the Cathedral of the Resurrection of Christ) consecrated in 2020 and located in Patriot Park in Kubinka (about 34 miles west of Moscow) to feel profound disquiet. Does not this temple embody the scriptural warning about one who “will take his place in the temple of God”?
Exterior photo of the Main Cathedral of the Armed Forces
The sanctuary’s aesthetic evokes deliberate intimidation, its exterior and interior dominated by dusky green military hues that barely permit gold accents to emerge—an explicit evocation of olive drab or khaki. The high pointed domes echo ballistic missile silhouettes. The Cathedral’s four aisles achieve perfect synthesis between militarism and sanctity, each dedicated simultaneously to a saint and a weapon system. Saint Barbara the Great Martyr serves as patroness of the Strategic Missile Forces—a designation whose theological implications appear disturbingly and ironically intentional, given that strategic nuclear forces would inflict unprecedented martyrdom upon countless victims.
Ceremony of consecration of the main temple at the Main Cathedral of the Armed Forces, from mil.ru.
Among the museum’s primary relics within this Armed Forces Cathedral is, astonishingly, Hitler’s uniform and cap—a schizophrenic paradox wherein the Führer’s memory receives veneration within a structure ostensibly consecrated to the 75th anniversary of Victory over fascism.[12] This contradiction justifies and illuminates the term “schizofascism”—fascism masquerading as anti-fascism—which captures with precision the current Russian regime’s duplicity. ‘Schizofascism’ (from Greek schizein, to split) reflects a regime that splits itself between fascist politics and anti-fascist rhetoric.[13]
Installation of Hitler’s uniform and hat at the 1418 Memory Lane museum on the grounds of the Main Military Cathedral.
Yet the contemporary “beast from the abyss,” embodied in Putin, possesses capabilities exceeding Hitler’s—specifically, nuclear weaponry. Should military defeat appear imminent, his options include not merely self-destruction but planetary annihilation. Simultaneously, Putin cultivates ecclesiastical appearances: attending major liturgical services, performing the Orthodox cross gesture, embracing the Patriarch, visiting sacred sites at Mount Athos and the island of Valaam, and positioning himself as guardian of “sacred traditions.” Nevertheless, Putin’s solitary presence in the Kremlin’s Annunciation Cathedral during the 2023 Christmas service—a profound violation of cathedral celebration traditions—has prompted some Orthodox observers to speak explicitly about the Antichrist’s manifestation. This aligns with theological understanding that the Antichrist emerges after the era of godlessness, not destroying temples but occupying them.
A particularly striking manifestation of this substitution occurred during Putin’s appearance at the 25th World Russian People’s Council on November 27-28, 2023, held in Moscow’s Cathedral of Christ the Savior. Putin addressed the assembly via video, but before his speech, the gathered faithful engaged in collective prayer. The screen displaying Putin’s image hung centrally on the stage, creating the visual impression of the assembly praying toward Putin himself. Flanking this screen were two identical iconographic representations of Jesus Christ.
Image of Putin between two Christs from the 25th World Russian People’s Conference, via Radio Liberty, Russia.
Observers noted this visual arrangement with remarkable consensus: “We have read accounts of one Christ hanging between two criminals. But one criminal hanging between two Christs represents something unprecedented”.
IV. Toward a Theology of Terror
Let’s recall a tragedy that occurred on March 25, 2018. A fire broke out in the Winter Cherry (Zimniia Vishnia) shopping complex in Kemerovo, killing sixty people, including thirty-seven children — a major national tragedy. Could any religion or ideology justify and praise such deaths? It seems inconceivable. Yet such a theology exists, exemplified by Valery Pavlovich Filimonov, editor-in-chief of “On Guard of Orthodoxy,” academician of the Orthodox Theological Department of the Petrovsky Academy, and expert of the Russian Orthodox Church’s Commission on Church-State Interaction:
“Can we say what would have been the earthly fate of the children who died in the Winter Cherry shopping mall? Especially in our troubled times with the general corruption of many. Would they have been saved from sin? Would they have kept themselves pure for the imperishable life of the future age or would they have taken the path of perdition? Was this perhaps the most convenient time for them [children] to pass on to eternal bliss?”[14]
This tragedy serves as a microcosm of the apocalyptic mindset, revealing how certain religious circles respond to catastrophe—not with compassion, but with perverse theological justification. Even history’s most brutal tyrants like Stalin or Hitler did not offer such vindications of children’s deaths; they did not confuse mass murder with divine service. This theological turn represents perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the new apocalypticism—its ability to sanctify atrocity through a twisted logic of spiritual purification. The idea of killing children for their salvation has terrifying potential. When mass death becomes a sacrament, when nuclear annihilation becomes a blessed path to paradise, we have entered territory that exceeds even the darkest historical precedents of religious extremism.
This twisted theology of life-denial found its most perceptive explorer in the outstanding writer Vladimir Sharov (1952‒2018), author of nine novels that created a distinctive genre in Russian literature— historical fantasy, potent blend of politics and sectarianism, madness and dogma, utopia and apocalypse. Sharov profoundly illuminated the religious and political potential of apocalyptic movements running through pre-revolutionary, Soviet, and now post-Soviet history. His protagonists are seekers of world’s end, martyrs and hedonists of the coming apocalypse who, at odds with existence itself, have made humanity’s death their vocation. Viewed in this light, Sharov’s novels serve as grim prophecies of Russia’s twenty-first century trajectory, especially in the last decade. His final novel, The Kingdom of Agamemnon, appeared in 2018, the same year as Winter Cherry fire and the Orthodox justification of children’s deaths.
Vladimir Sharov (1952-2018)
Sharov’s novels confront us with a question: what lies at the core of Judaism and Christianity? The conventional answer seems straightforward: salvation—from death, sin, slavery, and hell. In Christian tradition, the most direct path to salvation requires embracing suffering without guilt—repeating Christ’s sacrifice, offering oneself as an innocent lamb to slaughter.
But here’s where Sharov’s characters take a disturbing theological turn. In their scriptural logic, those who torture and kill innocent people are actually doing them the greatest favor—sending them directly to paradise! The most fearsome tyrants and torturers—Ivan the Terrible, Lenin and Stalin—emerge as humanity’s greatest benefactors, granting thousands of victims passage to eternal bliss.
Consider this perverse reasoning: all humans are sinful, but the state kills them for non-sins—their class background, reading the wrong philosophers, or fabricated crimes like “digging a tunnel to India.” Through execution, their actual sins are absolved, and as innocent martyrs, they ascend straight to heaven.
In The Kingdom of Agamemnon, Sharov’s character Smetonin presents this theology of redemption:
“Ivan the Terrible explains to [prince] Kurbsky that life is a garden of suffering, therefore those who are killed without guilt by him, the anointed of God, the king of the Holy Land, that is, those whose blood he is constantly reproached with, not only are not at a loss, but at a considerable profit. As the innocently killed, they, having suffered here on earth, will be taken immediately to the throne of the Lord after their death, and for eternity will escape the far more terrible torments of God’s judgment.”[15]
The novel’s protagonist, Nikolai Zhestovsky, applies this same reasoning to Stalin:
“Here he, Stalin, has built a huge altar and, purifying us, he is offering sacrifice after sacrifice, hecatombs of purifying sacrifices are necessary to atone for our sins… He is doing everything to save us. The innocents, who are perishing, will become our intercessors and prayer-bearers before the Lord… The main thing is that they, having accepted suffering here, will be spared from the torments of the Last Judgment.”
Shockingly, this isn’t just a literary fantasy but an expression of mindset rather spread among Orthodox believers in Russia. Sharov’s widow Olga Dunaevskaia recalls that a family friend—a priest—inspired the novel by commenting on Stalin’s purges: “Yes, everything is terrible, but at least now the Russian land has many prayer-bearers before the Lord. Russia has not yet known as many saint-passion-bearers as Stalin’s time gave.”[16]
Alexei Batalov (1928 –2017), one of the most outstanding Russian actors and devout Orthodox believer, expressed a similar viewpoint:
“I think it’s difficult to find another period in Russian history that would give, speaking in old church language, such a number of martyrs and victims. For the sake of the most important and the highest, we should not forget this, because this is the most reliable foundation for morality, for Renaissance. How important it is that we can actually make use of their wealth and their feat and put it in our pocket for pride”.[17]
It turns out that the more innocents perish, the better it is for the spiritual wealth of society.
This explains the circular logic in Sharov’s novels: the executioners redeem the executed, and the executed sanctify the executioners—a mutual absolution that collapses moral hierarchy into eschatological fervor. By killing the innocent, we send them to eternal life, thereby saving ourselves. Hell becomes the gateway to heaven; fall enables ascension. The instruments of torture become the keys to paradise, and executioners perform sacred acts. This formula—innocent suffering unto death as the path to higher life—unites the extremes of Russian history, from fanatical atheism to radical religious fervor.
While superficially reminiscent of Islamic extremism, Russian terror theology is uniquely self-destructive, sanctifying violence against one’s own religious and ethnic community. Jihadists kill perceived infidels destined for hell; Russian sectarians murder their fellow Orthodox Christians, convinced they’re ushering them directly into paradise. This circular sanctification of violence represents a distinct and profoundly unsettling innovation in religious extremism. Russian terror theology uniquely encourages killing fellow Orthodox Christians who then ascend to heaven “fraternally” alongside their killers. Islam’s sword strikes in one direction; Russian theological wheel rotates in a circular mode: those who kill the innocent are actually saving them, sending them to paradise.
The dark brilliance of this system lies in its perfect circularity—a closed loop transforming mass murder into mass salvation, sanctifying executioners as deliverers. In this warped eschatology, annihilation becomes creation; nuclear holocaust becomes baptism by fire. This theological perversion could only emerge from Christian soil while completely trampling Christian principles. It represents something more radical than either Old Testament “eye for an eye” or New Testament “love your enemies.” Here, hatred becomes the highest form of love. The murderer ascends to blessed existence clutching his victims. Cruelty transforms into mercy. Did the Bolsheviks seek to destroy millions of people? No—to save them from sins through fire and blood. In fact, such theological reasoning, аt least in poetic genres, wasn’t new in Russia even in the aftermath of 1917 Bolshevik revolution, as such poets as Alexander Blok in “The Twelve” and Andrey Bely in “Christ is Risen” had both already theologized this revolution.
Let’s recall Alexander Blok’s poem “Scythians,” his loving message to the West in 1918:
Yes, to love as our blood loves,
None of you have been in love for a long time!
You’ve forgotten that there is love in the world,
Which both burns and destroys.
We love flesh—the taste of it, the color of it,
And its stifling, mortal odor….
Are we to blame if your skeleton crunches
In our heavy, tender paws?
Sharov completed this vision exactly one hundred years later, in his novel of 2018. Out of perverse “love” for our brothers, for all mankind, Russia feels obliged to save humanity from itself. Here the binarity of the Russian cultural code, about which Yuri Lotman and Boris Uspensky wrote, reaches its ultimate condensation (Lotman and Uspensky, 1977). Plus and minus, the sacred and the sacrilegious are not simply reversed in time, as in periods of revolutions, but are directly identified. One thing is another. The poles are no longer interchanging, but sticking together. Antichrist does not precede Christ, but fulfills Christ’s will. Theodicy merges with Satanodicy.
This theological twist continues to manifest in contemporary Russian political discourse. There is a famous statement by Vladimir Putin about a possible nuclear war: “We will go to paradise as martyrs, and they will just die—because they will not even have time to repent”.[18] This remark initially provoked laughter from the audience, followed by general bewilderment even among his close associates. What exactly was this—an ominous joke, a cruel warning, a gesture of sacrifice, or pure vindictiveness? To understand the meaning of Putin’s statement, one must recall Vladimir Sharov’s sectarians. Mutual assured destruction turns from a deterrent into a potentially desirable outcome. What makes this idea particularly disturbing is its flexibility – it can justify violence against one’s own people (as with Stalin’s purges) and against external enemies (as with Putin’s nuclear rhetoric). The common thread is the sanctification of violence as a path to salvation, whether the victims are “us” or “them.”
What makes Sharov so valuable is his ability to explain the seemingly inexplicable. Sharov’s novels expose a theological paradox deeply embedded in Russian religious consciousness: in this perverse logic, executioners perform sacred acts, murderers deliver salvation, and cruelty becomes the highest form of compassion. This inverted theology transforms mass murder into mass redemption, where hell is the gateway to heaven and annihilation is rebirth. The religious roots of this apocalyptic enthusiasm are especially alarming today when “Satanodicea” finds its perfect technological expression in “Satan” missiles, each capable of unleashing a thousand Hiroshimas. The lesson for politicians and diplomats is clear: read Sharov to understand why this force cannot be negotiated with or appeased. It is deeply rooted in the Third Rome ideology, Communism, and the Orthodox Schism—all of which burn and destroy in salvation’s name.
V. Metaphysics of Annihilation: Dugin and the Cult of Non-Existence
When I learned about the Russian army’s atrocities in Bucha, I was understandably horrified—but not surprised. Why should I be surprised? After all, I have long been familiar with the views of Alexander Dugin. The same one who, in 2014, in connection with the Russian army’s invasion of Crimea and Donbass, uttered, addressing students: “Kill, kill and kill. There should be no more talk. As a professor, I think so”.[19]
Dugin came to my attention much earlier, in the early 1990s, when I was writing a book on the newest currents of Russian thought. Among the dozens of thinkers of the late Soviet era, Dugin was the youngest—and the most bloodthirsty. To realize his metaphysical plans, he needed to pour blood on half of the globe—the Western half. And if the West did not comply, he wanted to blow up the entire globe, because non-existence is ultimately better than existence. Existence divides people, and nothingness unites them.
Dugin is sometimes referred to in the Western press as “Putin’s brain,” and he has been teaching geopolitics at the Military Academy of the General Staff of the Armed Forces for many years. His books The Foundations of Eurasianism and The Foundations of Geopolitics are used by the highest ranks of the General Staff, who translate his slogans into strategic plans. Dugin calls his worldview variously: “Eurasianism,” “National-Bolshevism,” “Integral Tradition,” “Great Tradition,” “Rightest Revolution,” and “Fourth Political Theory.” Dugin’s recent appointment to teach ‘Westernology’ at Moscow State University represents an overt institutionalization of his ideology—essentially a scholarly guise for advocating ‘Westernocide,’ the systematic dismantling and destruction of Western civilization itself. The analytic scalpel is repurposed as an assassin’s dagger.
Alexander Dugin under a map of Eurasia featuring the “Star of Chaos”
Dugin’s writings are full of such concepts as “divine subject,” “sons of light,” “mighty spirits,” “sweet angel,” etc. This combination of “high-spiritedness” and world-hatred goes back to the ancient Gnostic heresy (first century AD), condemned by Christianity. Gnosticism preached that the existing world lies in evil and must be completely destroyed in order to take the path of higher spirituality, to enter the world of angels. Within the dark pantheon of apocalyptic thinkers, Dugin occupies a position of singular significance—not merely for his extremism, but for his systematic articulation of annihilation as metaphysical principle. Dugin finds the clearest embodiment of his theories in the great writer Andrei Platonov (1899–1951), whose anti-utopias The Foundation Pit and Chevengur he treats as utopias to be fulfilled.
What revelation, according to Dugin, does Platonov bring? A nagging sense of inescapable, agonizing, yearning emptiness. This is revolutionary Russia’s message to the world: the mystery of self-disclosing nothingness. To quote Dugin:
“Emptiness in the body, emptiness in the mind, emptiness in the heart … If man came from a worm, from a gut filled only with sticky darkness, then should not his spiritual core also be like this?”[20]
Hence, we come to the sexual and psychological motives behind the mass atrocities and violence committed in Bucha. Psychoanalysis, as we know, distinguishes two basic human drives: Eros, the drive to life and its generation, and Thanatos, the embodiment of death in Greek mythology, the desire to restore the primary (inanimate, inorganic) state. In Freud, Eros is opposed to Thanatos. For Dugin, who is concerned with the Russian national specificity of these categories, Thanatos is Eros: the dispersion of Eros in the world void. Here the traces of the bloody voluptuousness left behind by the Russian army in Ukraine are already quite recognizable. Dugin is a prophet of Bucha:
“The peculiarity of the Great Russian sex is that it is directed neither at itself nor at the other, there is no libido or narcissism in it. The Russian sex is agitatedly incorporeal… it is the fire-breathing excitement of the dead… The Russian sex winds through, picking up on its confused way everything in a row—trousers, men, comrades, cockroaches, a bloated corpse ready to burst, laundered maidens who happened to be at hand, shot-off limbs, drooling horses, twisted weeds, gray soil that has exposed its cracks, pale and dead Rosa Luxemburg… and the unscrupulous emptiness of the heart…”
Such descriptions of ‘Russian sex’ perversely intermix sexual and genocidal impulses, vividly foretelling the atrocities in Ukraine. Thus, Dugin transforms theoretical nihilism into violent praxis, making him a chilling prophet of contemporary Russian brutality.
Dugin follows Platonov’s dystopia, turning it into utopia, but complements it. The global mission of National Bolshevism, or Eurasianism, is not just to pit one class against another, as happened in Soviet history on the basis of Marxist doctrines—this, according to Dugin, is necessary, but not enough. It is necessary to act more broadly, to destroy everything that lives and breathes separately from non-existence, for only through non-existence can one find the highest unity with everything. Anything else is an obstacle. This is how Dugin sees Andrei Platonov and honors him as a mentor:
“For us, Platonov is a doctrine. We take it upon ourselves and intellectually justify everything up to and including the direct genocide of alienating classes and rational structures. We accept as dogma the Chevengur madness. …History is squeezing itself with the last nasty noose.”
This is the metaphysical conclusion of Eurasianism—the suicide, the self-hanging of history on the “throat” of Russia. In the radicalism of his life-denial Dugin goes further than the Grand Inquisitor, who does not believe in future life, in a heavenly kingdom, but wants to create a paradise of universal satiety on earth. Dugin goes further than Andrei Platonov himself, who believed in building a communist paradise on earth and sadly observed its gradual transformation into hell, feeling compassion for its victims. Dugin goes further than the heroes of Vladimir Sharov, who are ready to accept hell on earth, rejoice in it, and even assist Satan in its creation, in order to break through to the afterlife paradise, to achieve salvation through suffering.
Dugin, however, moves beyond all these previous formulations into a realm of pure ontological nihilism. He simply affirms hell on earth, following his teacher Evgeny Golovin (1938 – 2010), who in the 1980s in Moscow led the Yuzhinsky circle, an esoteric Nazi-Satanist group called the “Black Order of the SS,” where he was called “Reichsführer.” “Where we are, there is the center of hell.” Not ‘We are in the center of hell’ (that would still be okay), but ‘Where we are, there is the center of hell.’[21]
This inversion is significant. It is not merely that hell exists independently and these ideologists find themselves within it; rather, hell manifests precisely through their agency. The subjectivity of evil here transforms metaphysics into praxis—the center of hell becomes mobile, portable, and deliberately positioned. It follows the apostles of annihilation wherever they choose to establish its dominion. This is an active apocalypse, not expected but performed.
Such is the last word of the apocalyptic revolution: to spread hell—the dying Chevengur—to the entire globe. This mission is what the country is carrying out today in its metaphysical struggle not only with Ukraine or the West, but, in Dugin’s terms, with the accursed habit of existence. This elaborate necro-eschatology is not just metaphysics, it is a call to action:
“We need to think not about whether or not the world will end, we need to think about how to bring it about. That is our task. It will not come by itself … It is up to us to make that decision. We, moreover, must find a way to close this story … There are not even scholarly dissertations, defended correctly, on why humanity needs to survive.”[22]
Eurasianists regularly rehearse the man-made end of the world. А training camp of the Eurasian Youth Union explicitly proclaimed: “The eschatological mobilization of Eurasianists is announced! Everything is nearing completion and resolution. FINIS MUNDI. The End of the World.”[23] Following Dugin’s logic, it is now, with the war against Ukraine and the West, that the hour comes for Russia to fulfill its global destiny, because among all known civilizations it stands out for its conscious will for the end of history. Russia, in this warped vision, entered history not for the sake of finding its place within the historical narrative, but for the sake of bringing that narrative to a “victorious” conclusion through its termination. Now this is not merely the rehearsal of the end of the world in training camps, but its actual performance on the stage of history.
Indeed, this metaphysics of contempt for existence has moved from abstract theorizing to practical implementation. Dugin’s imperative regarding Ukrainians—”kill, kill and kill them”—reveals itself as not merely fratricide, but profound suicide of Russia. Among the many consequences of Russia’s missile strikes on Ukraine, few are as emblematic as the destruction of the Department of Russian Philology at Kyiv University (October 10, 2022). In these assaults, Russia strikes not only at Ukraine, but at Russian language and literature themselves—at its own cultural memory, its historical self-image, and everything humane and creative that once emerged from its past. The paradox becomes clearer: Russia is destroying the spiritual homeland of its own identity—Kievan Rus’, the very cradle of its language and faith. This apocalyptic campaign in Ukraine has become the staging ground for Russia’s performance of its own eschatological destiny. This is not merely an error or a crime—it is a form of suicide, perhaps the most monumental act of national suicide in history.
For Orthodoxy itself, this war represents an equally profound suicide. In Russian-occupied regions of Ukraine, the religious landscape has undergone systematic purges—over half of all religious communities have disappeared, many dozens of churches have been destroyed or repurposed. Ukrainian orthodox clergy have been tortured, exiled, or murdered, and their churches razed or forcibly transferred to Russian Orthodox Church control. Religious diversity is being crushed—Protestant, Catholic, Greek Catholic, Muslim, and Jewish communities have nearly vanished. The theological implications are staggering. While even a murderer can seek repentance and be prayed for within Orthodox tradition, a suicide is denied ecclesiastical burial and remembrance. What then awaits a suicidal nation, one that deliberately buries its own spiritual and cultural roots under fire and rubble?
VI: The End of Aeon: Nuclear Eschatology as State Policy
On May 7, 2024, following Vladimir Putin’s inauguration for his fifth presidential term and blessing him in the Cathedral of the Annunciation in the Kremlin, Patriarch Kirill uttered an enigmatic phrase: “And I will say with boldness (s derznoveniem): God grant that the end of the age also signifies the end of your time in power. You have everything necessary to fulfill this great service to the homeland for a long time and successfully.”[24]
What does the Patriarch mean by “the end of the age” and why does he himself acknowledge the audacity of his wish? Certainly, he doesn’t imply the arrival of the twenty-second century, when the president would be 148 years old. “Age” in church language is a translation of the Greek “aeon.” In the New Testament, “aeon” refers to the entire existing world, as opposed to the “future age” (aeon), which will come after the end of this world. This is the specific language of Church, theology and clergy, as further emphasized by the patriarch: “May God’s blessing and the Protection of the Queen of Heaven abide with you in your life, until the end of the age, as we say” (do skonchaniia veka “until the demise of the age”). So what is implied here is the end of the world.
The wish for the end of the aeon to coincide with the end of Putin’s time in power testifies to the fact that eschatological obsession has moved from radical sectarian and neo-fascist fantasies, like those of Dugin, into the theological narrative of the Russian Orthodox Church. Moreover, the mission to conclude the aeon is now entrusted not only to a chosen country and its “God-bearing” people but also explicitly —by the patriarch’s pointed endorsement—to its leader. Let him rule until the demise of this world, which will be the successful completion of his “great service.”
Significantly, right before the inauguration, the Russian military unexpectedly declared exercises on the use of tactical nuclear weapons. In response, the Russian Orthodox Church, this time voiced by Archpriest Maxim Kozlov, the Head of its Educational Committee, welcomed the announcement with enthusiasm. He encouraged believers not to dread a thermonuclear disaster, reminding them that, after all, “Christians used to joyfully await the end of the world, which would bring the Kingdom of God closer.”[25]
This ecclesiastical embrace of nuclear weaponry has found its perfect echo in the Kremlin itself. Putin, as if heeding the patriarch’s blessing, has begun to emphasize the word “end.” In a chilling statement from June 2024, he proclaimed:
“They [Western countries] say they want to achieve Russia’s strategic defeat on the battlefield. What does this mean for Russia? For Russia, this means the termination of its statehood. It means the end of the thousand-year history of the Russian state—I think this is clear to everyone. And then the question arises: why should we be afraid? Wouldn’t it be better to go all the way to the end?”[26]
The ideology that now emerges from the statements of Russia’s top officials, both secular and ecclesiastic, is precisely an ideology of the end. It does not provide any engaging and inspiring images of the future. It is vital to recall a historical contrast. The Soviet Union, for all its militant atheism and imperial expansionism, did not speak the language of apocalypse. Its global ambitions—however coercive—were clothed in the vocabulary of progress, peace, and liberation. The USSR claimed to fight not to end the world, but to reshape it: to defeat corrupt capitalism and establish enduring harmony, under the slogan “Mir vo vsem mire” (“Peace in the whole world”). This was not merely propaganda, but the secularized eschatology of a Marxist future. Soviet militarism wielded the bomb to contain, to deter, to equalize—not to consummate history in fire.
Throughout history, apocalyptic movements have arisen, prophesied end times, and eventually dissolved when their predictions failed. The crucial difference today is that Russian apocalypticism possesses the means to manufacture its prophesied ending. For the first time in history, this ideology emerges fully armed, possessing the capacity and justification that previous Gnostic sects, including Old Believers, never had. They dreamed of a purifying fire but were powerless to bring it to Earth. Now such power exists, and there is a vast country that necro-sectarians want to turn into the apocalyptic vanguard of humanity in order to carry out the mission of its self-immolation. There is a leader paving the way to this goal, and there is church blessing him. Russia, once pioneering mass atheism, now alarmingly pioneers nuclear eschatology as state doctrine, making global annihilation a disturbingly feasible political option.
Conclusion. Beyond Apocalypticism – The Imperative of Theological Literacy in Global Politics
The transformation we have traced throughout this analysis extends far beyond theological curiosity—it reveals an unprecedented existential threat that traditional frameworks of security and diplomacy are ill-equipped to handle. This ideology’s danger resides not merely in its synthesis of theological justification and technological capability, but profoundly in its strategic ambiguity: simultaneously invoking apocalyptic rhetoric while pursuing material wealth and luxury. This paradoxical and in a sense schizophrenic stance—preparing for the end while accumulating earthly treasures—creates an inherently volatile dynamic defying conventional models of rational behavior and diplomatic negotiation.
Western discourse has secularized its understanding of international relations, leaving us conceptually blind to deeply rooted theological motivations. We have developed sophisticated analytical tools for economic incentives, military capacities, and political structures, yet we remain novices in interpreting religious impulses capable of overriding even fundamental material self-interests.
Addressing this shortfall demands an urgent and comprehensive integration of theological literacy into political and diplomatic practices. International communities must undertake practical initiatives: establishing specialized educational programs and training modules for diplomats, policymakers, and security analysts; regularly incorporating theological and eschatological assessments into strategic forecasting reports; and creating dedicated advisory panels within major international organizations to provide nuanced religious analyses of geopolitical developments.
Our shared challenge—and imperative—is clear: we must rapidly cultivate a new vocabulary and a robust conceptual framework that equips global society not merely to respond to, but proactively mitigate and counteract apocalyptic ideologies. It is essential that diplomatic dialogues and policy decisions move beyond superficial pragmatism to deeply informed theological sensitivity. Only through such profound interdisciplinary engagement can we hope to prevent the apocalyptic fatalism gripping certain geopolitical actors from becoming humanity’s self-fulfilling prophecy.
Header image: Mikhail Epstein, and DALL-E(ChatGPT4), The Third Rome Ascends: Babel Rebuilt with Missiles and Martyrs (a Bruegelian Allegory), 2025
Footnotes:
[1] Berdyaev, Nikolai. Russkaia Ideiia [The Russian Idea.] Saint Petersburg: Azbuka-Klassika Publishing House, 2008. https://azbyka.ru/otechnik/Nikolaj_Berdyaev/russkaja-ideja/#0_1
[2] Patriarch Bartholomew. Speech at international conference in Abu Dhabi. December 11, 2022. https://orthodoxtimes.com/bartholomew-russian-church-has-sided-with-putin-promotes-actively-the-ideology-of-rousskii-mir/
[3] Dostoevsky, Fyodor. The Brothers Karamazov. Ed. by S. M. Oddo. Transl. by C. Garnett. Revised by R. E. Matlaw and S. M. Oddo. A Norton Critical Edition. 2nd edition. New York, London: W.W.Norton & Company, 2011. The next citation is from the same edition.
[4] Mikhail Epstein, and DALL-E(ChatGPT4), The Third Rome Ascends: Babel Rebuilt with Missiles and Martyrs (a Bruegelian Allegory), 2025. From the shattered bones of sacred tradition rises a new cathedral—not to God, but to power. Cloaked in the vestments of Orthodoxy yet crowned with nuclear halos, this Tower of Babel fuses ecclesiastical ruin, imperial nostalgia, and apocalyptic ambition. Crowds march upward in obedient spirals as missile silos replace bell towers, and cranes lift dogma into orbit. Overhead, a mushroom cloud flattens heaven into doctrine. This is no temple of salvation—it is a sanctuary of annihilation, a shrine where the Antichrist wears a cross.
[5] Leontiev, Konstantin. “Nad Mogiloi Pazhukhina” [Above the Grave of Pazhukhin]. [1891]. In Leontiev Konstantin N., Vostok, Rossiia i Slavianstvo [The East, Russia and the Slavs]. Moscow: Respublika, 1996, 678–85.
[6] The World’s Nuclear Stockpile. 2016. https://zloygames.com/threads/jadernyjzapas-mira.10619
[7] Discussions on this issue continue, but the practice itself persists, and since the war began, the Russian Orthodox Church has inclined toward the necessity of such consecration. Milena Faustova. “Moscow Patriarchate Prepares ‘Military Catechism.’ The ROC Works on Legalizing Weapon Blessing.” // Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 02.07.2019. In August 2024, Archpriest Konstantin Tatarintsev, First Deputy Chairman of the ROC Synodal Department for Interaction with the Armed Forces, declared that the blessing of nuclear weapons is “entirely acceptable,” viewing them as “weapons of deterrence” and “guarantors of peace.” “ROC Assesses the Possibility of Blessing Nuclear Weapons.” RIA Novosti. 10.08.2024.
[8] “Celebrations have begun at the Cathedral of Christ the Savior to mark the 60th anniversary of the founding of Russia’s nuclear weapons complex.” Patriarchia, 2007. http://www.patriarchia.ru/db/text/290617.html
[9] “Icons for VIPs: it became known why the nuclear center in Sarov needs images with rhinestones.” NN.ru. 2019. https://www.nn.ru/text/economics/2019/05/24/66101368
[10] Patriarch Kirill Declares Divine Providence in USSR’s Acquisition of Nuclear Weapons. https://lenta.ru/news/2023/10/18/patriarh-kirill-zayavil-o-bozhiem-promysle-v-poyavlenii-u-sssr-yadernogo-oruzhiya/
[11] Medvedev Called Nuclear Weapons the Bond Holding Russia Together. TASS, 25.04.2023.
[12] “The Deputy Minister of Defense of Russia called Hitler’s suit a unique item.” Lenta.ru. June 12, 2020. https://lenta.ru/news/2020/06/12/hitler
[13] I first proposed this term in my publications of 2015–2017, devoted particularly to “the difference between the fascism of the 1920s–1940s and the schizofascism of the early twenty-first century… Schizofascism is a split worldview, a kind of parody of fascism, but a serious, dangerous, aggressive parody. It is fascist hysteria concealing a perfectly cold consciousness of mercenary calculations… A particularly striking feature of schizofascism is its operation under the mask of fighting against fascism” (Epstein, M. From Sovok to Bobok: Politics on the Verge of the Grotesque. Franc-Tireur USA, 2015, pp. 143–144; 2nd expanded edition, Kyiv: Dukh i Litera, 2016, pp. 261–262). Subsequently, this term was adopted by American historian Timothy Snyder.
[14] Filimonov, Valery Pavlovich. 2018. Interview on children killed in Kemerovo fire. https://inforesist.org/valeriy-filimonov-o-pogibshih-v-kemerovodetyah-pogibli-vovremya-ubereglis-ot-greha
[15] Sharov, Vladimir. The Kingdom of Agamemnon, edited by Elena Shubina. Moscow: AST Publishing House, 2018.
[16] Dunaevskaya, Olga. “When the Clock Stopped.” In Vladimir Sharov: On the Other Side of History, edited by Mark Lipovetsky and Anastasia de La Fortelle. Moscow: New Literary Review Publishing House, 2020, 32.
[17] From the biographical film Alexei Batalov: How Long I Searched for You… Documentary film. www.1tv.ru. Channel One (November 25, 2018). https://vk.com/video-25380626_456302900
[18] Putin, Vladimir. 2018. “Putin on the consequences of a nuclear strike on Russia: ‘We will go to heaven like martyrs, and they will just die.’” Novaya Gazeta, October 18, 2018. https://novayagazeta.ru/articles/2018/10/18/146054-putin-posle-inostrannogo-yadernogo-udara-my-kak-mucheniki-popadem-v-ray-a-oni-prosto-sdohnut-dazhe-ne-uspev-raskayatsya
[19] Lyulka, Alexander. 2014. “Dugin: Kill, kill, kill!” June 18, 2014. Unian.net, 15.6.2014. Video clip, 0:23. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DgHiqVy79Zs
[20] Dugin, A. “The Magical Bolshevism of Andrei Platonov” (1999). Dugin, Alexander. Andrei Platonov’s Magical Bolshevism. // Acéphale. Alexander Dugin’s Review. 1999. http://viperson. ru/articles/aleksandr-dugin-magicheskiy-bolshevizm-andreya-platonova. The two next quotations from this article are taken from this publication.
[21] Guryanov, Pavel. 2014. “Doesn’t Dugin Want to Organize the Apocalypse?” The Essence of Time Newspaper No. 93. September 3, 2014. https://rossaprimavera.ru/article/ne-hochet-li-dugin-organizovat-apokalipsis?
[22] Guryanov, Pavel, op. cit.
[23] https://blackintl.net/?page_id=317
[24] Patriarch Kirill’s Speech Following Vladimir Putin’s Inauguration // Komsomolskaya Pravda, 07.05.2024. WWW.KP.RU: https://www.kp.ru/daily/27603.3/4928513/
[25] “The Russian Orthodox Church urged not to fear the Apocalypse.” Dzen.ru. May 7, 2024. https://dzen.ru/a/ZjnO-gNX-SOnqfZo
[26] TASS, 20.06.2024. https://tass.ru/politika/21157313
Brilliant!