Confessions of a Russophile

From the review for “Walking on Ice. An American Businessman in Russia” from Russia Profile magazine, by its editor, Andrei Zolotov, Jr.  

Of the legion of Western entrepreneurs who came to Russia in the early 1990s in search of opportunities, many came here guided not just by greed, but by a quest for adventure. But there were few who had become infatuated with Russian culture built their businesses as a cultural matchmaking of sorts. They had the inquisitive minds and open hearts of cultural interpreters, which helped push their projects in the land, where, as one such person, Frederick R. Andresen put it, “everything is difficult—and everything is possible.”

Andresen put his insightful observations into a tenderly written, concise book, which is neither an academic study, nor a memoir; neither a business manual, nor a cultural history. Yet it somehow manages to serve all these purposes and can be recommended as an easy and highly educational read for aspiring Russia scholars and people preparing for a tour of duty in Russia.

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St. Petersburg and Moscow ~ Cats and Dogs

These two cities define what most see of Russia, and they are so different, yet in some ways the same. They have forever been in contest with each other, and are today.

 Moscow is a masculine city. It is an exploding powerhouse of opportunity held together by threads of personal energy and ambition. It is a cocoon of lives stacked seven stories high, living all the happiness and sins of people anywhere – only at the extremes Russians are so capable of.  Moscow hardly sleeps. It has a muscular aggressiveness unique in Europe and traffic jams that make Los Angeles look easy. The one word that describes Moscow is power.

 St. Petersburg is a feminine city. Her historic personality is as an elegant and noble woman sitting draped with the jewels of her youth waiting for her prince to return. This “Venice of the North” with its symmetry, architecture, statuary, art museums, performing art, palaces, gardens and languid summers with endless days make it a city never to be forgotten.  St. Petersburg is not Russia; it is the historical myth of Imperial Russia.

 Moscow is a city of dogs. There are two classes. One can be seen in vagabond packs or stalking alone, scheming to survive, begging, much like the city’s underclass inhabitants. The other is the canine elite, who walk their masters, regardless of rank, in the parks each morning and evening. The disenfranchised class lurks around the apartment blocks sniffing the garbage for anything to swallow.

 St. Petersburg is a city of cats. From the streets at night, you can see their shining eyes, peering through the arches from the inner decay of “Dostoevsky’s St. Petersburg,” the faceless blocks of communal flats. The cats hang comfortably in the dead trees, dine elegantly in the overflowing garbage, sit regally on the broken steps. For some reason, the cats always look healthy and fat.

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“Miracle, Mystery, and Authority”

When I first went to Russia, I was told by a Russian advisor that Dostoevsky’s “Brothers Karamazov” was required to understand the Russian. She was right. I particularly discovered in that great book the chapter entitled “The Grand Inquisitor.” It is not only great writing, but as usual, a “third side” of the Russian coin that I always talk about. For if Ivan, the narrator of this chapter, gave us a tirade against the Catholic Church, which seems obvious as it was a tale set in the Spanish Inquisition, what was the hidden meaning? To me it was a veiled attack on the autocracy of Czarist Russia and a prescient preview of the violent revolution that followed shortly after this was written. But even on its surface it is a clever and grand statement for the silent omnipotence of the healing Christ.

In Ivan’s story (he being an atheist) to his brother Alyosha (he being a wannabe Orthodox priest) the Grand Inquisitor in Spain sees a returned Jesus walking out of a city having healed a girl. The Inquisitor orders Jesus arrested and then visits him in prison and lectures the silent Jesus on the folly of freedom and of individual choice and says to him, “There are three forces, the only forces that are able to conquer and hold captive forever the conscience of these weak rebels (the people) for their own happiness—these forces are: miracle, mystery, and authority.” As the monologue continues, the whole rationale for an autocracy, be it religious or political, is explained. Also obvious is the fact that Jesus, in his silence, wins the argument. The Inquisitor’s lengthy exposition does not hold up to reality of man’s potential for self government if set free.  In the end, Jesus is released.

Dostoevsky, living in the last days of Czarist Russia, so cleverly made it clear. He wrote into the mouth of the Grand Inquisitor that three things are generic to the traditional Russian character: the idea that good, if any, will come from some unexpected outside source (miracle); that man is not ordained to be responsible for his own welfare and progress (mystery); and that guidance and protection come only from constant dependence on and obedience to another (authority). Today that situation is slowly changing as the young emerge from the shadow of Soviet imperialism, but it is a latent obstacle that still gets in the way at times. You can run into it every day.

 Excerpted from “Walking on Ice, An American Businessman in Russia”