Invoking Heaven and Hell

Не упоминай имя Господа своего всуе.
Don’t speak the Lord’s name in vain.

If there is one commandment that Russians ignore the most, this is definitely it. One can hear слава Богу (Thank God) in Russia almost as often as “please” or “thank you.”

Over the course of 74 years, atheist Bolshevism failed miserably at driving religious idiom from the Russian language. Phrases invoking the Almighty proved so deep-rooted that even Party leaders peppered their oral and written speech with them. Lenin himself was known to take the Lord’s name in vain while driving home a point in one of his fervent diatribes against the enemies of world socialism, perhaps in deference to his famous maxim that “anything which serves the communist cause is moral.”

Such references are clearly in vogue among today’s politicians, including such luminaries as Mikhail Gorbachev, Boris Yeltsin, and current Communist leader Gennady Zyuganov, who may become Russia’s next President in a few months, не дай Бог (God forbid).

If Zyuganov does win the election, as many experts predict, Russians will either exclaim “Боже мой!” (“Oh my God!”), or “Слава Богу!” (“Glory to God!”), depending on their political leanings.

Another popular religious phrase is ради Бога (for God’s sake). “Ради Бога, перестань называть меня ‘малыш’!” (“For God’s sake, stop calling me ‘little one!’”) says the heroine to her lover in the popular Russian soap opera Winter Cherry.

The seemingly synonymous ради Христа or Христа ради (for Christ’s sake) has a different connotation. In old Russia, it was a set-phrase used by beggars. Less charitable members of the public would often reply “Бог подаст”(“God will provide”). Which may make it a phrase to use on today’s street gypsies.

But, take note. This phrase has been adapted to modern circumstances. For example, your business partner might inform you that he won’t do something Христа ради, meaning you should have put it in writing, because this is going to cost you extra.

Indeed, the appeal to higher authority is a favorite tactic of Russians in the financial arena. For example, in the vegetable market you will often hear a babushka uttering an incredulous свят-свят at the price of tomatoes. Literally it means “sacred-sacred,” and is used by Orthodox believers and older Russians, accompanied by a sign of the cross, when they find themselves at a disadvantage, like shopping for vegetables in the winter time.

If this babushka should decide to take a hard negotiating position with the tomato vendor, she might retort with “Креста на тебе нет!”(“shame on you,” or, literally, “you don’t have a cross on you”). This is an emphatic phrase that could come in handy. For example, if your taxi driver wants $10 for a five-minute ride, it might be helpful to shame him by telling him that he doesn’t have a cross on him.

In fact, religious vocabulary is so rich that there is a phrase to suit almost any situation. If you think that someone is telling you lies, or you disagree with them about something, you can say: Господь с тобой, a holy Russian equivalent for the English, “Oh, come on!”ﾕ

However effective the vocabulary of heaven may be, though, sometimes an appeal to the Darker Side is in order. This is where the vocabulary of hell comes in.

For example, a Russian who slips on a watermelon peel might exclaim “Чёрт побери” (“Damn!” literally, “The devil take you!”). This is what happened to Semyon Semyonich, the hero of the classic Russian movie, Diamond Arm. His inadvertent pronouncement of this phrase, which happens to be some diamond smugglers’ password, starts him on the adventure of a lifetime. If, while in Russia, you need to invent a password for any reason, ради Бога, don’t use the phrase – чёрт побери. It is about as rare a password as “How’s it going?” would be in English.

Now and then, something a bit stronger is called for, like when you’re eating in a Soviet-style restaurant, and you suspect that the waiter has padded your bill (which, слава Богу, happens less and less often). In this case, you might try on him, “Это чёрт знает что!” (“The devil knows what this is!”). If he doesn’t get the hint, it’s time to послать его к чёртовой матери / бабушке (send him to the devil’s mother/grandmother). Or, if you want to be a little softer, tell him he’ll get a balding devil instead of money: “Чёрта лысого ты получишь вместо денег.”

Not all “devilish” words in Russian have negative meanings, however. When a man’s friends say his new girlfriend is чертовски хороша, there is no reason for him to take offense. It was meant as a compliment. They are saying that she is “devilishly beautiful.”

Similarly, if, не дай Бог, you try to drink a Russian under the table and succeed, then the next day he may call you a чертяка (little devil) with heartfelt admiration.

Finally, when you read those apocalyptic scenarios in the press about Russia being doomed to bear its cross (нести свой крест) until the End Times, try to keep an open mind. As the Russians say: “Не так страшен чёрт, как его малюют” (“The devil is not as terrible as he is painted”).