Felix Chuev asks the uncomfortable question: Stalin and religion (and Yordam Kitap’s deliberate omissions)

In our article entitled The removal of Stalin from the mausoleum, published on 16 December 2025, we sought to highlight a contradictory aspect that remains little known in Turkey: namely, the extent to which both the decision taken at the 22nd Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) to remove Stalin’s embalmed body from the mausoleum, and the manner in which that decision was carried out, were deeply intertwined with religion and superstition.

In this article, we aim to show that the relationship between religion and superstition maintained by the privileged bureaucratic caste holding power in the Soviet Union -one that could fairly be described as “schizophrenic” given the CPSU’s official atheist line- was not a peculiarity of the 1960s. On the contrary, it had taken shape much earlier, at the very centre of the Stalin era itself.

Our source on this matter is Felix Chuev’s (1941-1999) well-known book of extended interviews, translated into Turkish under the title Molotov Anlatıyor (Molotov Remembers) and published by Yordam Kitap.

Molotov Remembers is at once a highly problematic and deeply instructive text, in that it gives voice to Vyacheslav Molotov -one of the most senior and most reticent figures in the history of the Stalinist regime in the Soviet Union.

Although Felix Chuev, the interviewer, occasionally displayed genuine journalistic skill, he was by no means a neutral narrator or a mere “facilitator.” On the contrary, Chuev explicitly positioned himself within the Stalinist tradition, approached Stalin with sympathy, and steered the interviews accordingly. [*]

For this reason, I believe that the value of Molotov Remembers lies not only in what Molotov says but -perhaps even more- in how he speaks: where he hesitates, what he seeks to soften or conceal, and which details he inadvertently reveals. While Chuev’s “anti-de-Stalinisation” stance seeks to pull the text, together with Molotov, towards a vindication of Stalinism, it is precisely the contradictions that seep through this effort that make the work historically compelling.

In the English edition entitled Molotov Remembers, the following striking passage stands out as a rare and significant example that lays bare, in all its starkness, the pragmatic and deeply unsettling relationship Stalin forged with religion during the wartime years:

[Chuev:] Our generals have told me that before a battle Stalin’s usual parting words were, “May God grant us victory!” or “May the Lord help us!” Moreover, the writer Vladimir Soloukhov, who served in the Kremlin during the war, said, “Josif Vissarionovich [Stalin] once appeared on the Church porch. At his left was the Patriarch Alexei, at the right…” “Surely, Molotov?” I asked. “The Metropolitan Krutitsky and Kolomensky,” Soloukhov replied without batting an eye. Why are you laughing? Stalin respected priests. It was the influence of his seminary education….

[Molotov:] Well, Soloukhov is exaggerating. True, we sometimes sang church songs, after dinner. Sometimes even White Guard songs. Stalin had a pleasing voice…. [**]

The passage appears as follows in the English rendering of Yordam Kitap’s Turkish translation: [***]

[Chuev:] Some senior military commanders said that, before every battle, Stalin would encourage them by exclaiming, “God help us!” During the war, the writer Vladimir Soloukhin, who had performed his military service in the Kremlin, told me the following: “I saw Joseph Vissarionovich appear on the platform. To his left stood Patriarch Alexei; to his right, the Metropolitan of Krutitsy. Stalin respected priests. His years at the seminary had not been wasted.”

[Molotov:] “That is an exaggeration,” said Molotov. “After meals we would sometimes sing church hymns. Stalin had a fine voice.” [****]

Felix Chuev

In this passage, the picture painted by Chuev -who possessed an exceptionally wide network of acquaintances among the highest layers of the Kremlin bureaucracy, both fallen and ascendant- is striking. During the Second World War, Stalin is shown invoking God before battles in his conversations with generals; appearing side by side with the highest figures of the church hierarchy; and, in the evenings, singing church hymns and, at times, even White Army songs at the closed drinking sessions he frequently held with his inner circle, often lasting until the early hours of the morning. As Molotov attempts to soften the account, Chuev interjects, gently presses him, asks further questions, and draws attention to his smile. It is a vivid and ironic passage -and precisely for these reasons, a deeply unsettling one.

By contrast, in the Turkish edition published by Yordam Kitap, the same passage has been conspicuously shortened, softened, and virtually “ironed out.” Moreover, the manner in which this has been done displays an internal consistency that cannot plausibly be explained as a mere translation mishap.

I do not believe this omission to be the product of mere carelessness, for in the Turkish edition:

• Stalin’s pre-battle invocations of God have been toned down,
• Chuev’s probing questions pressing Molotov -such as “Surely, Molotov?” and “Why are you laughing?”- have been removed altogether,
• The ironic emphases in Soloukhin’s account have been significantly muted,
• And Molotov’s remark, “We would sometimes even sing White Army songs,” has been excised.

My impression is that all these interventions were deliberate and aimed at eliminating a disturbing contradiction; indeed, every omission was made in the same direction and in such a way as to produce the same result.

In the English edition, this passage undermines the image of Stalin cherished by Stalinists -that of a resolute leader, fully aware of his actions, marked by iron discipline and ideological consistency. The figure that emerges is a Stalin who:

• resorts to religion when expedient,
• instrumentalises religious symbols (one of the earliest and most striking examples of such instrumentalisation being the embalming of Lenin’s body and its placement in the mausoleum on Red Square),
• blurs ideological dividing lines for practical reasons,
• and at times veers into outright oddity.

The Turkish translation, however, suppresses this oddity. Stalin ceases to appear as a politician who approaches religion pragmatically in line with the interests of the privileged bureaucratic caste; instead, he is recast as a courteous statesman who “respected priests.” A political question is thus reduced to a moral attribute -and one, moreover, that Stalin was almost never credited with.

In the original text, Chuev is not a passive narrator. On the contrary, although he speaks from a Stalinist position, he does not entirely abandon his journalistic instincts -as we have already noted; he intervenes in order to draw Molotov out, presses him, and brings his evasive answers into view. In the Turkish translation of this passage, however, this role has been almost entirely erased. The Turkish reader is thus deliberately prevented from confronting a little-known aspect of the problematic nature of the text -and, by extension, of Stalin himself and the regime he constructed.

[*] In the 1960s, Felix Chuev composed numerous poems in praise of Stalin. These poems were known in literary circles in the Soviet Union and circulated in manuscript form, particularly among Stalinists. This information -and two examples of Chuev’s poems glorifying Stalin- can be found in the following work, which includes texts compiled from Roy Medvedev’s underground magazine Political Diary, published in samizdat form in the Soviet Union: An End to Silence: Uncensored Opinion in the Soviet Union (From Roy Medvedev’s Underground Magazine Political Diary), ed. Stephen F. Cohen, trans. George Saunders, W. W. Norton & Company, New York, 1982, p. 174.

[**] Felix Chuev, Molotov Remembers: Inside Kremlin Politics, ed. Albert Resis, Ivan R. Dee, Chicago, 1993, p. 216.

[***] Since the present article is written in English, reproducing the Turkish translation verbatim would have been of limited use to the reader. The passage is therefore presented here in English, translated directly from Yordam Kitap’s Turkish edition, in order to make the specific omissions and alterations in that translation visible to an English-reading audience. This is admittedly not an ideal solution, but under the circumstances it is the only way to render those editorial interventions transparent.

[****] Feliks Chuyev, Molotov Anlatıyor, trans. Ayşe Hacıhasanoğlu and Suna Kabasakal, Yordam Kitap, 2nd edn, March 2010, p. 290.