And there won't be, until you prove otherwise to me. This is my opinion, and until yesterday, I could speak about it. I could argue with those who believe that God created the heavens, the earth, and all living creatures in six days. But from now on, in the Russian Federation, I must keep my opinion to myself. Because by declaring that there is no God, I might offend the feelings of those who believe in him. And that is now a criminal offense here.

The State Duma has passed a law stating that public actions offending the feelings of believers can be punished not only with fines but also with corrective labor. Some legislators would even like to punish blasphemy with imprisonment, and I see nothing far-fetched in the idea that soon, people will be jailed for the phrase "There is no God."

I will have a hard time now. Despite my age, I am still of Soviet mold and think that an obsession with nationality and religion is a harmful mental illness. And for a diverse country like Russia, it is deadly.

I no longer have the right to my opinion because opinions have no value when the Truth is known. And in our country, the Truth is known to the deputies of the State Duma. Who are they, these paladins of faith?

Former Komsomol leaders who later went into business of varying degrees of dubiousness. Professionals who hop from party to party and ideology to ideology without changing their condoms. Officials who have made a career in our country, known worldwide for the fact that here, public service is not a job but a selfless service. Athletes with worn-out joints and artists abandoned by inspiration, whose faded charisma can still be used to buy the dead souls of the electorate. And we, dying souls, if we strain, can still remember how we elected them a year and a half ago.

No doubt: all our deputies are deeply religious and truly devout people. They do not steal, do not commit adultery, do not covet. They cross themselves even when there are no TV cameras around. They are tolerant of others' opinions and forgiving, as their Lord taught them. And they are ready to take monastic vows at any moment, if only there were someone to leave the care of the Fatherland with a capital "F" to.

And since they themselves are impeccable and flawless, principled and highly spiritual, who but they are vested with the right to determine what exactly offends the feelings of believers, and who but they can decide how and for what to punish blasphemers.

What do they tell us? If the state does not punish the wicked, society will take over. The Cossacks, they say, have already visited the "Winzavod," driven by righteous anger, and are eager to patrol the streets of Moscow. And what will happen to those who somehow offend God in the territory of the Chechen Republic, the Russian State even fears to inquire. Therefore, like Pussy Riot, all who offend the feelings of believers will have to be locked up in colonies, so that the people's avengers do not stone them to death on Red Square.

Because the Cossacks are an independent and unstoppable political force, especially in Moscow. And because the last thing to do with Muslim religious extremists is to ask them to observe the Criminal Code instead of Sharia.

And the people's representatives do not say how exactly one can offend the feelings of believers. If the internal state of the victim has changed, if they are publicly humiliated—well, the gauntlet is thrown. Let our most independent court in the world decide what is an offense and what is not, before bearded men with ammunition belts on their bare chests decide for them.

I say: there is no God. Some believer somewhere will surely be offended by this. But what am I to do now—remain silent? If I remain silent, soon biology in schools will be replaced by divine law.

Vladimir Pozner, to the delight of all viewers, called the Duma "Dura"—supposedly unaware that the Duma simply echoes the libretto written in the Presidential Administration; you can, of course, call someone who has undergone a lobotomy a fool, but it is neither pretty nor honest.

And on Staraia Square, where people with frontal lobes supposedly sit, they are apparently convinced that they are acting for the good of the Motherland. And yet, working in the Presidential Administration, one cannot believe in God; every day, you hear so much that you understand: maybe he was once, but now he's gone.

Spiritless people rant about spirituality, thieves unfurl the banner of fighting corruption, foul-mouthed individuals ban swearing, non-believers join the Inquisition; are these not the end times?

Maybe they think that the more they forbid us, the easier it will be to control us later. They probably believe they are helping the Red Sun to stay on the throne. Maybe they even believe they are preventing the country from falling apart.

But what country? A medieval fundamentalist state? An Orthodox Saudi Arabia? They will forget that it was all once a game, and they will play along. And they will live happily—with beards to their navels, with old alphabets, and without electricity.

It will be a nice principality, small and cozy. But not mine, not my homeland. If I have time, I will leave for somewhere. Somewhere where they don't chop off your head for saying "there is no God."