"Maestro, Marguerite, morphine: The last years in the life of Mikhail Bulgakov"

PubMed

Thanks to Kevin Kim, the great Big Hominid himself, I've received an abstract I can safely say I'd never have come across on my own:

"Maestro, Marguerite, morphine: The last years in the life of Mikhail Bulgakov"

The study was undertaken by G. Zilberstein, U. Maor, E. Baskin, and P. G. Righetti. Here's their "Abstract":

The manuscript pages of the final draft of Master i Margarita, the masterpiece by Mikhail Bulgakov, written in the last four years of his life (1936-1940), have been treated with a mixture of chromatographic beads, namely a strong cation exchanger and a C8 resin. Potential substances captured by the beads, after harvesting them, were eluted with a mixture of isopropyl alcohol, dichloromethane and ammonium hydroxide and the eluate subjected to GC-MS analysis in order to detect the presence, if any, of drugs, due to the fact that the writer suffered intense pains caused by an inherited nephrotic syndrome. Indeed all the pages under investigation (a total of ten, taken at random among 127 foils) contained traces of morphine, from as little as 5 up to 100ng/cm2. In addition to the intact drug, we could detect one of its metabolites, namely 6-O-acetyl morphine. The significance of these findings in terms of a possible improvement of the novel and in terms of drug use (or abuse) in the modern world is discussed and evaluated.

In other words, here are the drugs he took, he took them for pain associated with kidney problems, and the drugs' painkilling properties may have enabled his final four-year work on improving the manuscript. There's also the biological significance:

The extraction of metabolites/proteins from the surface of the original manuscript pages of Bulgakov masterpiece Master i Margarita has permitted to monitor his health state and intake of medicaments over the last four years of his life. We have ascertained that: (1) he was assuming large doses of morphine as pain killers; (2) he was affected by a nephrotic syndrome, since we could identify three proteins known as biomarkers of this pathology. The double extraction procedure here reported could open up a novel field of investigation of (relatively) ancient manuscripts for metabolome/proteome analysis on the health status of the writer/artist.

And here are the key words:

6-O-acetyl morphine; Bulgakov manuscript; Chromatographic resins; Gas chromatography/mass spectrometry; Master i Margarita; Morphine

How interesting this "novel field of investigation"! How clever the novel pun!

Bulgakov's Fesiya is Goethe's Faust?

Goethe
Distorted Image by An(other) Englishman in Germany

A recent commentator, Thomas, from the Dutch-speaking part of Belgium asked me a difficult question about my novella's dependence on Bulgakov:

You said your "story relies more on Bulgakov's retelling of Goethe's story in his inimitable magnum opus, The Master and Margarita".

Actually I've always been enormously intrigued by Boelgakov's work, and in particular by its relation with Goethe and the Faustian theme. The formal and "superficial" allusions are clear enough, but could you tell me more about the deeper substantive and thematic relation, beyond the central appearance of Satan as such for example, and the love between the Master and Margarete? Thanks a lot for any information on that point.

I don't actually know very much about that, but the question got me thinking:

I'm no expert, and thus offer no depth, but Margarita seems the one bargaining with Satan (Woland) over the Master and his manuscript.

That looks like a reversal of roles, but I'd need to re-read with that in mind to see what is implied by this reversal.

The Master seems oddly un-Faustian, weak-willed and dependent. If there's a Faust in this tale, it would appear to be Margarita, except that she's playing both roles -- Faust and Gretchen.

But you've probably already noticed these things . . .

And he likely had, for he replied:

Thanks for your interesting reaction, Jeffery!

Recently I read in a Boelgakov comment that in the primitive version of the novel, the Master was a certain Fesija, a savant who was concerned with medieval satanic arts, and standing much closer to the Goethean Faust. This figure of Fesija is supposed to have been inspired by the religious philosopher Pavel Florenski (1882-1937), who was arrested in 1928.

Later on the Master became in the first place Boelgakov himself (or maybe Gorki).

Do you know something about these things?

I admitted my ignorance:

No, I knew nothing about those things. Thank you! I'll look into this.

I did as I said I would and looked into this, finding:

In Bulgakov's early versions of the novel the part of the Master was played by Fesiya, a wise man who was interested in the devilry from the Middle Ages and the Italian Renaissance. Fesiya was occupied with demonic powers much more than later the Master, he was much closer to Goethe's Faust. Fesiya was probably inspired by the philosopher Pavel Alexan-drovich Florensky (1882-1937), who was arrested in 1928.

I found that information on the website Master and Margarita, a site I'm familiar with, though I wasn't familiar with this particular page.

See? One really can learn something new each day . . .

Bulgakov Renaissance?

"It was an enormous, black tomcat,
heavy, nearly as large as a hog,
sprawled out in an armchair
and apparently napping."
-Horace Jeffery Hodges
The Bottomless Bottle of Beer
Google Books

If I can believe noted Russian historian Orlando Figes, "Hamming Up Bulgakov" (The New York Review of Books, November 14, 2013), "Mikhail Bulgakov has enjoyed a renaissance during recent years" with his "hind-leg-walking cats and The Master and Margarita," which can only be good for my own 'Bulgakovian' satire. As I commented to Mr. Figes:

I'm glad to learn that "Mikhail Bulgakov has enjoyed a renaissance during recent years," for I fell in love with his works upon first reading The Master and Margarita way back in 1977.

Maybe I'm also caught up in that renaissance since I've recently penned a story with one of those "hind-leg-walking cats" you've noted.

Anyway, the television series sounds enjoyable even if it's not completely faithful to the original. Thanks for calling this to our attention!

In looking around for more on Bulgakov's great novel, I noticed Behemoth the cat sprawled out in an armchair on this cover of The Master and Margarita, Wordsworth Classics edition, and though I searched, I couldn't locate information on whom to cite as responsible for this great cover art, but it so closely fits my description of Behemoth when he first appears in my novella that I just had to borrow it for today's blog entry!

Dario's Hella: Idiosyncratic or Ideosynthetic?

Hell-ooooo

Dario Rivarossa

Readers have seen this before, but since Dario's only now posting these images of characters from my story on his blog, I figure I might as well post them again here, along with quotes from the short story version, which below has the vampiric witch Hella speaking to the demonic clown Koroviev, two characters some readers will recognize as borrowed from Mikhail Bulgakov's greatest novel, The Master and Margarita:

She looked up from her readjustments to give me a seraphic smile and say, "Koroviev, who's your friend?" . . .

"Hmmm," he mused. "I've no earthly idea."

- Horace Jeffery Hodges, "The Bottomless Bottle of Beer," in Emanations: Second Sight, pages 130-131

Koroviev is not to be trusted, but neither is Hella, though Koroviev is perhaps forthright in his response since his acquaintance with the 'friend' (the Naif) is unearthly. The expanded, novella version of the story -- which doesn't differ in these lines, however -- can be previewed here, though not specifically these two interlocutors, for whose dialogue the novella must be ordered.

Dario's Hella, incidentally, is an idiosyncratic synthesis of Bulgakovian and Hodgesian ideas . . .

Fiction: Scene in Café Griboyedov with Russian Expression

Café Griboyedov

Terrance Lindall

In the above illustration by Terrance Lindall of a scene in my story, "The Bottomless Bottle of Beer," we see Koroviev in his characteristic pince-nez and checkered clothes pointing to Hella as she approaches the table where he and the story's anonymous 'hero' sit, though we can't see the latter's face since he's watching Hella approach, as is also an enamored waiter. The café scene just prior to Hella's appearance is given below:

The café was large, spacious, packed; my traveling companion seemed to know everyone as he grasped hands in greeting while we made our way to a table inexplicably free of patrons. I tried to focus on what the tall fellow was telling me about each individual he greeted but could scarcely hear above a loud, jazzed-up version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." And waiters! Griboyedov had waiters! Bearing trays laden with cups and saucers high above their heads, they pushed their way among the patrons, hoarsely shouting, "Izviníte menyá!" Dropping the ordered cakes and coffees down onto tables with a clunk, sweeping used cups, saucers, and silverware clattering onto their trays, dumping loads of used dish- and silverware roaring into sinks, shouting out orders for various coffees and cakes. In short, pandaemonium.

This scene will feel familiar to those who've read Michail Bulgakov's wonderful novel, The Master and Margarita, for I've borrowed a scene from that tale to structure this description. But I have a question about the Russian expression,"Izviníte menyá," for I originally had "Prostíte menyá." A Russian girl I met suggested the change when I described the scene to her, and she also noted a third possibility, "Proshu proshcheniya," for which I've not yet found the diacritical marks, but I think that one's overly formal. Anyway, here are the three possibilities:

Простите меня!
Prostíte menyá!
Excuse me!

Извините меня!
Izviníte menyá!
Excuse me!

Прошу прощения!
Proshu proshcheniya!
I beg your pardon!

If any of my readers are Russian or at least knowledgeable about the Russian language, please feel free to advise me on the best expression for the scene. Keep in mind that the waiters are not particularly courteous and would likely use the briefest expression possible, so the expression used could even differ from any of the three that I've noted here.

I thank all in advance . . .

New Fiction: Story by Horace Jeffery Hodges, Illustrations by Terrance Lindall

First Sip

Terrance Lindall

A few days ago, I announced an upcoming publication of my story, "The Bottomless Bottle of Beer," a Faustian tale of more than fifty pages of text, which will first appear in an anthology, then later as a novella accompanied by another fifty interspersed pages or more of illustrations, of which you can read the first several paragraphs at that blog entry announcement. One commentator asked about the concept behind the story and the process of writing, so I explained:

I was enjoying a beer after exercise last January and had the abrupt thought that a bottomless bottle would be great.

I then was struck by the further thought that this could make a great temptation story. The Faustian plot was an obvious one.

When I had time in February, I wrote about 50 pages in two weeks and had the entire story. I read it to a friend trained in law because I needed advice on the courtroom scene, and he helped me rework the terminology.

I've spent some time -- when I wasn't busy with student papers -- proofreading and sharpening some points, partly due to good advice from friends.

The story is a cautionary one, of sorts, that questions scientism and postmodernism, but with humor. I try to work in a lot of allusions to other works with similar themes concerning deals with the devil -- or other such arrangements.

There are verbal echoes of Milton's Paradise Lost, Bulgakov's Master and Margarita, Goethe's Faust, Gaiman's "Shoggoth's Old Peculiar," and many other stories. I've put these there to be noticed, but I don't have citations since this isn't scholarship, but a creative, intertextual work.

Most of all, I try to tell a good story.

Readers will have to be the judge of that, naturally, and the story won't available until later this year, but the video of text and illustrations (8.5 minutes) is still available, along with another video that continues the story (3.5 minutes)! Incidentally, the videos contain plot spoilers, but if one ignores the text and focuses upon the images, the videos can be safely watched.

Take a look, for Terrance Lindall's illustrations alone are worth your time!

Kaye Blegvad's Master and Margarita Series

Manuscripts Don't Burn

But they do inflame . . .
Kaye Blegvad

A few short days ago, in blogging on homesickness -- or my lack thereof -- I borrowed an illustration from the New York Times drawn by Ms. Kaye Blegvad. Because I am always careful to give credit, but also because I use these occasions as learning experiences, I not only linked to Ms. Blegvad's website, I took the opportunity to look around there, and I discovered there a shared interest in Mikhail Bulgakov's novel The Master and Margarita, one of my favorite works of literature. As Ms. Blegvad writes:

Damn, what a book.

Adding:

A couple of drawings inspired by it.

Followed by an image of the cat called "Behemoth" and the woman known as "Margarita." These are found on her blog entry for October 13, 2011, which can be visited by clicking on "writes" above (or here below). Three other images from the novel can be seen by clicking on Manuscripts Don't Burn, a famous line from the novel.

In a few weeks, I'll be blogging on a 'manuscript' -- not really handwritten, of course -- that I've been working on that is preoccupied with Bulgakov's novel, Milton's epic poem, and Goethe's drama, for I draw connections among these three as well as with a few other 'daemonic' texts, though I swear to remain firmly aligned with the better angels of our nature.

Meanwhile, click over to Ms. Blegvad's site and browse around . . .

"Pleased to meet you hope you guess my name": The Devil in Dostoyevsky and Bulgakov

"Sympathy for the Devil"

Lyrics from Rolling Stones

(Image from Wikipedia)

I've just recently finished my re-reading of Dostoyevsky's Brothers Karamazov, and I found myself wondering whether or not Ivan's feverish dream of the Devil had any influence upon Mikhail Bulgakov's depiction of the Devil in The Master and Margarita. I haven't noticed any clear parallels, so today's blog entry has nothing especially insightful to offer . . . though some regular readers might retort that it never does have (so why read regularly?). Anyway, with that caveat, I'll quote Dostoyevsky's description of what Ivan sees:

And so he was sitting almost conscious himself of his delirium and as I have said already，looking persistently at some object on the sofa against the opposite wall. Some one appeared to be sitting there, though goodness knows how he had come in, for he had been in the room when Ivan came into it, on his return from Smerdyakov. This was a person, or, more accurately speaking, a Russian gentleman of a particular kind, no longer young, qui faisait la cinquantaine, as the French say, with rather long, still thick, dark hair, slightly streaked with grey and a small pointed beard. He was wearing a brownish reefer jacket, rather shabby, evidently made by a good tailor though, and of a fashion at least three years old, that had been discarded by smart and well-to-do people for the last two years. His linen and his long scarf-like neck-tie were all such as are worn by people who aim at being stylish, but on closer inspection his linen was not over clean and his wide scarf was very threadbare. The visitor's check trousers were of excellent cut, but were too light in colour and too tight for the present fashion. His soft fluffy white hat was out of keeping with the season.

In brief there was every appearance of gentility on straitened means. It looked as though the gentleman belonged to that class of idle landowners who used to flourish in the times of serfdom. He had unmistakably been, at some time, in good and fashionable society, had once had good connections, had possibly preserved them indeed, but, after a gay youth, becoming gradually impoverished on the abolition of serfdom, he had sunk into the position of a poor relation of the best class, wandering from one good old friend to another and received by them for his companionable and accommodating disposition and as being after all a gentleman who could be asked to sit down with any one, though, of course, not in a place of honour. Such gentlemen of accommodating temper and dependent position, who can tell a story, take a hand at cards, and who have a distinct aversion for any duties that may be forced upon them, are usually solitary creatures, either bachelors or widowers. Sometimes they have children, but if so, the children are always being brought up at a distance, at some aunt's, to whom these gentlemen never allude in good society, seeming ashamed of the relationship. They gradually lose sight of their children altogether, though at intervals they receive a birthday or Christmas letter from them and sometimes even answer it.

The countenance of the unexpected visitor was not so much good-natured, as accommodating and ready to assume any amiable expression as occasions might arise. He had no watch, but he had a tortoise-shell lorgnette on a black ribbon. On the middle finger of his right hand was a massive gold ring with a cheap opal stone in it. (Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, translated by Constance Garnett, Vintage Books, 1950, pages 772-773)

I could quote passages from Bulgakov's Master and Margarita, but I see little need, for in looking at several just now, I find few similarities exist between Dostoyevsky's Devil and Bulgakov's Devil -- who goes by the name Woland, you'll recall. Possibly of interest, however, is the fact that Woland's demon assistant Korovyov wears checked pants . . . and also a pince-nez, but that's not the same as a lorgnette -- though each eyepiece does give these two comically demonic characters a somewhat foppish air. Still, too few parallels occur on the surface for me to make an issue of them.

Nevertheless, Bulgakov elsewhere exhibited great interest in Ivan's delirious dream of the Devil, for Riitta H. Pittman, in her article "Dreamers and Dreaming in M. A. Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita" (in Bulgakov: The Novelist-Playwright, edited by Leslie Milne, Routledge, 1996), writes:

Bulgakov's preoccupation with the Karamazov devil is apparent from an episode depicting Aleksei Turbin's nightmare, which was at one time intended for the Days of the Turbins. The nightmare brings "greetings from Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky". Aleksei's instinctive reaction is to instinctive reaction is to exclaim: "The devil!", but almost instantaneously he resorts to reason and begins to insist: ". . . you don't exist. I am seeing you in my dream. And I am now going to wake up", to which the nightmare retorts: "You are mistaken . . . I am not a dream, but most genuinely real. And who can tell anyway, what a dream might be?" Aleksei next calls his devil a nightmare and a myth, and finally threatens to shoot him. Correspondingly, in Brothers Karamazov (Part IV, Book Eleven, Ch. 9) Ivan insists that his devil is "a lie", "a phantom", "a hallucination" and a symptom of his illness. (Pittman, "Dreamers and Dreaming," page 159)

Bulgakov would thus seem to have been thinking a lot about Dostoyevsky's Devil, at least in his play Days of the Turbins, which leads me to wonder if some profounder parallels exist between devils in The Master and Margarita and The Brothers Karamazov that aren't obviously visible on the surface. In comparing the devils in these two Russian authors' works generally, Pittman argues that "Both Dostoevsky's and Bulgakov's devils represent or evoke ideas which the intellectual, or pseudo-intellectual, protagonists try to resist or to suppress on the grounds of reason, but which surge forth from their minds involuntarily . . . [and] emerge as metaphorical extensions or aspects of the protagonists' own personalities, of their 'shadow' selves" (page 159), a point perhaps well taken for Ivan's Devil in Brothers Karamazov though it seems less likely in Master and Margarita, for Ivan alone sees the Devil in the former, whereas all of the characters see the various devils in the latter -- but you can read further on Pittman's views for yourself.

As for the Rolling Stones and their infamous "Sympathy for the Devil," they seem to take his existence for granted in his rather traditional role -- though Douglas Cruickshank and "others" want to find Mick Jagger's inspired writing "under the spell of Mikhail Bulgakov's classic allegorical novel of good and evil, 'The Master and Margarita.'" Read Cruickshank's remarks if you will, but also go to the source itself, the song:

Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long long year stolen many man's soul and faith
I was around when Jesus Christ had His moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that Pilate washed his hands and sealed His fate
Pleased to meet you hope you guess my name
But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game

Stuck around St. Petersburg when I saw it was a time for a change
Killed the Tzar and his ministers, Anastasia screamed in vain
I rode a tank held a gen'rals rank when the blitzkrieg
raged and the bodies stank
Pleased to meet you hope you guess my name. Oh yeah
Ah what's puzzling you is the nature of my game. Oh yeah

I watched the glee while your kings and queens fought for
ten decades for the Gods they made
I shouted out "Who killed the Kennedy's?" when after all
it was you and me
Let me please introduce myself I'm a man of wealth and taste
And I lay traps for troubadors who get killed before they reach Bombay
Pleased to meet you hope you guess my name. Oh yeah
But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game. Oh yeah
Pleased to meet you hope you guess my name
But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game

Just as every cop is a criminal and all the sinners, Saints
as heads is tails, just call me Lucifer 'cause I'm in need
of some restraint
So if you meet me, have some courtesy have some sympathy
and some taste
Use all your well learned politesse or I'll lay your soul to waste
Pleased to meet you hope you guess my name
But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game

As I noted, this Satan seems more traditional -- dangerous and to be taken very seriously. For an eight-minute recording of the Stones' 1968 live performance of this song, go to You Tube and along with John Lennon . . . enjoy?

Dostoyevsky's Kantian 'Proof' of God

Immanuel Kant

'the immortal Kant'

(Image from Wikipedia)

Some readers may recall that I recently re-read Mikhail Bulgakov's magnum opus, The Master and Margarita. If so, those readers will surely recall the passage that I cited on Kant. Berlioz and Bezdomny had been speaking of Christ just before the novel's opening scene, when they were suddenly joined by the devil, i.e., Woland, who was extraordinarily interested in their atheism:

"But, may I ask," resumed the guest from abroad after a moment's troubled reflection, "what do you make of the proofs of God's existence, of which, as you know, there are five?"

"Alas!" answered Berlioz regretfully, "all of those proofs are worthless, and mankind has long since consigned them to oblivion. Surely you would agree that reason dictates that there can be no proof of God's existence."

"Bravo!" exclaimed the foreigner, "Bravo! You've said just what that restless old sage Immanuel said about this very same subject. But here's the rub: he completely demolished all five proofs, and then, in a seeming display of self-mockery, he constructed a sixth proof all his own!"

"Kant's proof," retorted the educated editor with a faint smile, "is also unconvincing. No wonder Schiller said that only slaves could be satisfied with Kant's arguments on this subject, while Strauss simply laughed at his proof." (Bulgakov, Master and Margarita, translated by Diana Burgin and Katherine Tiernan O'Connor, pages 7-8)

Kant's proof, proposed in his Critique of Practical Reason, held that even though one cannot demonstrate the existence of God as an idea of pure reason, the idea of God is inextricably bound up with the link between happiness and morality, for only God can guarantee immortality as reward for moral virtue. Therefore, absolute morality, the gift of immortality, and the existence of God are all essential postulates of practical reason even though they cannot be grounded in pure reason. Or something like that.

Bulgakov may have been reflecting not only upon a passage in Kant but also upon a scene in The Brothers Karamazov, for in an early passage in the novel, Dostoyevsky -- or, at least, his omniscient albeit mortal narrator -- has Pyotr Alexandrovitch Miüsov recount something that Ivan Fyodorovich Karamazov had said a few days earlier:

"I will tell you instead, gentlemen, another interesting and rather characteristic anecdote of Ivan Fyodorovitch himself. Only five days ago, in a gathering here, principally of ladies, he solemnly declared in argument that there was nothing in the whole world to make men love their neighbours. That there was no law of nature that man should love mankind, and that, if there had been any love on earth hitherto, it was not owing to a natural law, but simply because men have believed in immortality. Ivan Fyodorovitch added in parenthesis that the whole natural law lies in that faith, and that if you were to destroy in mankind the belief in immortality, not only love but every living force maintaining the life of the world would at once be dried up. Moreover, nothing then would be immoral, everything would be lawful, even cannibalism. That's not all. He ended by asserting that for every individual, like ourselves, who does not believe in God or immortality, the moral law of nature must immediately be changed into the exact contrary of the former religious law, and that egoism, even to crime, must become not only lawful but even recognised as the inevitable, the most rational, even honourable outcome of his position. From this paradox, gentlemen, you can judge of the rest of our eccentric and paradoxical friend Ivan Fyodorovitch's theories." (Dostoyevsky, The Brother's Karamazov (New York: Random House, 1950), translated by Constance Garnett, page 78)

Obviously, Ivan -- and therefore Dostoyevsky -- had in mind Kant's sixth proof of God's existence, the moral argument in which God is a postulate of practical reason necessary for guaranteeing the ground of morality, namely immortality. Thus does Ivan hold that "whole natural law [of love for others] lies in . . . the belief in immortality," without which, "nothing then would be immoral, everything would be lawful."

Dostoyevsky may also have been alluding to the legendary founder of the mysterious but ruthless Assassians, Hasan-i-Sabah, a rather unorthodox Muslim who reputedly stated, "Nothing is true, everything is permitted," perhaps based on an extreme interpretation of Surah 3:54 (cf. 8:30) in the Qur'an, which according to some translations states that "Allah is the best of deceivers" ("Allahu khayru al-makireena," the lexical form of makireena, i.e., makara, having as one of its meanings "to practice deceit" [cf. Miim-Kaf-Ra; also Edward William Lane's Arabic-English Lexicon (pdf)]).

But God knows best . . . even if He isn't telling.

A Straussian Reading of Bulgakov?

Leo Strauss

University of Chicago

(Image from New York Times)

One never knows where a conversation will lead. Two days ago, I started off talking about the Korean word "janmeori" -- which means something like "clever deceptiveness" -- and was soon joined on that blog entry by the erudite Won Joon Choe, who further clarified the concept but also mentioned his own field of "philosophical hermeneutics," leading to a discussion of Leo Strauss's views on esoteric readings of familiar works, a sort of 'defamiliarization' of such works, I suppose. We were joined at this point by the ever-insightful Sperwer, who had also read Strauss, and that conversation is ongoing . . . or might surface here instead. Who knows?

Anyway, Strauss is famous (some might say 'infamous') for his 1952 work, Persecution and the Art of Writing, in which he argued that philosophers have sometimes written 'esoterically' to evade persecution. One should therefore read certain texts 'esoterically' to understand them, for they cannot be taken at face value. The 'face-value' of a text is merely its 'exoteric' form, not its inner substance, and exists to mislead the censors. The astute reader, however, will pick up on the 'contradictions' in the text -- 'contradictions' intentionally left by the writer -- and thus more closely scrutinize the text.

As for Strauss's relevance for Bulgakov, I remarked upon it to Won Joon Choe in a bit of academic biography:

[W]hen I was at Hebrew University, I met a doctoral student who was working on a thesis about Strauss's political ideas. We had some interesting conversations about Strauss's ideas on writing in a way to convey one's ideas while simultaneously obscuring them. That might be applicable to my thoughts on Bulgakov's 'orthodoxy' in The Master and Margarita, written in Stalinist times.

Won Joon Choe replied:

That's fascinating and indeed right down my alley. Who was the student? If his dissertation has been published since then, I may have read it . . . . As for the Bulgakov reference, he's the one great Russian novelist I have yet to read, and your post actually cemented my decision to read him. And I am not surprised that he wrote [esoterically] -- if he wrote esoterically -- in Stalinist times, because the evasion of persecution is the first and foremost reason to write esoterically.

All that I could recall of the doctoral student -- aside from the fact that he was in the same Hebrew class as I and that we had several interesting conversations about Strauss and Straussian ideas about writing -- was that his given name is "Andrew" (so, Andy, if you happen to read this, please join in).

Anyway, as noted, I had already been considering an esoteric reading of Bulgakov a few days earlier:

Bulgakov was writing in an especially repressive period of Soviet history, so we cannot expect him to have expressed his views explicitly.

This was in my blog entry on "The Master and Margarita: Bulgakov's Christology," a post in which I speculated that Bulgakov may have been more Orthodox in his Christology than one might think from a cursory reading of the novel. But I left that question an open one, and still do, until I have re-read Bulgakov's novel in the more-recent translation that I've now obtained -- and also until I have the chance to read Strauss on persecution and the art of writing.

Advice is welcome.

The Master and Margarita: Bulgakov's Christology

Pilate, Centurion, and Yeshua

Illustration by Charlie Stone

Literary critics who have commented on Bulgakov's masterpiece, The Master and Margarita, have often noted the very human Jesus portrayed therein. But Bulgakov's Yeshua -- as he is called in the novel -- has some rather mysterious qualities. He seems capable of reading people's minds and predicting the future.

For instance, he knows what Pilate is feeling and thinking:

"The truth is, first of all, that your head aches, and aches so badly that you're having fainthearted thoughts about death. Not only are you too weak to talk to me, but you're even having trouble looking at me. That I, at this moment, am your unwilling executioner upsets me. You can't think about anything and only the only thing that you want is to call your dog, the only creature, it seems, to whom you are attached. But your sufferings will soon end, and your headache will pass." (Bulgakov, Master and Margarita, tr. by Burgin and O'Connor, p. 17)

Pilate's headache is soon over, as Yeshua notes:

"Well, then, it's all over," said the prisoner, looking kindly at Pilate, "and I am very glad that it is. I would advise you, Hegemon, to leave the palace for a short while and take a stroll somewhere in the vicinity, perhaps in the gardens on Mount Eleon. There will be a thunderstorm . . ." the prisoner turned and squinted his eyes at the sun, ". . . later on, towards evening. The walk would do you good, and I would be happy to accompany you. Some new ideas have occurred to me which may, I think, be of interest to you, and I would be especially happy to share them with you since you strike me as being a very intelligent man." (Bulgakov, Master and Margarita, tr. by Burgin and O'Connor, p. 18)

While this latter prediction may be nothing more than an observant man's close scrutiny of meterological conditions, and though Yeshua does go on to say that he knew about the dog from Pilate's unconscious gesture of "petting," Bulgakov's Yeshua seems extraordinarily prescient. Left unexplained is how Yeshua could know that Pilate was thinking about death.

Yeshua's powers remind the reader of Wolands ability to read people's minds and foretell the future -- though we learn much more of the latter's abilities in these respects -- and if Woland is Satan, then who is Yeshua?

Bulgakov was writing in an especially repressive period of Soviet history, so we cannot expect him to have expressed his views explicitly. However, he does at one point early in his book's first chapter refer to Jesus as "Jesus Christ" when describing a conversation between Berlioz and Bezdomny:

This conversation, as was learned subsequently, was about Jesus Christ." (p. 4)

In this conversation, Berlioz asserts that Jesus never existed, and he criticizes Bezdomny's poem -- which was written to satirize Jesus -- as having depicted a Jesus who seemed too real. A few paragraphs later, Woland joins the two in conversation and asserts that Jesus had lived:

"Keep in mind that Jesus did exist." (p. 12)

But which Jesus? The "Jesus Christ" about whom the conversation turned? Woland's story of Yeshua's appearance before Pilate seemingly portrays a very human Jesus . . . but we have already seen enough to raise some a question about that.

But for now, I leave the question open.

Bulgakov: Ruminations by Patriarch's Ponds

Berlioz, Woland, and Bezdomny

Near Patriarch's Ponds

Illustration by Charlie Stone

I'm now reading Burgin and O'Connor's translation of Bulgakov's novel, The Master and Margarita. Yesterday, I began it by first reading the annotations by Ellendea Proffer, which I found useful for their information about the Russian context but which I found insufficient in other ways.

For instance, Chapter 18 of Bulgakov's novel has the following remark by a bartender as he is confronted by a woman who suggests that he share some of his newfound cash with her:

"Leave me alone, for Christ's sake," said the bartender fearfully and quickly hid the money. (page 177)

Proffer's note tells us:

for Christ's sake -- the only mention of Christ in the novel, as opposed to the hundreds of casual mentions of the devil. (page 350)

But this can't be correct, for in Chapter 1, we have already learned that Berlioz and Bezdomny had been speaking of Christ just before the novel's opening scene:

The conversation, as was learned subsequently, was about Jesus Christ. (page 4)

Proffer also seems confused about Kant, for in the same opening scene with Berlioz and Bezdomny, after they are joined by the foreigner Woland and begin to discuss God, the 'proofs' of God's existence are mentioned:

"But, may I ask," resumed the guest from abroad after a moment's troubled reflection, "what do you make of the proofs of God's existence, of which, as you know, there are five?"

"Alas!" answered Berlioz regretfully, "all of those proofs are worthless, and mankind has long since consigned them to oblivion. Surely you would agree that reason dictates that there can be no proof of God's existence."

"Bravo!" exclaimed the foreigner, "Bravo! You've said just what that restless old sage Immanuel said about this very same subject. But here's the rub: he completely demolished all five proofs, and then, in a seeming display of self-mockery, he constructed a sixth proof all his own!"

"Kant's proof," retorted the educated editor with a faint smile, "is also unconvincing. No wonder Schiller said that only slaves could be satisfied with Kant's arguments on this subject, while Strauss simply laughed at his proof." (pages 7-8)

In Proffer's note on Kant, she writes:

Kant's proof -- the philosopher Immanuel Kant postulated three proofs of the existence of God, rejected them and came up with the one least likely to convince either the devil or a Muscovite of the 1930s: that God is to be postulated for the moral will. Bulgakov is either joking or miscounting here. Woland mentions five proofs, which makes Kant's own the sixth -- and the proof Woland provides, the seventh. (page 339)

Proffer seems unaware that there are five traditional proofs of God's existence and that Kant's critique has often been understood as undermining all five. Kant's moral proof (grounded in practical reason) is conventionally understood as a sixth 'proof'. Woland's 'proof' is thus a seventh.

Based on the evidence, I therefore suggest that readers take Proffer's notes with a grain of salt, for she doesn't appear to have been quite careful enough.