SOURCE: Arenberg, Carol. “Mythic and Daimonic Paradigms in Bulgakov's Master i Margarita.” Essays in Literature IX, no. 1 (spring 1982): 107-25.

[In the following essay, Arenberg examines Bulgakov's views of history and the artist, and considers the ways in which these views led to the thematic structure of The Master and Margarita.]

The underlying thematic structure of Bulgakov's Master i Margarita (1940) has proved to be elusive, for it contains elements that seem to contradict every theory. Since 1966-67, when Soviet Authorities allowed the novel to be published (and it was immediately acclaimed a literary masterpiece), it has produced a spate of literary analyses and explorations from various points of view, ranging from Proffer's early study of the novel as a form of Manippean satire¹ to Lesley Milne's monograph examining the similarities between the structure of the novel and the Medieval carnival.² These studies have shed valuable light on certain aspects of the Master i Margarita, but none has done justice to the full range of Bulgakov's vision. Because of the apparent fact that it operates on so many different levels and brings together such vast areas of knowledge, the one point on which most scholars agree is that more work is needed.

I would like to attempt a synthesis of the thematic structure of the novel by defining Bulgakov's fundamentally paradigmatic and mythical view of history and the correlative role of the artist. In order to accomplish this, it will first be necessary to establish Bulgakov's view of the artist as an inheritor of creative impulses which are, in origin, divine. Once this is understood, one can proceed to examine the artist figure in relation to his own society and other characters in the novel. Finally, I will try to identify what Bulgakov saw as the role of the work of art in terms of his overall view of history.

At the outset, one must recognize that Bulgakov's point of view is basically religious, not in the sense that he adheres to any particular religious creed, but rather in the fact that he is convinced that the cosmos is unified and that certain daimonic and creative principles exist eternally. These principles are preserved in the collective consciousness, embodied in myths which somehow capture the essence of these underlying patterns. Thus, the same actions or gestae are repeated endlessly and they constitute the true History of the world. The repetition of these immemorial paradigms is what links human societies as disparate as Jerusalem at the time of Christ and Moscow in the 1930's. Historical idiosyncracies of time and place prove to be ephemeral; they arise, flourish for a time, and disappear. But the archetypal human dramas reenacted by the main characters in Master i Margarita do not. Instead they recreate the eternal paradigms in constantly changing variations and degrees.

It is historically observable that myths, by means of which the memory of archetypal patterns is preserved, must be constantly repeated in order for men to remain on the consecrated path, and that without them, the further forward into history one goes, the further one strays from the original way. Moreover, the myths, which tend to become fossilized by institutional religions, lose their energizing force and tend to stiffen into mere objects of belief. Having recognized these facts, Moscow in the 1930's was a society that had declared them to be mere superstitions and had banned true mythic History, canonizing the heroes and ideology of its own time in their place. But to impose official sanctions, be they Soviet or Roman, against the existence of the archetypal patterns in no way destroys them, though it does create certain problems. As the myths which consecrate and valorize society cease to be common knowledge, they are gradually lost from the collective memory, and the political myths perpetrated by the state tend to replace them. It is only through art and the courage and vision of the artist that they are brought again to the conscious awareness of on-going generations (historical men). And it is this problem, the paradigmatic role of art and the artist, that underlies and unifies the various levels of Bulgakov's novel.

Art, for Bulgakov, involves a rediscovery and a revelation of the eternal paradigms, which exist in that fifth dimension of infinitely expanded space and time. The very existence of this eternal transcendent realm is revealed only by the artist. Only he has the vision, and only he has the courage to express that vision. The artist, then, creates, or rather recreates a bit of eternity in permanent form. The mythic or transcendent patterns that exist in Bulgakov's eternity contain a kernel of truth which, though not universally recognized, is nevertheless manifested in the cycles of nature and in every human life. Every man expresses his essence in the way he lives; the more in tune with his inner self he is the closer he will come to expressing that essence truly and clearly. But only the artist or master gives form to that essence in a masterpiece or work of art. If his vision is true and his courage to pursue it is constant, the artist's work will not only express his subjective essence but it will also recreate or, more accurately, reactualize one of the mythico-religious archetypal patterns that have served as models for human existence since time immemorial.

The artist differs from other men, in that as he attempts to bring order out of chaos, to winnow the kernels of truth from the chaff of experience, and thus to recreate a mythic paradigm, his own essence, which he reveals in his imaginative creation, will also touch on the essential inner core of all art and in the sense defined above, on the very heartbeat of life itself. The imaginative mind is the one which has realized its own freedom and understood its own nature. So when Ivan asks the master to tell him about his novel, the master's reply is, quite simply, a recounting of his life and not the story of Pontius Pilate.³ The novel, which is an emanation of the master's life, is a more perfect form of his essence than the very life he has lived. It is a unified mental vision of the master's experience. And yet the truths revealed in the novel are those very truths which constitute the archetypal structure of existence. In the words of Viktor Lakshin,

… the past is bound to the present by an unbroken chain and … the truth and beauty that guided human life there in the orchard and in the yard of the high priest continued without interruption to this very day and would apparently always constitute what was primary in human life and on the earth in general.⁴

Bulgakov places his artist in a direct line of descent from the prophets and Christ, and they, in turn, receive their inspiration from God, the original or paradigmatic creator. God is scarcely spoken of directly in Master i Margarita, but much can nevertheless be inferred about Bulgakov's conception of Him. First of all, He is not a negatively perfect being who is infinite, inscrutable, and incomprehensible. A negatively perfect God is a pure abstraction and cannot be a creator. Satan/Woland assures Berlioz, in the very first chapter, that it is God who “rules the life of man and keeps the world in order” (p. 11) [… upravlyaet zhizn'yu chelovecheskoi i vsem voobshche rasporyadkom na zemle] (p. 19). And Yeshua/Christ tells Pilate, “There is one God … And I believe in Him” (p. 31) [Bog odin … v nego ya veryu] (p. 42). Bulgakov's God is an older less Christianized one, closer to the Greek demiurge, which in turn was based on even older gods of archaic origin. At the very least, we know that Bulgakov believes He exists and that He represents a primal life force. I agree with Erickson, who suggests that the creative, active element of this God-concept is embodied in the novel by Satan.⁵

The Greek word for this creative force is translated as the daimonic, and it includes both positive and negative aspects. The Greek concept of “daimon” includes the creativity of the poet and artist as well as that of the ethical and religious leader. It was translated into Latin as “genius” which comes from the root “genere” meaning to generate or beget. So the daimonic is the voice of the generative processes within the individual. The daimon always fights against death, and struggles to assert its own vitality. Artists have a conscious awareness that they are struggling with the diamonic, and that this results in the bringing to light of something from the depths which elevates the self to a new plane of awareness. Such archetypal experiences can only be expressed in the language of symbol and myth. The union of good and evil in the concept of the daimon is the bridge between the mortal and the immortal and it shares in both.

The fallen angel, as Satan/Woland is revealed to be at the end of the novel, is one who takes on the power of the daimonic, a power that had been relinquished when he was wholly good, moral, and obedient. Symbolically, Woland/Satan first materializes out of intense light; good and evil, light and darkness, are again linked in the description of Satan's eyes. “Two eyes fixed themselves on Margarita's face. The right, with a golden spark in its depths, piercing anyone it turned on to the bottom of his soul; and the left, empty and black like the narrow eye of a needle, like the opening to a bottomless well of darkness and shadows” (p. 271) [Dva glaza uperlis' Margarite v litso. Pravyi s zolotoyu iskroi na dne, sverlyashchii lyubogo do dna dushi, i levyi, pustoi i chernyi, vrode kak uzkoe ugol'noe ukho, kak vykhod v bezdonnyi kolodets vsyakoi t'my i tenei] (p. 322). And he is characterized in the epigraph, taken from Goethe's Faust, as “Part of that Power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good.” [… chast' toi sily, chto vechno khochet zla i vechno sovershaet blago]. Satan is the incarnation of shadow, the necessary counterpart to light. As Woland tells Matthu:

… what would your good be doing if there were no evil, and what would the earth look like if shadows disappeared from it? After all, shadows are cast by objects and people. There is the shadow of my sword. But there are also shadows of trees and living creatures. Would you like to denude the earth of all the trees and all living beings in order to satisfy your fantasy of rejoicing in the naked light?

(p. 368)

… chto by delalo tvoe dobro, esli by ne sushchestvovalo zla, i kak by vyglyadela zemlya, esli by s nee ischezli teni? Ved' teni poluchayutsya ot predmetov i lyudei. Vot ten' ot moei shpagi. No byvayut teni ot derev'ev i ot zhivykh sushchestv. Ne khochesh' li ty obodrat' ves' zemnoi shar, snesya s nego proch' vse derev'ya i vse zhivoe iz—za tvoei fantazii naslazhdat' sya golym svetom?

(pp. 452-53)

The drab, philistine world of Moscow is as devoid of the energizing life force embodied in Woland as the earth is in Matthu's fantasy. It is a world in which the traditional goal of Satan has already been achieved. In Bulgakov's Moscow “mankind is dominated by life-denying forces, while the devil, in putting these forces into disarray, is reasserting life.”⁶

Satan embodies the oldest and most powerful force in the novel. He existed well before Yeshua, as he tells Berlioz: “… I was personally present when all this took place. I was on Pontius Pilate's balcony, and in the garden, when he spoke with Kaiyapha, and on the dais. But I was there in secret, incognito, so to speak …” (p. 45) [… ya lichno prisutstvoval pri vsem etom. I na balkone byl u Pontiya Pilata, i v sadu, kogda on s Kaifoi razgovarival, i na pomoste, no tol'ko taino, inkognito, tak skazat' …] (p. 57). And we, the readers, believe Woland, for it is he who always speaks the truth, without reservation and without qualification.

There are numerous parallels between Satan/Woland and the other artists in the novel which substantiate his role as the first incarnation of the paradigm of the artist. Messire, as he is called, embodies the unity of destruction and creation, the necessity of life and death, light and shadow. Woland tells Berlioz and Ivan that he is essentially alone (p. 46) [Odin, odin, ya vsegda odin …] (p. 58). The master, too, had always lived alone, and the same is true of Yeshua. Pilate and Ivan Homeless also are isolated from the normal bonds of human companionship. Each artist appears in a frail human form, broken by overwhelming physical strength, Woland, in his earthly form, limps and has a cast in one eye, Yeshua is bruised and fearful of physical pain, the master is physically broken by his ordeal, Ivan suffers from schizophrenia, and Pilate suffers from hemicrania. None of the artists has a name. Satan is called Messire by those who are closest to him, Messire being an archaic (i.e. Medieval) and honorific form of the word master, hence filled with ironic intent. Yeshua is called Master by his follower Matthu Levi, and the master, too, rejects his former name, which is never mentioned. Ivan's poetic sobriquet is “Homeless” [Bezdomny], and Pilate is called Hegemon, which means leader or commander (perhaps even master, although in a sense of overwhelming political power). It is interesting to note, parenthetically, that Yahweh, the Hebrew word for God, literally means “the nameless one.” Each of Bulgakov's artists has come into contact with some compelling vision which has radically changed him, and that change is outwardly manifested in the change of name. Once an individual is truly named, his name becomes an expression of his very essence and is then indissolubly linked to his being and is not an arbitrary appellation. Connotation and denotation become one. The modern artist figure in the novel has yet to discover or create his true name, but he has already freed himself of his former, false name.

In the Biblical account, God the creator brought order out of chaos, creating the various forms of plant and animal life and man, in his own image. In the Bible, it is man who gives names to all of God's creatures. In other words, it is man who expresses the essence of all natural forms in words. Man thus imitates God and himself becomes the creator of new forms. The act of naming or expressing the essence of each creature will necessarily be another expression of the same archetypal pattern of creation. And, since the world itself is the expression of God's creative essence, naming becomes an act of evocation of God himself.

In a general sense, the artist attempts to see beyond the artificial categories of good and evil and the chaos of happenstance to the underlying unity of life and death and to recreate it in a concrete form. In this way the artist imitates the role of God through the language of his art. He sets himself apart from ordinary human beings, not out of pride, but out of a sense of compelling need and loving adoration.

For Bulgakov, every artist must rediscover the paradigm in a form which will be sufficient to his own situation and appropriate to his own historical time. A work of art is not merely a rediscovery, but also a recreation or reactualization of the eternal model. Art does not progress in the sense of improving or reaching some ideal of perfection. Each artistic creation stands on its own as an expression of a moment of eternal truth captured. Thus Woland can say to the master: “Manuscripts don't burn” (p. 300) [Rukopisi ne goryat] (p. 363). In the Master i Margarita Bulgakov expresses his belief in the stubborn, indestructible power of art. For him, every imaginative creation on this earth, whether by the artist, the prophet, or the martyr, has a permanent reality. It is vitally linked to the plenitude of being present at the time of creation, and is even, in some sense, coexistent with the time of creation.

Just as works of art differ in form, according to society's cultural-historical development and the artist's life experience, so also Satan, the paradigmatic model of the artist, takes on the form most appropriate to the society which he visits. We would not expect him to appear in his eternal form in Moscow of the 1930's; but as a foreign artist in black magic, his form seems appropriate. After all, official Soviet policy had relegated a belief in religion and even an acknowledgement that God or Satan might exist to the status of superstition and a belief in black magic.

Bulgakov's Satan seeks out the essence of each individual life and sees to it that each is transformed into an eternal form of that essence. He is the embodiment of merciless truth, the kind of truth which does not allow for questions of mercy, compassion, or forgiveness. The more emotional, less clear-cut cases are handled by another power. As Woland tells Margarita: “Every department must take care of its own affairs” (p. 296) [Kazhdoe vedomstvo dolzhno zanimat'sya svoimi delami] (p. 359). For Satan/Woland there can be no extenuating circumstances. His is the power over life and death, the power over the metamorphosis of the temporal into the eternal, which is accomplished through the efficacy of the religious festival.

Like the artist, Satan discerns the essence of a life and transforms it into its pure form. In the case of Berlioz, for example, Satan tempts him to admit the possibility of the existence of the supernatural, but Berlioz stubbornly adheres to his logical theory. At Satan's ball Woland tells him:

You have always been a fervent proponent of the theory that, once a head is severed, man's life ceases, he becomes ashes and sinks into nonbeing. I am pleased to inform you, in the presence of my guests—though, indeed, they serve as proof of a very different theory—that your idea is both solidly based and witty. However, one theory, on the whole, is about as good as another. There is even a theory which says that every man will be given according to his belief. May it be fulfilled, then! You will sink into nonbeing, and I shall be delighted to drink from the vessel into which you are transformed—to drink for being!

(p. 287)

[Vy vsegda byli goryachim propovednikom toi teorii, chto, po otrezanii golovy, zhizn' v cheloveke prekrashchaetsya, on prevrashchaetsya v zolu i ukhodit v nebytie. Mne priyatno soobshchit' vam, v prisutstvii moikh gostei, khotya oni i sluzhat dokazatel'stvom sovsem drugoi teorii, o tom, chto vasha teoriyi i solidna i ostroumna. Vprochem, vse teorii stoyat odna drugoi. Est' sredi nikh i takaya, soglasno kotoroi kazhdomu budet dano po ego vere. Da sbudetsya zhe eto! Vy ukhodite v nebytie, a mne radostno budet iz chashi, v kotoruyu vy prevrashchaetes', vypit' za bitie!]

(pp. 345-46)

Despite the fact that he has been interested, even intrigued by Woland, Berlioz does not listen with any more than abstract, intellectual curiosity. Therefore, he loses the possibility of salvation, and his life ends in keeping with his beliefs drawn to their logical extremes. Since he believes in nothing beyond his own logic, he is hurled into the void.

Bulgakov does not depict Yeshua as God; he places him, rather, in the long line of artists who reactualize the God-like archetype. Yeshua's highest vision is of a new world, a New Jerusalem, where all would be light and goodness. In his vision all men are good, and there is no bitterness or condemnation. And although he does not have the power to change the world, he holds fast to his vision, for it expresses his inner self. Thus, he tells Pilate: “It is easy and pleasant to speak the truth” (p. 29) “Pravdu govorit' legko i Priyatno” (p. 40). His vision dictates the form of his life and he lives it to the bitter end. This is not to say that he does not have human weaknesses. In deed, he is physically vulnerable, fearful, and most painfully human in the way he dies. But he does not compromise his vision of the truth even though to do so could save his life. And therefore, after his death, it is granted to him to become an eternal spirit of good, able to judge others and intercede on their behalf, but unable to carry out his judgments. He cannot give the master peace; he can only judge that he deserves it. He cannot save Margarita, but can only request that Satan grant this favor. Yeshua's eternal role is one of passive spirituality, and he remains a static abstract of goodness.

The master too is rewarded with his highest vision, for he has earned peace in a paradise precisely suited to his dreams: a pastoral setting where the cycles of nature proceed calmly and undisturbed; intellectual companionship, freedom from physical want, and the eternal companionship of his beloved Margarita. Like Yeshua's, the master's truth is one not acceptable to his society. It is a truth upsetting to the crowds, one which questions established authority, institutions of power and government, and conventional standards. The master sees his novel as a higher expression of his life. He even uses Pilate's words to express his own feelings when he meets Woland: “Even at night, in the moonlight, I have no rest … Why did they trouble me? Oh, gods, gods. …” (p. 300) [“I nochyu pri lune mne net pokoe … Zachem potrevozhili menya? O bogi, bogi …”] (p. 364). Interestingly, in describing his past life to Ivan, the master says he had once been a historian (p. 138). This is also how Woland characterizes himself to Berlioz (p. 16) and this is also the profession taken up by Ivan at the end of the Novel. As a man, the master is weak and broken, like Yeshua, but his vision is never compromised. Although he too is fearful, he never demeans his conscience or his honor, and like Yeshua, the visionary in him will always seem uninterested in saving himself through compromise, because his vision is clear and simple.⁷ If his presentation of that vision is perfect in form, that is what matters. He cannot construct an inferior kind of art of prophecy for weaker minds or for popular success, because he creates out of an inner need. And so even after he has been broken physically, he, like Yeshua, continues to speak the truth.

The master's highest vision is of a peaceful world where he can live in harmony with the cycles of nature. The nearest approximation to his ideal of perfection was achieved in his life with Margarita in their basement apartment. The view from the basement window showed him trees, people's feet, the changing seasons; and as long as he had the creature comforts and time to write, he had been happy. This pastoral peace, a new and higher Eden in a natural setting with love, music, and intellectual company included, is granted the master for eternity. The earthly vision of such a paradise was, naturally, achieved at the time the master was writing his novel. “Ah, what a golden age it was!” the Master tells Ivan (p. 155) [“Ach, eto byl zolotoi vek!”] (p. 175).

Bulgakov makes obvious use of the disciple archetype for the purpose of clarifying the relationship between the artist figure and other characters in the novel. Each artist figure in The Master and Margarita has a companion who is allowed to accompany him into eternity. As Woland says: “… those who love must share the fate of those they love” (p. 386) [Nu chto zhe, tot, kto lyubit, dolzhen razdelyat' uchast' togo, kogo on lyubit] (p. 479). In the case of Yeshua it is Matthu Levi who accompanies him; Margarita remains with the master; and Pilate's faithful dog, Banga, accompanies him into eternity. In each case the companion is loved by the artist, but, more importantly, loves the artist with his or her whole being.⁸ The point becomes clearer as we examine each “couple” in more detail.

Let us first examine the relationship between Matthu Levi and Yeshua. There is no doubt that Matthu loves Yeshua unquestioningly. He believes in him and his vision of a new and better world to come. He abandons his former life as a tax collector and becomes his constant follower. As Yeshua himself describes the events to Pilate: “After listening to me, he began to soften … And, finally, he threw his money away on the road and said that he would come wandering with me …” (p. 22) [“odnako, poslushav menya, on stal smyagchat'sya, … nakonets brosil den'gi na dorogu i skazal, chto poident so mnoyu puteshestvovat' …”] (p. 32). Does Yeshua love Matthu Levi? Yes, in the sense that he loves all men and believes them to be capable of good. But his is not so passionate a devotion at Matthu's love for him. Matthu Levi's greatest desire is to lessen Yeshua's suffering.

When the condemned men were taken to the mountain, Matthu Levi ran alongside the chain trying somehow imperceptibly to give a sign to Yeshua that at least he, Levi, was there, with him, that he had not abandoned him on his last journey … But Yeshua, who looked ahead toward the spot where he was being taken, did not see Levi. … His one desire was that Yeshua … escape the agony in store for him.

(pp. 188-89)

[Kogda osyzhdennykh poveli na goru, Levii Matvei bezhal ryadom s tsep'yu v tolpe lyubopytnykh, starayas' kakim-nibud' obrazom nezametno dat' znam' Ieshua khotya by uzh to, chto on, Levii, zdes', s nim, chto on ne brosil ego na poslednem puti. … On khotel odnogo, chtoby Ieshua, ne sdelavshii nikomu v zhizni ni maleishego zla, izbezhal by istyazanii.]

(pp. 223-24)

But Matthu is unable to aid Yeshua, and, in his agonizing death watch, he can only suffer along with him.

Although Matthu Levi does not possess the visionary power of Yeshua, he implicitly accepts Yeshua's vision of the New Jersualem where no evil or shadow exists. Because he suffers for the one he loves, he is granted his highest aspiration for eternity—to remain as Yeshua's faithful companion in the realm of light, the New Jersualem. All of this is not to say that Matthu really understands Yeshua's vision. If he had, he would have been able to forgive Pilate; there was no sense of bitterness or condemnation in Yeshua.

Matthu's parchment, his personal interpretation of Yeshua's life, contains no more than a pale reflection of Yeshua's vision. It is an attempt to describe Yeshua as the superior being Matthu sees in him. While a true work of art expresses the essential core of the artist's being, such a twice-removed account can be only a commentary, at best. As Yeshua himself remarks, Matthu “writes things down incorrectly … Once I glanced into this parchment and was horrified … I had not said a word of what was written there” (pp. 21-22) [… nepreryvno pishet. No ya odnazhdy zaglyanul v etot pergament i uzhasnulsya. Reshitel'no nichego iz togo, chto tam zapisano, ya ne govoril.] (p. 32). However, it is Matthu's account that will later become the Gospel and be accepted as “gospel truth.” The artist, Yeshua, is concerned with the expression and revelation of truth. Matthus is motivated to glorify the artist, and so he transfers attention from Yeshua's message to his person. As Yeshua rightly predicts, “I … fear this confusion will continue for a very long time.” (p. 21) [Ya voobshche nachinayu opasat'sya, chto putanitsa eta budet prodolzhaet'sya ochen' dolgoe vremya] (pp. 31-32). Matthu Levi calls himself Yeshua's disciple, but Yeshua refers to him only as a “travelling companion.” At one point, Woland even calls him Yeshua's slave.

“What did he bid you tell me, slave?”

“I am not a slave,” Matthu Levi answered with growing rage, “I am his disciple.”

“We speak different languages, as usual,” responded Woland, “but this does not change the things we speak about.”

(p. 368)

[“Chto zhe On velel peredat' tebe, rab?”

“Ya ne rab, vse bolee ozloblyayas', otvetil Levii Matvei,

“ya Ego uchenik.”

“My govorim s toboi na raznykh yazykakh, kak vsegda,” otozbalsya Voland, “no veshchi, o kotorykh my govorim, ot etogo ne menyayutsya.”]

(p. 453)

Obviously, there is a parallel situation between Yeshua and Matthu Levi and the master and Margarita. Margarita loves the man she calls master to the exclusion of all else. She abandons her former respectable life to devote herself to the master and the furthering of his literary career. In a gesture parallel to Matthu's, Margarita throws her yellow flowers, which the master hates, into the gutter. As the master tells Ivan: “… she took the flowers from my hands and threw them down on the pavement. Then she slipped her hand, in a black gauntlet, under my arm and we walked side by side” (p. 157) [… poka ona ne vynula u menya iz ruk tsvety i brosila ikh na mostovuyu, zatem prodela svoyu ruku v chernoi perchatke s rastrubom v moyu, i my poshli ryadom] (p. 178).

Margarita also seeks to lessen the master's sufferings. She comforts him, takes care of him physically, and encourages him in his work. Like Matthu's murderous hatred for Yehuda, Margarita swears to seek revenge on Latunsky (one of the master's critics) for his betrayal of the master. But Margarita's love does not save the master from his fate. He suffers the agony of fear and the burning of his manuscript alone. And when he disappears, presumably to prison, Margarita realizes that she has been unable to spare her beloved the greatest suffering of all. “I returned faithfully the next day, as I promised, but it was too late. Yes, I returned like the miserable Matthu Levi—too late” (p. 237), [Ya vernulas' na drugoi den', chestno, kak obeshchala, no bylo uzhe pozdno. Da, ya vernulas', kak neschastny Levii Matvei, sliskhom pozdno!] (p. 277).

There is also evidence that Margarita, like Matthu, does not really understand the master's novel, although she accepts his vision without reservations.⁹ And her involvement with the novel, although intense, is not a total identification with it. Because she suffers for her beloved, she is granted the reward of sharing his eternal destiny, but there is much to suggest that she would have chosen a different fate for him. Like Matthu, she yearns for the world to recognize his great talent, and elevates the novel to a position of superiority, regarding both the master and his work as objects of worship. He, on the other hand, has no such ambitions. At the end, Satan tells her: “Margarita Nikolayevna! I am sure that you have tried to think of the best possible future for the Master. But, really, what I am offering you and what was asked by Yeshua for you is still better!” (p. 387) [Margarita Nikolaevna! Nel'zya ne poverit' v to, chto vy staralis' vydumat' dlya mastera naluchshee budushchee, no pravo, to, chto ya predlagayu vam, i to, o chem prosil Ieshua za vas zhe, eshche luchshe] (p. 481).

Margarita's ultimate sacrifice, the selling of her soul to the Devil, is, I believe, one of the most misunderstood aspects of the novel. Since the master's vision leads directly back to Satan as arch-daimon, Satan is the only one who can save the master. There is no question that Margarita's love is pure and unstinting, and that her great love and compassion bring about her ultimate salvation. Like Matthu Levi, she is granted the fulfillment of her most treasured dream, that of spending eternity with her beloved master in peace. But, in fact, it is the master's vision which assures his salvation and not Margarita's sacrifice.

Once the bargain is struck, Margarita's reactions reveal that, for the most part, her “sacrifice” is one that brings her joy and exhilaration. Her inhibitions vanish along with all earthly limitations, and she finds that she loves “nakedness and speed” (p. 374) [bystrota i nagota] (p. 463). Even more importantly, once her request has been granted and she and the master are back in their basement apartment, Margarita realizes how difficult it has become to live an ordinary life, within the normal limitations of space and time. That is why she greets Azazello so enthusiastically. “You see, you see, we're not being abandoned … Ah, how glad I am! I've never been so happy in my life!” (p. 373) [Vot vidish', vidish', nas ne ostavlyayut!. … Akh, kak ya rada! Ya nikogda ne byla tak rada v zhizni!] (pp. 461-62). In a sense, then, Margarita loves out of her own need to love, and she acts as she does not only because she wishes to save her beloved, but also because the experience of the supernatural releases deeply sensuous and even violent impulses within her.

While it is true, as has been pointed out by several critics,¹⁰ that Margarita is the more active, aggressive partner of the two, it is also true that her passionate adoration of the master is not quite reciprocal. The master's love for Margarita is of a different quality. Having cut himself off from other human beings in order to write his novel, he is grateful to her for taking care of him. He loves her, although it is not an all-consuming passion. His novel draws all of his energy and vitality, and when it is misunderstood and used as a political tool, even Margarita is unable to comfort him. The master tells Ivan he would sacrifice all he has, even his keys to the asylum, not for a reunion with Margarita, but to be able to meet with Satan! A reunion with Margarita would not satisfy his deepest need which is to receive confirmation of the rightness of his vision.

Pilate and his dog, Banga, constitute a third “couple” in the novel. The dog is the only being on earth that Pilate cares for until he meets Yeshua. Yeshua tells him: “The trouble … is that you keep to yourself too much and have lost all faith in men. After all, you must agree, a man cannot place all of his affection in a dog” (p. 24) [Beda v tom … chto ty slishkom zamknut i okonchatel'no poteryal veru v lyudei. Ved' nel'zya zhe, soglasis', pomestit' vsyu svoyu privyazannost' v sobaku] (p. 35). The Dog's love for Pilate is absolute. He is willing to protect his master at any cost and seeks to comfort him as best he can. Like Matthu and Margarita, however, he is unable to relieve his master's deepest suffering. He can only suffer along with him. Banga sees Pilate as a superior being, “the mightiest in the world, the lord over all men, thanks to whom the dog regarded his own self as a privileged being, superior and special. … Banga's actions were probably intended to console his master, to let him know that he was ready to meet misfortune with him,” (p. 325) [… samym moguchim v svete, povelitelem vsekh lyudei, blagodarya kotoromu i samogo sebya pes polagal sushchestvom privilegirovannym, vysshim i osobennym. … Veroyatno, deistviya Bangi dolzhny byli oznachat', chto on uteshaet svoego khozyaina i neschast'e gotov vstretit' vmeste s nim] (p. 392). And so Banga, too, is permitted to stay with his master through eternity.

One might ask, then, who the true disciples of Bulgakov's artists are? Who are the continuers of that imaginative, creative tradition which springs from Woland/Satan and is carried on by Yeshua and the master? I believe that the true disciple is named by the master and is not self-appointed. The true disciple recognizes the wisdom of his master's vision but also recognizes that his master is a human being, with human weaknesses. He knows that the master is a man who has freed himself to experience the sense of joy and self-mastery that arise from the very depths of his being. The true disciple feels a tremendous urge to follow the example set by his master, not to repeat what the master has already accomplished, but to accomplish it for himself. He feels compelled to seek his own personal form of the master's vision.

In the case of the master, Ivan Homeless, the former poet is named as the master's disciple [uchenik] (pp. 379/470, 402/498). No one knows the master's human limitations better than Ivan, his fellow patient in the asylum. Despite Ivan's apparent lack of learning, he has a certain unwitting affinity for the truth. His poem about Jesus Christ, although imperfect artistically and incomplete imaginatively, somehow conveys the real presence of Jesus as a live human being. Far from contradicting the master's vision of Yeshua, it seems rather a first, halting step in that direction.

When Ivan first comes to the asylum, he is still trapped in the official bureaucratic maze of Soviet, atheistic rhetoric. He believes that the “evil magician” must be caught. When Ivan tries to incorporate the events surrounding Berlioz's death into a written police report, his attempt fails. What is required is not an official document but a work of art, and this Ivan is as yet unable to produce.

Bulgakov makes it very clear that the story of Pontius Pilate, the master's novel, strikes a deeply responsive chord within Ivan. When Woland relates the first Pilate episode to Ivan and Berlioz, Ivan is deeply moved: “… perhaps it was not he [Woland] who told the tale, perhaps I simply fell asleep and dreamed it all?” (p. 44) [A mozhet byt', eto i ne on rasskazyval, a prosto ya zasnul i vse eto mne prisnilos'?] (p. 56).

Once Ivan acknowledges the deeply felt truth within his own being aroused by the experience, he is ready to assume the task the master assigns to him, that of writing a sequel to his novel. Ivan promises the master:

“I will keep my word, you know, I will write no more poetry. Something else interests me now. …”

“That's good, that's good. Write the continuation about him.”

(p. 379)

[“Ya ved' slovo svoe sderzhu, stishkov bol'she pisat' ne budu. Menya drugoe teper' interesuet. …”

“A vot eto khorosho, eto khorosho. Vy o nem prodolzhenie napishite.”]

(p. 469)

After Ivan leaves the asylum he becomes a professor of history, like the master before him, and he continues to seek after his vision. He suffers at the time of the full moon, just like Pilate, and he yearns for the truth. In his dreams, he continues the master's novel and one hopes that he, like Pilate, will eventually be freed of his sufferings. Margarita assured him that this is so: “Everything ended, and everything ends … I shall kiss you on the forehead and all will be with you as it should be …” (p. 402) [Vse konchilos' i vse konchaetsya … I ya vas potselyu v lob, i vse u vas budet tak, kak nado …] (p. 498).

While Margarita had tried to ease the master's suffering but failed, Ivan has really given the master what he needed, confirmation of his vision. As Ivan tells the master about his encounter with Woland, the master says to himself, as though in prayer, “Oh, how well I guessed it! Oh, how well I guessed it all!” (p. 151) [O kak ya ugadal! O kak ya vse ugadal!] (p. 171). Ivan is the only man to whom the master wants to bid farewell, because he is “the only man to whom he has spoken lately.” [… ya prishel poproshchaet'sya s vami, potomu chto vy byli edinstvennym chelovekom, s kotorym ya govoril v poslednee vremya] (p. 469). The master's last words to Ivan are “Farewell, my disciple” (p. 379) [Proshchai uchenik …] (p. 470).

In the case of Yeshua, it is a little more difficult to determine the true disciple. There are several good reasons to believe it is Pontius Pilate. Pilate is aware of all of Yeshua's human weaknesses and also his strengths. Yeshua's last word, as he dies is “Hegemon.” In this way, perhaps, he names Pilate as his disciple, just as the master names Ivan. Although Matthu Levi attempts to ease Yeshua's suffering, it is Pilate who really does alleviate his agony. The drink offered to him on the cross is gratefully accepted by Yeshua, and then, by direct order of Pilate, he is mercifully stabbed to death.

After Yeshua's death, Pilate reprimands Matthu for not having understood Yeshua's teaching, implying that he, Pilate, has fully understood. “I know that you consider yourself a disciple of Yeshua, but I can tell you that you did not learn anything of what he taught you. For if you had, you would surely accept something from me. … You are cruel, and he was not cruel.” (p. 342) [Ty, ya znayu, schitaesh' sebya uchenikom Ieshua, no ya tebe skazhu, chto ty ne usvoil nichego iz togo, chemu on tebya uchil. Ibo, esli b eto bylo tak, ty obyazatel'no vzyal by u menya chto-nibud'. … Ty zhestok, a tot zhestokim ne byl] (p. 415). Matthu wishes to kill Yehudah, but Pilate has already had this done, as Yeshua had predicted.

Still other parallels between Pilate and Ivan strongly suggest Pilate is the true disciple of Yeshua/Christ in the novel. Edythe Haber offers valuable insights on an important point of comparison:

This split [Ivan's schizophrenia] in the life of the secret disciple of the Master bears more than a passing resemblance to that in Pilate's, a secret disciple of Christ who is also disturbed by the full moon. (Could hemicrania and schizophrenia be related phenomena?) In the person of Ivan Homeless, Bulgakov seems to be suggesting that this Pilate-like double life is bound to appear in the Soviet artist or intellectual who tries to live both in the world of his imagination and in the atheistic and oppressive everyday world.¹¹

Pilate's cowardice is atoned for in 2,000 years of suffering. He is saved not by Margarita's compassion but because Satan and the master grant him his highest vision: the right to argue and converse with Yeshua, and the freedom to seek his own form of truth. Unlike Matthu, even then Pilate does not accept Yeshua's vision unconditionally. As Satan tells the master: “Let's not disturb them. Perhaps they will come to some agreement after all.” (p. 388) [… ne budem im meshat'. I mozhet byt', do chego-nibud' oni dogovoryatsya] (p. 481).

If we eliminate Matthu Levi and Margarita from consideration, a direct line can be established leading from Satan to Ivan Homeless, who is perhaps Bulgakov's modest voice within the novel. God, as the Original Creator, manifests himself through His creation. The active element of that creative energy is embodied by Satan, whose existence constitutes what Erickson calls the “seventh proof” of the existence of God. Yeshua's passive spirituality embodies the counterpart to Satan's active energy. By the same token, it is Pilate who understands Yeshua's true nature and devotes himself to understanding Yeshua and himself. Pilate's struggle to break out of the iron bonds of his official dogma is not entirely successful, but it is his struggle and his example that are the basis of the master's vision. Pilate is the true hero of the master's novel. Through Pilate, the master depicts the conflicts aroused within an earthly character who is awakened to spirituality. The master feels that his novel is complete only after he has freed Pilate from his suffering. The master passes his own story on to Ivan. Perhaps the sequel to the master's novel would be The Master and Margarita, the very novel we have before us, which unites all of these levels and characters into a coherent whole. On this basis, one could speculate that Bulgakov identifies himself with Ivan.

Bulgakov envisions that every year at the time of the spring full moon, the time of the Passover festival in Jerusalem, of Easter in the Christian world and of other religious festivals in religions the world over, Satan holds a ball. It is held in whatever place Satan happens to be at the time, and the queen of the ball is chosen from that city. The ball is Satan's work of art, so to speak, an imaginative ordering and concrete embodiment of the order which rules the world. It is a tribute to life eternal and includes the aspects of death and decay which are the necessary correlates of life and rebirth. The underlying significance of the religious festival and the role of Satan create an atmosphere in which the societies of Moscow and Jerusalem can be considered comparable.¹²

Just preceding the ball there is great unrest, both social and individual, and the ball itself is a time for meting out divine justice. Pilate feels a sense of unease at the festival time, the festival of the full moon. “The holidays here! … The magicians, wonder-workers, sorcerers, the hordes of pilgrims! … Fanatics, fanatics! … Take this messiah they have suddenly begun to await this year! Every moment you expect to witness most unpleasant bloodshed …” (pp. 317-18) [No eti prazdniki! … Magi, charodei, volshebniki, eti stai bogomol'tsev! … Fanatiki, fanatiki! … Chego stoil odin etot messiya, kotorogo oni vdrug stali ozhidat' v etom godu! Kashduyu minutu tol'ko i zhdesh', chto pridetsya byt' svidetelem nepriyatneishego krovoprolitiya …] (p. 384). These same sentiments are echoed both by the master and, later, by Ivan. And many of the other characters who have encounters with Satan and his cohorts continue to experience a certain malaise at the time of the full moon.

The social upheaval preceding the festival of the full moon is indicative of the nature of that festival. The spring festival, one of the most important of the religious festivals, often coincides with the beginning of the new year and marks the moment when time is begun anew, when the earth, which has appeared lifeless and barren, reawakens. It is a time of rebirth and hope. In archaic societies it was believed that at the time of the spring festival the gods and immortals either came down to earth or otherwise came into contact with mortals, and that this contact reenergized and reconsecrated the earth itself and all of the participants in the festival. The regenerative power of the immortals, in a very real sense, was believed to recreate the world and time, and each individual began his life anew as a revitalized, regenerated being. The Medieval carnival, with its passion plays and wild celebrations, can be placed in the same tradition, and has been suggested as a model for the form of Master i Margarita.¹³

It is entirely appropriate that Bulgakov's Satan should visit the earth at the time of the full moon in the Spring, and that everyone who is touched by his presence is transformed by the contact. Satan presides over the moment of metamorphosis from earthly to eternal life. The dead come back to life and the earth is renewed. The blood of the informer Von Meigel, Margarita is told, “has long run down into the earth. And on the spot where it was spilled, grapevines are growing today.” (p. 289) [… Krov's davno ushla v zemlyu. I tam, gde ona prolilas', uzhe rastut vinogradnye grozd'ya] (p. 348).

The unrest which precedes the holiday is also easily understood in terms of the religious festival of the full moon. In many archaic societies, official orgies were held at this time, in which all social and religious taboos were deliberately broken and chaos was allowed to reign. The old order was completely destroyed and dismantled to ensure a complete regeneration of society. Of course the chaos that precedes the festival in Jerusalem is a carryover of this same tradition. The chaotic events in Bulgakov's Moscow, however, are instigated by Satan and his assistants, in view of the fact that the Soviet government has abolished the festival of the full moon.

As Woland tells the bartender at the Variety Theater: “I simply wanted to see some Muscovites en masse and the easiest way to do so was in a theater. … I just sat on stage and watched the audience.” (p. 203*) [… prosto mne khotelos' providat' moskvichei v masse, a udobnee vsego eto bylo sdelat' v teatre … ya zhe lish' sidel i smotrel na moskvichei] (p. 262). And as Woland learns at the theater, people are very much as they have always been. “They're thoughtless, of course, but then they sometimes feel compassion too … in fact, they remind me very much of their predecessors …” (p. 127*) [Nu legkomyslenny … nu chto zhe … i miloserdie inogda stuchitsya v ikh serdtsa … obyknovennye lyudi … v obshchem, napominayut prezhnikh …] (p. 160).

Satan/Woland rewards and punishes individuals according to the vision by which each man lives. It has been stated that Woland has a certain “demonic morality, although he limits his function to punishing the sinful”; however, one can say that he rewards those who are deserving too, for he metes out what each has earned in a divine, orderly system of justice. Thus, Ivan Nikolayevich is not “punished by insanity for his bad and insincere verses”; rather, he is considered insane by a society which insists on temporal duration and historical events as its only measure of truth. Berlioz is not “an innocent victim of Satan's mischief”;¹⁴ tempted by the Devil to at least consider the possibility that the supernatural exists, he is lost simply because he believes in nothing beyond his own logic. It has also been suggested that Satan comes down to earth searching for one honest man, as God did in Sodom and Gomorrah.¹⁵ In that case, one honest man could have saved the entire city. Here, however, all honest men are saved, as well as those who love them, while the city is lost in the mists of time.

Since Bulgakov's Satan exists in a dimension which transcends space and time, there is really only one ball but it has various outward manifestations in different societies. One can postulate that it is Yehudah, the informer, who is killed at the Jerusalem ball, while the Baron Von Meigel, another informer, is the sacrificial victim at the Moscow ball. The visions of both the master and Yeshua are in contradiction to the established authority which maintains that temporal history is the only history and that man cannot transcend his moment in time. Thus, Yeshua's statements not only undermine the established authority by proclaiming the existence of a transcendent, powerful God, but they also undercut the idea, which Pilate embodies, that historical events and individual achievements are what matter and not the cyclic return to the gods which periodically regenerate society and the individual. In effect, however, Pilate's attempt to silence Yeshua by destroying him only enables him to reenact the death-rebirth ritual that is at the very heart of the spring festival.¹⁶

Both Pilate and Ivan, whom I have identified as the true disciples of their respective masters, are doomed to suffer at the time of the full moon. Each of them has been made aware of the artist's vision of an ahistorical, transcendent reality which contradicts what they have always accepted as true. Although neither is wholly convinced that he has been wrong, the seed of doubt has been planted. That is why Pilate suffers from Yeshua's death. He senses that he has destroyed the one person who might have opened his mind to a new way of being-in-the-world. This is also why Ivan, although he is restored to society by Stravinsky, continues to suffer at the time of the full moon and dreams the sequel to the master's novel. Bulgakov implies that both Pilate and Ivan will be able someday to abandon completely their old identities.

Bulgakov recognizes that men follow the path of least resistance, denying their own imaginative capabilities in favor of institutionalized ideologies, organized religion, and conventional morality. The artist, who reveals the potentials to which men can aspire, is often denied, tormented, or even killed by his fellow men. The only art that Bulgakov's society allows to flourish is a docile, bureaucratized form of art. It must reinforce the institutionalized morality with which that society soothes its conscience. Such so-called “art” is represented by the superficial and uninviting Massolit organization, the official state writers' agency, which Elizabeth Stenbock Fermor characterizes as “a materialistic paradise that equals hell.”¹⁷ Ironically, by contrast, the “real hell” of Satan's realm is sensuous, beautiful, and compelling.

In perhaps his most brilliant comic sketches, Bulgakov depicts certain events at Massolit and the Soviet mania for organization. It is carried to extremes in the episodes of the involuntary choir participation and the bodiless suit of clothes which goes on making decisions which are never questioned. The satirical point is driven home when Satan's cohorts, Koroviev and Behemoth, attempt to enter Massolit headquarters without identity cards: “… in order to convince yourself that Dostoevsky is a writer, must you ask to see his identification card? Why, take any five pages from any of his novels and you will see without any cards that you are dealing with a writer” (pp. 361-62) [Tak vot, chtoby ubedit'sya v tom, chto Dostoevskii-pisatel', neuzhli zhe nuzhno sprashivat' u nego udostoverenie? Da voz'mite vy lyubykh pyat' stranits iz lyubogo ego romana i bez vsyakogo udostovereniya vy ubedites' chto imeete delo s pisatelem] (p. 444). No wonder the master refuses to call himself a writer when asked his profession. If this is considered sanity by Soviet society's standards, no wonder each character with even a glimpse into the realm of the supernatural is placed in Stravinsky's clinic for the insane. Bulgakov could not have stated more clearly that poetic madness is the sanity of genius, and that the sanity of genius is madness to the common mind.

It must be remembered that Bulgakov's artist creates out of an inner necessity and has no ulterior motives, neither revolution nor fame. His greatest joy is in the act of creating. The master refers to the time of creation as a “golden age,” and it is pleasant for Yeshua to speak the truth. The master says: “I came out with the novel in my hands and that was the end of my life” (p. 160) [“I ya vyshel v zhizn', derzha ego v rukakh, i togda moya zhizn' konchilas' …] (p. 181). Those in power, who sense their own self-deception in the artist's work condemn it. They also sense that if the masses of people should open their minds to such revelations, it would mean their downfall from power. It is this that Pilate sees in Yeshua's prophecies for the future. the downfall of the present corrupt state and the rise of a new state predicated on truth and love. Yeshua regards Caesar as a good man who has abused and denied the best part of himself. He sees established religion and social institutions as diminished, inferior forms of a higher order which are used to control the masses rather than free them. In order to preserve the official order it is necessary to deny the very existence of this higher order. For if a transcendent model exists, then Pilate and Caesar are guilty not only of crimes against men, but of crimes against the gods as well.

Bulgakov does not indicate to what extent Yeshua himself is aware of these implications. Others extract false intentions from his statements. And it is in the name of these so-called intentions that the artist is officially persecuted. The underlying provocative questions raised by the artist about the apotheosis of the individual and the existence of a higher order of being are generally not even acknowledged. But it is those aspects which pique Pilate's imaginative and intellectual curiosity and eventually bring about his salvation.

What is left of the example of Yeshua's life is Matthu Levi's parchment, which becomes accepted as the “gospel truth.” In it, Matthu glorifies Yeshua, makes him out to be the superior being that Matthu sees in him. Yeshua himself scorns this writing and fears its consequences for himself and others, for if Yeshua is made to seem larger than life and beyond human weakness in the eyes of the people, they can no longer seek to reach the same level of expression that he did. They will glorify and worship him instead of seeking the truth that lies within them. This, of course, is exactly what happened.

The master's novel, on the other hand, recreates Yeshua and Pilate as they were, strong and weak, wise and foolish. The master refuses to call Yeshua Christ and only uses his earthly human name; and thus by stressing Yeshua's humanity, the master demonstrates that each man's salvation lies within himself. Even Pilate can save himself by opening his mind to his higher potentiality.

The critical articles that condemn the master's novel refer to “Pilatism” and accuse the master of confirming that Jesus is God. This is the very opposite of the master's intent. But the harshest criticism is made of the novel's underlying threat to each person's self-righteous complacency:

In literally every line of those articles one could detect a sense of falsity, of unease, in spite of their confident and threatening tone. I couldn't help feeling-and the conviction grew stronger the more I read—that the people writing these articles were not saying what they had really wanted to say and that this was the cause of their fury.

(pp. 144-45)

[Chto-to na redkost' fal'shivoe i neuverennoe chuvstvovalos' bukval'no v kashdoi strochke etikh statei, nesmotrya na ikh groznyi i uverennyi ton. Mne vse kazalos',—i ya ne mog ot etogo otdelat'sya,—chto avtory etikh statei govoryat ne to, chto oni khotyat skazat', i chto ikh yarost' vyzyvaetsya imenno etim.]

(p. 184)

So the master, like Yeshua, is persecuted for his imputed intentions.

Ivan's poem about Jesus, which is discussed by Ivan and Berlioz at the beginning of the novel, comes very close to the truth, for Jesus is presented as a real human being. Why then is the poem not considered a true work of art? First of all, it is commissioned by Massolit to prove the very opposite, that Jesus never existed. Secondly, although Ivan intuitively grasps the reality of Jesus, he is not motivated by a conscious effort to recreate him. “It is difficult to say precisely what had tripped up Ivan Nikolayevich—his imaginative powers or complete unfamiliarity with the subject. But his Jesus turned out, well … altogether alive—the Jesus who had existed once upon a time, although invested, it is true, with a full range of negative characteristics.” (p. 5) [Trudno skazat', chto imenno podvelo Ivana Nikolaevicha—izobrazitel'naya li sila ego talanta ili polnoe neznakomstvo s voprosom, po kotoromu on pisal, no Iisus u nego poluchilsya, nu, sovershenno zhivoi, nekogda sushchestvovavskii Iisus, tol'ko, pravda, snabzhenny vsemi otritsatel'nymi chertami Iisus] (p. 13). Although Ivan's poem is not accepted by Massolit because it fails to fulfill the assignment, one would hardly call his poem a dedicated attempt to express his highest vision either. He writes for a living, and never realizes his own divine spark in the act of writing. His work of art is yet to come.

The Master and Margarita presents us with a vision within a vision; it is a novel which looks beyond the idiosyncracies of time and place to the primal forces which shape and order the world. It reveals that all true art is concerned with these name problems. “Manuscripts don't burn;” they are indissolubly linked to one another and exist forever in an unbroken chain of mythic paradigms which must be rediscovered by each society and given a form meaningful to that society. In this masterpiece Bulgakov has provided such a revelation for his society and for us.

Notes

1. Ellendea Proffer, “Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita, Genre and Motif,” Canadian Slavic Studies, III, No. 4 (1969), 615-28.

2. Lesley Milne, “The Master and Margarita: A Comedy of Victory,” Birmingham Slavonic Monographs, 3 (Birmingham: Univ. of Birmingham Press, 1977).

3. M. A. Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita, trans. M. Ginsburg (New York: Grove, 1967), pp. 153-68). Wherever possible the page references will refer to this text. Passages which were omitted from the Ginsburg translation because they were not available at the time are taken from the translation by M. Glenny (New York: NAL, 1967) and will be followed by an asterisk. The Russian quotes are from M. Bulgakov, Master i Margarita (Frankfurt/Main: Possev-Verlag, 1969).

4. Viktor Lakshin, “M. Bulgakov's Novel The Master and Margarita,” Soviet Studies in Literature, 5, No. 1 (1969). Translated from Novy Mir, No. 6 (1968).

5. Erickson has argued that Satan, who is a parodic reflection of God, embodies the seventh proof of God's existence. Edward E. Erickson, Jr., “The Satanic Incarnation: Parody in Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita,” Russian Review, 33 (1974), 20-36.

6. Lakshin, p. 46.

7. Edythe C. Haber, “The Mythic Structure of Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita,” Russian Review, 34 (1975), 382-409. Haber, p. 390, has noted other similarities between Yeshua and the master as well, “… loyalty to his convictions, an inability to conceal the truth despite a secret timidity and fear, and an internal independence that does so much harm to his personal well-being.”

8. In her excellent article, Haber, p. 401, also links Margarita, Matthu Levi, and Banga on the basis of their fearless love.

9. Joan Delaney, “The Master and Margarita: The Reach Exceeds the Grasp,” Slavic Review, 31 (1972) 89-100. Delaney suggests that “Margarita becomes the embodiment of art, the master's novel incarnate.” She cites as proof the fact that the novel is destroyed at their separation and returned with their reunion (p. 91) and that at one point Margarita calls the novel her “life.”

10. There are two articles in which the active role of Margarita is stressed: Proffer, op. cit., and Elizabeth Klosty Beaujour, “The Uses of Witches in Fedin and Bulgakov,” Slavic Review, 33 (1974), 695-707.

11. Haber, pp. 407-08.

12. For a detailed discussion of the sun and moon imagery see Proffer, pp. 621-28, and for the opposite interpretation see Haber, pp. 403-06, in which the imagery of the moon is seen to link Yeshua and Satan. The time sequences in Moscow and Jerusalem have been carefully correlated by Elisabeth Stenbock Fermor in her article, “Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita and Goethe's Faust,” Slavic and East European Journal, 13 (1969), 309-25. Most of the parallels drawn by Stenbock Fermor between the master and Faust and Woland and Mephistopheles are effectively overturned by Haber.

13. Lesley Milne, op. cit.

14. Lakshin, p. 25.

15. Delaney, p. 95.

16. Erickson, p. 24, touches on this same point with regard to Woland. “One of Satan's principal functions … is to assert the reality of the supernatural … once that is granted—in whatever form, however fragmentary or badly distorted—the rest of the Orthodox view will follow with comparative ease.”

17. Stenbock Fermor, p. 316, writes of the Massolit organization: “In former days [writers] were reputed for free and independent thinking. … Now they had become hired employees of an agency created by the new administration and were rewarded or punished, allowed to live in luxury or doomed to starvation or concentration camps according to special standards. Their well-being totally depended upon their docility and capacity to execute the orders of their superiors.”