Superb Owl

Exegesis: The Master and Margarita

Feat. The Rolling Stones' Sympathy for the Devil

In Exegesis posts, I project my own ideas onto popular art—mainly fiction, music, and film—with little regard for the artist’s intentions. Past subjects include Tarkovsky’s “Stalker” and Funkadelic’s “Maggot Brain”. Future subjects will include Octavia Butler’s Earthseed Series, the music of Dan Deacon, and TV’s Adventure Time.

Exegesis posts are a thank you for paid subscribers. All other Superb Owl content is free thanks to your support.

Most people will tell you that Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita is a scathing critique of Soviet culture. But they’re only half right.

In truth, the book is much deeper, more general, more heretical. It’s a broad defense of chaos, mischief, and violence. Bulgakov wants us to understand that—in the right context—bad things can become good.

The Master and Margarita is an apologia for the Devil.

Outline

• The Plot

• Historical Context

• Inversion

• Complication

• Redemption

• Reflection

The Plot

“But, the Devil isn’t real!” I hear you protest. And that’s precisely how the novel begins—with two prominent Soviet literary figures discussing Jesus and the Devil as nonsensical fictional characters. As they tout their state-approved atheism, fervently trying to out-virtue-signal one another, Satan encroaches on their conversation.

Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name!
But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game.

—The Rolling Stones, Sympathy for the Devil (inspired by The Master and Margarita)

The Master and Margarita is deeply absurdist. Magical realism drives much of the book’s visceral appeal, but also serves as a sleight-of-hand distraction from the its subversiveness—a potentially life-saving defense for a writer in Soviet Russia.

I’d like to focus on the trick itself, the subversion, so I’ll spare you most of the fantastical details. I’ll spare you the sexy vampire, the fanged hitman, and the talking cat. I’ll spare you the same cat swinging from a chandelier while firing a machine gun. I’ll spare you streets full of naked women and an empty suit clacking away at a typewriter. I’ll spare you Satan’s ball, the parade of condemned souls, and the cognac-filled swimming pool.

But there are three main storylines we need to contend with. Unlike Bulgakov, I’ll relate them in chronological order.

First, we have a creative take on the story of Pontius Pilate, who has been tasked with executing Ha Nozri (a stand-in for Jesus). Pilate is impressed by the prophet and wants to befriend him, but for political reasons1 is forced to carry out the execution. Pilate is racked with guilt, and secretly orders the assassination of Judas.

Nearly two thousand years later, Pilate’s story is recorded by a writer who goes by “the master” (a stand-in for the author, Bulgakov). Despite his novel’s obvious merit, and despite the undying support of his lover, Margarita, the master is preempted by critics and literary enemies, who torch his book. The master winds up in a mental asylum.

And shortly thereafter, Satan arrives in post-war Moscow, introducing himself as “Woland”. He and his retinue gleefully spread chaos throughout the city, finding increasingly absurd and creative ways to punish the Russian citizenry—with a primary focus on the self-serving literary elite that have been harassing the master.

Eventually, all three threads intertwine. Margarita befriends Satan’s retinue, becomes a witch, and (after a brief detour to unleash her powers on the master’s critics) enlists her new friends to liberate the master. The lot of them fly into the sky, where they witness Pilate’s fate.

Historical Context

Every one of us is a product of our culture. Some of us live in open, liberal societies; others in strict theocracies. Some of us are surrounded by intellectuals, and so value intellect; others are surrounded by believers, and value faith. A strange few have even grown up feral, adopting the attitudes and behaviors of wild wolves or monkeys.

Even so, you’d be one up on Bulgakov, because Bulgakov lived in Stalinist Russia.