ANACHARSIS THE FORERUNNER

Anacharsis gets this entry as an alternate member of the hepta club, but he is, of course, a very large figure in his own right. He is extremely well known in Russia, although the sources of that knowledge are sometimes not very trustworthy. As a curious detail which adds much seriousness to the subject of Anacharsis in Russia,--- among the religious paintings covering the great Novospassky Monastery in Moscow, are the iconic images of the “blessed precursors of Christianity,” which include the mythical Orpheus, Homer, Solon, Anacharsis, Plato, Aristotle, Plutarch, and Claudius Ptolemaeus. The paintings were made in the seventeenth century by Fedor Zubov, and they were properly consecrated by the Russian Orthodox Church.

(It is important to stress that Russia thus honored Anacharsis a century and a half before the appearance, in 1788, of Jean Jacques Barthelemy’s historical novel The Travels of Anacharsis the Younger in Greece, an imaginary travel journal “kept” by the fictional Anacharsis. One must not dismiss it as lightweight fiction, because Barthelemy was a highly respected classical scholar and Jesuit, and his book caused an explosion of philhellenism in France, and was translated into different languages, including Russian, all across Europe, and in the newly-established United States of America, and made Anacharsis a household name everywhere, although it can be assumed that most readers saw Anacharsis himself as a borderline case between history and fiction, and only in Russia had he reached a hagiographic, iconic status.)

There is a reason why Anacharsis has been thus honored in Russia. His experience exhibits certain parallels with Russia’s historical experience. Anacharsis was a Scythian who was deeply impressed and influenced by Greece, and adopted Greek beliefs and customs in his life. Likewise, the Russians had been heathens who had been, in their time, profoundly influenced by Greece, to the point of adopting Greek Christian religion and Greek literacy. But now let us follow the story of Anacharsis in its general brief outline.

He was the son of a Scythian warlord, who left his country in search of wisdom, and this search eventually led him to Athens, where he arrived circa 589 BC, at the time when Solon the lawmaker was active there.

There is a story told about their first meeting. Anacharsis came to Solon’s house and greeted him with these words: “I have traveled here from afar to make you my friend.” To which Solon replied, “Isn’t it better to make friends at home?”---“Then it is necessary for you being at home to make friends with me!” Anacharsis said, at which point Solon laughed, and they became friends.

Anacharsis quickly endeared himself to Solon and to other Athenians by his unusual way of thinking and his uncommon manner of speech. I suspect that, in the opinion of the Greeks, uncommon intelligence was a sign of being Greek. Anacharsis was definitely uncommonly intelligent, and he was recognized as a philosopher and a man of great wisdom. They say that he was the first foreigner in history to be granted the privileges of Athenian citizenship. Although, I repeat, he was not Greek by birth, he became known, at least in some very reputable accounts, as one of the Seven Sages of Greece. Even the distinct foreign unusualness of his speech would be counted to his advantage, and became proverbially known as Scythian discourse.

He is known as the author of several important works, but none of them are extant. Among these books was one comparing the laws of the Greeks with the laws of his native Scythia, which contained extremely sharp comments on the laws, customs and institutions of the Greeks, which comments coming from an outsider’s perspective were both surprising and instructive to the Athenians. He purportedly compared laws as such to spiders’ webs, capable of catching small insects, but allowing wasps and hornets to escape. There was another book on the art of war, but except for its subject, nothing is known about it. Then, of course, there were the letters of Anacharsis. These letters ascribed to him (all ten of them) are probably fakes, even though the great Cicero quotes one of them as a real thing.

He was also known as a great inventor. Strabo credits him with the invention of the anchor; in other reports he is named as the inventor of the potter’s wheel.

He was known for the great simplicity of his way of living, although such simplicity had to be the trademark of many philosophers. (But by no means of all of them, as many others preferred the opposite extreme, and were noted for the extravagance of their clothes and ways.) He called for a measured moderation in everything, and the Athenians would later inscribe on all his statues what was apparently believed to be his most important motto: Restrain your tongues, your appetites, your passions.

That apocryphal letter quoted by Cicero serves as an embodiment of Anacharsis’ signature virtue:

“Greetings from Anacharsis to Hanno: My clothing is a Scythian cloak, my shoes are the hard soles of my feet, my bed is the earth, my food is only seasoned by hunger, and I eat nothing but milk and cheese and meat. Come and visit me, and you will find me at peace. You may want to give me something, but give it rather to your fellow citizens, or let the immortal gods have it.”

His death was particularly interesting and noteworthy, and was described by Herodotus as follows:

The Scythians have an extreme hatred of all foreign customs, particularly of those in use among the Greeks, as the history of Anacharsis proves. Having traveled over a great portion of the world, displaying wherever he went many proofs of wisdom, as he sailed through the Hellespont on his return to Scythia, he touched at Kyzicos. There he found the people celebrating with much pomp and magnificence a festival to the Mother of the Gods, and was himself induced to vow to the Mother that if he got back safe and sound to his home, he would give her a night festival, and sacrifice to her with the same rites as he saw the men do in Kyzicos. So, when he returned to Scythia, he betook himself to the district called the Woodland, which lies opposite the course of Achilles, and is covered with trees of all manner of different kinds, and there went through all the sacred rites in honor of the goddess, with a kettledrum and images tied to him. While thus employed, he was seen by one of the Scythians, who went and told king Saulios what he had seen. Then the king Saulios came in person, and when he perceived what Anacharsis was about, he shot him with an arrow, and killed him. To this day, if you ask the Scythians about Anacharsis, they will pretend ignorance of him because of his Greek travels and adoption of the customs of foreigners. I learned however from Timnes, the steward of Ariapithes, that Anacharsis was paternal uncle to the Scythian king Idanthyrsos, being the son of Gnuros, son of Lycos and grandson of Spargapithes. If Anacharsis were really of this house, it must have been by his own brother that he was slain, for Idanthyrsos was the son of that Saulios who put Anacharsis to death.

Ironically, even this martyrdom on account of his espousing the religion of the Greeks, yet further validates Anacharsis’ hallowed status in the meta-hagiography of the nation which too has received her religion from the Greeks, allowing Anacharsis to occupy, surprisingly, a very special place in the Russian soul.

THE DARKEST SAGE

No one before has called Periander the tyrant of Corinth “the Darkest Sage.” The phrase belongs to me, and it reflects my impression of him as a person, as someone straight out of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus. As such he does not seem right for this PreSocratica section but being called one of the Seven Sages of Greece at least by some competent sources, we cannot deny him a separate entry in this series.

Webster’s Biographical Dictionary gives Periander a fairly benign entry: “Greek statesman, son of Cypselus; tyrant of Corinth (625-585 BC); promoted Corinthian commerce; conquered Epidaurus; annexed Corcyra (Corfu); patron of men of letters. One of the Seven Wise Men of Greece.” Herodotus in Histories gives him a lot of prominence treating him as a major historical character yet still portraying him essentially as an evil man. Our old friend Diogenes Laertius eagerly jumps on the bandwagon with more macabre detail, and here we have, shaping up, a much tainted life (even if most of these accounts are untrue) of one of the stalwartest pillars of ancient wisdom, a member of the admirable hepta club, yet leaving much to be admired.

Here is a brief outline of Periander’s life, gleaned mostly from Herodotus, but also from other sources.---

His father Cypselus (Kypselos) was the tyrant of Corinth before his son Periander took over. He was a hard man, just like his son, but nobody elected him to the hepta, so nobody ought to judge him by that standard. He ruled over Corinth for a long thirty years, but his clever son outruled him by an extra decade.

Periander was married to Melissa, daughter of the tyrant Procles of Epidaurus. They had two sons, but one day, in a fit of violent temper, Periander killed his wife, and channeling his violence into necrophilia, raped her dead body. His dead wife then appeared to him in a dream, complaining of the naked state of her body, after which Periander ordered all Corinthian women into the temple of Hera, wearing their best attires, and there they were forcibly stripped naked, to provide his dead wife and victim with all those clothes.

Herodotus says that Periander’s son Lycophron found out about his mother’s murder from his grandfather Procles, and reacting badly to this news, was subsequently banished by Periander from Corinth to Corcyra. Meantime, the vengeful Periander attacked and conquered Epidaurus, taking Procles prisoner and probably torturing him to death. Lycophron was killed by the citizens of Corcyra, for which offense Periander out of revenge rounded up the sons of the chief men of Corcyra, and caused them to be castrated, and then made eunuchs in Lydia.

Periander died a lonely and miserable man, surrounded by mercenary foreign guard. His nephew and chosen successor was promptly overthrown just a few days after the tyrant’s death, in a popular uprising.

…A terrible story of a terrible man, and yet he was one of the hepta! Some of his mandatory aphoristic says have been preserved, and here they are, although there is a colossal disconnect between Periander’s alleged preaching and practice.---

Do nothing for money: let greed care about greed. (On the one hand, this is very noble, but on the other, he who wields real power does not need money at all, as long as he takes, rather than buys what he wants.)

He who wishes to rule in peace must surround himself with popular love, not lances. (Naïve and disingenuous! Even if 99% of the people love you, there will always be at least 1% who want to do you in. So, just in case, have all the love you can get, but keep the lances ready.)

When asked why he chose to remain a tyrant, he replied: “Both abdication and overthrow are dangerous in equal measure.” (A reasonable rationale for the status quo. It was definitely Emperor Nicholas II’s abdication that unleashed a catastrophic time of troubles on Russia in 1917. In that sense, an abdication is worse than an overthrow, which immediately fills the vacuum of power with the new power at the top.)

Tranquility is beautiful, rashness is dangerous, greed is contemptible. (Yes and yes and yes, well, so what?)

Popular power is stronger than tyranny. (Very naïve, as popular power hands itself over to tyranny.)

Pleasure is mortal, honor is immortal. (Very traditionally moralistic, but perhaps the early date of this adage is the key to its value.)

Be moderate in happiness and wise in misfortune. (Rather traditional, but not very sharp.)

Be steadfast toward your friends even hit by misfortune. (Nobility of spirit is always welcome!)

Beware of conspiracies. Reveal no secrets. (Yes, very Stalinesque!)

Punish not only the crime but also the intent to commit crime. (Straight from the textbook on criminal law!)

The most important thing in life is its end. (Respect the end?!)

Seeing that some of these dicta repeat those of other sages, it is rather difficult to decide which of them are properly Periander’s. But whichever of them are or are not, it is still mind-boggling how a bloody thug and a venerable sage could possibly coinhabit the same body, known to history as Periander of Corinth!

RESPECT THE END!

I am having some fun with this entry’s title, which is my unorthodox translation of the familiar Latin phrase Finem Respice. Commonly translated as Consider the end or Look to the end, I find these usual translations inelegant at the least, and to convey the spirit of the phrase, I use the word respect, which is etymologically derived from respicere, the verb used in the Latin phrase. The new meaning, in my translation, corresponds best to the saying in Latin, not to mention the obvious fact that it possesses a superior literary elegance.

Why have I chosen this phrase in the first place? This is not an original Latin dictum, but a translation from Greek, with the original belonging to our next member of the hoi hepta sophoi club, Chilon of Sparta.

There are two references to Chilon in the Histories of Herodotus, both depicting him as a very wise man. In one of them, having interpreted a certain omen, he is advising a certain Hippocrates (no, not the Hippocrates!) not to have children, and should he have a son after all, to disown him in a hurry. Hippocrates naturally dismisses his advice and eventually gives birth to Pisistratus, the future tyrant of Athens, of rather controversial memory. The other reference is similarly somber: it is a certain prophesy about the island of Kythera, to play such a negative role for the future of Sparta that he wishes the island had sunk to the bottom of the sea.

Having already presented Chilon’s signature phrase Respect the end (which becomes self-explanatory, once we substitute outcome for the end) here are a few more of his didactic aphorisms for the reader to enjoy:

Honor old age. (This is a virtually universal adage. Was he the first to have it attributed to him?)

Do not speak evil of the dead. (Was de mortuis aut bene aut nihil adapted from Chilon’s Greek, or perhaps, were they both products of spontaneous generation?)

Restrain anger. (Good psychiatry, on occasion, but definitely relative to the circumstances.)

Obey the laws. (Is this morality of the Kantian categorical imperative, or prudence in an age of capable law enforcement?)

Prefer punishment to disgraceful gain; for the one is painful but once, but the other, for your whole life. (The moralist stands up and delivers…)

Do not laugh at a person in misfortune. (A good lesson in elementary human decency.)

Do not let your tongue outrun your sense, especially at a party. (Most useful advice, as we know that loose lips sink one’s own lifeboat.)

When you speak, do not gesticulate, for it is a sign of madness. (Does Dr. James Tyler Kent say it too?)

Do not make threats, leave this to women. (The most masculine advice ever given!)

Do not dislike divination. (Why not?)

Do not desire what is impossible. (Do not dream the impossible dream, ye who enter here!)

Do not make too much haste on your road. (Or, as the English rhymers used to rhyme, “haste makes waste.”)

If you are strong, be also merciful, so that your neighbors may respect you, rather than fear you. (Or, in other words, if you are really strong, don’t be a bully!)

Learn how to regulate your own house well. (This is too prosaic, for my aesthetic taste!)

Diogenes Laertius tells how he died a happy man, and, in this case, I see no reason to doubt his story: se non e vero, e ben trovato! Already a very old man, he was a spectator at the Olympic Games in which his son or grandson participated. Seeing him win the laurels, Chilon departed this world on the wings of happiness.

ALTERNATE WISDOM

Of the nine candidates for the hoi hepta sophoi club membership, Myson Of Chenae is the least established, and the most deserving of the title alternate member. The only one absent from the Webster’s Biographical Dictionary, he is a no-show in Herodotus’ Histories, and the venerable (this is an irony!) Diogenes Laertius seems to be the only one we can… unreliably draw from, although the statement that he was, indeed, one of the Seven is also attributed to Socrates by Plato in the Dialogue Protagoras. Plutarch mentions Myson in his Lives in passim, but does not include him in his own list of the Seven Sages.

Having said that, the only reason why I still have a separate entry on Myson of Chenae here, is that at least some respectable sources name him among the seven sages, and writing separate entries on each member or alternate member of that honorable club has become a solid matter of principle for me in this PreSocratica section. And thus, Myson’s “alternate wisdom” shall not find itself homeless.

There is a nifty story of Anacharsis during his travels coming to the Oracle of Delphi for a consultation and receiving the following statement from the Oracle:

Myson of Chenae in Oeta; this is he

Who for wise-heartedness surpasses thee.

In other words, the oracle informs Anacharsis that Myson is the wiser of them two. The only problem with this is that this anecdote is told by Diogenes Laertius, in his spurious biography of Myson. Needless to say, nobody else of the ancients seems to be aware of this story.

Geographically speaking, Chenae was a small place either in Laconia or on the island of Crete (the sources differ), and Myson was a farmer who lived until the age of ninety-seven. As for the telltale signs of his hoi hepta sophoi membership: wise aphoristic sayings, I was unable to find any from the sources which I have had access to, so far.

But so what? I am confidently accepting Myson’s alternate credentials on the strength of Plato’s authority.

A COLOSSUS FROM RHODES

The title of this entry is quite ironic. There is not much known about our next sage from the hepta, and most of it cannot be trusted. However, several things are known, and for their sake we cannot omit this man from our consideration.

Cleobulus was a native of the city of Lindus on the island of Rhodes. He is known to have been a poet, and, apart from that, which seems to be for sure, some sources call him King of Lindus, while Plutarch mentions him as a tyrant. According to Diogenes Laertius who wrote his untrustworthy biography, Cleobulus went to Egypt to study philosophy, which probably qualifies him as a philosopher. But no matter what, the fact that he was known as one of hoi hepta sophoi is indisputable. He is named as such on most source lists, and this fact alone is sufficient to infuse some serious gravitas into the irony of our title. Predictably, Webster’s Biographical Dictionary has a very short entry on him, but all quite to the point: Cleobulus. Greek sage of 6^th century BC, one of the Seven Wise Men of Greece.

Each of the hepta, as we know, must be remembered by his pearls of wisdom, and Cleobulus is no exception. Quoted by our good unreliable Diogenes, here are a few of such pearls.

Ignorance and talkativeness bear the chief sway among men. (Thou shalt not be a blabbermouth.)

Cherish not a thought. (If this means what I think it does, I disagree. I wish he said it clearer, though.)

Do not be fickle, or ungrateful. (Be good and fair, and don’t be bad and unfair.)

Be fond of hearing rather than of talking. (Thou shalt not be a blabbermouth is now a recurring leitmotif.)

Be fond of learning rather than unwilling to learn. (The virtues of learning and education.)

Seek virtue and eschew vice. (Be good and fair, and don’t be bad and unfair.)

Be superior to pleasure. (As a very early call for moderation, this saying is most commendable.)

Instruct your children. (The virtues of learning and education are now another recurring leitmotif.)

Be ready for reconciliation after quarrels. (Be peaceable.)

Avoid injustice. (Be good and fair, and don’t be bad and unfair.)

Do nothing by force. (Be good and fair, and don’t be bad and unfair.)

Moderation is the best thing.(As a very early call for moderation, this saying is most commendable, albeit highly questionable. Moderation in vice may be a reasonably good thing, but moderation in virtue is hardly a virtue in itself.)

Aside from these pearls of wisdom, Diogenes spuriously attributes to Cleobulus the poetic inscription on the tomb of Midas (whether the mythological king Midas is indeed buried there is irrelevant to our focus, but the claim to this effect has been repudiated in modern times), which is not philosophically significant, and there is no reason for us to quote it. Diogenes also says that Cleobulus lived a long life and died at, or past the age of, seventy.

WHO’S THE WISEST OF THEM ALL?

In my last entry on Pittacus, I mentioned that Herodotus in one place of his Histories reports a confusion as to the identity of one of the characters he discusses, which could be either Pittacus or Bias of Priene. This is not a single case of mistaken or confused identity, involving Bias. The earlier-told legend of the Golden (or Brazen, in this account) Tripod, awarded to the wisest of them all, changes when it is told about Bias, as he is the one who gets the trophy as the wisest, but forfeits it to the god Apollo, saying: “Apollo is the wisest!” Russell is silent about him, and Webster’s Biographical Dictionary gives him only a perfunctory mention as one of the Seven Sages of Greece.

As far as I am concerned, mistaken identities and same legends told about different people serve as generic group portraits, and reveal virtually nothing of the specific person’s individuality. It is impossible to mix up Solon, for instance, with anybody else. By the same token the strikingly simple phrase “It is a hard thing to be a good man” sets Pittacus apart from all others, at least in my estimation. In order for someone to catch our attention, he must prove his peculiar originality to us, or else, our attention will skip him altogether. So, Bias of Priene,--- prove yourself to us!

Herodotus makes another mention of Bias, where this time there is no ambiguity about his identity. Bias is giving good advice to the hard-pressed Ionians to the effect that, in order to avoid defeat and subjection at the hands of a superior enemy, they “should set forth in one common expedition and sail to Sardinia, and after that they should found a single city for all the Ionians. Thus they would escape subjection and would be prosperous, inhabiting the largest of all islands and being rulers over others.” I wonder, however, that on the basis of just one such rather broad and non-specific advice its giver can qualify for greatness above all others, for this is where the whole thing is going. Bias’s biographer Diogenes Laertius, on the authority of the peripatetic philosopher and biographer Satyrus, identifies Bias as “the wisest” of all the Seven Sages of Greece. The problem here is not that Satyrus is hardly a very reliable source of information, and neither is Diogenes, to be honest, but that the claim of Bias’s wisdom finds little substantiation here or anywhere. It is Diogenes who supplies us with the mandatory bits of Bias’s wisdom. (That is, in order to qualify as one of the Seven, you had to have one or more of those!) And here they all are:---

The naïve men are easily fooled. (Isn’t this a truism, by definition?)

Most people are evil. (A variant: All men are wicked. Here is your first hardboiled cynic!)

It is difficult to bear a change of fortune for the worse with magnanimity. (I am ready not to call this a truism.)

Choose the course you adopt with deliberation; but once adopted, persevere in it with firmness. (Does that mean that at a certain point one must become inflexible and firmly opposed to a change of course? I would say, an advice like this must be taken with a lot of deliberation, and by no means blindly followed!))

Do not speak fast, for that shows folly. (I actually like this one, but does it rise to the level of greatness?)

Love prudence. (Another one which is fair, but undistinguished by itself.)

Speak of the Gods as they are. (Honestly, I am not sure what this means…)

Do not praise an undeserving man because of his riches. (Perhaps, the best of the lot, but still not quite all there.)

Accept of things, having procured them by persuasion, not by force. (It is disingenuous to dismiss force as an effective means of achieving one’s goal, but persuasion is undoubtedly more fun!)

Cherish wisdom as a means of traveling from youth to old age: it is more lasting than any other possession. (I would put it differently: in our travel from youth to old age, wisdom is not our luggage or transportation means; it is actually our point of destination. Some arrive there, some do not, but it is always a late arrival at best.)

And now, here comes his by far most famous saying (courtesy of its Latin translation, made by Cicero with a proper attribution to Bias and known to any educated person, although usually without the proper attribution), and the circumstances of him uttering it. This heavenly spark of genius is “Omnia mea mecum porto” and it is truly worthy of immortality! And now, the circumstances:

They say that when the city of Priene was on the verge of falling to the Persians, and the citizens took flight from it, burdened by numerous belongings, they saw Bias walking empty-handed, and they asked him (not without some deep envy, I daresay) why he was not carrying his stuff with him, to which propitious cue he of course uttered his immortal phrase, indicating that everything of his that was worth having was already being carried… in his head.

There is also this touching story of his death, of how already an old man, he was pleading a case for a client in court, and won it, and how his happy client and some others turned to him to thank him and celebrate the victory, but found Bias sitting with a happy expression on his face… dead. What a beautiful death!

IT IS A HARD THING TO BE A GOOD MAN

This entry is given to another member of the hoi septa sophoi club, Pittacus Of Mytilene (640-568 BC). He is known to us mostly from his biography written by Diogenes Laertius, and several extant fragments of his wise sayings make our honorable mention of him very much worthwhile.

A native of Mytilene, he commanded the city’s defense when an Athenian army was about to attack. Before the final showdown, however, he challenged the Athenian general to a single combat, offering that its result would determine the fate of his city without further bloodshed. The challenge was accepted, Pittacus killed the Athenian, and this ended the war. The grateful city made Pittacus its absolute ruler. He governed wisely, making good laws, and bringing the city into a fine shape. After ten years, considering his job well done, he voluntarily resigned his power and withdrew himself from public office.

Too good to be true? Maybe, but still here is a good, edifying story. After more than two-and-a-half millennia, why should small print matter?

His several wise sayings have survived the ravages of time. One of them known as “the Golden Rule,” is of a particular interest because of its close similarity to the Biblical Commandment:

“Do not to your neighbor what you would take ill from him.”

My special favorite among his sayings is the one that I selected as the title of this entry: “It is a hard thing to be a good man.” Among his other known gems of wisdom are these:

Pardon is better than punishment.

Whatever you do, do it well.

Even the Gods cannot strive against necessity.

Power shows the man.

Do not say beforehand what you are going to do; for if you fail, you will be laughed at.

Do not reproach a man with his misfortunes, fearing lest Nemesis may overtake you.

Forbear to speak evil not only of your friends, but also of your enemies.

Cultivate truth, good faith, experience, cleverness, sociability, and industry.

Know thy opportunity.

…Bertrand Russell has no mention of him. Herodotus mentions him once, but isn’t sure whether the person he mentioned is Pittacus or Bias of Priene, another member of the Seven. Webster’s Biographical Dictionary is giving him the following short entry: Pittacus. 650?-570? BC. Greek ruler of Mytilene in Lesbos; one of the Seven Wise Men of Greece; overthrew Melanchrus, Tyrant of Lesbos (circa 611 BC); became tyrant of Mytilene (589-579); voluntarily resigned power (579). (Which is, of course, not much.)

But for me, even though a person of understandably moderate interest, he deserves a short entry of his own, at least out of respect for his membership in the seven sages club, but also on his own merit. And of course, his profound dictum “It is a hard thing to be a good man” has a very special significance for all time…

HUMILIATION OF SOLON

Among the literate members of the human race, the name of the Athenian sage and lawgiver Solon is known better than any other name of hoi septa sophoi, even better than the name of Thales himself. As a lawgiver, Solon is credited with a significant democratization of the Athenian law, and his laws were so effective and indispensable for maintaining law and order that they would survive the subsequent onslaughts of tyranny in Athens, and their democratic element would survive with them. In fact, Solon is credited with laying the foundations of the celebrated Athenian democracy, one of the earliest triumphs, if not the earliest, of Western civilization.

Solon the lawgiver, he was by no means celebrated for his laws alone. Herodotus treats him extensively and fairly, and probably the most famous Solon tale he tells portrays Solon not as a legal expert, but as a man of great wisdom. King Croesus of Lydia, proud of his fabulous riches, flatters Solon in their personal meeting about the wise laws he had given to Athens, and expects niceties in return.

“Athenian guest, we’ve heard a lot about you, both in regard to your intelligence and your wanderings, how in your search for intelligence you have traversed many lands to see them; now therefore I desire to ask you whether yet you have seen the man who is the most happy.” He asked (continues Herodotus) supposing that he himself was the happiest of men; but Solon, using no flattery but the truth only, said “Yes O king, Tellos the Athenian.”

Now, it turns out that this Tellos was dead. He had met his glorious end in battle; “and the Athenians buried him at public expense where he fell, and honored him greatly.” The vain king of Lydia has now figured out that Solon, being a patriotic Athenian, cannot bestow the title of the happiest man on a foreigner, and next he asks Solon to name the second-happiest, expecting himself to be named this time for certain. Yet, Solon continues telling him tales of happiness about people who were all dead… Croesus challenges him on that, and this time Solon tells him a general summation, which reveals his most profound philosophical acumen:

---“But we must for everything examine the end, and how it will turn out at the last, for, to many, God shows but a glimpse of happiness and then plucks them up by the roots and overturns them.”

After this, Croesus dismisses Solon as a worthless fool, but in the end, of course, Solon gets his vindication, as Croesus, after all his fabulous fortunes, stands a prisoner, at the point of a horrible death, in front of Cyrus the Great of Persia, and only the remembrance of Solon’s wisdom, which he now shares with Cyrus, saves Croesus’ life…

What was the point of this retelling of a well-known Solon story? It was by no means to refresh the reader’s memory of Herodotus’ Histories. It is to state my opinion that a person of such great philosophical wisdom as Solon must not be denied the title of philosopher, deserving it no less, and arguably even more, than many of those who have been given this title with far less to show for it.

The hidden meaning of the title of this entry, Humiliation Of Solon, must now become perfectly clear.

THE SEVEN SAGES OF GREECE

Hoi Hepta Sophoi, The Seven Sages, was the title of greatest distinction in Ancient Greece, bestowed by the old tradition on the seven wisest men of Greece, circa 600 BC. According to Bertrand Russell, the criterion for awarding this title was the particular wisdom of at least one commonly known saying of that individual. Thales was among the seven, purportedly (per Russell) for coming up with the saying: “Water is best.”

Funnily, hoi hepta sophoi, which is supposed to automatically qualify all seven of them as “philo-sophoi,” includes only one of them in the ranks of bona fide philosophers, and that person is, of course, Thales, “the first philosopher,” as he has become known. It beats me, though, why all others, statesmen and lawgivers of the highest esteem, have been cheated of that most naturally expected title. After all, I repeat, if they are not rising to the rank of philosophoi, why have they been called sophoi in the first place?!

As to the proper names of our seven sophoi, it appears that the earliest extant list of them is found in Plato’s Dialogue Protagoras, courtesy of Plato’s Socrates:

There are many, both of our age and of old, who have recognized that the true Spartan character has much more love of philosophy than love of gymnastics, knowing that only a perfectly educated man is capable of uttering [laconic] remarks. Such were Thales of Miletus, and Pittacus of Mytilene, and Bias of Priene, and our own Solon, and Cleobulus of Lindus, and Myson of Chenae, and the seventh of them is said to be Chilo of Sparta. They all emulated and admired and were students of Spartan culture, and anyone could tell their wisdom was of this sort by the brief but memorable remarks they each uttered when they met and dedicated together the first fruits of their wisdom to Apollo in his shrine at Delphi, inscribing what is on every man’s lips: Know thyself and Nothing too much. Why do I say all this? Because this was the manner of philosophy among the ancients, the kind of laconic brevity.

Diogenes Laertius, writing at a much later time, supports the belief that hoi hepta sophoi had indeed existed and were held in the highest esteem, but says that there were differing opinions as to who belonged on that list. Periander and Anacharsis were most commonly added to the list alternately, at the expense of Myson.

Ascribing to each particular sage his own aphoristic dictum, or what we commonly call a proverb, inscribed at Delphi, was very common. There was also a legend about a contest once held among the seven sages, the winner of which was to be awarded a golden tripod as the wisest. The sages proved their “infinite wisdom” by dedicating their contested prize to the god Apollo, as… “the wisest of them all.”

Considering that love of wisdom originally constitutes philosophy, it seems safe to assume that the seven wisest men of Greece were philosophers by definition. However, as so frequently happens to the safest of our surest assumptions, they cannot and ought not to be ever taken for granted. The Seven sages of Ancient Greece present to us a very conspicuous case in point, as I have already pointed out, but still a point worth repeating.

With regard to the philosophical qualities of the Seven, only one of them, namely Thales, was recognized as a bona fide philosopher. Diogenes Laertius quotes Dicaearchus of Messana (a pupil of Aristotle, a friend of Theophrastus, and a philosopher in his own right), as speaking rather disparagingly, and even mockingly, of the seven sages, that they “were neither wise men nor philosophers, but merely shrewd men who had studied legislation.”

A rather disrespectful assessment coming out of the nation that has given us philosophy. But we have already witnessed a certain disrespect toward the presumably brightest minds of the Greek national treasury in the fact that the list of top Seven was never set in stone, but rather was always open to significant differences of opinion.

Before we finally move on to Thales and the other officially recognized pre-Socratic philosophers, we must say a few words about each of the rest of hoi hepta sophoi, and pronounce our judgment regarding the eligibility of each for the promotion from the rank of the sophoi to the rank of philosophoi.

THE FIRST SPARTAN. PART II.

Aside from Herodotus and Plutarch, Lycurgus is mentioned by Xenophon, Plato and Polybius, to quote just these three most famous and most ancient names. Although calling him the Father of Sparta, which implies his founding function, ancient historians, in an apparent effort to give him some measure of historicity, have tried to put him into some historical context, and, rather than placing him at the very beginning of Sparta’s history as the “first king of Sparta,” which would have been perfectly natural, and well befitting his legend, they squeeze him into a long line of Sparta’s kings, as we have seen in Herodotus, and as we discover, with some surprise, in all other accounts of Lycurgus. This of course is taking away something weighty from his legend, and it is not quite clear why he is still being treated as a legendary figure by historians, and why, in the usual process of legend-making, this important part of his life story has not been radically embellished. My explanation, as in my comment on Herodotus, is that all these ancients who write about Lycurgus have not been admirers of Sparta, to put it mildly, and consequently, were exceedingly reluctant to give her such a clout as would have been hers had they been more charitable to Lycurgus. (We must make an important note here, however, that such a refusal to bestow divinity on Lycurgus, resulting from a lingering hostility toward Sparta, did not prevent Plato, who was at heart a hater of democracy--- after what this democracy had done to his Socrates--- from admiring Sparta’s anti-democratic laws, and even borrowing from them, in his elaboration of the ideal, in Politeia.)

Having thus expressed my view on the person of Lycurgus of Sparta in ancient historiography, I cannot end this entry without quoting Bertrand Russell on Lycurgus. He gives him a lot of space in his references but it is his general opinion of Lycurgus rather than a mere presentation of his biographical facts and fictions, that interests me the most in Russell’s Lycurgian passages.

The Spartan constitution was supposed, in later antiquity, to have been due to a legislator named Lycurgus who was said to have promulgated his laws in 885 B.C. In fact, the Spartan system grew up gradually, and Lycurgus was a mythical person, originally a god.

One of Russell’s Lycurgian references admirably sums up his world-historical significance and the reason of his legend’s endurance in perpetuity, despite what I have noted as its chronic inadequacy among the ancient authors. I find it most fitting therefore to end this entry with that Russell summation.---

Aristotle criticizes every point of the Spartan constitution… [He] wrote when Sparta was decadent, but on some points he expressly says that the evil he is mentioning has existed from earlier times. His tone is so dry and realistic that it is difficult to disbelieve him and it is in line with all modern experience of the results of excessive severity in the laws. But it wasn’t Aristotle’s Sparta that persisted in men’s imaginations; it was the mythical Sparta of Plutarch and the philosophical idealization of Sparta in Plato’s Politeia. Century after century, young men read these works and were fired with the ambition to become Lycurguses or philosopher kings. The resulting union of idealism and love of power has led men astray over and over again, and is still doing so in the present day.

The myth of Sparta for medieval and modern readers was mainly fixed by Plutarch. When he wrote, Sparta belonged to the romantic past; its great period was as far removed from his time as Columbus is from ours. What he says must be treated with great caution by the historian of institutions, but by the historian of myth it is of the utmost importance. (Bertrand Russell. History of Western Philosophy. Chapter xii. The Influence of Sparta.)

(This entry is followed by the entry The Seven Sages Of Greece.)

THE FIRST SPARTAN. PART I.

(The meaning of “the First Spartan” need not imply a chronological primacy, which Lycurgus surprisingly does not seem to enjoy. It can be said without any doubt, though, that he is certainly the first in rank among the Spartans of history, leaving the matter of chronology conveniently in the most appropriate state of ambiguity.)

PreSocratica by necessity is filled with legend much more than with history. (But on the other hand, history is legend!) It is therefore natural that such a person as Lycurgus, who is considered mostly legendary, ought to be given a place here alongside the more traditional pre-Socratics but also such pure legends as Orpheus. His inclusion is all the more important in view of his sound historical connection to Sparta, both as her first king and her lawgiver. The fact that the far more historical Solon admittedly emulated Lycurgus in his own Athenian lawgiving makes him even more connected to the basics of the history of Ancient Greece. Solon’s departure from Athens followed the example of Lycurgus own departure from Sparta for Delphi having left the Spartans with the historical legacy of his laws, and making them solemnly swear that these laws would be followed unswervingly and unchanged in the minutest detail, at least until the day when he was back. As we know, he never came back, disappearing forever as a man, but gaining immortality as a legend.

The fact that Lycurgus’s historical authenticity was highly questionable is noted by Plutarch in the preamble to his perhaps lengthiest and most comprehensive account of Lycurgus life and deeds, presented as an amazingly skillful compilation of the most creditable ancient sources on Lycurgus.---

“There is so much uncertainty in the accounts historians have left us of Lycurgus, the lawgiver of Sparta, that scarcely anything is asserted by one of them that is not called into question or contradicted by the rest. Their sentiments are quite different as to the family he came of, the voyages he undertook, or the place and manner of his death, but most of all when they speak of the laws he made and the commonwealth which he founded; and there is least agreement among historians as to the times in which the man lived… But, notwithstanding this confusion and obscurity, we shall endeavor to compose the history of his life, adhering to the statements that are least contradicted and depending upon those authors who are most worthy of credit.”

Plutarch’s Life of Lycurgus is certainly the definitive biography of our subject of interest, and I recommend, just like I recommended this in the previous entry on Theseus that the reader goes to it for the most detailed information. The earliest extant references to Lycurgus, albeit brief, can be found in Herodotus’ Histories, and I find it worthwhile to quote him here.---

When Leon and Hegesicles were kings of Sparta, the Lacedemonians, who were successful in all their other wars, suffered disaster in that alone waged against the men of Tegea. Moreover in the times before this they had the worst customs of almost all the Hellenes, both in matters that concerned themselves alone and also because they had no dealings with strangers. But they made their change to a good constitution of laws thus --- Lycurgus, a Spartan of good reputation, came to the Oracle at Delphi, and as he entered the sanctuary of the temple, the Pythian prophetess said at once:

Lo, thou art come, Lycurgus, to this rich shrine of my temple.

Loved thou by Zeus and by all who possess the abodes of Olympus.

Whether to call you a god, I doubt, in my voices prophetic,

God or a man, but rather a god I think, Lycurgus.

Some say, in addition to this, that the Pythian prophetess also set forth to him the order of things that is now established for the Spartans; but the Lacedemonians themselves say that Lycurgus having become guardian of his brother’s son, who was king of the Spartans, brought this order from Crete. For as soon as he became guardian he changed all the existing laws and took measures that they should not transgress his institutions. After this Lycurgus established that which appertained to war, namely army companies and Bands of Thirty and common meals and in addition to this the Ephors and the Senate. (Book I Chapter 65.) Having changed thus the Spartans had good laws; and to Lycurgus after he was dead they erected a shrine and they paid him great worship. (Book I Chapter 6.)

Curiously, this chronologically earliest account, reaching us via Herodotus, pictures Lycurgus as a believable historical personality, and not at all as the hallowed founder of Sparta. His mysterious disappearance is not mentioned here either. On the contrary, he is said to have died, which means that the hagiographic legend of his, implying transcendence into eternity, where he joins the other gods and his forefather Heracles, makes no impression on Herodotus (surely he must have been aware of this particular version!) and he prefers a far more mundane telling of the Lycurgus story. (My conclusion is that Herodotus is thus deliberately suppressing all hints of Lycurgus’s alleged divinity, not being a friend of Sparta and therefore not willing to grant their greatest hero a supernatural clout.)

(To be continued tomorrow.)

THESEUS OF HISTORY. PART II.

[Theseus had brains, and that must qualify him for this section as a “pre-Socratic” quasi-philosopher…] An interesting, albeit indirect, testimony to this effect is provided by none other than Machiavelli, who selects him for some choice company here:

“But to come to those who, by their own ability and not through fortune, have risen to be princes, I say that Moses, Cyrus, Romulus, Theseus, and such like, are the most excellent examples. And although one may not discuss Moses, he having been a mere executor of the will of God, yet he should be admired if only for that favor which made him worthy to speak with God.

But in considering Cyrus and others, who have acquired or founded kingdoms, all will be found admirable; and if their particular deeds and conduct shall be considered, they will not be found inferior to those of Moses, although he had so great a preceptor. And in examining their actions and lives one cannot see that they owed anything to fortune beyond opportunity, which brought them the material to mould into the form that seemed best to them. Without that opportunity, their powers of mind would have been extinguished,--- and without those powers the opportunity would have come in vain.

It was necessary that Romulus should not remain in Alba, and that he should be abandoned at his birth, in order that he should become King of Rome and founder of the fatherland.

It was necessary that Cyrus should find the Persians discontented with the government of the Medes, and the Medes soft and effeminate through their long peace. Theseus could not have shown his ability, had he not found the Athenians dispersed. These opportunities, therefore, made those men fortunate, and their high ability enabled them to recognize the opportunity whereby their country was ennobled and made famous.” (Machiavelli: The Prince: Chapter VI.)

Thus having established our hero’s bona fides by now, I hope that the reader does not expect me to start entertaining him or her with the mythological aspects of Theseus’s life, which can be found in a thousand proper sources. It is worthwhile to note, though, that at a fairly advanced age, Theseus King of Athens was deposed and exiled from his city. His folly, superseding his former wisdom, is frequently cited as the cause of his downfall, but that folly may well have been the invention of his ambitious successors, who may have taken advantage of the old man’s diminishing powers to perform a coup d’état, using his infirmity, dressed up by them as folly, to justify their hostile takeover. The good news is that after many years of contemptuous neglect, Theseus was posthumously restored to his heroic glory, and a cult of him as the greatest hero of Athens was then firmly established in ancient Greek history. Here is Plutarch again, to wind up this entry:

“But in succeeding ages, besides several other circumstances which moved the Athenians to honor Theseus as a demigod, in the battle which was fought at Marathon against the Medes, many of the soldiers believed that they saw an apparition of Theseus in arms, rushing on at the head of them against the barbarians. And after the Median war, Phaedo being archon of Athens, the Athenians, consulting the oracle at Delphi, were commanded to gather together the bones of Theseus, and, laying them in some honorable place, keep them as sacred in the city. But it proved quite difficult to recover those relics, or so much as to find out the place where they lay, on account of the inhospitable and savage temper of the barbarous people that inhabited the island. Nevertheless, afterwards, when Cimon took the island (as is related in his life), and had a great ambition to find out the place where Theseus was buried, he, by chance, spied an eagle, upon a rising ground, pecking with her beak and tearing up the earth with her talons, when all of a sudden it came into his mind, as it were by some divine inspiration, to dig there, and search for the bones of Theseus. There were found, in that place, a coffin of a man of more than ordinary size, and a brazen spear-head, and a sword lying by it, all of which he took aboard his galley and brought with him to Athens. Upon which the Athenians, greatly delighted, went out to meet and to receive the relics with splendid processions and sacrifices, as if it were Theseus himself returning alive to the city. He lies interred in the middle of the city, near the present gymnasium. His tomb is a sanctuary and a refuge for slaves, and for all those of mean condition that fly from the persecution of men in power, in memory that Theseus, while he lived, was an assister and protector of the distressed, and never refused the petitions of the afflicted that fled to him…”

That was a perfect ending to the story of Theseus, a hero of myth and a “pre-Socratic” of history.

(My entry The First Spartan is to follow next.)

THESEUS OF HISTORY. PART I.

(My PreSocratica sequence of entries now resumes with the posting of this piece.)

In my early preoccupation with Greek mythology, I somehow got used to the idea that the great Athenian hero Theseus was a purely mythological figure, alongside Heracles, Perseus, etc. Then came Plutarch, with his supposedly historical Parallel Lives, where Theseus was prominently featured in the opening pair with Romulus, who was at the very least a semi-historical rather than mythical personage, and my opinion of the man underwent a transformation of sorts, to the extent that now I was treating Theseus as something more than a fairytale character. (Perhaps, had Plutarch’s work on Heracles been also extant, I might have treated him differently too, but such wasn’t the case, and consequently, Heracles now does not get himself featured in the entries of my “historical” PreSocratica section.)

Curiously, Plutarch himself, writing his Parallel Lives backwards, from the more recent toward the distant past, sets Romulus of Rome and Theseus of Athens as the farthest outposts of history:

“As geographers… crowd into the edges of their maps parts of the world which they know not about, adding notes in the margin to the effect that beyond this lies nothing but the sandy deserts full of wild beasts, unapproachable bogs, Scythian ice, or a frozen sea; so in this work of mine, in which I have compared the lives of the greatest men with one another, after passing through those periods which probable reasoning can reach to, and real history find a footing in, I might very well say of those that are farther off: ‘Beyond this there lies nothing but prodigies and fictions, the only inhabitants are the poets and inventors of fables; there is no credit, or certainty any farther.’ Yet, after publishing an account of Lycurgus the lawgiver and Numa the king, I thought I might, not without reason, ascend as high as to Romulus, being brought by my history so near to his time.

Considering therefore with myself: ‘Whom shall I set so great a man to face? Or whom oppose? Who is equal to the place?’ (as Aeschylus expresses it), I found none so fit as him who peopled the beautiful and far-famed city of Athens to be set in contraposition with the father of the invincible and renowned city of Rome. Let us hope that Fable may, in what shall follow, so submit to the purifying processes of Reason as to take the character of exact history. In any case, however, where it shall be found contumaciously slighting credibility, and refusing to be reduced to anything like a probable fact, we shall beg that we may meet with candid readers, and such as will receive with indulgence the stories of antiquity.

Theseus seemed to me to resemble Romulus in many particulars. Both of them, born out of wedlock and of uncertain parentage, had the repute of being sprung from the gods. ‘Both warriors; that by all the world’s allowed.’ Both of them united with strength of body an equal vigor of mind; and of the two most famous cities of the world, the one built Rome, and the other made Athens be inhabited. Both stand charged with the rape of women; neither of them could avoid domestic misfortunes nor jealousy at home; but towards the close of their lives are both of them said to have incurred great odium with their countrymen, if, that is, we may take the stories least like poetry as our guide to the truth.”

With all Plutarchian caveats, it is clear that without stretching the truth too far, Theseus emerges somewhat more historical than a man of pure fiction, which fact is also emphasized by Bulfinch:

“Theseus is a semi-historical personage. It is recorded of him that he united the several tribes by whom the territory of Attica was then possessed into one state, of which Athens was the capital. In commemoration of this important event, he instituted the festival of Panathenaea, in honor of Minerva, the patron deity of Athens.” (Bulfinch’s Mythology: The Age of Fable: Chapter XX.)

A curious question can be asked now: what is the reason why Theseus, admittedly semi-historical, should be at all included in this particular PreSocratica section? What if, say, Heracles had been more “historical” than he is, and had we had the pleasure of finding him among Plutarch’s extant works? Here, then, comes our second criterion. No, Heracles, would not deserve such a distinction. But apparently, Theseus was not a mere brainless muscleman, like his assumed relative. Theseus had brains as well, and that must qualify him for this section as a “pre-Socratic” quasi-philosopher…

(To be continued tomorrow.)

GALINA SEDOVA’S BULGAKOV. XIV.

Galina Sedova’s Bulgakov.

The Dark-Violet Knight Concludes.

 

“...И сердце бросил в море жизни шумной,

И свет не пощадил --- и Бог не спас!”

“…And threw his heart into the noisy see of life,

No mercy from the world --- and God would save him not!”

Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov.

In his play Alexander Pushkin, Bulgakov pursues three ideas important for the understanding of Master and Margarita.

1.      The idea of “rest,” originating from Pushkin himself, is often employed in Master and Margarita, as well as in other Bulgakovian works. “Rest” is the reward of those who have not committed any crimes, but for some reason have not deserved the “light.” (Master receives rest, and Margarita with him.)

2.      The idea of “forgiveness” is also very prominent in Master and Margarita. By ascribing hateful words to the Russian Tsar Nicholas I, Bulgakov responds to all such spiteful little people that there is a forgiveness to those who carry no spite, no malice toward others. Tsar Nicholas I, in this case, becomes the epitome of malice.

3.      The idea of leader, “regent” [conductor], originating with the Russian people. Out of all the names which Bulgakov has given to this character, regent is the highest compliment.

It wasn’t by accident that in the 1990’s, those terrible years for Russia and for everything Russian that exists in the world, Pushkin came under attack. Such a thing had already happened in the 1920’s, described by Bulgakov in his Notes on the Cuffs. This last time, there were accusations that the Soviet system had been using Pushkin for its own… propaganda (sic!).

A base trick of base people, to pull through their own worthless trash. Pushkin was, is, and will always be the mind, the conscience, and the honor of Russia, no matter what political system be in place there at the time.

Which is why Bulgakov puts this quite clearly in his Notes on the Cuffs:

“Pushkin’s poems wondrously soften embittered souls [sic!]. Away with spite, Russian writers!”

This of course refers not only to the writers, but to all categories of people.

Bulgakov goes on to compare his contemporaries the writers to hothouse plants, removed from and unfamiliar with the real life. [As for himself, Bulgakov knew the real life having worked as a surgeon-physician in World War I and during the Civil War in Russia.] Thus, Bulgakov believed that his contemporaries were incapable of creating anything worthwhile.

Hence the fire at the Writers’ House. It’s an allegory. Probably having served all this time in hell, Koroviev and Begemot acquainted themselves with Bakunin, and decided that the only way to save Russian literature was by destroying everything in existence and creating anew.

Woland has his own reason to be interested in the fire at the Writers’ House. From the beginning of the book, Bulgakov makes it all clear: the devil does not like atheists, who do not recognize Satan as well.

Have you ever asked yourself the question why already in the second chapter, that is just seven pages into the novel, Woland shoots Master’s novel about Pontius Pilate straight from memory? (This question will be answered in the chapter on Kot-Begemot.) When Koroviev and Kot-Begemot assure him that a new house will be built on that spot, Woland comments: “One is left to wish that it will be a better one than the last.”

There is yet another interesting thing here that proves that Koroviev is Pushkin.---

“…And a sweet eeriness reaches your heart when you think that right now, in this building, there ripens on the vine a future author of Don Quixote, or of Faust, [what a satire!], or--- devil take me!--- of Dead Souls. Eh?”

It is a well-known fact that it was Pushkin who suggested the idea of Dead Souls to Gogol. Gogol is a great Russian writer, and he would be rightfully standing in the first rank of Russian literary geniuses even without Dead Souls. Still, Dead Souls is the most celebrated of Gogol’s creations.

Bulgakov deliberately words this passage in Koroviev’s monologue in this fashion, to give us a hint that his Koroviev is Pushkin. Secondly, it seems to me that Bulgakov, like many others, often contemplated on the kind of Dead Souls that Pushkin could have written. And thirdly, it is quite possible that Bulgakov thought that Pushkin may in some measure have regretted offering this idea to Gogol.

Bulgakov has a second go with Gogol and Pushkin in one sentence this time:

“Can you imagine what kind of noise would be made if one of them, for starters, offers to the public an Inspector, or, at worst, a Eugene Onegin,” continued Koroviev.

 

In his sketch Red-Stone Moscow, Bulgakov writes:

“Lowering his head, Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin attentively watches Tverskoy Boulevard buzzing at his feet. What he is thinking--- nobody knows…”

Thus it is for a very good reason that Tverskoy Boulevard plays such an important role in the novel Master and Margarita. (I will be writing more about this in my fantastic novel.)

What is he thinking about? Well, that’s easy. Thanks to Bulgakov, we do know very well what Pushkin has been thinking about. He is thinking about Russian history “which he promised” to Zhukovsky (see the play Alexander Pushkin), and how he will now have unlimited time for his toils. “But he isn’t working now!” (ibid.) Yes, now he will soon be writing about anything he likes, and he doesn’t have to pass his ideas on to other people anymore, for the lack of time. Now he will have all the time in the world, and he is calm…

It is his house that Woland describes to Master: “There waits for you the house and the old servant…” Yes, once again Bulgakov uses his magnificent Aesopian language. Why does Woland describe it to Master as his to live in? Because Koroviev is Woland’s advisor in these matters, and he is merely suggesting an ideal house for Master, and what else could he suggest for him rather than a house like his own?

Yes, such will indeed be Pushkin’s own home of ‘rest.’ And the old manservant Nikita will be living in this house with Alexander Sergeevich, and he will be reading his master’s poems, which he likes so much… Do you remember? The already quoted play Alexander Pushkin, here it is again.---

Nikita (reads)---

No happiness in life… true, we have no happiness.. But there is rest and freedom… No, what isn’t there, isn’t there: doesn’t sleep at night, what kind of rest is that anyway!.. A tired slave, I’ve long been plotting my escape... Escape where? What is he plotting?.. A tired slave, I’ve long been plotting my escape... Can’t make this out…

Enters Bitkov. (He is a clock repairman who has been assigned to Pushkin by the police to spy on him. His profession and skill allows him to get into all houses to spy under the guise of doing repair work.)

…To a faraway retreat of toils and purest pleasures… Hello, Nikita Andreevich!

As we see from this exchange, Bulgakov uses it to convey the idea that Pushkin’s verses were known to all Russians , including the snitches and the police.

...So, in this house he will be now creating all those works that he had conceived but had had no time for, during his lifetime. His rest and sleep will be guarded now by his old manservant Nikita Andreevich. Yes, this is the time of Pushkin that Bulgakov describes in Master and Margarita: the candles, the goose quills, the music of Schubert… Nevermore will he have to play the role of “vtirusha” and “shtukar,’” in other words, trickster. Nevermore will he have to wear broken glasses or monocles, that is in Russian slang, to rub in other people’s glasses, meaning to deceive. He is free!..

“…Tonight is such a night [the eve of Russian Orthodox Easter] when all accounts are being settled. The knight has paid up on his account, and closed it.”

Do ask yourself, will you, what kind of “foreign” knight could possibly be brought to Moscow by Satan on Russian Orthodox Easter’s eve, to “close his account”?!