In THX 1138 or Logan’s Run we are shown a 1970s depiction of a nightmarish future dystopia, but one from which it is possible to escape, a dystopia with tunnels which lead to some surface. Alas there are no such tunnels in our own 2026.

„But don’t trouble yourself here, Margarita. Everything will turn out right, the world is built on that.“

—Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita, (Penguin Books, Ltd., 1997), 382.

This is certainly Bulgakov’s sensibility in The Master and Margarita. Was this the experience of Soviet citizens? Would the book have enjoyed such popularity had it not had this core morality? This is not my experience of the world.

Spiegel:

Es sind Augenblicke, in denen deutlich wird: Hier stehen sich zwei Konzepte, zwei politische Ansätze gegenüber.

Then the one walking at the head openly took a black Mauser from under his coat, and another beside him took out the skeleton keys. Generally, those going to apartment no. 50 were properly equipped. Two of them had fine, easily unfolded silk nets in their pockets. Another of them had a lasso, another had gauze masks and ampoules of chloroform.

—Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita, (Penguin Books, Ltd., 1997), 342.

Moscow’s finest prepare to arrest Woland.

‚Did he try to preach anything in the soldiers‘ presence?‘

‚No, Hegemon, he was not loquacious this time. The only thing he said was that among human vices he considered cowardice one of the first.‘

—Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita, (Penguin Books, Ltd., 1997), 305.

‚What is this novel about?‘

‚It is a novel about Pontius Pilate.‘

Here again the tongues of the candles swayed and leaped, the dishes on the table clattered, Woland burst into thunderous laughter, but neither frightened nor surprised anyone. Behemoth applauded for some reason.

‚About what? About what? About whom?‘ said Woland, ceasing to laugh. ‚And that — now? It’s stupendous! Couldn’t you have found some other subject? Let me see it.‘ Woland held out his hand, palm up.

‚Unfortunately, I cannot do that,‘ replied the master, ‚because I burned it in the stove.‘

‚Forgive me, but I don’t believe you,‘ Woland replied, ‚that cannot be: manuscripts don’t burn.‘

—Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita, (Penguin Books, Ltd., 1997), 286-287.

It’s taken years, but I finally read the line.

Between Gulf Wars I and II I clearly remember hearing Harris read from his book Our War on calling Vietnam “a mistake”:

While it may be an accurate conclusion, calling the war a mistake is the functional equivalent of calling water wet or dirt dirty. … In this particular “mistake,” at least 3 million people died, only 58,000 of whom were Americans. These 3 million people died crushed in the mud, riddled with shrapnel, hurled out of helicopters, impaled on sharpened bamboo, obliterated in carpets of explosives dropped from bombers flying so high they could only be heard and never seen (talk about cowards!) they died reduced to chunks by one or more land mines, finished off by a round through the temple or a bayonet in the throat, consumed by sizzling phosphorous, burned alive with jellied gasoline, strung up by their thumbs, starved in cages, executed after watching their babies die, trapped on the barbed wire calling for their mothers. They died while trying to kill, they died while trying to kill no one, they died heroes, they died villains, they died at random, they died most often when someone who had no idea who they were killed them under the orders of someone who had even less idea than that. … All 3 million died in pain, often so intense that death was a relief. This war was about us. We made it happen. It was ours. And, even at this late date, any genuine reckoning on our part must include assuming the full responsibility of that ownership. Nothing less will do.