“И всегда будут короли, более или менее жестокие, бароны, более или менее дикие, и всегда будет невежественный народ, питающий восхищение к своим угнетателям и ненависть к своему освободителю. И все потому, что раб гораздо лучше понимает своего господина, пусть даже самого жестокого, чем своего освободителя, ибо каждый раб отлично представляет себя на месте господина, но мало кто представляет себя на месте бескорыстного освободителя.”
“And no matter how much the gray people in power despise knowledge, they can’t do anything about historical objectivity; they can slow it down, but they can’t stop it. Despising and fearing knowledge, they will nonetheless inevitably decide to promote it in order to survive. Sooner or later they will be forced to allow universities and scientific societies, to create research centers, observatories, and laboratories, and thus to create a cadre of people of thought and knowledge: people who are completely beyond their control, people with a completely different psychology and with completely different needs. And these people cannot exist and certainly cannot function in the former atmosphere of low self-interest, banal preoccupations, dull self-satisfaction, and purely carnal needs. They need a new atmosphere— an atmosphere of comprehensive and inclusive learning, permeated with creative tension; they need writers, artists, composers— and the gray people in power are forced to make this concession too. The obstinate ones will be swept aside by their more cunning opponents in the struggle for power, but those who make this concession are, inevitably and paradoxically, digging their own graves against their will. For fatal to the ignorant egoists and fanatics is the growth of a full range of culture in the people— from research in the natural sciences to the ability to marvel at great music. And then comes the associated process of the broad intellectualization of society: an era in which grayness fights its last battles with a brutality that takes humanity back to the middle ages, loses these battles, and forever disappears as an actual force.”
“Борьба со злом! Но что есть
зло? Всякому вольно понимать это по-своему. Для нас, ученых, зло в
невежестве, но церковь учит, что невежество - благо, а все зло от знания.
Для землепашца зло - налоги и засухи, а для хлеботорговца засухи - добро.
Для рабов зло - это пьяный и жестокий хозяин, для ремесленника - алчный
ростовщик. Так что же есть зло, против которого надо бороться, дон Румата?
- Он грустно оглядел слушателей. - Зло неистребимо. Никакой человек не
способен уменьшить его количество в мире. Он может несколько улучшить свою
собственную судьбу, но всегда за счет ухудшения судьбы других. И всегда
будут короли, более или менее жестокие, бароны, более или менее дикие, и
всегда будет невежественный народ, питающий восхищение к своим угнетателям
и ненависть к своему освободителю. И все потому, что раб гораздо лучше
понимает своего господина, пусть даже самого жестокого, чем своего
освободителя, ибо каждый раб отлично представляет себя на месте господина,
но мало кто представляет себя на месте бескорыстного освободителя. Таковы
люди, дон Румата, и таков наш мир.”
“Вглядывайтесь в эти морды, молодые, тупые, равнодушные, привычные ко всякому зверству, да не воротите нос, ваши собственные предки были не лучше…”
“If I could imagine myself as God, I’d become him!”
“Because I sincerely hate and despise them. Not pity them, no—only hate and despise. I can justify the stupidity and brutality of the kid I just passed all I want— the social conditions, the appalling upbringing, anything at all—but I now clearly see that he’s my enemy, the enemy of all that I love, the enemy of my friends, the enemy of what I hold most sacred. And I don’t hate him theoretically, as a “typical specimen,” but him as himself, him as an individual. I hate his slobbering mug, the stink of his unwashed body, his blind faith, his animosity toward everything other than sex and booze. There he goes, stomping around, the oaf, who half a year ago was still being thrashed by a fat-bellied father in a vain attempt to prepare him for selling stale flour and old jam; he’s wheezing, the dumb lug, struggling to recall the paragraphs of badly crammed regulations, and he just can’t figure out whether he’s supposed to cut the noble don down with his ax, shout “Stop!” or just forget about it. No one will find out anyway, so he’ll forget about it, go back to his recess, stuff some chewing bark into his mouth and chew it loudly, drooling and smacking his lips. And there’s nothing that he wants to know, and there’s nothing he wants to think about.”
“It’s a common observation that all science fiction novels say as much about the time of their composition as they do about the future. As they wrote Hard to Be a God, the Strugatsky brothers were working under considerable political pressure. Following Khrushchev’s infamous visit to an exhibition of abstract art in 1962 (“dog shit” was one of his more printable responses) a wave of panicked ideological house-cleaning swept through the Soviet Union’s artistic establishment. For SF writers, as Boris Strugatsky remembers, this resulted in a reminder that the only truly orthodox subject was “the collision of two worlds.”
“Они не знали, что будущее за них, что будущее без них невозможно. Они не знали, что в этом мире страшных призраков прошлого они являются единственной реальностью будущего, что они – фермент, витамин в организме общества. Уничтожьте этот витамин, и общество загниет, начнется социальная цинга, ослабеют мышцы, глаза потеряют зоркость, вывалятся зубы. Никакое государство не может развиваться без науки – его уничтожат соседи. Без искусств и общей культуры государство теряет способность к самокритике, принимается поощрять ошибочные тенденции, начинает ежесекундно порождать лицемеров и подонков, развивает в гражданах потребительство и самонадеянность и в конце концов опять-таки становится жертвой более благоразумных соседей. Можно сколько угодно преследовать книгочеев, запрещать науки, уничтожать искусства, но рано или поздно приходится спохватываться и со скрежетом зубовным, но открывать дорогу всему, что так ненавистно властолюбивым тупицам и невеждам. И как бы ни презирали знание эти серые люди, стоящие у власти, они ничего не могут сделать против исторической объективности, они могут только притормозить, но не остановить. Презирая и боясь знания, они все-таки неизбежно приходят к поощрению его для того, чтобы удержаться. Рано или поздно им приходится разрешать университеты, научные общества, создавать исследовательские центры, обсерватории, лаборатории, создавать кадры людей мысли и знания, людей, им уже неподконтрольных, людей с совершенно иной психологией, с совершенно иными потребностями, а эти люди не могут существовать и тем более функционировать в прежней атмосфере низкого корыстолюбия, кухонных интересов, тупого самодовольства и сугубо плотских потребностей. Им нужна новая атмосфера – атмосфера всеобщего и всеобъемлющего познания, пронизанная творческим напряжением, им нужны писатели, художники, композиторы, и серые люди, стоящие у власти, вынуждены идти и на эту уступку. Тот, кто упрямится, будет сметен более хитрыми соперниками в борьбе за власть, но тот, кто делает эту уступку, неизбежно и парадоксально, против своей воли роет тем самым себе могилу. Ибо смертелен для невежественных эгоистов и фанатиков рост культуры народа во всем диапазоне – от естественнонаучных исследований до способности восхищаться большой музыкой... А затем приходит эпоха гигантских социальных потрясений, сопровождающихся невиданным ранее развитием науки и связанным с этим широчайшим процессом интеллектуализации общества, эпоха, когда серость дает последние бои, по жестокости возвращающие человечество к средневековью, в этих боях терпит поражение и исчезает как реальная сила навсегда.”
“ბატონისა, თუნდაც სასტიკის, მონას გაცილებით უკეთ ესმის, ვიდრე განმათავისუფლებლის; რამეთუ ყოველი მონა იოლად წარმოიდგენს თავს ბატონის ადგილას, მაგრამ ცოტა თუ შეძლებს თავი უანგარო განმათავისუფლებლის ადგილას წარმოისახოს. ასეთნი არიან ადამიანები, დონ რუმატა, და ასეთია ჩვენი სამყარო.”
“Orman bir soru sorduğunda cevabını çabucak vermek gerekir.”
“- Там има сив патрул - промърмори Киун.
- Какво от това? - каза Румата. - Я по-добре чуй още едно разсъждение, уважаеми Киун. Ние обичаме и ценим тези прости и груби момчета, нашия боен добитък. Те са ни потребни. Занапред всеки от простолюдието трябва да си свива езика, ако не иска да увисне на бесилката. - Той се разсмя на глас, защото беше казан идеално - в най-добрите традиции на сивите казарми.
Киун настръхна и сгуши глава между раменете си.
- Езикът на простолюдието трябва да си знае мястото. Бог съвсем не му е дал език, за да плещи, а да лиже ботуша на господаря си, а на него от веки веков му се полага господар...”
“- Слушай, Киун - каза Румата. - Пошегувах се. Не бой се от мен.
- Славен свят - проговори Киун. - Весел свят. Всички се шегуват. И всички се шегуват по един и същи начин. Дори благородният дон Румата.”
“Holy Mica, we were true humanists over there, on Earth. Humanism was the backbone of our personalities; in our worship of Man, in our love of Man, we even approached anthropocentrism - and here we are suddenly horrified to catch ourselves thinking, 'Are these really humans? Is it possible they are capable of becoming humans, even with time?'.”
“If God undertakes to clean an outhouse, let him not believe that his hands will remain clean.”
“He stretched his huge hands toward her. She timidly reached for him and immediately shrank back. On his fingers … But it wasn’t blood—only strawberry juice.”
“I am only a shell where the ocean is still sounding.”
“Flying was no cure for want of sleep. The brain wanted time to recycle: when it became all one long, uninterrupted day, the ability to keep going and to keep thinking was no warrant it was healty even for Superman.-Superman”
“West didn’t want her to get hurt anymore. He wanted her to let go. He wanted her to appreciate her life. To know he loved her. All these things sounded so stupid to him when he imagined saying them and he knew she didn’t want to hear them anyway. She wanted to hear one thing.”
“So she took a deep breath, glad she wasn’t speeding so much anymore, glad she could look him in the eyes and really feel it. “Even if it’s not what you want, I’m yours.” Now she did see the change in him, saw the slow smile start, the one that always made her feel so good because she could make it appear. “Always want you, Chessiebomb. Always.”
“My job in my work is not to acquire power; it's to question power.”
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