Thus, modern physics and modern chemistry reduce every phenomenon and every thing to something invisible, to something supersensible, to something infinite. And indeed, infinity is the end of all, at first glance, finite matter. Everything physical is basically metaphysical. And in the tiniest creature is rooted infinity, which man cannot grasp either by feelings or thoughts. Everything finite is based on the infinite. There is a certain inexplicably mysterious transition of the finite into the infinite, a transition that is not subject to any sensual or logical analysis. Everything that appears sensible is in reality supersensible; everything that is conceivable is in reality above the conceivable. The ability to comprehend the world is incomparably narrower and smaller than the reality of the world. Therefore, this possibility is infinite in every aspect of its existence. If a person does not intentionally shorten his thoughts and deliberately narrow his spirit, then in this world he should feel like a thinking shell in the stormy sea of infinity.

The mystery of the world is infinite, it must be felt by anyone who has ever impartially looked into the mystery of the world. But the mystery of the human being is neither less nor shorter. If a person turns his gaze to himself, he will encounter an unspeakable mystery. Think about it, man is unable to explain to himself how the transition from the sensible to the supersensible, from the body to the spirit, from the unconscious to the conscious takes place in himself. The nature of his consciousness and thought is incomprehensible to him. The possibilities of comprehending thought are much smaller and narrower than the nature of thought itself. In the same way, the possibility of comprehending feelings and their activity. All this is buried in a kind of inner infinity. Infinity both from outside and from within, and the poor man is in between. Solomon's sad wisdom weeps and drowns in weeping for the souls of the gloomy inhabitants of our planet: "Everything is so painful that a man cannot even express it, neither eye can look enough, nor ear can hear enough." And I would add from my grief: a thought cannot be thought of, nor a feeling can be felt; Everything in man is eternally hungry and eternally thirsty.

It is dangerous to be human, it is dangerous to be squeezed between two infinities competing with each other in mystery and enigma. A person is captivated by both. Irresistible and implacable, they tirelessly and jealously fight for the unfortunate person. Two clot worlds attack man with all their endless horrors. And he, exhausted and wounded, wants to be freed from both worlds, but he cannot do without them and outside of them. Such is his fate.

It is tragic to be a man, for man has become the center of tragedy, the center of everything that is tragic both in the upper and lower worlds, in the external and in the inner infinity. Through man saw all pain, every creature in him became sick, through his eye the grief of every creature wept. He is a sick man who carries the disease of universal existence on his shoulders. In him, as in a lens, all the tragedy of the world is collected, and he helplessly shrinks and rushes about on the bed of his weakness.

It is terrible to be a human being, for in his little body he carries two infinities. He is the womb to which all the swarms of all kinds of horrors of the upper and lower world flock. Wherever he goes, he is followed by vast swarms of horrors. His thought, if he plunges into the mystery of the worlds, will always encounter something terrible and terrible. Life in such a world instills boundless terror in human feelings, and in the human soul, and in the human body. And he desperately struggles with the monstrous mystery of the worlds.

This danger, this tragedy, this horror awakened man's attention to all problems, all mysteries, and he was completely dissipated in them. There is no thing and no phenomenon before which a person does not bend in a sign of question or before which he does not stretch out in surprise. In the same way, there is no question that would not draw a person into its infinity. For every question takes man beyond the boundaries of the human, makes him transhuman, transsubjective, uniting him with the nature of the object under study and drowning him in infinity. Question follows question, and there is no end to questions and no end to answers. In what, in what, but in his questions, in his problems, man is infinite. But are not both the inquiring consciousness and the investigating spirit infinite, if they can give rise to infinite questions?

If man were finite, then his problems and aspirations would be finite. The final is easily recorded, classified and formulated. But who can compile an exhaustive register of human aspirations? Who can classify them? Who can find the final, all-embracing, absolute striving? Who can fit a person into a formula, or into boundaries, or into words? And can anyone describe a circle around human aspirations, human problems, human achievements?

Whichever way you look at him, man is infinite, infinite in his mystery. And the heart of every martyr of thought involuntarily agrees with Njegoš [Petar Njegoš (1813-1851) – Metropolitan, ruler of Montenegro] and repeats with him:

Look at the man from all sides,

Think about a person as you want –

Man is the highest mystery for man.

Like a rainbow, man is stretched across the sky of life; its ends are not visible; one end is immersed in matter, the other in supermatter, in spirit. It is a ladder from minerals to spirit. It is the transition from matter to spirit, and vice versa – the transition from spirit to matter.

"I am the body and only the body," says Nietzsche. Does he not say by this: "I am a mystery and only a mystery?" There is too much that is perishable in the human body, and it is gradually destroyed, until death completely destroys it, incinerates it, and mixes the earth with the earth. And Artsybashev, a passionate worshipper of the flesh, like Nietzsche, stands, pondering "at the last line", stands by the decaying human body, escorting it to the earth with the biblical words: "Thou art the earth, and to the earth shalt thou return" (Gen. 3:19). "I am the body and only the body"... But tell me, why is the spirit in man restless? Why does he constantly tear himself away from the body and, through countless questions, break through to something beyond the body, supra-corporeal and incorporeal? Is it because in a body with five senses he feels like in a dungeon locked with five locks? Nietzsche's definition of man by no means exhausts the mystery of man. It does not exhaust the mystery of his spirit, nor the mystery of his body. Both the spirit and the body are like mysterious hieroglyphs, which we find difficult to read in warehouses and, perhaps, read by mistake. We know one thing: we do not fully know either the nature of the body or the nature of the spirit. Man cannot answer not only the question: what is spirit, but also the question: what is matter. Does not the spirit in the body feel like a mouse in a mousetrap? And does not the body in the spirit feel itself like a bird caught in a strong net? Spirit is a mystery to itself and to matter, but the same applies to matter. The reality of matter is no less fantastic than the reality of spirit. The nature of matter and spirit is hidden in the bottomless depths of unexplored infinities.

From the mysterious marriage of matter with spirit, man was born. Infinity is both in the midst of it and surrounds it on both sides. Therefore, human life is like a terrible dream, an endless dream that matter dreams in the arms of the spirit. And, as in any dream, reality is shown to him, not logically proven. Man has no boundaries. The boundaries of his body are limited by matter, and what are the boundaries of matter? Man feels and is conscious of himself as a man, and does not know his own essence; A person perceives himself as a reality, and does not know the essence of the perceived reality.