We don't know man. If you look at the spirit from the side of the body, it looks like a mockery of the body, if you look at the body from the side of the spirit, it looks like a stubborn resistance to the spirit. And the feelings themselves make the spirit overstep the boundaries of the body. There are abysses everywhere: abysses around each of the five senses, near every thought, near every sensation. Abyss upon abyss, and abyss upon abyss, and there is no sure ground on which the unfortunate man can stand firmly. A constant fall, an incessant fall to a certain bottom, which, perhaps, does not exist; constant dizziness... And man feels powerless, as if despair has come of age in him.

"Be faithful to the earth..." - the European man raves, Nietzsche raves, while the earth is surrounded on all sides by terrible abysses. Earth... What is land? A friend of mine gnashed his teeth and said, "The earth is a rotten brain in the skull of some monster; I carry midnight in my pupil, not noon; the earth is the coming of age of horror; looking at the earth and, alas, living on it, the soul decomposes in me, awakened above the abysses..." It's scary to be human...

Small mysteries spiral into greater ones, and large ones into the greatest. Man out of stubbornness can deny infinity, but not the infinity of mystery. To deny this would not be stubbornness, but deliberate madness. The mystery of the world is endless. And everything in the world, without a doubt, is infinitely mysterious. Not to admit this is not to have narrow-minded thoughts and to cherish consumptive sensations; Does it not mean to think and not to want to think to the end, to feel and not to want to feel to the end? The mystery of suffering, the mystery of pain, the mystery of life, the mystery of death, the mystery of the lily, the mystery of the chamois, the mystery of thy eye – are not all mysteries infinite?

Everything is immersed in an unspeakable mystery. Every creature has one halo – infinity. If there is any truth in anything, it is in this thought: every creature is a symbol of infinity. This truth is felt by anyone who has at least once plunged into the mystery of at least some creature. In this universal mystery only one thing is achieved: the unity of this world and the beyond. In questions and surprise, man is undoubtedly otherworldly. Evil in this world pushes a person to another world. Suffering turns the human body into a question mark, which straightens up, addressed to the other world, and from tension turns into an exclamation mark.

This narrow world is a question that cannot be solved by itself. Unstable man feels himself on the border of two worlds: this worldly draws to himself, the otherworldly to himself, and the poor man stumbles and falls between them. Man is a terribly mysterious creature: he is at a crossroads, on the watershed between this world and this world. It seems to be called upon to be the connecting joint of this world with the otherworldly. And he is trying to be: through science and philosophy, through poetry and religion, especially through religion.

Through religion, man tries with all his might to build a bridge over the abyss between this world and the beyond, between the visible and the invisible, between the sensible and the supersensible, so that the organic unity of this world with the other becomes possible. Through religion, man tries to find his own balance in the universe, so as not to overestimate the otherworldly to the detriment of this worldly and, conversely, the otherworldly to the detriment of the otherworldly. This is not a luxury, but the most necessary necessity; it is not something unnatural, but, on the contrary, constitutes the very essence of human nature. There is something in man that cannot fit into this three-dimensional world, into the categories of time and space. This is what finds its expression and its language in religion. Through religion, a person defeats geocentrism and tries to overcome egoism by appirocentrism.

The feeling of infinity is inherent in every person. When awakened, it manifests itself through religion; remaining in a dormant state, it gives way to irreligiosity, indifference, and atheism. Irreligion and atheism are manifested in those people who have this cosmic, this endless feeling intoxicated with solipsistic egocentrism. If a person begins to look for the meaning of life, a meaning that would be more logical than that of a moth, then a dormant sense of infinity instantly awakens in him. And through religion, man stretches with all his being beyond himself and above himself in search of the desired meaning. In this case, religion becomes a means of victory over egoism, over solipsism; a means of prolonging, expanding, deepening, and endlessly the human personality. Through religion, man fights for the expansion of the circle of reality, for unconditional meaning, for an eternal goal, for inextinguishable optimism, for blissful immortality. This is the meaning and justification of all religions that have arisen on our long-suffering planet.

European Man at a Red-Hot Crossroads

European humanism, like a wall, surrounded our planet with man. He clothed her in a man. And he mobilized everything, even temporarily and permanently incapable of fighting, against everything superhuman. Every passage is walled up by man, so that nothing superhuman can break through into the sphere of human life. Clothed in man, our planet sways like a drunk on its way to...? But still, the fall of the otherworldly is terrible. With its frightening riddles, the otherworldly, as if with fiery arrows, like fiery arrows, riddled both the body and the spirit of man, with which our wonderful planet is surrounded. Man is riddled with riddles, and his body has become a sieve, and his spirit. And can a sieve stop the hurricane of otherworldly mysteries, which day and night zealously blows at our star from the gloomy depths of infinity?

Humanism has based itself on man as a new and salvific gospel, and without assuming that any gospel ends in an apocalypse. Basing itself on man, humanism has based itself on the most volcanic soil. Volcanoes began to erupt. This is the beginning of the apocalypse of European man. Humanism only scratched the skin of a human being, and a monster roared from every pore. All volcanic vents breathe, wheezing and shaking the ground. Futurists, decadents, anarchists, nihilists, Satanists live near them and greedily write, composing a chronicle of the apocalyptic era of man in warehouses. And they are not ashamed of any filth, for the symbol of the apocalyptic era is the exposure of all filth, all abominations, all horrors. The right to this courage is given to them by their father, humanism, since they are its offspring. And unwittingly, humanism arranged a terrible exhibition of man, exposing everything human. I have never seen the light of an exhibition more terrible than this. Man was horrified, for man is something to be feared the most. You don't believe it? Unseal the deepest recesses of his being and hear apocalyptic monsters howling from there.

The apocalypse of our time grinds us into powder with its revelations: horrors that have never known each other have made acquaintance and become friends in man. Apparently, our old planet has decided to end its existence in man, to end apocalyptically anarchically and violently. Its atmosphere has become too explosive: all cosmic contradictions meet on it to burst when they meet. Unfortunately, she is placed at the damned crossroads of the universe. All paths cross on it: the roads of light and darkness, the roads of pain and joy, the roads of suffering and bliss, the roads of life and death. Every celestial body passes through it in one of its own ways. That is why the earth has become the refuge of all pains and the crossroads of all paths. Life on earth is so painful that man must wonder in wonder: Does pain not slide along every ray that penetrates the earth? Isn't that why the earth is a huge ocean of pain?.. Does not a drop of pus flow down each ray? Is this not why our sorrowful planet is the abscess of the universe, in which all cosmic impurity, all cosmic evil, all cosmic abominations are gathered?

The horror of human life is many-sided and cruel. Apparently, the earth is doomed to be a crossroads of ghosts, who for a short time put on a body, test themselves, try on matter, in order to finally throw off their bodily shells with screams and curses. The meaninglessness of earthly cosmism leads a person to the idea that some higher being has deliberately invented a game of matter, dressed it in it (these ghosts – Ed.) and is testing whether they will be able to get used to it and get along in it.

When matter awakens in man and comes into consciousness and self-consciousness, man feels himself to be a place of crossing of innumerable, unusual paths, the beginning and the end of which he does not know. Matter is close to man; is one in body with Him, but still cannot fit into the framework of human thought. There is nothing simple, nothing ordinary, nothing surprising about it. It imprints itself and all its crossroads in a person. Ghosts rush along them, which with the greatest joy stop at a person and put on a person. It is as if man is sent to martyrdom: the world is an arena, and it is torn apart by ghosts.

All creatures compete with each other in fantasy: it is difficult, and sometimes impossible, to draw a line between the fantastic and the real. Fantasy is the soul of reality, of all realities that a human being can be aware of. Therefore, realities, whatever they may be, are problems that are insoluble for the human mind, problems that transcend man. How can a person solve them, if not something more than a man, and better than a man, more intelligent and stronger?