Author of quotes: Alexei Fedorovich Losev

But the myth as told by Ovid also contains something else. It contains criticism and even a complete overthrow of this individualism. According to myth, Narcissus is severely punished, and this punishment is carried out by none other than the goddess of fate, Nemesis. Consequently, the myth wants to say that such is the fate of any individualism, which has lost its nourishment from living reality and which perishes in the prison of its own solitude, limiting itself to the few and meager resources of its inner experiences.

The myth of Narcissus is usually both read and told as an ordinary funny story, without penetrating into its complex essence. However, the historical approach to mythology reveals in this myth an unexpected depth and artistic reflection of a certain moment in the history of social development. Before us here, first of all, is the image of extreme individualism. An individual personality achieves unprecedented isolation, deepening into himself. Even in nature, man finds nothing else but himself. Under the cover of a naive myth, told in innocent mytho-epic tones, it is told about an unprecedented social decay: a person is completely covered by the illusion of detachment from everything around him.

But here's the thing. Many argue so. Yeah, again it all depends on fate, then I do nothing. Still, the fates will do as she wants. This dementia of ancient humans.



Explanation of the quote:

From a public lecture delivered by A. F. Losev. Twelve theses on antique culture
VI thesis

Life is life - here do not understand a talk on this topic. Knowledge itself is only the result of life. Knowledge itself is caused by the needs of life. We don't know, but the reality in us knows itself. In the end, don't we live, but lives in our common global life. We are only spikes in the common sea of existence, only a single jet and the world flood, only the waves of the immense ocean of the universe. What is our knowledge? It is just individual flowers, leaves, stalks, individual blades of grass on a meadow cannot fit global life; and it all goes in the soil in the dark depths, feeds on the roots of their formless, hidden from view, obscure and hazy.

... action, activity, practice, even moral actions and moral will not yet have the wisdom of life, which would be a higher destiny. Still need somewhere to take the principles of action; still it is necessary to know exactly how to act, what to act. Here's this "in the name" and is not in itself a willful act. In addition, every volitional act sooner or later resisted. Our work is often interrupted, and in the end just ends once and for all. And fate is present in all its relentlessness, in the whole of inevitability. Death - criticism of every action.

Conscience, my friend, are different. That is why the fight happens. Both fight, and both conscience!

I grieved and pined, watching animal cruelty and bloody sufferings in the animal and human life. But now I'm calm. Who saw the little evil, the fussing, fusses, squirms, terrified and killed. But who knows what the whole world lies in evil, that still, for the most the vanity of the world as lying in wickedness itself assumes that the world is not evil, what is it a temporary state that there is a truth and the truth is, prevista life, and that everyone is commanded by nature to give their tribute and evil and goodness.

Who is he that dies quietly. Who has the Motherland, the one dying if not for her, at least-only in it, on it, dying is always cozy, like a child, falling asleep in a soft and warm bed, at least this death was in battle, even if it was the death of the pilot falling from km altitude on stony ground. Only homeland gives inner comfort, for all native - cozy, and the only comfort is the overcoming of fate and death.

Love people not for anything. Love is not a transaction, not a contract, not a selfish exchange of things, not law. Loves loves not because favorite - high, great, immense. Parents love children and children love parents, not for the highest virtues, and because they are each other's family. Noble citizen loves his country also not for the fact that it is everywhere and always, in everything, and certainly a great, tall, rich, beautiful and so on. We know all the thorny path of our country; we know many and weary years of struggle, lack, and suffering. But for the son of his homeland all of this - his own, inherent, native; he lives and dies with it; he have this, and it is the native, and is himself.

But what can we say about love is pure and clear ideological about love, about love of country? She is selfless, but that's because every love is not selfish (or it is not love). She is ready for sacrifice, but that's because there is no love without sacrifice and heroism, there is no love without sacrifice and renunciation. Love of country also wants to enter into a General life, the life of the native folk, and dissolve there, finding themselves in this camerastore. The love for the Motherland opens the eyes of the man that he usually is not visible that is not visible to any stranger and that causes ridicule in an indifferent and well-fed. But this is love at all. Loving always sees in the beloved more than loveless; but right - he who loves, not the one who is indifferent, because love is learning.

We must learn to be!

The feeling of homeland and kinship has nothing to do with rational knowledge. But the love of the mother is not also blindness. To love is to criticize, that is, to find in your favorite positive and negative. To love is to rejoice in the fact that in your favorite positive, good, and to suffer from its shortcomings. This means to encourage in your favorite good start and to deal with the imperfect in it. It means to live a common life.

Want to think - throw in the bottomless abyss of thoughts. So let's begin to think. First, of course, stay close to the shore, and then swim away.

Only original works of modern European materialism consists exactly in the myth of the universal dead Leviathan, universal dead monster. You live in a cold fornication numb to the world space and mutilate yourself you have built by the black prison of nihilistic science. And I love nebushko, blue-blue, native-native... Incredible boredom emanates from the world of Newtonian mechanics, from absolute darkness and the inhuman cold of interplanetary space. What is this if not a black hole, not even the grave and not even a bath house with spiders because both still interesting and talks about something human. I was on earth, under the skies, listening to the universe "which will not podvigina". And then suddenly there is nothing: no earth, no sky "which will not podvigina". Somewhere kicked in the neck, in a kind of emptiness. Reading a astronomy textbook, I feel that someone with a stick is kicking me out of his house. And for what?