II. Письмо первое: Два мира

Our vaulted room breathed on me with coldness, sadness and loneliness when I opened the door to it for the first time after the trip. Now, alas!, I entered it alone, without you. It wasn't just a first impression. Here, I washed myself and tidied up. Rows of materialized thoughts were still lined up on the shelves. Your bed is still made, and your chair remains in its place unchanged (let there be at least the illusion that you are with me!). At the bottom of the clay pot the oil still burns, throwing a sheaf of light upward onto the Face of the Saviors Not Made by Hands. The wind still rustles in the trees outside the window in the late evenings. The night watchman's beaters are still beating encouragingly, and the locomotives are shouting in their chesty voices. The loud-voiced loops still call to each other in the morning. As before, around four o'clock in the morning the bell rings for Matins in the bell tower. Days and nights merge for me. It’s as if I don’t know where I am and what’s wrong with me, the worldless and timeless has settled under the arches, between the narrow walls of our room. And outside the walls people come, talk, tell news, read newspapers, then leave, come again - forever. The distant locomotives are screaming again in a deep contralto voice. Eternal peace is here, eternal movement is there. Everything is still... But you are not with me, and the whole world seems desolate. I am alone, absolutely alone in the whole world. But my sad loneliness aches sweetly in my chest. Sometimes it seems that I have turned into one of those leaves that swirl on the paths with the wind. I got up early this morning and somehow sensed something new. Indeed, in one night the summer broke. In the wind whirlwinds, golden leaves swirled and snaked along the ground. Birds walked in flocks. The cranes reached out, the crows and rooks began to play. The air was filled with a cool autumn spirit, the smell of fading leaves, and melancholy drawing into the distance. One by one, one by one, the leaves fell. Like dying butterflies, they slowly circled through the air, flying to the ground. The wind played with “liquid shadows” of branches on the matted grass. How good, how joyful and sad! Oh, my distant, my quiet brother! In you there is spring, and in me there is autumn, always autumn. It seems that the whole soul comes out in sweet languor, at the sight of these fluttering leaves, smelling “the aroma of faded aspen trees.” It seems that the soul finds itself, seeing this death, in trepidation anticipating the resurrection. Seeing death! Because she surrounds me. And now I am no longer talking about my thoughts, not about death in general, but about the death of those dear to me. How many, how many have I lost over these past years. One by one, one by one, like yellowed leaves, dear people fall away. In them I felt the soul, in them the reflection of Heaven sometimes sparkled for me. I received nothing but good from them. But my conscience is racing: “What have you done for them?” Behold, they are not, and between them and me there is an abyss. One after another, one after another, like autumn leaves, those with whom the heart has lived forever are circling over the hazy abyss. They fall, and there is no return, and there is no longer the opportunity to hug the legs of each of them. It is no longer possible to shed tears and beg for forgiveness - to beg for forgiveness in front of the whole world. Again and again, with indelible clarity, all the sins, all the “petty” basenesses appear in the consciousness. Those “small” inattentions, selfishness and heartlessness, which gradually crippled the soul, are burned deeper and deeper into the soul, like letters of fire. Never anything overtly bad. Never anything obviously, tangibly sinful. But always (always, Lord!) on the little things. Of little things - piles. And looking back, you see nothing but filth. Nothing good... Oh, Lord! The autumn leaves are constantly falling; one after another they describe circles above the earth. An unquenchable lamp burns quietly, and one by one a loved one dies. “I know that he will rise again on the resurrection, on the last day.” And yet, with some kind of peaceful anguish, I repeat before our cross, which you made from a simple stick, which was consecrated by our affectionate Elder: “Lord! If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Everything is spinning, everything is sliding into a deathly abyss. Only One abides, only in Him is immutability, life and peace. “The whole course of events gravitates towards Him; like the periphery to the center, all the radii of the circle of times converge towards Him.” This is not what I say, from my meager experience; no, this is evidenced by a person who has completely immersed himself in the element of the United Center - Bishop. Theophan the Recluse. On the contrary, outside this United Center “the only thing certain is that there is nothing reliable and nothing—a person is more unhappy or arrogant; – solum certum nihil esse certi et homine nihil miserius aut superbius,” as testified by one of the noblest pagans, who completely devoted himself to the satisfaction of his boundless curiosity, Pliny the Elder. Yes, everything in life is unsettled, everything sways in mirage shapes. And from the depths of the soul rises an unbearable need to support oneself on the “Pillar and Ground of Truth”, on στῦλος καὶ ἐδραίωμα τῆς ἀληθείας (1 Tim. 3:15) τῆς ἀληθείας, and not just ἀληθείας, - not one of the truths, not the partial and fragmented human truth, restless and blown like dust driven on the mountains by the breath of the wind, but the all-integral and eternal-eternal Truth, - the one and Divine Truth, the bright, bright Truth, - That “Truth”, which, according to the ancient poet, is “the sun of the world” 3 How to approach this Pillar? From the incorruptible body of St. Sergius the Venerable, which always pacifies the troubled soul, every day and every hour we hear a call that promises peace to the troubled mind. Everything read at the prayer service to the Venerable, the 43rd conception from Matthew (Matthew 11:27-30) has a predominantly cognitive meaning, I dare say, theoretical-cognitive, epistemological; and this significance of this concept becomes all the more clear when we take a closer look at the fact that the subject of the entire 11th chapter of Matthew is the question of knowledge - about the insufficiency of rational knowledge and the need for spiritual knowledge. 4 Yes, God “hidden” everything that alone can be called worthy of knowledge “from the wise and understanding” and “revealed it to babes” (Matthew 11:26). It would be unjustifiable violence against the word of God to reinterpret “the wise and prudent” as “supposedly wise”, “supposedly wise”, but in fact they are not, just as it would be to see some kind of virtuous sages in “babies”. Of course, the Lord said, without irony, exactly what he wanted to say: true human wisdom, true human rationality is insufficient for the very fact that it is human. And, at the same time, mental “infancy”, the lack of mental wealth that prevents one from entering the Kingdom of Heaven, may turn out to be a condition for acquiring spiritual knowledge. But the fullness of everything is in Jesus Christ, and therefore knowledge can only be obtained through Him and from Him. All human efforts of knowledge, which exhausted the poor sages, are in vain. Like clumsy camels, they are loaded with their knowledge, and, like salt water, science only inflames the thirst for knowledge, never calming the inflamed mind. But the “gracious yoke” of the Lord and His “light burden” give the mind something that the cruel yoke and the heavy, unbearable burden of science do not and cannot give. That is why, at the tomb of overflowing grace, all the Divine verbs sound and sound like an incessant spring of living water: “All things have been handed over to Me by My Father: and no one knows (ἐπιγινώσχει) the Son except the Father: no one knows the Father except the Son, and whatever the Son wills, reveal it (ἀποχαλύψαι). Come to Me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest (ἀναπαύσω). Take My yoke upon you, and learn from Me (μάθετε άπ’έμοθ), for I am meek and lowly in heart: and you will find rest (ἀνάπαυσιν) for your souls. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light (Matthew 11:27-30).” But let the desire to convince anyone run away from here. I give out of my poverty. And if even one soul felt that I was speaking neither with my lips nor in my ears, I would not want anything more. I know that you will accept me, because it is you who destroy the edges of my selfishness. Brother, my unanimous brother! Both isolated and lonely - I am still with you. Rising above time, I see your clear gaze, again I speak to you face to face. I’m thinking of writing my own broken lines for you. You will not expect that I will begin to sketch them out without a system, outlining a few only milestones. On dead autumn nights, in holy hours of silence, when a tear of delight sparkles on my eyelashes, I will secretly write to you diagrams and pitiful scraps of those issues that we have discussed so much with you. You know in advance what I will write. You will understand that this is not a lecture and that the important tone is due to my stupid ineptitude. If a wise mentor does difficult things as if in jest, then an inexperienced student takes a solemn tone even in trifles. And I, after all, am nothing more than a student repeating after you the lessons of love. His ornari aut mori. – Death or the crown to accept. Euripides, – Medea. Act III, scene 10, in the words of the luminary (“Theater of Euripides”, translated by I. F. Annensky, T. I, St. Petersburg [1907], p. 177). - Truth, - according to the definition of Nicholas of Cusa, - “intelligibilitas omnis intelligibilis”, i.e. “the comprehensibility of everything comprehensible”, “the intelligence of everything intelligent”, “the intelligence of everything reasonable” (Nicolaus de Cusa, - Opera, Basil., 1565, T. I, p. 89 b). – A, according to bl. Augustine, God is the primary truth, “stabilis Veritas - stable, immovable Truth” (Blessed Augustine, “Confession”, 11, 10. - Migne, - Patrol. ser. lat. prima, T. 37; cf. On the Trinity, 8. - Migne. - id., T. 42 coll. 948–950). Matthew 11 presents a contrast between labor knowledge, so to speak, and spiritual knowledge. John the Baptist is compared with the people; he, the greatest of men, with all his exploits cannot occupy even the lowest place in the Kingdom of Heaven; and the people are given signs that not only show the way to the Kingdom, but almost force them to follow it. And, if, despite unfavorable conditions, John the Baptist still believes in Jesus Christ, and the people remain in unbelief, i.e. if, in other words, John the Baptist still has spiritual insight, and the people are blind, then this serves to further condemn the spiritually blind. Schematically, this parallel can be represented as follows: