Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris

There are discussions on the Internet whether money should be spent on repairing the cathedral or given to poor people.

It’s hard for me to stay indifferent to such a kind of statements, to be honest.

Imo art must exist. Art must live FOREVER. If there’s anything that should be helped with money, it’s art. Because art is the best thing a human being can create! The best thing a human being can leave their descendants.

Van Gogh was insane, Michael Jackson did bad things to children and Dostoevsky spent all money on gambling. But what those people created is perfect. It’s beyond their evils and passions, beyond them as sons, beyond them as fathers, beyond them as brothers, beyond them as husbands, beyond them as citizens of their countries. Beyond them as human beings.

Every person who let art into their world becomes a better version of themselves too. That’s the magic of art. That’s a purpose of art. Science is important too but art stays immeasurably higher in this hierarchy.

You know, I lived in many places all over the world. So I think I have the right to make such misanthropic statements👇

Unfortunately, the majority of people are concerned with two things in their life: money and ‘relationships’. That is all. Plus people spent most of their lives shouting at each other on these two occasions. So their life passes like this. They give birth to children and believe that the life purpose will somehow appear through it. But it doesn’t. Their children grow up all the same.

The only chance is that one day such a person will enter Notre-Dame and inside this person – in the very place where once a soul was supposed to be – something will be waken up. Something will rise, something will be born. And this very thing will pull this person out of other robots. So one more human being will appear in our world. Such a Human Being who was considered equal to the gods in ancient Greece.

People we need cathedrals, we need monuments, we need movies, we need books, we need music, we need poems. Without them, there will be no Earth but a planet of the apes shouting stereotyped introjects with credit cards in their teeth.