physics
The nature of consciousness is a unique mystery among all the mysteries of science. Neuroscientists can not simply give a fundamental explanation of how it comes from the physical states of the brain – we are not even sure that we will ever be able to explain it. Astronomers are interested in the fact that there is dark matter, geologists are looking for the sources of life, biologists are trying to understand the cancer – and this is all, of course, difficult tasks, but at least we more or less imagine in which direction we need to dig, and we There are rough concepts of how their decisions should look. And our own “I”, on the other hand, lies outside the traditional scientific methods. Following the philosopher David Chalmers, we call it “a difficult problem of consciousness.”
But, perhaps, consciousness is not one such unique task in complexity. The philosophers of science, Gottfried Leibniz and Immanuel Kant, fought not with such a well-known, but with as complex a task as matter. What is physical matter, in fact, if we ignore the mathematical structures described by physics? And this problem, apparently, lies beyond the limits of traditional scientific methods, since we can only observe the impact of matter, but not its essence – the “PO” of the universe, but not its “iron.” At first glance these problems seem completely separate. But if you look closely, it turns out that they are deeply connected.

Consciousness is a multifaceted phenomenon, but subjective perception is its most amazing aspect. Our brain does not just collect and process information. In it, not only biochemical processes take place. He creates a bright series of feelings and sensations, for example, a kind of red color, a feeling of hunger, surprise from philosophy. You are yourself, and no one else can recognize this sensation as directly.
Our consciousness includes a complex set of sensations, emotions, desires and thoughts. But in principle, the sensations of consciousness can be very simple. An animal that feels pain or an instinctive urge, without even thinking about it, still has a mind. Our consciousness, too, is always aware of something all the time – it thinks about the objects of the world, abstract ideas, about oneself. But even he who sleeps and sees incoherent sleep or hallucinates will still have consciousness in the sense of having a subjective experience, even though he does not realize anything concrete.
Where does consciousness come from in this, most general, Sense? Modern science gives us reasons to believe that our consciousness grows from physics and chemistry of the brain, and not from something non-material and transcendental. To obtain a conscious system, we need only physical matter. Collect it in the right way, in the form of a brain, and consciousness will appear. But how and why consciousness can appear because of some kind of collected matter, initially unconscious?
The problem is difficult because its solution can not be described by experiment and observations. Through increasingly complex experiments and advanced imaging technologies, neuroscience gives us more and more detailed patterns of what consciousness feels, depending on the physical states of the brain. Neuroscience may be able to tell us someday what all our conscious states of the brain have in common: for example, they all have high levels of integrated information (as in “ Integrated Information Theory” from Giulio Tononi) that they They spread messages in the brain (as in Theory of the Global Workspace by Bernard Barse), or that they create oscillations at a frequency of 40 Hz (as suggested by Francis Crick and Christoph Koch). But all these theories have a difficult problem. How and why does the system integrating information propagating messages or oscillating with a frequency of 40 Hz feel pain or joy? The emergence of consciousness from simple physical complexity seems equally enigmatic, no matter what form this complexity takes.
And, it seems, the discovery of specific biochemical, and as a result, the physical details underlying these complexities, Nothing will help us. It does not matter how accurately we describe the mechanisms underlying, for example, sensations and recognition of tomatoes, we can still ask: why is this process accompanied by a sensation of red, or any other? Why can not the physical process be carried out without consciousness?
Other natural phenomena, from dark matter to life, albeit mysterious, do not seem so unsolvable. In principle, we can accept that for their understanding we need only collect more physical details: build the best telescopes and other instruments, develop better experiments, notice new laws and patterns in the data already available. If we suddenly got knowledge about all the physical details and laws of the universe, these problems would have to disappear. They would have gone the same way as the problem of heredity disappeared after the discovery of the physical aspects of DNA. But the difficult problem of consciousness remains, even in the presence of knowledge of all conceivable physical aspects.
In this sense, the deep nature of consciousness lies outside scientific possibilities. But at the same time we believe that physics in principle can tell us everything about the nature of physical matter. Physicists tell us that matter is created from particles and fields that have properties such as mass, energy, charge, spin. Physicists could not yet open all the fundamental properties of matter, but they are approaching this.
But there is reason to believe that matter is something more than physics tells us. Physics, in general, tells us what fundamental particles do or how they are related to other things, but nothing about what they themselves represent, regardless of everything else.
For example, the charge is The property of repelling other particles with the same charge and attracting particles with the opposite charge. In other words, charge is a way of dealing with other particles. Similarly, mass is a property of reacting to applied forces and gravitational attraction of other particles with a mass that can be described as a curvature of space-time or interaction with the Higgs field. There are also other things that make particles, and the ways in which they are related to other particles and with space-time.
In general, it seems that all the fundamental physical properties can be described mathematically. Galileo, the father of modern science, once said that the book of nature is written in the language of mathematics. But mathematics is a language with clear limitations. It can describe only abstract structures and connections. For example, we only know about numbers how they relate to other numbers and other mathematical objects-that is, what they “do”, the rules they follow when adding, multiplying, etc. Similarly, we know the properties of a geometric object, such as a graph node, in its relation to other nodes. In the same way, purely mathematical physics can tell us only about the relationships of physical entities and the rules governing their behavior.
One may wonder what physical particles are, regardless of what they do or how they are related to Other things. What are physical entities in themselves, what properties are inherent in them? Some argue that particles are only expressed through their relationship with each other, but intuition rebels against such statements. For the relationship, it is necessary to have two things that have relationships with each other. Otherwise, this attitude is empty – a performance without actors, a lock from the air. In other words, the physical structure must be realized or executed from a certain substance or substance, which in itself is not an empty structure. Otherwise, there will be no difference between the physical and mathematical structure, between the tangible universe and the abstraction. But what is this substance that realizes the physical structure, and what are its internal, non-structural properties that describe it? This problem is a close relative of Kant’s classic problem concerning things in themselves. The philosopher Galen Strawson calls it “a difficult problem of matter.”
Here there is irony, because we usually imagine physics as a science that describes the “iron” of the universe – real, concrete things. But in fact, physical matter (at least, those aspects of it that physics tells us about) is more like a software: a logical and mathematical structure. According to the difficult problem of matter, this software requires iron for work. Physicists brilliantly carried out the reverse engineering of the algorithms – or of the source code – of the universe, but excluded the specific implementation.
The difficult problem of matter differs from other problems of interpretation of physics. Modern physics gives us riddles of the type: how can matter at the same time resemble a particle and a wave? What is the collapse of the quantum wave function? What is more fundamental, continuous fields or individual particles? But all these are questions of how to properly understand the structure of reality. A difficult problem of matter would appear, even if we had answers to all questions about the structure. Regardless of what structures we speak of, from the most strange and unusual to the most intuitive ones, the question will arise: how they are realized not from a purely structural point of view.
Such a problem appears even in Newtonian physics describing Structure of reality on a simple intuitive level. Roughly speaking, Newtonian physics says that matter consists of solid particles interacting either through a collision or through gravitational attraction. But what is the intrinsic nature of a substance behaving so simply and intuitively? What is the iron on which the software of the Newton equations is implemented? Someone may decide that the answer is simple: it is realized by means of solid particles. But hardness is behavior coming from particles that resist penetration of other particles and overlapping each other – that is, in fact, another relationship with other particles in space. The difficult problem of matter arises with any structural description of reality, regardless of its quality and intuition.
Just as a difficult problem of consciousness, the difficult problem of matter can not be solved through experiments and observations, or through the collection of additional physical details. They just show us more structures – at least as long as physics remains a discipline dedicated to describing reality through mathematics.
Could a difficult problem of consciousness and a difficult problem of matter be connected? In physics, there is already a tradition of combining problems of physics and problems of consciousness, for example, in quantum theories of consciousness. Such theories are often belittled because of their false conclusions about the fact that if quantum physics and consciousness are mysterious, then their crossing will somehow become less mysterious. The idea of ββlinking a difficult problem of consciousness with a difficult problem of matter can be criticized on the same basis. But if you look closely, these two problems complement each other at a deeper and more specific level. One of the first philosophers who noticed this connection was Leibniz at the end of the 17th century, but Bertrand Russell formulated the exact modern version of the idea. Modern philosophers, including Chalmers and Strawson, re-discovered this connection. It is described as follows:
The difficult problem of matter requires finding non-structural properties, and consciousness is a phenomenon that can satisfy these requirements. The mind is full of quality properties, from the redness of red color and the discomfort of hunger to the phenomenology of thoughts. Such experiences, or “qualia,” may have an internal structure, but they have something else besides the structure. We know something about the essence and internal properties of sensations, about what they are themselves, and not just how they work and how they are related to other properties.
For example, imagine a person, Never seen red objects and never heard of the existence of red. He does not know anything about how “redness” is related to the states of the brain, to physical objects like tomatoes or to the wavelength, or how it is related to other colors (for example, similar to orange, but very different from green ). And one day he had a big red stain in his hallucinations. Apparently, a person after that learns that there is redness, although he knows nothing about her connections with other things. The knowledge obtained by him will be knowledge without relations, knowledge of what redness itself is.
From this it follows that consciousness in a primitive-rudimentary form is an “iron” on which the “software” described by physicists works . The physical world can be perceived as a structure of conscious sensations. Our own feelings realize the physical connections that make up our brain. Some simple, elementary forms of sensations realize the connections that make up the fundamental particles. Let us take an electron. Electron attracts, repels, and somehow relates to other entities in accordance with fundamental physical equations. What makes up his behavior can be imagined as a stream of tiny sensations of an electron. Electrons and other particles can be thought of as mental beings with physical abilities; As the streams of sensations that are in physical relationship with other streams of sensations.

This idea may seem strange and even mystical, but it is born from careful reflection on the limitations of science . Leibniz and Russell were scientific rationalists – what proof their immortal contributions to physics, logic and mathematics serve – but just as deeply they were devoted to the reality and uniqueness of consciousness. They concluded that to pay homage to both phenomena, it is necessary to radically change thinking.
And this is really a radical change. Philosophers and neuroscientists often imagine a consciousness in the form of software, and the brain – in the form of “iron.” This assumption turns it upside down. If you look at what physics says about the brain, it will, in fact, be a software – a purely set of relationships – to the lowest levels. And consciousness is actually more like iron, because its properties are qualitative, not structural. Therefore, conscious experiences can just be what structure is the physical structure.
If to solve thus the difficult problem of matter, the difficult problem of consciousness disappears by itself. There are no questions about how consciousness arises from a matter that has no consciousness, since all matter is inherently conscious. There are no questions about the dependence of consciousness on matter, since it is matter that depends on consciousness – just as the relationship depends on the members entering into these relationships, and the structure depends on the implementer, the software working on the iron.
One can argue that this is pure anthropomorphism, an unjustified mapping of human properties onto natural phenomena. Where did we get that the physical structure requires some internal implementers? Is it because our brain has internal, conscious properties, and we are used to thinking about nature in terms we know? But this objection can be refuted. The idea that internal properties are needed in order to distinguish real concrete things from abstract structures has nothing to do with consciousness. Moreover, the accusation of anthropomorphism can be refuted by counter-charging in human exclusivity. If the brain is completely material, why should it differ from the rest of the matter in terms of inherent intrinsic properties?
This viewpoint, about underlying consciousness, is called differently, but one of the most suitable names is “Two-faceted theory of consciousness” or “two-way monism”. Monism contrasts with dualism, which says that consciousness and matter are fundamentally different substances or types of things. Dualism is considered scientifically unfounded, as science does not demonstrate any evidence of the presence of nonphysical forces affecting the brain.
Monism argues that all reality is made from the same substance. It can be of different types. The most common monistic view is physicalism (also known as materialism), postulating that everything consists of a physical substance possessing only one aspect described by physics. Today, this view is generally accepted among philosophers and scientists. According to physicalism, a complete and purely physical description of reality does not miss anything. But according to the difficult problem of consciousness, any purely physical description of a conscious system, for example, of the brain, at first glance, still misses something. ΠΠ½ΠΎ Π½Π΅ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½ΠΎΡΡΡΡ ΠΎΠΏΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΎΠ·Π½Π°ΡΠ°Π΅Ρ Π±ΡΡΡ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠΉ ΡΠΈΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΠΎΠΉ. ΠΠ½Π°, ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠΊΠ°Π·Π°ΡΡ, ΠΎΠΏΠΈΡΡΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠ΅, Π½ΠΎ Π½Π΅ ΡΡΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠ΅ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ: ΡΠ°Π±ΠΎΡΡ ΠΌΠΎΠ·Π³Π°, Π½ΠΎ Π½Π΅ Π½Π°ΡΡ Π²Π½ΡΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΡ ΡΠ°Π·ΡΠΌΠ½ΡΡ ΠΆΠΈΠ·Π½Ρ.
ΠΠ²ΡΡ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠ·ΠΌ Π Π°ΡΡΠ΅Π»Π° ΠΏΡΡΠ°Π΅ΡΡΡ Π·Π°ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½ΠΈΡΡ ΡΡΠΎΡ Π΄Π΅ΡΠΈΡΠΈΡ. ΠΠ½ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π΅Ρ ΡΠΎΡΠΊΡ Π·ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π½Π° ΠΌΠΎΠ·Π³ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ Π½Π° ΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΡΠΈΡΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ, Π²Π΅Π΄ΡΡΡΡ ΡΠ΅Π±Ρ Π² ΡΠΎΠΎΡΠ²Π΅ΡΡΡΠ²ΠΈΠΈ Ρ Π·Π°ΠΊΠΎΠ½Π°ΠΌΠΈ ΡΠΈΠ·ΠΈΠΊΠΈ. ΠΠΎ ΠΎΠ½ Π΄ΠΎΠ±Π°Π²Π»ΡΠ΅Ρ Π΅ΡΡ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΠ½ Π²Π½ΡΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΈΠΉ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡ ΠΊ ΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΠΈ, ΡΠΏΡΡΡΠ°Π½Π½ΡΠΉ ΠΎΡ Π²Π½Π΅ΡΠ½Π΅ΠΉ ΡΠΎΡΠΊΠΈ Π·ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΠΈΠ·ΠΈΠΊΠΈ, ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΠΉ Π½Π΅Π»ΡΠ·Ρ ΠΎΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄Π΅Π»ΠΈΡΡ Π½ΠΈΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΈΠΌ ΡΠΈΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΈΠ·ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠΌ ΠΎΠΏΠΈΡΠ°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ. ΠΠΎ, Ρ ΠΎΡΡ ΡΡΠΎΡ Π²Π½ΡΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΈΠΉ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡ Π½Π΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄Π΄Π°ΡΡΡΡ ΡΠΈΠ·ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠΌ ΡΠ΅ΠΎΡΠΈΡΠΌ, ΠΎΠ½ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄Π΄Π°ΡΡΡΡ Π½Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ Π²Π½ΡΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½Π΅ΠΌΡ Π½Π°Π±Π»ΡΠ΄Π΅Π½ΠΈΡ. ΠΠ°ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΈ ΡΠΎΡΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΠ΅Ρ ΡΡΠΎΡ Π²Π½ΡΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΈΠΉ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡ ΠΌΠΎΠ·Π³Π°, ΠΈ ΡΡΠΎ Π½Π°Ρ ΠΊΠ»ΡΡ ΠΊ Π²Π½ΡΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½Π΅ΠΌΡ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡΡ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈΡ ΡΠΈΠ·ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΡ Π²Π΅ΡΠ΅ΠΉ. ΠΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ°Π·ΠΈΡΡΡ Π»Π°ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΠΈΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΠΎΡΠ²Π΅Ρ ΠΡΡΡΡ Π¨ΠΎΠΏΠ΅Π½Π³Π°ΡΡΡΠ° ΠΠ°Π½ΡΡ: ΠΌΡ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅ΠΌ ΠΎΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π²Π°ΡΡ Π²Π΅ΡΡ Π² ΡΠ΅Π±Π΅, ΠΏΠΎΡΠΎΠΌΡ ΡΡΠΎ ΠΌΡ Π΅Ρ ΡΠ²Π»ΡΠ΅ΠΌΡΡ.
ΠΠ²ΡΡ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠ·ΠΌ Π±ΡΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ ΡΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠΌ ΠΈ ΡΠ°Π΄ΠΈΠΊΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌ. Π£ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠ΅ Π²Π΅ΡΡΠΈΠΈ ΡΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠΆΠ΄Π°ΡΡ, ΡΡΠΎ Π²Π½ΡΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΈΠΉ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡ ΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΠΈ ΡΠΎΡΡΠΎΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ· Ρ.Π½. ΠΏΡΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Β«Π½Π΅ΠΉΡΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ Β» ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΉΡΡΠ²: ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΉΡΡΠ², Π½Π΅ΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅ΡΡΠ½ΡΡ Π½Π°ΡΠΊΠ΅, Π½ΠΎ ΠΎΡΠ»ΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΡ ΡΡ ΠΎΡ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ. ΠΡΠΈΡΠΎΠ΄Π° ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΈΡ Π½ΠΈ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°ΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ , Π½ΠΈ ΡΠΈΠ·ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΡ ΡΠ²ΠΎΠΉΡΡΠ², ΠΊΠ°ΠΆΠ΅ΡΡΡ Π΄ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎ Π·Π°Π³Π°Π΄ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΠΉ. ΠΠ°ΠΊ ΠΈ ΡΠΏΠΎΠΌΡΠ½ΡΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠ°Π½Π΅Π΅ ΠΊΠ²Π°Π½ΡΠΎΠ²ΡΠ΅ ΡΠ΅ΠΎΡΠΈΠΈ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΡΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΡΠΉ Π΄Π²ΡΡ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠ·ΠΌ ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ ΠΎΠ±Π²ΠΈΠ½ΠΈΡΡ Π² ΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΠΎΠΌ Π΄ΠΎΠ±Π°Π²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠΈ ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎΠΉ Π·Π°Π³Π°Π΄ΠΊΠΈ ΠΊ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΎΠΉ, Π² ΠΎΠΆΠΈΠ΄Π°Π½ΠΈΠΈ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΎΠ½ΠΈ Π²Π·Π°ΠΈΠΌΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠ½ΠΈΡΡΠΎΠΆΠ°ΡΡΡ.
Π‘Π°ΠΌΡΠΉ ΡΠ°Π΄ΠΈΠΊΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ Π²Π°ΡΠΈΠ°Π½Ρ Π΄Π²ΡΡ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠ·ΠΌΠ° ΡΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠΆΠ΄Π°Π΅Ρ, ΡΡΠΎ Π²Π½ΡΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΈΠΉ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡ ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΡΠΎΡΡΠΎΠΈΡ Π½Π΅ΠΏΠΎΡΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎ ΠΈΠ· ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ. ΠΡΠΎ, ΡΠ°Π·ΡΠΌΠ΅Π΅ΡΡΡ, Π½Π΅ ΡΠΎ ΠΆΠ΅ ΡΠ°ΠΌΠΎΠ΅, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠΆΠ΄Π°Π΅Ρ ΡΡΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠΉ ΠΈΠ΄Π΅Π°Π»ΠΈΠ·ΠΌ, Π³ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΡΡΡΠΈΠΉ ΠΎ ΡΠΎΠΌ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΈΠ·ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠΉ ΠΌΠΈΡ β ΡΡΠΎ Π½Π΅ Π±ΠΎΠ»Π΅Π΅, ΡΠ΅ΠΌ ΡΡΡΡΠΊΡΡΡΠ°, ΠΆΠΈΠ²ΡΡΠ°Ρ Π² ΡΠ΅Π»ΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΎΠΌ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΠΈ, ΠΈ ΡΡΠΎ Π²Π½Π΅ΡΠ½ΠΈΠΉ ΠΌΠΈΡ β Π² ΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠΌ-ΡΠΎ ΡΠΌΡΡΠ»Π΅ ΠΈΠ»Π»ΡΠ·ΠΈΡ. Π‘ΠΎΠ³Π»Π°ΡΠ½ΠΎ Π΄Π²ΡΡ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡΠ½ΠΎΠΌΡ ΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠ·ΠΌΡ, Π²Π½Π΅ΡΠ½ΠΈΠΉ ΠΌΠΈΡ ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΡΠ΅Ρ Π½Π΅Π·Π°Π²ΠΈΡΠΈΠΌΠΎ ΠΎΡ ΡΠ΅Π»ΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ. ΠΠΎ ΠΎΠ½ Π½Π΅ ΡΡΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²ΠΎΠ²Π°Π» Π±Ρ Π½Π΅Π·Π°Π²ΠΈΡΠΈΠΌΠΎ ΠΎΡ Π»ΡΠ±ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠΈΠΏΠ° ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΠΏΠΎΡΠΊΠΎΠ»ΡΠΊΡ Π²ΡΠ΅ ΡΠΈΠ·ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΠ΅ Π²Π΅ΡΠΈ ΡΠ²ΡΠ·Π°Π½Ρ Ρ Π½Π΅ΠΊΠΎΠ΅ΠΉ ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠΎΠΉ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΡΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ ΠΈΠΌ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ, ΠΈΡ ΡΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ²Π΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ Π²Π½ΡΡΡΠ΅Π½Π½Π΅Π³ΠΎ ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΠΈΠ·Π°ΡΠΎΡΠ°, ΠΈΠ»ΠΈ Β«ΠΆΠ΅Π»Π΅Π·Π°Β».

Π ΠΊΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΡΠ²Π΅ ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΡΡΠ΄Π½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ±Π»Π΅ΠΌΡ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Π΄Π²ΡΡ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΠΌΠΎΠ½ΠΈΠ·ΠΌ ΡΠ°ΠΌ ΡΡΠ°Π»ΠΊΠΈΠ²Π°Π΅ΡΡΡ Ρ Π²ΠΎΠ·ΡΠ°ΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ. Π‘Π°ΠΌΠΎΠ΅ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΎΠ΅ ΠΈΠ· Π½ΠΈΡ β ΡΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΈΠ· Π½Π΅Π³ΠΎ ΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΡΠ΅Ρ ΠΏΠ°Π½ΠΏΡΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ·ΠΌ, ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ°Π²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΎ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΉ ΠΎΠ΄ΡΡΠ΅Π²Π»ΡΠ½Π½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ ΠΏΡΠΈΡΠΎΠ΄Ρ. ΠΡΠΈΡΠΈΠΊΠΈ ΡΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ ΠΌΠ°Π»ΠΎΠ²Π΅ΡΠΎΡΡΠ½ΡΠΌ Π½Π°Π»ΠΈΡΠΈΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ Ρ ΡΡΠ½Π΄Π°ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΡ. Π ΡΡΠΎΠΉ ΠΈΠ΄Π΅Π΅ Π΄Π΅ΠΉΡΡΠ²ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΈΡ ΠΎΠ΄ΠΈΡΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ²ΡΠΊΠ°ΡΡ. ΠΠΎ Π΄Π°Π²Π°ΠΉΡΠ΅ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΌΠΎΡΡΠΈΠΌ Π°Π»ΡΡΠ΅ΡΠ½Π°ΡΠΈΠ²Ρ. ΠΡΠ°Π»ΠΈΠ·ΠΌ Π²ΡΠ³Π»ΡΠ΄ΠΈΡ Π½Π΅Π²ΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΡΠΌ Ρ ΡΠΎΡΠΊΠΈ Π·ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ Π½Π°ΡΠΊΠΈ. Π€ΠΈΠ·ΠΈΠΊΠ°Π»ΠΈΠ·ΠΌ ΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΠΈΠΌΠ°Π΅Ρ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠΉ, Π½Π°ΡΡΠ½ΠΎ ΠΎΠ±ΠΎΡΠ½ΠΎΠ²Π°Π½Π½ΡΠΉ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡ ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ β ΠΈ Π΅ΡΡΡ Π²ΡΡ ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ, ΠΈΠ· ΡΠ΅Π³ΠΎ ΡΠ»Π΅Π΄ΡΠ΅Ρ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΡΠ±ΡΠ΅ΠΊΡΠΈΠ²Π½ΡΠΉ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ β ΡΡΠΎ ΠΈΠ»Π»ΡΠ·ΠΈΡ. ΠΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ β Π½ΠΎ Π½Π΅ Π΄ΠΎΠ»ΠΆΠ½Ρ Π»ΠΈ ΠΌΡ Π±ΡΡΡ Π±ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΠ΅ ΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠ΅Π½Ρ Π² ΡΠΎΠΌ, ΡΡΠΎ Ρ Π½Π°Ρ Π΅ΡΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅, ΡΠ΅ΠΌ Π² ΡΠΎΠΌ, ΡΡΠΎ Ρ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΡ Π΅Π³ΠΎ Π½Π΅Ρ?
ΠΡΠΎΡΠΎΠ΅ Π²Π°ΠΆΠ½ΠΎΠ΅ Π²ΠΎΠ·ΡΠ°ΠΆΠ΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ β Ρ.Π½. ΠΏΡΠΎΠ±Π»Π΅ΠΌΠ° ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ½Π°ΡΠΈΠΈ. ΠΠ°ΠΊ ΠΈ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ΅ΠΌΡ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΈ ΠΎΠ±ΡΠ΅Π΄ΠΈΠ½ΡΠ½Π½ΠΎΠ΅ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π² Π½Π°ΡΠ΅ΠΌ ΠΌΠΎΠ·Π³Π΅ ΠΏΠΎΡΠ²Π»ΡΠ΅ΡΡΡ ΠΈΠ·-Π·Π° ΡΠΎΠ·Π΄Π°Π½ΠΈΡ ΡΡΡΡΠΊΡΡΡΡ ΠΈΠ· ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΡ Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΡΡΡΠΌ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ΠΌ? ΠΡΠΎΡ Π²ΠΎΠΏΡΠΎΡ Π²ΡΠ³Π»ΡΠ΄ΠΈΡ ΠΏΠΎΠ΄ΠΎΠ·ΡΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΠΏΠΎΡ ΠΎΠΆΠΈΠΌ Π½Π° ΠΈΠ·Π½Π°ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ±Π»Π΅ΠΌΡ. Π― Π²ΠΌΠ΅ΡΡΠ΅ Ρ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΈΠΌΠΈ Π·Π°ΡΠΈΡΠ½ΠΈΠΊΠ°ΠΌΠΈ ΠΏΠ°Π½ΠΏΡΠΈΡ ΠΈΠ·ΠΌΠ° ΡΡΠ²Π΅ΡΠΆΠ΄Π°Π΅ΠΌ, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ±Π»Π΅ΠΌΠ° ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ½Π°ΡΠΈΠΈ ΡΠΆΠ΅ Π½Π΅ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠ°Ρ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠΆΠ½Π°Ρ ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΈΠ·Π½Π°ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½Π°Ρ ΡΡΡΠ΄Π½Π°Ρ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ±Π»Π΅ΠΌΠ°. Π Π½Π΅ΠΊΠΎΡΠΎΡΡΡ ΡΠΌΡΡΠ»Π°Ρ Π»Π΅Π³ΡΠ΅ ΠΏΠΎΠ½ΡΡΡ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΉΡΠΈ ΠΎΡ ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎΠΉ ΡΠΎΡΠΌΡ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΡ (Π½Π°Π±ΠΎΡΠ° ΡΠ°Π·ΡΠΌΠ½ΡΡ ΡΠ°ΡΡΠΈΡ) ΠΊ Π΄ΡΡΠ³ΠΎΠΉ (ΡΠ°Π·ΡΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠΌΡ ΠΌΠΎΠ·Π³Ρ), ΡΠ΅ΠΌ ΡΠΎ, ΠΊΠ°ΠΊ ΠΏΠ΅ΡΠ΅ΠΉΡΠΈ ΠΎΡ Π½Π΅ΡΠ°Π·ΡΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΌΠ°ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΠΈ ΠΊ ΡΠ°Π·ΡΠΌΠ½ΠΎΠΉ. ΠΠ½ΠΎΠ³ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΆΠ΅ ΡΡΠΈΡΠ°ΡΡ ΡΡΠΎ Π½Π΅ΡΠ±Π΅Π΄ΠΈΡΠ΅Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΌ. ΠΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ Π»ΠΈΡΡ Π²ΠΎΠΏΡΠΎΡ Π²ΡΠ΅ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΠΈ. ΠΠ°Π΄ ΠΈΡΡ ΠΎΠ΄Π½ΠΎΠΉ ΡΡΡΠ΄Π½ΠΎΠΉ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ±Π»Π΅ΠΌΠΎΠΉ, Π² ΠΊΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠΉ-Π»ΠΈΠ±ΠΎ Π΅Ρ ΡΠΎΡΠΌΠ΅, ΡΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΠΎΡΡ Π·Π°Π΄ΡΠΌΡΠ²Π°Π»ΠΈΡΡ ΡΡΠΎΠ»Π΅ΡΠΈΡΠΌΠΈ. ΠΡΠΎΠ±Π»Π΅ΠΌΠ° ΠΊΠΎΠΌΠ±ΠΈΠ½Π°ΡΠΈΠΈ Π½Π΅ ΡΠ°ΠΊ ΠΈΠ·Π²Π΅ΡΡΠ½Π°, ΡΡΠΎ ΠΎΡΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΠ΅Ρ Π½Π°Π΄Π΅ΠΆΠ΄Ρ Π½Π° ΠΏΠΎΡΠ²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π½Π΅Π·Π°ΠΌΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½Π½ΠΎΠ³ΠΎ ΡΠ°Π½Π΅Π΅ ΡΠ΅ΡΠ΅Π½ΠΈΡ.
ΠΠΎΠ·ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎΡΡΡ ΡΠΎΠ³ΠΎ, ΡΡΠΎ ΡΠΎΠ·Π½Π°Π½ΠΈΠ΅ β ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ ΠΈ ΠΊΠΎΠ½ΠΊΡΠ΅ΡΠ½ΡΠΉ Π°ΡΠΏΠ΅ΠΊΡ ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ, ΡΡΠ½Π΄Π°ΠΌΠ΅Π½ΡΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅ Β«ΠΆΠ΅Π»Π΅Π·ΠΎΒ», ΠΏΠΎΠ·Π²ΠΎΠ»ΡΡΡΠ΅Π΅ ΡΠ°Π±ΠΎΡΠ°ΡΡ Β«ΡΠΎΡΡΡΒ» Π½Π°ΡΠΈΡ ΡΠΈΠ·ΠΈΡΠ΅ΡΠΊΠΈΡ ΡΠ΅ΠΎΡΠΈΠΉ, ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ°Π²Π»ΡΠ΅Ρ ΡΠΎΠ±ΠΎΠΉ ΡΠ°Π΄ΠΈΠΊΠ°Π»ΡΠ½ΡΡ ΠΈΠ΄Π΅Ρ. ΠΠ½Π° ΠΏΠΎΠ»Π½ΠΎΡΡΡΡ Π²ΡΠ²ΠΎΡΠ°ΡΠΈΠ²Π°Π΅Ρ Π½Π°ΡΠ΅ ΠΎΠ±ΡΡΠ½ΠΎΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ°Π²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ ΠΎ ΡΠ΅Π°Π»ΡΠ½ΠΎΡΡΠΈ, ΠΈ ΡΠ°ΠΊΠΎΠ΅ ΠΏΡΠ΅Π΄ΡΡΠ°Π²Π»Π΅Π½ΠΈΠ΅ Π΄ΠΎΠ²ΠΎΠ»ΡΠ½ΠΎ ΡΠ»ΠΎΠΆΠ½ΠΎ Π²ΠΎΡΠΏΡΠΈΠ½ΡΡΡ. ΠΠΎ ΠΎΠ½Π° ΠΌΠΎΠΆΠ΅Ρ ΡΠ΅ΡΠΈΡΡ Π΄Π²Π΅ ΡΡΡΠ΄Π½Π΅ΠΉΡΠΈΡ ΠΏΡΠΎΠ±Π»Π΅ΠΌΡ Π½Π°ΡΠΊΠΈ ΠΈ ΡΠΈΠ»ΠΎΡΠΎΡΠΈΠΈ ΡΠ°Π·ΠΎΠΌ.
