The Final Man is closest to escaping from the world into the fine mist of his essence, simple and complete, without boundaries but within the boundary of himself. The world is his prison, an interwoven structure of limitations and borders, where the untruth exists by relying on the actions of others to show who he is. The Final Man doesn’t seek revelation, nor does he stagger about in reflection, since his consciousness no longer needs consciousness of something. It needs, only, consciousness of consciousness itself.
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