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Is there actually any progress to speak of? We found ourselves asking that very question, though we didn't bother asking anyone else—why bother when you can go straight to the source? We turned to Bel Hamvas himself. Our field reporter, Desanka Krivoguzić, sat down with him for this exclusive; she’s really the only one who had been calling out the absolute wilderness where Bel spent nearly an entire year in total isolation. When she finally tracked him down, he was preoccupied, lost in thought, seemingly hyper-attuned to some incredibly specific olfactory profile—something specifically tuned to the scent ratios characteristic of the broader fungal and mushroom families. And well, we all know how much Bel loves crafting and tasting fine wines... so, without further ado: here is the interview.
Desanka: Good grief, I thought I’d never track you down. If I hadn't brought this dozen or so cooked chicken heads with me, you probably would have gone absolutely insane from hunger. So, let's sit down and actually have a conversation for once. I even brought some bourbon to take the edge off—we might as well not be bored while we talk. So, my dear Bela... hehe... tell me something. Can we actually see any real development over those five thousand years everyone keeps obsessing over? Or is there some merit to the argument that there is no such thing as progress—that humanity has always been stuck in the same spot, and will continue to be stuck in the exact same spot forever?
Bela: Upon that first glance at the table of contents, a reader might walk away with the distinct impression that we aren't actually seeing any meaningful progress being made here.
Desanka:Great, now I have to go read a book too. What a massive chore...
Bela: Four thousand five hundred years ago, some nameless scribe in Egypt penned the *jadikovka*—the lament of a man weary of existence. Yet, looking at it now, you could just as easily believe someone sat down and wrote those exact same lines yesterday. And the style? It’s strikingly contemporary. The structure feels more like the modern rhythm of being King than that somewhat archaic vibe you get from an old soul like Walt Whitman. At the end of the day, the heavy themes of the human condition don't actually change. It’s always the same fundamental struggle, whether you're reading Lao Tzu, Origen, Master Eckhart, or Ralph Waldo Emerson. Perhaps that is precisely what makes us human: the fact that our most profound struggles remain eternal.
Desanka: Hmm... I can't help but wonder if he has a favorite book. It’s almost certainly *The Alchemist*, isn't it? One hundred percent. I'll have to ask him once things settle down.
Bela: There is no progress, no development; and yet, there is. There exists this mysterious transformation that one can almost track in real-time—something unspeakable, a slow, agonizingly sluggish drifting toward a final conclusion. To call it "progress" or "development" feels like an overstatement, especially by today’s shallow standards; besides, how could you even claim such a thing when there isn't a single tangible sign to show for it? Human nature isn't any more perfected today than it was when those primal words were first etched in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. On the surface, nothing has shifted. But beneath the veneer, we are moving toward something. If you try to interrogate damn history about this movement, you'll get nowhere. History won't give you an answer. Five thousand years ago, humanity stood exactly where we stand now, and we will never stand anywhere else. Damn history knows nothing of change or evolution; it only understands senseless congestion. It is merely rushing in place. But within a blessed history, one can certainly recognize a distinct movement—unacknowledged, perhaps, but undeniably felt.
Desanka: Whoa, hold on a second! Just take a damn breath, will you?
Bela: On the surface, human life has always looked exactly like it does today: hunger, war, chaos, disease, conflict, poverty, and suffering. But beneath that superficial layer—within that mystical transformation we call blessed history—something else has been happening for five millennia, ever since the first words of this book were etched down. Perhaps we, as individuals, haven't changed much. Yet, the whole? The collective whole is more. In some way, it has become softer and sweeter, more fragile yet more explosive, denser and more fervent. More mature. It’s becoming harder to truly live, and increasingly difficult to detach ourselves from the sheer weight of existence. While individual people haven't shifted their core values or ideas, the totality of human existence—beneath the surface, in the deep currents of actual history—has drifted closer to its true destination. What we refer to as "blessed history" is nothing less than a continuous, uninterrupted ascent; an unstoppable march toward glory. In this process, every subsequent moment stands higher than the last; every passing year is demonstrably superior to the one before it. Five thousand years have passed since the records of the Emerald Tablet of Hermes Trismegistus. In that span, the essence of humanity has traveled five thousand miles toward its ultimate goal. The external record of history provides no insight into this journey; it cannot, nor can it ever. This path can only be depicted symbolically. Symbolically—musically.
Desanka: So, he’s moved on to music now? Honestly, I'm just waiting for him to start singing at me. I've had quite enough of my neighbor, Mike, howling at the ceiling like some sort of lunatic every single night...
Bela: Music is the secret mechanism that allows me to realize how I can listen to the exact same themes over and over again while hearing something entirely different every single time. The subjects themselves remain static—they are eternal, unchanging, immutable—yet they constantly reappear in new keys, through different rhythmic formulas and meters, surfacing in endless variations. We see them reborn in new inversions, new combinations, set against shifting accompaniments or reshaped by different phrasing and harmonies. As a fugue of a billion phrases rolls grandly toward its final resolution, building tension and anticipation to a fever pitch, music employs its own unique suggestive tools to hint at that ultimate step. It manages to point us toward equilibrium, offering a glimpse of the final goal and the preparation required to reach it. I would argue that we can only arrive at the appropriate phase of human history through the experience of musical symbols. It is only through these symbols that we can discern that the human condition isn't simply "advancing" or "developing" in a linear sense; rather, it undergoes a mysterious, continuous transformation—spinning like a vortex, brewing a final solution within itself. Music alone suggests that change cannot be measured by a simple ruler, because it doesn't move in a straight line. It moves according to a sequence of numbers; not based on calendar dates, but according to an arithmetic progression hidden deep within the music itself.
Desanka: Numbers??!! For crying out loud... don't you know I have a literal allergy to numbers? Ever since my husband threatened me back when I was busy prepping boiled chicken heads for the winter pantry. You’re really going to sit there and count, aren't you? Go ahead, keep counting. Once you're done, I'll personally count every single boil and skin irritation on that hideous head of yours—let's see how much you enjoy counting out loud then.
Bela: Over the years, neither the individual nor humanity as a whole has actually become smarter, better, or even happier. We haven't evolved in intelligence, at least. What we have done is mature. As Novalis once put it: "Man does nothing but constantly return home." Humanity is following that exact same trajectory. And if we're looking at our final arrival back home? We might just be about five thousand years away.
Desanka: Quote : Originally posted by Jose Palmer2 Quoting a quote within a quote? Good grief. This was just one attempt by my seventh son in a row—though he didn't exactly get to see the finish line. Some local high school football players overheard him saying he was going to give them hell, so they beat him senseless and dragged his mother's name through the mud.
Bela: The entire massive symphony actually boils down to just one central theme.
Desanka: More music. I’m actually losing my mind here... I think I need a shot of bourbon just to dull the mental ache.
Bela: The premise is incredibly simple. It really boils down to one thing: becoming human. It’s almost absurd when you think about it—as if none of us actually are. As if we’re all just perpetually striving toward some ideal version of humanity, living solely on the momentum of an assumed human essence we haven't quite grasped yet. What strange creatures we are. We’ve severed ourselves from both the animal kingdom and the spiritual realm, leaving us adrift in our own heads. We hold no kinship toward the world above or the world below. And yet, that true human being residing in the depths of our hearts? We haven't managed to reach it, let alone take it seriously.
Desanka: Ugh... alright then... HIIIIK... you want me to smile back at you too?
Bela: None of us actually lives for today—not really. We aren't living in the present moment at all. Instead, we’re all just perpetually living for tomorrow, or the day after that, or whenever that distant horizon finally arrives. We toss our entire destinies into the future, clinging to this hollow belief that once we arrive there, we will finally, truly begin to live. It’s as if we’ve collectively decided that what we’re doing right now lacks any real substance or value. We are hardwired into this frantic, endless rush, constantly chasing some unattainable version of the human experience. Nothing ever seems to satisfy us, does it? Nothing brings us peace—not sensory pleasure, not wealth, not fame, not even power. We tell ourselves we need "the real thing"; that we need to evolve into "real people." But it’s a heavy burden, isn't it? The human heart, trying to give birth to its own idealized image through millennia of struggle, finds itself weighed down by its own expectations. We spend years of agonizing effort trying to force ourselves into existence, driven by a restless, trembling persistence. In everything that has already transpired, there is only one thing of consequence. In everything yet to come, there is only one thing worth noting. That is what interests me in another person. That is the only thing that draws me to a book, a sculpture, or a piece of music. That is the only thing I want to hear in someone's words—and nothing else. Everything else is just noise. It's tedious, uninteresting, indifferent, and ultimately, irrelevant.
Desanka Krivoguzić: Yeah, honestly, everything's a mess... if it weren't for this bourbon, HIIIK....
Bela: The book's subject is that very anxiety, that heavy burden, that persistence—that one singular, vital, and captivating occurrence; they constitute both the theme and the essence of the work, its beauty and its gravity, its scale and its thrill. This gritty symphony, this phenomenal madness and sacred patience: pushing forward, upward, always upward, until at last one is born, starves, digs through the dirt, rages, grits their teeth, however one manages, and however one chooses.
Desanka Krivoguzić: (snorting, completely wrecked on bourbon...)
Bela: The subject of the book is the grand symphony of human existence, the music resonating beneath the surface of history, the blessed, tangible melody of the human struggle whose sole desire and aim, its only theme and passion, is to be human—to be truly, authentically human—and to live humanely.
Bela: ?
Desanka Krivoguzić: hhhrhhrhhrhh..fiiiiju.hhrhrhrrhrhrhrh, fiiiiiijjjjuuuuuu..
Bela: (muttering something angrily under his breath in Canadian..., then snatching a flask from Desanka to soothe his throat..)
Bel Hamvas, Anthologia Humana, Introduction
Desanka Krivoguzić - special field agent for Her Majesty, Queen Slivovitz.
You talk about architects as if only an elite few—whatever that means—should be allowed to design houses. By that same logic, you suggest only the most prestigious philosophers deserve to offer any observations at all.
Such arguments might actually hold weight if we knew what the ultimate structure was supposed to look like, or what the "correct" philosophical answer to the average person's question should be.
Experience tells me there is no such thing as a universal truth that satisfies everyone, unless that truth somehow encompasses everything and everyone simultaneously. In other words, we shouldn't ignore anything or anyone under any circumstances, which is practically impossible. So, instead, we just pull a few select threads. We lose so much in the process, yet we cling to the illusion that we have the right to decide... when really, we’re just grasping at shadows.
Intent exists in philosophy (just like anywhere else) because there is a necessity for it. I don't know why, but I felt a sudden need to point that out here. Nothing exists in isolation; everything is tied to something else through cause and effect, part of a greater whole—however you want to define that self.
By suggesting a "bad" intent, are you implying there is such a thing as a "good" one? Does that mean the true reason—or perhaps just the most socially acceptable one—will eventually float to the surface?
The Executioner said:Philosophy isn't some desperate hunger for just any kind of information.
It’s an obsession with the most utterly useless knowledge imaginable.
Knowledge that lacks even a shred of practical application.
To actually be a philosopher, mere curiosity or a general drive toward learning simply won't cut it.
People hunting for "useful" insights? They aren't philosophers.
They want to know things so they can actually *do* something with them. If such a person wanders into philosophy, they're in for a bitter disappointment.
If someone enters this field thinking they'll become smarter, or better than everyone else, or find the meaning of life, or prove something—to themselves or to others (like the existence of Quincy)—then they have fundamentally missed the entire point.
There aren't nearly as many true philosophers as people think.
Most self-proclaimed philosophers are really just pragmatists who took a wrong turn and ended up here.
And there you go again, obsessing over those ghosts from the past. You'll never truly grasp their motivations or why they felt the need to philosophize; you can only speak for yourself, applying your own simplified template of how things "actually" are.
It doesn't really matter how many philosophers exist, nor is it particularly useful for you to exhaust yourself wrestling with the same questions that haunted someone like Kant. That isn't your fight...
Those who were dancing were seen as mad by those who couldn't hear the music.
Nietzsche
Everyone is hungry for something. Some people hunger for knowledge—those are the philosophers. It means a huge portion of the population is essentially some kind of philosopher, though some dive so deep into their own heads that they actually start calling themselves that. There are all sorts of us out there. I’m not judging, of course...
So, we are discussing stereotypes, then. I was under the impression that the trend was moving toward more direct confrontation 😁.
How does the average person actually view a philosopher? Which philosopher even gives a damn about public opinion? They are too busy fighting themselves, despite themselves. To the average person, such individuals are inherently a nuisance. But then again, who exactly qualifies as an "average person"?
Stereotypes are just stereotypes. They are nothing more than tedious observations regarding the shallowest facets of human interest. Does anyone actually care?
William Gonzalez3 said:elaborate...
Adaptation is either changing who you are to fit your surroundings, or reshaping those surroundings so you can exist within them without losing your essence. At least, that’s how I see it.
What exactly did you have in mind when you used the word "adaptation"?
By adaptation, I mean all those subtle concessions we make—those little things we swallow just to avoid causing unnecessary friction in the social circles we inhabit.
For instance, you wouldn't point out to a patriot buddy that our shared history with certain neighbors is more intertwined than they'd care to admit. You wouldn't lecture someone for watching some mindless reality show on network TV just to assert that your taste is somehow more sophisticated. You might try to charm a date with a witty remark about Hegel’s dialectic instead of being blunt, or simply act more approachable and authentic with the rest of the group. To put it briefly... it's about not forcing your truths onto everyone else, not letting your ego sink you, and learning to float in your own ideal world while still navigating the so-called "real" world.
To live in the world, but not be consumed by it.
And again, I should mention that this isn't just for people who enjoy philosophizing. Every living creature behaves similarly in a social setting; everyone looks for their niche, weighing their strengths against their flaws. After all, why must a philosopher be strictly a philosopher and nothing else? Humans aren't that one-dimensional, are they? Actually, we're often much worse...
Why couldn't there be such a thing as an idiot philosopher?
William Gonzalez3 said:philosophers, at their core, are looking at the big picture.
So, while your "average Joe" might be obsessing over what’s happening on his local street corner, a philosopher sees those exact same small-scale events as mere symptoms of something much larger and more global.
That said, I have to point out how rarely a philosopher actually adapts to their own surroundings—and even more rarely do they bother traveling to Tibet.
Modern philosophers aren't exactly reinventing the wheel; we've had them throughout history, so the rest of society knows exactly how to deal with these thinkers.
And you’re just grouping all philosophers into one giant pile? Many would take offense at that generalization, let alone the specific ones we're discussing...
When I talk about adapting to one's environment, I don't mean adopting their rules. I mean existing right on the edge alongside them, despite the established norms.
But then again, couldn't you say the same thing about poets, writers, or scientists? Basically any category that doesn't sit squarely in the middle of the so-called "average person." The problem is, everything we've discussed here consists of abstract categories—ghosts of people we never actually see. I have yet to encounter this "average man" that pretentious types love to compare themselves to.
We are fighting against ghosts...
If we actually win, will we finally become those free spirits we're supposedly striving to be? 😁
Ever had one of those dreams where the line between sleep and reality just... vanishes? What if you couldn't wake up? If you found yourself stuck in that haze, how on earth would you distinguish the dreamscape from the actual world?
It’s that nagging intuition you can't quite put into words, yet you feel it deep down. Most people carry it their whole lives—this sense that the narrative we're fed is fundamentally broken. You can't pinpoint the flaw, but it's there, lodged like a splinter in your psyche, quietly driving you to the brink.
Take the blue pill, and the story stays comfortable. Your browser window shuts, and you go back to believing whatever makes you feel safe. Take the red pill, and you step into the madness. I'll be the one to show you exactly how deep this rabbit hole really runs.
I'm not here to sell you anything; I only offer the truth, and nothing else.
One question, a million different answers. Honestly, isn't there a certain beauty in that chaos?
😎
Why not? Honestly, that might be the single best piece of advice he’s ever received. Once he finally snaps, she won't matter anymore—or maybe 😲 won't even matter at all. Besides, it would certainly cut down on all the pathetic, tearful drama. So, ermmm... where was I? 🤔 Oh, right... Ildjarn!!! 🙂