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.
