Chronicles From The Future: The amazing story of Paul Amadeus Dienach

“But we are ‘most people’,” he claimed in amongst peals of laughter — and this time his laughter was genuine, that of a child. “Does it seem so absurd to you? Yes, we are those who you, in your time, would call ‘working class’. Listen, because you don’t seem to understand: so what if we have everything in abundance daily and, literally, not one bit less than the greatest Ilector? We deserve all these ‘consumer goods’. We worked hard for them in our youth. And, in any case, there is such an abundance that we never run out. Travels, entertainment, sports— whatever we want—are at our disposal. However, all kinds of moral satisfaction like respect, fame, recognition, accolades and generally all honours are reserved for others.” And lowering his voice, he added in a serious tone that struck me, “The common perception about us is that we ‘do nothing’. And it’s true…What can I say?”

“What?” I spontaneously interrupted him, affected by the sincerity of his bitter confessions, a product of his self-consciousness. “This perception is not fair. You’ve carried out your duty; you’ve paid off all your debts to society!”

“And they’ve carried out theirs,” he replied in the same low voice. “They worked in their time too. They ran with the same fervour to the glothners and were appointed to our modern construction sites, laboratories and werksteds

. They faced temporary spiritual and intellectual malnutrition and lived the disciplined life of active ‘partners’. They endured the unbearably long shifts and the torturous—for the free spirits—tedium of their labour. They gladly completed their two-year service like everyone else. Nevertheless, coming out into society with the title of Cives, they didn’t choose to sit back, relax and enjoy what they had earned from their service, like we do, like most people do; they had every right to. Instead, and without the slightest hint of thirst for recognition and rewards, they tried to make something out of themselves, to leave something behind.”

“Most of the times,” Stefan continued, “this ‘something’ was based on dreams and pure ambitions that had already started to emerged in their teenage years, insights born in their final years at school. But quite often one’s inclinations manifest themselves at a more mature age. But in any case, no one forces them to do anything. That’s what they like, that’s where they find happiness. Some derive pleasure and satisfaction from taking care of children and sick people; others dream up inventions and technical applications that will make our lives even easier one day; others want to become physicians and open up new avenues in science.

All these millions of people who go to our major spiritual centres to study know that there isn’t the slightest material gain or professional prestige to look forward to after finishing the course they have chosen. Many of them just sit there and listen to the same things for many years, just out of sheer love for their subject. Many are old but no one can be under nineteen years of age because our higher education always comes after the ‘service’ without exception.”

Stefan told me that, the majority of these young men and women come to listen to the great masters, about whom they had been hearing great things since their early teenage years and whom they had always admired from afar. In fact, some of these young people are lucky enough to become, even for a short period of time, members of the crew or followers of these wise men, called unge, an honorary title.

He also told me that he cannot entirely agree with what almost everyone believes, that is, that, at the highest level, above the wise scientists, leading thinkers and teachers, are the great artists. “They are the ones that attract all the attention, recognition and acknowledgement nowadays. They are the ones who now electrify the crowds. They are now the idols of the wider, anonymous public, according to the modern meritocratic beliefs. But I think that these two categories are incomparable, to say the least.”

He emphasised how valuable the contributions of the men that stood out in the sciences—especially physical sciences—were to humankind. I also remember him wondering why only the philosophical sciences are now considered equivalent to art.

“It is said,” he added softly, almost as if talking to himself, “that only these sciences share the element of ‘transcendence’. But don’t the physical sciences too, at their highest level, take on the same transcendental aspect, leading to philosophical thinking?”

At that point I decided to interrupt him, arguing that the fervour with which he spoke about the ‘upper class’ somehow contradicted his previous description of his simple, carefree life in obscurity as ‘perfectly satisfactory’. In fact I reminded him of what he had said earlier: