Living anti-entropically (part 1)


In The Gazebo

Rolf A. F. Witzsche


In honor of living anti-entropically

A snippet from the novel, Brighter than the Sun, by Rolf A. F. Witzsche
from the chapter, In the Gazebo

     We left Riyadh some days later. Our discharge papers contained a one way air ticket to Athens - our ticket home, a ticket to 'heaven!' However, coming home wasn't like I had expected it to be. Life on the mountain wasn't the same without Sergei. The gazebo was empty. The whole world seemed more empty, and this not merely because of the loss, it was the senseless waste, the lack of humanity that brought on a feeling of emptiness that I couldn't stomach.

     In order to fill this void I decided to finish Sergei's book, the one that he had started first but had never brought to an end. The discipline required for writing would give me a new perspective. I re-wrote portions of the book. I added things, things that I had seen and experienced, and I wrote about feelings that others had felt. In a very real sense, everyone on the mountain contributed to finishing this book; Jennie, Igor, Laara, Nina, Melanie. They came to the gazebo, all in their own time and for their own private reason. Perhaps it was a form of paying homage to the man who had elevated our lives with his richly human spirit.

     The villagers also paid homage in other ways. The priest of Aldros, in Sergei's honor held a special funeral service. It was held in the same white church that we once stopped at on our way to Alexandros' house. The place was filled with people. Some had come from other islands. All had learned to respect him. Naturally, we were invited. This service was different, however, than the wedding service that Igor, Jennie, and I had once observed. This time we understood the words of the priest. We understood them clearly. The priest spoke of a friend called Sergei. He talked about his work in Russia, his struggles with the strategic planners, his contribution to a missile safety project, his later involvement during the crisis, during the trial, and his immense contribution in getting the refugee placement project to work. What happened, afterwards, on the mountain, the villagers knew from their own experience. It didn't need to be focused on. But there was a need to focus on the character of the man. The priest called Sergei one of the truly great men that humanity has brought forth in its long history, a most unselfish person who had the welfare of the world close to heart....

    At this point I did something, I would have never dreamed of doing. Our friend at the hospital was right about that. I stood up and interrupted the funeral service. I protested. I didn't like Sergei being labeled an unselfish man. I said it wasn't true. "Nothing could be further from the truth," I said to the people assembled. "Sergei was a man who had unfailingly been true to himself, to what lay within his nature, within his soul. Sergei lived, as he had to live, he could see no other choice than this. Whatever he may have achieved for humanity, he did for his own needs as it were an investment in life, his own life, which invariably touched everyone."

     I told the assembly that I had worked closely with Sergei on some of his most productive ventures in which the welfare of humanity was the central issue. "Never did I hear him complain or even suggest that supporting humanity was a burden that he shouldered, or as a duty that he took on but didn't want to perform. Never had he indicated in the slightest that he would rather sit by his fireplace with a good book in hand and a glass of wine, instead of laboring for humanity. Not once did he tell me; 'Come on Paul, I know it's a drag, but let's do it because the world needs our help.' He just wouldn't have said such a thing. Was he unselfish, therefore, because he worked ten to fifteen hours a day when he saw a need for it? His own nature as a human being wouldn't have allowed him to do any less. He had no choice but to do the work he did. In his eyes, the welfare of the world was linked to his own welfare, a perception that was anchored in his soul. To say that Sergei was an unselfish man is a cruel denial of the person he was, a denial of his nature. He was one of the most self-respecting people I knew, which led to a total respect of anyone else. In fact, his mental 'vocabulary' didn't include the concept of unselfishness. The way he saw himself, unselfishness was an impossibility."

     I looked around the assembly to observe their faces. "He may have seemed unselfish," I said, "but the fact is, that by supplying another's need, he met his own need. He was no philanthropist, but a champion of man. His work was an investment that he trusted would be returned to him countless times over. And, friends, thus it had been. I've seen the returns. His efforts were reflected back to him, often more than a hundred fold, if such things can be measured at all."

     I suggested to the assembly that Sergei must have recognized an unwritten law that no person does ever exist in isolation, that it is an impossibility to be serving the world without serving oneself in the process. This was the spirit he was true to. He was an absolute selfish man to the highest degree as only the Son of God can be true to his divine selfhood that pervades his being. I told them that the riches Sergei achieved in this way and shared with many, and the honors that he had won the world over, all bear witness of a truly divine nature. I suggested that he might not have acknowledged himself as such, but that he was loyal to that idea of man as a divine and boundless being, thereby exhibiting a selfishness of the highest degree.

     I paused, then continued. "Please, let us not look upon Sergei Arenski as an unselfish person. An unselfish person lies to itself. It performs deeds that its soul does not support. I have seen unselfish philanthropists whose money came from sweat shops and other's hard labor. But Sergei was a selfish man who devoted his existence to replenishing the Earth or the country that he regarded his home. His life was devoted to honor his fellow man, which was also the source of his own self-esteem. The projects he headed up were always focused at making the planet a better place for people to live in, of which he was one. He gave of himself for the glory of humanity, and his own glory! Could he have done less? Could anyone have done more?"

   I looked at Nina. I knew she didn't totally agree. Indeed, there were times when he denied himself, when he denied his innermost feelings, but those self-denials were extremely rare and never as gross as Boris Mikheyev had experienced them. Boris barely knew himself. And even that little self-knowledge was set aside in the service of a misguided patriotism. A political religion had ruled Boris most of the time, one that demanded unwavering, unselfish servitude to a cause, an unremitting devotion to a mission, the devout worship of the official ideology, a relentless subjection to obedience. That unselfishness destroys a person and the civilization, if not the world as a whole. Boris Mikheyev was indeed an unselfish person. He was perhaps one of the best in that field, which made him one the most dangerous persons alive. No, Sergei was never like him, by any comparison. He was the complete opposite.

     I did my best that day to explain this difference to the people assembled in Sergei's honor. To judge by their expression, only a few understood me. But I didn't blame the others. I didn't fully understand the thing myself; or else they would have all understood me when I was finished. Only one thing I understood for certain, and that the people could accept, that I felt that I was right in what I had said about Sergei. And another thing they came away with, that Sergei's honor had somehow a deeper foundation than that of him being merely a nice guy. There was something in their eyes that reflected what I had to tell them, a certain 'light' that made this chapel bright from within.

     I didn't sit down, either, after my speech was concluded. I merely stepped aside and stood by the flag of the country that he had loved. I stood guard for him. I stood in his place until the last person had finished speaking. I stood in honor of him and I remained there until the Priest, who soon commenced speaking again, completed the service and the last of the villagers had left. Only then did I step away and returned to Aldros Mountain.

Continued here:

In an entropic world everything is winding down to an equilibrium of universal emptiness, a platform of universal mediocrity and poverty. Whatever energy exists becomes consumed and reduced to the lowest possible denominator. Life trails out into death. The opposite involves a conscious commitment to go the other way. It becomes a commitment to the development of our humanity and the development of the world with it. It becomes a commitment to live as richly from within as one possibly can. It becomes a dynamic movement to living anti-entropically - a struggle to make the world a brighter place for all. That's what it means to be human.

Over the years since the novel was written I have 'met' a man who needs to be honored as one living anti-entropically. This man is Lyndon H. LaRouche, Jr. America's world renowned economist, statesman, scientist, and political leader. 

Allow me to invite you to meet the man who may have saved your life, and may do it again




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