Before I begin to introduce to you the strange, brilliant human being my elder brother, Viktor Scherbák, who wrote his oeuvre consisting of more than fifty volumes under the name Wictor Charon, was, I would like to define the accurate concept of magic, misunderstood and considered superstitious mystification by many people, in a way that is acceptable to modern science. According to ancient traditions, “magic” means “power”, the magic power of imagination making itself real. The fact how real it is today is proven by the most eminent researchers and practitioners of modern medicine, who have recognized that you can make yourself ill by means of destructive imagination, while faith and hopeful, positive thinking can make you healthy.
During my brother’s lifetime, his writings were not accessible to anyone except his wife and myself. We were prohibited from passing them on to anyone. But now, the time has come for us to reveal his works to the public “as the privilege of latter times” in my brother’s words. Could any thinking person deny that making something real always depends on imagination? And that all forms of existence, its functions and “instinctive genius” are not consciously autonomous, superficial phenomena but, it is as if they were programmed by an invisible genius to work with an unbelievable, robot-like accuracy, incomprehensible to the human mind?
According to Béla Hamvas, talent and genius is nothing but the illumination of mental capabilities for a smaller or greater extent. After all, the average human brain is made up of ten billion neurons, yet we only use a very small percent of them in our lifetime. Every genius is a visionary. His/her wider, comprehensive consciousness does not merely grasp phenomena and fractions of events, but evaluates them within their contexts and analogies, as a synthesis. He/she reads their sign language.
W. Charon was an exceptional visionary of this kind. His creative imagination searched through not three or four, but “twenty-four dimensions”, and from there he brought over keys to understanding the reasons of our existences, keys that could not be found in books. In his writings, every word, every notion has a multi-layered meaning. To quote him, “Dimensions and inner expansions are none other than higher or lower frequency resonations of one’s ways of perception.” Plato wrote, “One never learns, only remembers.” My brother “remembered” a whole lot of things! He travelled into past and future in his mind, and, although, he discovered the golden ratio, the balance of “eternal presence”, in his present he was a reserved, reclusive hermit all his life. But, on the inside, among his multi-directional activities, he was a “Homo ludens”, a playful man; or “Homo transdimensionalis”, as he referred to himself.
My brother Viktor was born in Budapest, on September 17, 1907. Our mother recounted that she had lit a candle in the last hours of her pregnancy, because it was a holiday that day. They lived in her parents’ huge flat. It was a quiet, mild autumn day. The doors and windows were wide open. Then, our mother saw that a light-coloured dove had flown into one of the rooms through the window. It flew to the middle of the room, took a rest on the chandelier and then flew out of the room through another window. Right in that moment, Mother’s pains of labour began. Our grandmother, who believed in signs, called out, “My daughter, you are bringing an extraordinary human being into this world!” She was right… Typically, my brother could never be forced to do anything against his will, not even to swot. He learned music from János Kosáry, whom he held in high esteem, then went to the Academy of Music. He did everything. He wrote essays, occasionally played chess, although he preferred preparing chess problems; he did photography, and repaired everything around the house. He was a real jack-of-all-trades. He absorbed whatever interested him, without cramming, and he affixed such reflections to the phenomena he learned about that even his early notes would have done credit to any physicist and biologist. He mastered the English, German and Sanskrit languages perfectly. He loved the English language so much that he wrote a book about Anglicisms. Literature, philosophy, music, natural sciences, electronics were his daily occupation. Apart from his huge oeuvre of 52-volumes, that covered many fields but mostly dealt with metaphysics and the transcendental, he composed more than two hundred musical works. Like myself, he started reading the first American science-fiction periodicals as early as 1929 – this kept us up-to-date with the evolution of this genre. He also wrote tales and stories of modern mythology. He loved animals. His film soundtracks yielded several hits.
His wife, who loved him so much and understood him with all his “eccentricities” – although he was only different from, and more than, the average man – provided an environment for him – she did it happily, not as a victim – in which he could realize everything he wanted. She, too, became a competent chess player, photographer and stamp collector, so that she could share his best loved pastimes with him. His birthdays were celebrated as lavish festivities, just as our family Christmases, which were the feasts of spirituality and pleasures of the highest order. My sister-in-law always managed to make the impossible possible, no matter how hard she had to work for it. She meticulously typed all of my brother’s works, had them bound beautifully, preserved and catalogued them. She took care of my brother during his long and serious illness, up until his death. During all that time she worked day and night, hardly slept and lost ten kilograms. Naturally I stood by them, helped them in whatever I could. Even if I could not do as much as his wife, who lived and suffered together with him and who granted his wish to not be hospitalized. She cared for him at home, but in his final days we hired nurses to take over for the night, to keep my sister-in-law from breaking down due to exhaustion. It was during this time, that one of the nurses witnessed an inexplicable phenomenon: out of nowhere, she heard violent banging against the French window to the balcony, which our neighbours also heard in the quiet, starry night, and there were flashes of light that turned the darkness into daylight.
In his tremendous suffering, when he could hardly sit up, my brother recorded his philosophical thoughts and piano playing on tape. Even at the last time, he played like a virtuoso and spoke wonderfully. I still have these tape recordings. We certainly were never apart from each other, neither in our childhood nor later. Living with him, talking to him, playing and working together with him was very exciting and interesting. He was forever full of ideas. We never played the same old games, we invented our own ones. He rather slept during the day than at nights.
Of course, this short introduction cannot give a detailed picture of his colorful, rich, one-of-a-kind personality and his discoveries. Even he himself was terrified by the clairvoyant revelations of his future-traveling mind. In his great oeuvre, his magnum opus, he was striving to provide useful support for intelligent, morally mature people. He wrote his works about the forces that reveal the mysteries of higher nature. This is why his body of work is unique, real, and more than interesting to those who immerse themselves in it, revealing its deeper layers.
(from the introduction to Atlantic Magic – The Science of Mantras)