§ 2

Now to my dream! A moment I hovered over my sleeping body: I left it to travel on the wings of my soul. In front of me is a City. A part of it—the most elevated—is enclosed by a high wall, pierced for eight gates, closed at night. Its plan is octagonal. Within it there rise high buildings and towers. They are constructed of stone and brick, mostly of stone, for the region is volcanic. The slopes of the hill descending to the undulating ground are richly furnished with fruit trees, and ample vegetable gardens. It is spring time! Rich is the blossom whose scent the sweet pure air brings to me. The air is as clear as crystal. As I hovered over the enclosed part of the City, I heard a hum, pleasant to the ear as that of bees; it proceeded from within the stately buildings. Yes! It was machinery, complex and wonderful. How is it that those vast wheels, those intricate valves and long straps spreading as spider’s web, are moved, and so silently? Science has discovered how to convert noise to silence. Science had been practical, she had set herself a problem, and she had solved it! What appeared to be inevitable had been conquered.

But how is generated the power to propel this gigantic movement—and silently? Science had discovered how to collect and use electric currents, whose power is greater than steam, to move, in perfect rhythmical order, the heaviest, most complicated machinery. I searched for, but found no ash-heaps. How can this be? Science had discovered how to separate heat-giving properties of all fuel from the waste. Where is the smoke? There was none! What, then, are those noble towers for? Partly for ventilation, partly as store rooms. Science had said: “It is time I set to work to use the forces of Nature with discretion. I have discovered many useful things, but, being in too great a hurry, have made much havoc with them; I have destroyed much that was lovely in the world in my haste to provide ‘facilities.’ I have been very clever and very stupid. It is time I made a new departure. I must no longer be a nuisance. I must set to, to order my going, that in my track I create blessings, not curses. I see it now. It is in my power, if I exert it, to render unpleasant things pleasant. In my mad zeal for discovery, I forgot adaptation. I forgot that it lay in my genius to use it unharmfully. Now I set to work and try to make the world pleasant again, much as it was before I became too proud, too inconsiderate and dominating.

Alone I cannot do this! I have been too long separated from Art, too closely wedded to utility, which, though I do not divorce, I make obedient. Indeed, I rather scorned Art, and ridiculed those who stood in the way of my reckless march! I know now that I am responsible in a measure for the soul of Man, as well as the use of nature’s forces. ‘Only I matter’ has been my motto. I take Art to me, which, more than all else, presents the Soul of Man, and say we must be sisters, not antagonists. That I have brought evil into dominion I now know. From me, have been born hideous means to destroy life, property, and the gentler happiness of mankind. Foul gases to suffocate, explosives to be a curse to humanity to facilitate destruction in War-time. I have been a kind of earthquake, indiscriminating and cruel! I have destroyed more than preserved! What an odd creature I am!! I make wounds, then I heal them. I mangle bodies, and set them together again. With one hand I cut the world to pieces, with the other heal the wounds I’ve made. I have torn out eyes and replaced them as well as I could, with blind ones. Queer creature that I am. In making artificial light, I hid the sun. I subverted the natural order by turning day into night and night into day. I invented all kinds of implements for agriculture while I was killing vegetable life. I have been unguided by Art, yet I am entirely artificial! It is true that man has used me foolishly. He would have me to be Peace Maker and War Lord. He has abused my genius because he fancied that I only could satisfy his material ambitions and bring him wealth. What I made for his service he has used for murder and suicide! It is plain to me now! The blinkers are off and I see the right way.”

I listened while Science spoke, and gathered that she had become wise! Will men grow wiser with her? What I see here seems to promise it! I went on with my invisible peregrinations. The people of the City have not their homes where their daily labour is; after that is finished they go to their homes below the gardens, which entirely encircle the acropolis of Labour and the City. Hours for Labour are sufficient for all purposes not extreme. Eight hours do they labour, eight hours they sleep, eight hours for pastime and home industries. Home industries are many. Eight hours’ factory labour leave the men still fresh, because where they labour the air is pure; change of work is pleasant to them, be it cultivating their bit of the public gardens or in craftsmanship enjoyed in their homes, for it is becoming a habit to be craftsmen here, and to give out no work which can be performed at home; in this way the middle man, that raker-in of the gold of others’ labour, is mostly done away with. Work is not held to be a mark of slavery, but of Freedom. While the labourer is working for his commune, which gives him good wage, he is performing one duty; while he is working in his home or garden he is a home craftsman. And many and desirable are his productions: good, simple furniture, which only costs him the material, and gives him continual pleasure in the making. He who was an idler, or worse, is now an industrious artist in his long hours of recreation.