The Atlantean people lived under a government having the character of a limited monarchy. Its official system recognized an emperor (whose position was an elective one, and not in any sense hereditary) and his ministers, known by a name signifying "The Council of Ninety," and also known as "Princes of the Realm." All of these officers had a life-tenure in office, except in cases of malfeasance, which term was strictly defined and its provisions severely enforced; and from the operation of the law relating thereto, no exaltation of position was sufficient to secure exemption for offenders. No governmental positions were made elective, with the exception of one ecclesiastical office, and lesser positions in the public service were made appointive in all cases, the appointees being held to strict account by the appointing power, emperor or prince, who, for the use of this power was responsible to the people for the conduct of his placeholders. However, it is not the scheme of this chapter to discuss Poseid politics, but to describe the ministerial and monarchical palaces with which the nation furnished its elected officers, one for each prince, but for the emperor, three. In the main, the description of one of these buildings, both within and without, typifies that of any or all of the others, just as in the United States of America and other modern lands a governmental edifice is easily known to be such, by its general architectural features. A description therefore of one palace will serve a double purpose, that of presenting an idea of the most notable residence in the great Atlantean empire, since I will describe the main palace of the emperor; and, secondly, that of illustrating the prevailing style of governmental architecture in the period during which I resided in Poseid. Imagine, if it please thee, an elevation approximating fifteen feet in height,, ten times that figure in width, and that fifty times its height represents its length. External to the plane dimensions, on each of the four sides of the platform, which was of hewn blocks of porphyry, an easy flight of steps led from the lawns up to the top of the elevation. On the sides, these steps were divided into fifteen sections, while on the ends the divisions were only three, each being divided into lengths of fifty feet. Between the two sections nearest the corners each division consisted of a deep quadrangular recess, into and around which the stairs ran in uninterrupted continuity. The next, or third section, was separated from those on either side by a sculptured serpent of huge size, fashioned from sandstone and as faithful to life as art could make it. The heads of these immobile reptiles rested on the green sward in front of the stairs, while the bodies lay in full relief upon the staircases and reaching the top of the platform, wound about the massive columns which supported the pediments of the verandas of the superstructural palace erected upon the platform described, columns which formed a most imposing peristyle between the broad verandas and the steps. The succeeding division was a quadrangle in the steps, and the next, another serpent, and so around the building. It is hoped that this description is sufficiently perspicuous to give an idea of the tremendous parallelogram, encompassed with steps, guarded by monstrous ornamental, as well as useful, serpent forms, religious emblems, signifying not alone wisdom but also the appearance of a fiery serpent in the skies of the ancient earth, initiating the event of the separation of Man from God. Alternating with these forms were the recesses, relieving what would otherwise have been severely straight and wearisome lines. Surmounting this was the first story of the palace proper, its reptile-entwined peristyle holding aloft great veranda roofs, whereon were enormous vases holding earth to nourish all kinds of tropical plants, shrubs and many small varieties of trees, a luxuriant garden which perfumed the air, already cooled by numerous fountains playing in the midst. Above the first story, with its flower-filled porticos, arose another tier of apartments, surrounded by open galleries, the floors of which were formed by the roofs of those beneath. The third and highest tier of apartments had no verandas, although on all sides it had promenades, formed by the roof of the portico beneath. The same wild luxuriance of flowers and foliage rendered the stories of equal attractiveness. In all, song birds and birds of plumage were welcome guests, uncaged, but tame because they never received harm. Attendants, with blowguns to project noiseless darts, quietly destroyed all predatory species, as also they did-those which, having neither song powers, vivid coloring of plumage, nor the useful habits of insectivora to commend them, were therefore undesirable. Springing from the main roof of the palace arose graceful spires and towers, while the many jutting apartments, angles and groined arches, flying buttresses, cornices and multifarious architectural effects prevented any apparent heaviness in the design. Around the largest of the towers there extended from bottom to top a winding staircase, conducting to the rail-enclosed space on its summit, one hundred feet above the aluminum sheathing or roofing-plates of the palace. Agacoe palace was unique in the possession of this tower, differing thus from all other ministerial edifices. It may be explained that the tower had been erected as a memorial of the departure of a fair princess from the loving care of her imperial husband into Navazzamin, the shadowy land of departed souls, some centuries before my day. Such was the Agacoe palace. Its uppermost floor was in use as a great governmental museum; the middle was devoted to offices of the chief government officials, while the first flat was arranged and furnished for occupancy as the emperor's private residence. As not uninteresting, it may be noted that the yawning mouths of the stone serpents recently described served as doorways (of the usual size) to certain apartments in the basement, a fact which gives an accurate idea of the enormous size of these lithic saurians. The monsters were made with an eye to artistic proportion; their bodies were of carved gray, red or yellow sandstone, their eyes of sard, carnelian, jasper or other colored silicious stone, while fangs for their yawning mouths were made from gleaming white quartz, set on each side of the entranceway.
The Atlantean government operated as a limited monarchy. An elected emperor and a "Council of Ninety" or "Princes of the Realm" held lifelong positions, subject to strict misconduct laws. Most positions were appointed, with officials held accountable by their superiors. Only one ecclesiastical role was elected by the public. The nation provided palaces for its leaders—one for each prince and three for the emperor. These buildings shared a common architectural style, much like modern government buildings. Let's examine the emperor's main palace, which exemplifies Atlantean governmental architecture of my time in Poseid. Picture a vast platform, 15 feet high, 150 feet wide, and 750 feet long. Staircases on all sides led to the top, divided into sections. Between some sections were huge, lifelike stone serpents, symbolizing wisdom and a celestial event that separated humans from God. These alternated with recesses, breaking up the otherwise monotonous lines. The palace itself consisted of three stories. The first floor, the emperor's residence, featured a columned peristyle supporting veranda roofs. These held large planters full of tropical vegetation, creating a lush garden complemented by fountains. The second floor had open galleries, while the third had promenades. All levels boasted abundant foliage and welcomed songbirds and colorful species, with staff quietly removing undesirable birds. Towers and spires rose from the main roof, with varied architectural elements preventing a heavy appearance. The largest tower, unique to this palace, had a winding staircase leading to an observation deck 100 feet up. This memorial honored a departed princess. The top floor housed a government museum, the middle floor contained official offices, and the ground floor served as the emperor's private quarters. Interestingly, the stone serpents' mouths formed doorways to basement rooms, indicating their immense size. These sculptures blended artistry with symbolism, featuring colored stone eyes and quartz fangs framing the entrances.
So much sawed and hewn stone forces the modern mind to wonder if the Atlanteans obtained the finished product through the unremitting toil of slaves, in which case we must have been a barbarous people, whose political autonomy was ever menaced by the uplifting forces of the social volcano which slavery always creates, or else we possessed peculiarly efficient stone-cutting machinery. This latter is the correct assumption, for our machinery for that purpose, like an almost infinite variety of other implements for every sort of service, was our pride amongst the nations. Let me here make an assertion, not for argument but to be understood in the light of subsequent chapters, namely, that if we as Atlanteans had not possessed this wide range of mechanical inventions and the inventive talent which gave us these triumphs, then neither would ye of this modern day have possession of a like creative ability, nor of any of the results of such genius. It may be that thou canst not understand the connection between the two ages and races whilst conning this statement; but as thou shalt draw nearer to the close of this history thy mind will recur to it with the fullness of comprehension.
The sheer amount of precisely cut stone in Atlantean structures prompts modern observers to question our methods. Were we barbaric slavers, constantly at risk of uprising? Or did we possess advanced stone-cutting technology? The latter is correct. Our machinery for this and countless other purposes was our national pride. Let me state clearly, not for debate but for your future understanding: if we Atlanteans hadn't developed our wide array of mechanical innovations and inventive prowess, you in the modern era wouldn't have similar creative abilities or technological achievements. This connection between our two ages and peoples may not be immediately apparent, but as you progress through this history, you'll come to fully grasp its significance.
Trusting that the effort has been successful to depict by words the appearance of Atlantean governmental edifices, let us next obtain an idea of the Caiphalian promontory, whereon was enthroned Caiphul, the Royal City, the greatest of that ancient day, within the limits of which resided a population of two million souls, unencompassed by walled fortifications. Indeed, none of the cities of that age were girt about with walls, and in this respect they differed from the cities and towns known to later historical epochs. To call my records of this Poseidic age history, is not exceeding fact, since what I relate in these pages is history derived from the astral-light records. Nevertheless, it precedes the histories handed down in manuscript, papyrus rolls and rock-inscriptions by many centuries, seeing that Poseid was no longer known in the earth when history's first pages were chronicled by the earliest historian using papyrus; nay, nor even yet earlier, when the sculptors of the obelisks of Egypt and the rock-inscribers of the temples cut pictorial histories in enduring granite. No longer known was Poseid, for it is to-day approaching nine thousand years since the waters of the ocean engulfed our fair land and left no sign, not even so much as was left of those two cities hidden away beneath lava and ashes and for sixteen centuries of the Christian era thought never to have had existence. Excavators dug away the scoriae from Pompeii, but from Caiphul no man can turn aside the floods of the Atlantic and reveal what no more exists, for were every day a century it were even so nearly three months of such lengthy days since the dread fiat of GOD went forth unto the waters:
Let's paint a picture of Atlantean government buildings and the Caiphalian promontory, home to Caiphul, the Royal City. This metropolis housed two million people and, like other cities of its time, had no surrounding walls. My account of this Poseidic era comes from astral-light records, predating known historical documents by centuries. When the first historians began chronicling on papyrus or carving into Egyptian obelisks, Poseid was already lost to time. It's been nearly nine thousand years since the Atlantic Ocean swallowed our beautiful land, leaving no trace. Unlike Pompeii, buried under ash and lava but eventually unearthed, Caiphul lies beneath the sea, impossible to excavate. If each day were a century long, almost three months of such extended days have passed since God commanded the waters to consume our land.
"Cover the land, so that the all-beholding sun shall see it no more in all his course."
"Blanket the earth, so that even the ever-watchful sun cannot glimpse it during its daily journey across the sky."
And it was so.
And so it happened.
In preceding pages the promontory of Caiphul was described as reaching out into the ocean from the Caiphalian plain and as visible from a great distance at night because of the glow of light from the capital. For three hundred miles westward from Numea the peninsula projected outwards from the plain, averaging almost to its extreme cape. a breadth of fifty Miles and rising much like the chalk-cliffs of England directly from the ocean to a height of nearly one hundred feet to reach a plain almost floor-like in its evenness. On the point of this great peninsula was Caiphul or "Atlan, Queen of the Wave." Beautiful, peaceful, with its wide spreading gardens of tropical loveliness,
The Caiphul promontory extends from the Caiphalian plain into the ocean, visible from afar at night due to the capital's radiant glow. This peninsula stretches westward for 300 miles from Numea, maintaining an average width of 50 miles almost to its farthest point. Rising abruptly from the sea like England's chalk cliffs, it reaches a height of nearly 100 feet, forming a remarkably flat plateau. At its tip stands Caiphul, also known as "Atlan, Queen of the Wave"—a beautiful, tranquil city adorned with vast, lush tropical gardens.
"Where a leaf never fades in the still, blooming bowers, And the bee banquets on thro' a whole year of flowers,"
"Where leaves stay ever-green in tranquil, lush gardens, And bees feast endlessly on year-round blossoms,"
its broad avenues shaded by great trees, its artificial hills, the largest surmounted by governmental palaces, and pierced and terraced by, the avenues which radiated from the city-center like spokes in a wheel. Fifty miles these ran in one direction, while at right angles from them, traversing the breadth of the peninsula, forty miles in length, were the shortest avenues. Thus lay, like a splendid dream, this, the proudest city of that ancient world.
Broad avenues lined with towering trees stretched out like spokes from the city center. Artificial hills dotted the landscape, the largest crowned with government buildings, their slopes carved with winding terraced roads. The main avenues extended for fifty miles in one direction, while shorter forty-mile roads crossed them at right angles, spanning the peninsula's width. This magnificent metropolis, the jewel of the ancient world, sprawled like a breathtaking vision come to life.
At no point did Caiphul approach the ocean nearer than five miles. Though it had no walls, around the whole city extended a huge moat, three-quarters of a mile broad by an average of sixty feet in depth and supplied by the waters of the Atlantic. On the north side, a great canal entered the moat-a canal in which the outflowing waters of a large river, the Nomis, created an outgoing current of considerable swiftness. A current was thus naturally made to cause suction through the entire circle of the moat, of which the ocean supply entered at an ingress on the south side. In this manner efflux into the sea of all the drainage of the artificial circular island on which stood the city was allowed. Immense pumping engines forced fresh ocean water through large stone pipes and conduits all over the city, flushing the drains, furnishing motive power for all requisite purposes, for electric fighting and electric services of vast variety--but enough. Electric service? Electric power? Indeed we had deepest knowledge of this motor-force of the universe; we used it in countless ways which have yet to be rediscovered in this modern world of ours, and ways, too, which are every day coming more and more into recollection as men and women of that past age reincarnate in this.
Caiphul never came closer than five miles to the ocean. Although it lacked walls, a massive moat, three-quarters of a mile wide and averaging 60 feet deep, encircled the entire city. The Atlantic Ocean fed this moat. On the north side, a large canal joined the moat, carrying the swift outflow of the Nomis River. This created a natural suction throughout the moat, with ocean water entering from the south. This system efficiently drained the artificial circular island on which the city stood. Enormous pumps forced fresh seawater through stone pipes across the city, flushing drains and providing power for various purposes, including electric lighting and a wide range of electric services. Indeed, we possessed profound knowledge of electricity as a universal force. We utilized it in countless ways yet to be rediscovered in our modern world, as well as in methods that are increasingly coming back into use as people from that past era reincarnate in the present.
It is not strange that thou art incredulous, my friend, when I speak of these inventions which thou hast considered the special property of to-day; but I speak from a knowledge born of experience, seeing that I lived then, and live now; lived not only in Poseid twelve thousand years ago, but also in the United States of America, before, during and after the War of the Secession.
It's understandable that you're skeptical, my friend, when I talk about these inventions you've thought were unique to our time. But I speak from firsthand knowledge, having lived both then and now. I experienced life in Poseid twelve thousand years ago, and also in the United States of America before, during, and after the Civil War.
We drew our electrical energies partly from the waves beating the ocean shores, more largely from the rise and fall of the tides; from mountain torrents and from chemicals; but chiefly from what might aptly be termed the "Night-Side of Nature." High-grade explosives were known to us, but our employment of them was of much wider range than thine. If thou couldst cause them substances gradually to yield up their vast imprisoned force without fear of an explosion, thinkest thou that thy machinery would long be propelled by clumsy, because ponderous, steam or electric engines? If a great steamship could dispense with its coal-bins and boilers and, instead have dynamite in an absolutely safe compound form yielding, from what a man could carry in a handbag, force sufficient to drive the ship from England to America, or to send a train six thousand miles, how long wouldst thou see steam enginery? Yet this was a power, and a least valued, one at that, which we--possibly you; certainly I--knew in the, Atlantean life. It will be again with thee, because Our Race in coming again from devachan to earth.
We derived our electrical energy from various sources: ocean waves, tidal movements, mountain streams, chemical reactions, and primarily from what could be called the "Night-Side of Nature." We were familiar with high-grade explosives and used them more extensively than you do now. Imagine if you could harness the immense power of these substances gradually and safely, without risk of explosion. Would you still rely on bulky steam or electric engines to power your machinery? Consider a large ship that could replace its coal storage and boilers with a small, completely safe form of dynamite. A handbag-sized amount could propel the ship from England to America or drive a train for 6,000 miles. How long would steam engines last in such a scenario? This was just one of our lesser-valued power sources in Atlantean times. It will return to you, as Our Race is coming back to Earth from the afterlife.
But not alone this resource of power was ours; indeed, it was our forces of the Night-Side as an alcohol-vapor motor is to thy steam-engine. The Night-Side forces--what are they? At this place I will answer only by a counter-question, namely: The force of Nature, of gravitation, of the sun, of light, whence is it? If thou wilt answer me, "It is of God," so then will I make answer that, likewise, Man is the Heir of the Father, and whatsoever is His, is also the Son's. If Incal is impelled by God, the Son shall find how his Father doeth this thing, and shall presently do likewise again, even as Man so once in Poseid. But greater things than these which we did might ye do; ye are now, ye were then; ye are Poseid returned, and on a higher plane!
We possessed not only this power source, but also our Night-Side forces—as superior to it as a gas engine is to your steam engine. What are these Night-Side forces, you ask? I'll answer with another question: Where do nature's forces—gravity, sunlight—come from? If you say "From God," then I'll say that humanity, as God's children, inherits these powers. If Incal is driven by God, then His children will learn how He does it and do the same, just as we once did in Poseid. But you could achieve even greater things; you are now what we were then. You are Poseid reborn, operating on a higher level!
The original object for which the great moat encircling the capital was excavated, had, since long centuries, been fulfilled. That purpose was purely maritime, in the days when ships had been used as carriers, before the later general use of aerial vessels; and it had served this purpose in such stead as to win for Caiphul its proud title "Sovereign of the Seas," a name retained even when the original uses of its moat had become a matter of history. When the better means of transportation had supplanted the old, then the ships, which for ten centuries bad graced all the seas and waterways of the globe, had been suffered to decay or had been converted to other uses. Only, a few sails now roved the waters, and those were merely pleasure craft belonging to novelty-loving people of leisure, who thus indulged their taste for sport.
The grand moat surrounding the capital had long since fulfilled its original purpose. Initially designed for maritime use when ships were the primary means of transport, before the advent of airships, it had earned Caiphul the proud title "Sovereign of the Seas." This name persisted even after the moat's original function became a historical footnote. When superior transportation methods emerged, the ships that had dominated global waterways for a millennium were left to decay or repurposed. Now, only a handful of sailboats graced the waters, mere pleasure craft for thrill-seeking leisure enthusiasts indulging their taste for adventure.
This radical change was, however, no reason why the masonry quays of the one hundred and forty miles, more or less, of the moat should be allowed to go to destruction. This would have entailed the loss of valuable property through the encroachment of the unchecked waters, as well as the deterioration of the sanitary system of the city, besides which such a course would have destroyed the beauty of the moat and its environments. Therefore, in all of the seven centuries since we ceased to employ marine transportation, no sign of weakness had been suffered to menace this great length of masonry.
Despite this major shift, there was no justification for neglecting the stone quays lining the roughly 140-mile moat. Allowing them to crumble would have led to property loss from water damage, compromised the city's sanitation, and ruined the moat's aesthetic appeal. Consequently, throughout the 700 years since abandoning water transport, we've diligently maintained this extensive masonry to prevent any signs of deterioration.
A marked feature of Caiphul was the wealth and rare beauty of its trees and tropical shrubbery, lining the avenues, covering the multitudinous palace-crowned hills, many of which had been constructed to rise two or even three hundred feet above the level of the plain. Trees and shrubs and plants, vines and flowers, annuals and perennials, filled the mimic canyons, gorges, defiles and levels which it had delighted the art-loving Poseidi to create. They covered the slopes, twined the miniature cliffs, the walls of buildings, and hid even the greater part of the steps which led a wide-sweeping banks to the edges of the moat, overlaying everything like a glorious verdant garment.
A striking feature of Caiphul was its lush, beautiful trees and tropical plants lining the streets and covering the many palace-crowned hills, some of which were built to rise 200 or even 300 feet above the plain. The city was a masterpiece of landscaping, with trees, shrubs, vines, and flowers of all types filling the artificial canyons, gorges, valleys, and plateaus that the artistic Poseidi people had created. This verdant tapestry covered slopes, wrapped around miniature cliffs and building walls, and even concealed most of the steps leading down to the moat's edge, draping everything in a glorious green mantle.
Perhaps the reader is beginning to wonder where all the people lived. Truly the query is well timed, and the answer will, I trust, prove interesting.
You may be wondering where everyone lived. It's a good question, and I think you'll find the answer intriguing.
In the work of altering the configuration of the surface of the great promontory from that of a plain to the more beautiful variations of hills and their intervening depressions, the scheme pursued had been to make keyed-shells of rock, of enormous strength, in the form of terraces, and leaving arched passages wherever the avenues intersected such elevations, to fill in the interiors then remaining with a concrete of clay, rubble and cement carefully tamped. The exteriors were thereafter covered with rich soil on the levels and. terraced for the support of vegetable life of all kinds. These elevations covered many square miles of the level once existent, leaving little that remained as plane surface except the avenues, and not all of these, inasmuch an quite a number of the thoroughfares ascended the rise between the hills or followed the ascending bed of some canyon until they reached the ridge at the head of the latter. They then penetrated the divide and debouched upon the opposite side through an arched way, wherein tubes of crystal, absolutely exhausted of air, gave a continuous light derived from the "Night-Side" forces. The vertical faces and inclinations of the terraces, as well as the sides of the canyons, were made into rooms of varied and ample size. The entrances to these, and to the windows, were concealed under mimic hedges of rock, over which clambered vines and rock-loving plants, thus removing from view the stiff ugliness of the metallic casings underneath. These apartments were arranged in artistic suites for the accommodation of families. The metal sheathing with which they were lined prevented moisture within, while their position under the surface insured an even degree of temperature at all at seasons of the year. As these residences were designed and built by the government, the ownership was vested in the same power and the tenants acquired leasehold from the Minister of Public Buildings. The rental was merely nominal and only sufficient to keep the property in repair, furnish the expenses of the incandescent lighting and heating service, the water supply, and the salaries of the necessary officials to attend to these duties. All of this cost not above ten or fifteen per cent of an ordinarily skilled mechanic's wages. The mention of so much detail may be pardoned. for, were it omitted, only & vague and unsatisfactory conception of life in this antediluvian age would be acquired by the reader.
In modernizing the surface of the great promontory from a plain to a more visually appealing landscape of hills and valleys, the approach was to create robust, terraced rock structures. These structures incorporated arched passages at avenue intersections, with the spaces between filled with a mixture of clay, rubble, and cement, firmly compacted. The exterior was then covered with rich soil on flat areas and terraced to support diverse plant life. These elevated structures spanned many square miles, leaving few flat surfaces except for some avenues. Several thoroughfares ascended between hills or followed canyons to their peaks, then passed through the ridges via arched tunnels. These tunnels were illuminated by airless crystal tubes powered by "Night-Side" energy. The terrace faces and canyon sides were fashioned into spacious rooms of various sizes. Entrances and windows were concealed behind decorative rock hedges covered in vines and plants, masking the metallic structures beneath. These living spaces were arranged in stylish suites for families. The government designed and owned these metal-lined, moisture-proof dwellings, which maintained a consistent temperature year-round due to their subterranean location. Residents leased from the Minister of Public Buildings at a nominal cost, covering maintenance, utilities, and staff salaries—typically 10-15% of an average skilled worker's wages. This level of detail is provided to give readers a clear understanding of life in this ancient era.
The great charm of thew residences lay in the fact of their retired situations, which prevented the dismal appearance of masses of angular houses, an effect of extreme ugliness seen in our modern days, but seldom, or never, in our Atlantean, cities. The result of this arrangement was that, to a beholder, looking from any high elevation, the city would have been , to one accustomed to the modern atrocities of stone, brick or wood,. chiefly, for the absence of sky-piercing piles separated by narrow, dark, treeless and too often filthy tunnels, miscalled streets.. Here a hill, and there another and yet another until the eye counted them by score--there were, one hundred, and nineteen in all; here a lake, or there a. cliff with a lake, or wooded park at its foot; gorges of mimic grandeur, little forests, so regularly irregular; cascades and tumbling torrents, fed from the inexhaustible supply of fresh water belonging to the city, their banks and shores covered with those plants, trees, and shrubs that love contiguity to abundant water. Such, dear friends, would have been the scene presented to thine eyes, couldst thou have gazed on Caiphul with me; perchance thou didst. And yet, Caiphul was not devoid of houses built much after the modern fashion, for the city franchise to build neat mansions here and there in situations and styles calculated to add to the beauty of the scene was a privilege of which any one of means might avail himself, under official approval. Many did so. Museums of art, edifices for histrionic entertainment and other structures not designed for habitation were also in tasteful numbers.
The residences' main appeal lay in their secluded locations, avoiding the unsightly clusters of angular buildings common in modern cities but rare in Atlantean ones. From a high vantage point, the city would have appeared strikingly different to someone used to today's architectural eyesores of stone, brick, or wood. Gone were the sky-scraping towers separated by narrow, dark, treeless, and often dirty passages called streets. Instead, one would see hills scattered throughout—119 in total—along with lakes, cliffs, wooded parks, miniature forests, and cascades. These features were fed by the city's plentiful freshwater supply, their shores adorned with lush vegetation that thrives near water. This, dear friends, is the scene you would have witnessed had you gazed upon Caiphul with me—perhaps you did. Yet, Caiphul wasn't entirely without modern-style houses. The city allowed wealthy individuals to build elegant mansions in select locations, provided they enhanced the overall aesthetic. Many took advantage of this opportunity. The cityscape also included tastefully designed museums, theaters, and other non-residential structures in appropriate numbers.
I found, in going about the city, that the avenues, in certain instances, seemed to come to an abrupt termination in some grotto, whose interior was usually hung with stalactites pendent from the roof. Perhaps a slight turn occurred from the straight course, and thus prevented one from seeing through the grotto. In these places, shaded, high-tension, airless cylinder lamps cast a soft glow throughout the interior, making a moonlight effect very pleasing to one who came in from the brightness of the sunlight.
While exploring the city, I noticed that some avenues appeared to end suddenly in cave-like structures. These grottos often had stalactites hanging from their ceilings. Sometimes, a slight bend in the path obscured the view through the grotto. Inside these shaded spaces, high-powered, sealed lamps emitted a gentle light, creating a moonlit atmosphere. This soft illumination was a welcome contrast for those entering from the bright sunlight outside.
While, in the majority of cases, our people were accomplished equestrians, this mode of travel was not used except for physical culture and grace, electric transit being provided by the government. Indeed, the social reformers of these days of the Christian nineteenth century would have been in their ideal land had they been Caiphalians, and this because the government pursued the paternalistic principle so systematically as to have vested in itself the ownership of all the land, methods of public transit, and communications, in a word, all property, The system was a most beneficent one, which no Poseida wanted to see disused or supplemented by any other. Did a citizen desire, a vailx (airship) for any use, he applied to the proper officials, who were on duty at numerous vailx-yards throughout the city. Or, to cultivate the land, he applied to the department of Soils and Tillage. Perhaps it was desired to manufacture some product; the machinery was for lease at the nominal rate necessary to meet working expenses and the salary of the officers overseeing that portion of the public property. Let these samples suffice. Enough, that no political harmony exists in this modern time of the world like that which sprang from this paternalism on the part of our elected officials. Governmental paternalism is a thing regarded with jealousy and semi-alarm by modem republics. But it is to-day a different quality from what it was then. Ours was a paternalism closely watched and duly checked by the suffragists of the nation, and its life was essentially exponent of true socialistic principles.
In most cases, our people were skilled riders, but horseback riding was primarily used for exercise and grace rather than transportation. The government provided electric transit for all. Indeed, 19th-century Christian social reformers would have considered Caiphalia their ideal society, as the government systematically embraced the paternalistic principle by owning all land, public transit, communications—essentially all property. This system was highly beneficial, and no Poseida wanted to see it changed or supplemented. If a citizen needed an airship for any purpose, they simply applied to officials at numerous airship yards throughout the city. For land cultivation, they contacted the Department of Soils and Tillage. If someone wished to manufacture a product, machinery was available for lease at a nominal rate to cover operating expenses and supervisory salaries. No political harmony in the modern world compares to that which arose from this paternalism of our elected officials. While contemporary republics view governmental paternalism with suspicion, ours was different. It was closely monitored and kept in check by the nation's voters, embodying true socialistic principles.
I have not even now been so precise in details as to explain many of the most peculiar adjustments maintained between the political parent and its children, nor between labor and capital. But neither can I do so in these pages with any degree of propriety, because this is not a plea for readoption, in this age of the world, of methods pursued in that remote period. Yet, this much I can say, not inappropriately at this juncture, that Poseid had not in my day, the modem, yet also very ancient, annoyance of labor strikes, blocking capital and enterprise, starving the artisan, and causing more suffering on the part of the poor than such annoyances can ever bring to the doors of the rich. The secret of this immunity was not far to seek in a nation whose government was the voice of those people who possessed sufficient education to wield the power of franchise, and this, too, regardless of sex, because inborn in our national life was this principle: "An educational measuring-rod for every voter; the sex of the suffragist in immaterial." In such a nation, and under such a government, it were strange indeed if industrial inharmonies could long disturb social polity. The broad principle of equity between employer and employee governed in Poseid; it mattered not what a person did for another person, but the whole equation hinged on this question: Was some service performed by one person for another? If so, the fact that the service was or was not accomplished by physical labor counted for nothing. It might be equally a service deserving compensation whether it was a physical or a purely intellectual service; nor was it held to be important whether the employer represented (me or more individuals or the employee one or more people.
Even now, I haven't fully explained many of the unique arrangements between the political leadership and its citizens, or between labor and capital. I won't go into more detail here, as this isn't a call to revive ancient methods in our modern world. However, I can say that Poseid didn't experience the labor strikes we see today, which disrupt business, starve workers, and harm the poor more than the rich. The reason for this stability was simple: our government represented all educated voters, regardless of gender. We believed in "an educational standard for every voter; the sex of the suffragist doesn't matter." In such a nation, industrial conflicts rarely disturbed social harmony. Poseid operated on the principle of fairness between employers and employees. What mattered wasn't the type of work done, but whether a service was performed. Whether the service was physical or intellectual was irrelevant. Compensation depended on the service provided, not on whether the employer represented one person or many, or whether the employee was an individual or a group.
Our local enactments on the subject of industrial equity were complete and rather voluminous. While I care not to give in detail a reproduction of what may be termed labor law, a few excerpts are worthy of place. It will be well to preface these with a short history of their enactment, and thus show how, in that olden time, labor troubles quite similar, and fully as menacing to peace and order as any modern industrial upheaval, were finally and equitably settled.
Our local laws on workplace fairness were comprehensive and extensive. While I won't provide a detailed account of what could be called labor legislation, some key points are worth mentioning. To give context, I'll briefly explain how these laws came to be, demonstrating how labor disputes in those days—as threatening to social stability as any modern industrial unrest—were ultimately resolved in a fair manner.
On the "Maxin-Stone," to which legal code reference in full is made in the proper place, was found this vital seed of settlement of the fearful menace embroiling labor and capital, to wit:
On the "Maxin-Stone," which is fully referenced in the appropriate legal documents, a crucial solution was discovered to address the dangerous conflict between workers and employers, namely:
"What time those who work for hire shall be oppressed, and shall rise in wrath to destroy their oppressor--lo! let their hand be stayed, that they shall obey Me. I say unto them: Harm not the person or the property of any man, not even though by that man -they be oppressed. For are not all brothers and sisters? Are not all children of one Father, even the nameless Creator? But this I command: That they destroy oppression. Shall things, which are less than man, rule over and oppress their masters? Seek diligently my meaning."
"When workers are exploited and rise up in anger against their oppressors, they must restrain themselves and obey Me. I tell them: Do not harm anyone or damage their property, even if that person is the one oppressing you. Are we not all brothers and sisters? Are we not all children of one Father, the unnamed Creator? Instead, I command this: Eliminate oppression itself. Should material things, which are inferior to humans, dominate and exploit their masters? Reflect carefully on what I mean."
The students of ethics interpreted this command to mean that the oppressed industrial classes should not harm the oppressing capitalists nor their property. The rich classes were perhaps as much victims of circumstances as the poorer people; the remedy lay, not in blind anarchy, but in eradicating conditions. This was easy, if properly attempted. The oppressed were as a thousand to one of the oppressor. The majority of them held the elective franchise, and it was determined that, as the government was the people's servant, the proper method was to deal with the question at the polls, and not to employ violence against the rich. Therefore the call went forth amongst all the people to vote on the adoption of a code of industrial regulations and to vote its respectful submission to the Rai. Of the many articles and sections, I shall insert only those that are pertinent to modem times and troubles, so that if these selections are not articled and sectioned in consecution the reason is obvious.
The ethics scholars interpreted this directive as a call for oppressed workers to avoid harming capitalist oppressors or their assets. They argued that the wealthy were as much victims of circumstance as the poor, and that the solution lay not in chaotic rebellion, but in addressing root causes. This seemed achievable if approached correctly, given that the oppressed vastly outnumbered their oppressors by a thousand to one. Since most of the oppressed had voting rights, it was decided that the best approach was to address the issue through democratic means rather than violence against the rich. The government, after all, was meant to serve the people. Thus, a call went out for citizens to vote on adopting a set of industrial regulations and to respectfully submit these to the Rai. From the numerous articles and sections proposed, I will only include those relevant to modern issues and conflicts. If the selections appear out of order, it's because I've chosen only the most pertinent ones.
EXCERPTS FROM THE POSEID LABOR LAWS.
EXCERPTS FROM THE POSEID LABOR LAWS
"No employer shall demand of any employee any service outside of legal hours of work without extra remuneration."
"Employers must compensate workers for any work required outside of standard hours."
"Sec. 4. These hours shall not be less nor more than nine in number for physical labor in any period of twenty-four hours; nor less nor more than eight hours for sedentary employments chiefly requiring intellectual exertion."
"Section 4. Work hours for physical labor shall be exactly nine hours within any 24-hour period. For sedentary jobs primarily involving mental effort, work hours shall be exactly eight hours. These limits apply to all workers without exception."
This statute allowed the two parties to a labor contract to arrange to suit themselves when the working hours were to begin or end, with reference to the first hour of the day, namely, the modern noon hour. In regard to wage matters, the law was very clear. It held that as mankind was. selfish by nature, that is, the lower nature, that he would operate on a basis of self-aggrandizement, the modern doctrine of "laissez-nous faire." Hence if be should not be actuated by the sense of duty to his fellowman to treat that man right, when right was not dictated by might, then the law must compel him to be. fair. It is in this that the modern Anglo-Saxon world, which is Poseid (and Suern) reincarnating, shows one mark of the slow but sure upward progress begotten of time; proves that although man moves, as does all else, sensate and insensate, in a circle, yet that circle is like a screw-thread, ever progressing around and around, but each time moving on a higher plane. Poseid must be compelled by its advanced minds to do what is fair towards the weak. America and Europe are growing willing to do rightly, fairly, because it is the part of duty. Thus we behold modern employers often doing of free will what the ancient Poseid did because of law, namely, sharing profits with their employees.
This law allowed employers and employees to agree on their own working hours, using noon as a reference point. Regarding wages, the law was explicit. It assumed that human nature was inherently selfish, operating on the principle of self-interest, similar to the modern concept of "laissez-faire." If an individual wasn't motivated by a sense of duty to treat others fairly when not compelled by force, then the law would step in to ensure fairness. This aspect of modern Anglo-Saxon society, which is a reincarnation of Poseid (and Suern) culture, demonstrates the slow but steady progress brought about by time. It proves that while everything moves in cycles, these cycles are like a spiral, constantly advancing to higher levels. In Poseid, progressive thinkers had to compel society to treat the vulnerable fairly. Today, America and Europe are becoming more willing to do what's right out of a sense of duty. We now see modern employers often voluntarily sharing profits with their workers, something that was legally mandated in ancient Poseid. This shift illustrates how societies can evolve to embrace ethical practices willingly rather than through legal enforcement.
The law then having gone to the lawmakers, the suffragists decreed that the government should establish a Department of Commissary, the duties of which should be to collect all statistics concerning the food products of commerce, also concerning all textile fabrics necessary for clothing and, in brief, all articles necessary for the proper social maintenance of individuals. On these statistical reports was to be founded an estimate of the cost of all such necessaries, amongst which books were reckoned as mental food, and the cost of these things for a year was calculated. Upon this calculation, day's wages were estimated by dividing the annual cost into the number of days. This rate was decided anew every ninety days, as the cost of the chief staples was found to fluctuate, hence the rate was not wholly stable, and the wages of any given three months' term might probably differ from those of any previous quarter.
The lawmakers, influenced by suffragists, established a Department of Commissary. This department was tasked with gathering data on food products, textiles for clothing, and other essentials for social well-being, including books as mental nourishment. Using these statistics, they calculated the annual cost of necessities and divided it by the number of days to determine daily wages. This rate was reassessed every quarter due to fluctuations in staple prices, resulting in potential wage variations between three-month periods.
Let me quote:
Let me quote:
"See. VII, Art. V. Employers shall divide the gross profits of business operations upon the following plan: The wage, salary or emolument of each employee shall be paid in the sum directed by the quarterly estimate of living cost determined by the Department of Commissary. From the remainder, the amount of six parts in each hundred on the capital invested shall be set aside. This increment shall be and represent the employer's net profits. From the remaining income the running expenses shall be deducted, and of any sum thereafter remaining, one-half shall be invested to provide annuities for sick or disabled, or assurance for the dependents of deceased employees. The remaining half shall be periodically distributed amongst the employees on. the basis of their various compensations.
"Section 7, Article 5. Employers must allocate the gross profits from business operations as follows: 1. Employee wages, salaries, or compensation shall be paid according to the quarterly living cost estimate determined by the Department of Commissary. 2. Six percent of the invested capital shall be set aside as the employer's net profit. 3. From the remaining income, operating expenses shall be deducted. 4. Any surplus shall be divided equally: a. Half will be invested to provide benefits for sick or disabled employees, or support for dependents of deceased employees. b. The other half will be distributed among employees periodically, proportional to their individual compensation levels."
"See. VIII, Art. V. The whole of a body of employees is only equal to the Superintendent thereof. The Superintendent is equal to all the underlings. Hence, employers, when not themselves managers of the business, shall pay to managers a salary equal to the combined wages of the subordinates."
"Section 8, Article 5. The combined value of an entire workforce is equivalent to that of its Superintendent. The Superintendent's worth matches the total of all subordinates. Therefore, when owners are not directly managing the business, they must compensate managers with a salary equal to the total wages of all employees under their supervision."
Truly, these labor laws and other matters have a modern sound. But civilization in all ages, among all nations, is wont to express itself in ways which, if modern language be used to describe them, will seem almost identical; so that in ancient Atl and in modem America the term "strike" may be properly used to designate a labor revolt; the same principle characterizes all other phases; for from age to age the world makes but slow progress, and is to-day not as far advanced in its present sub-cycle, nor as civilized, as it was in olden Poseid. This may seem a hard saying, but it will presently be understood.
These labor laws and other issues sound surprisingly modern. However, civilizations throughout history and across cultures tend to express themselves in similar ways. If we describe ancient practices using modern terms, they often appear nearly identical. For example, we can accurately use the word "strike" to describe labor revolts in both ancient Atl and modern America. The same principle applies to other aspects of society. The world progresses slowly from one era to the next, and today's civilization in its current phase is not as advanced or refined as that of ancient Poseid. This may be difficult to accept, but it will become clearer as we explore further.
Such, in the main, were the chief features of the industrial world in Poseid. The old-time strikes and riots out of which these laws were born disappeared and peace took its sway. The change was beneficent, indeed, yet always the strong looked to see how they might evade the law, and though they did not succeed to a harmful extent, still the wish on their part entered the sum of karma. So when the modem world of the Christian epoch came to the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, particularly the last named, then began the reincarnation of this Poseid era, and for a time the tendency to oppression again came uppermost. But overriding this tendency now faintly appears the willingness to do right for the sake of right, which, as applied to industrial matters, has of very, very recent years been manifested--a sign of the evening afterglow of the last day, now near striking its last hour, telling of a spent age. I particularly refer to the greater willingness of man to treat his fellow rightly, without being forced thereto by legal enactments. Truly, it is, as yet, only done because it is found to pay; but it would never have been found to pay if the reincarnated rightwardness had not induced experiments in profit-sharing to be made, in hopes of exterminating the strike iniquity and with the idea of harmonizing society to be active in doing as it would be done by. Finally, strange and paradoxical as it may appear, this betterment is the direct child of the old-time rights extorted by might in Poseid, and to-day, reincarnated offspring of reincarnated oppression, as in Atlantis oppression sprang reincarnate from the grave of other ages gone before, previous to the wondrous memorial of Gizeh. But to more than mention this here would be to trench upon work given unto another by the Messiah; therefore only a hint can I give now, but more later. Suffice it then, that those were ages when man was struggling, with scarcely perceptible upward motion, from our fallen ancestry. Glory be to our Father that His children surely, if slowly, are by devious ways climbing His heights; many are their falls, but they shall rise again, not suffering the enemy to triumph.
The industrial landscape of Poseid was marked by significant reforms. Labor laws born from past strikes and riots brought peace, though the powerful still sought ways to circumvent them. This desire, while mostly unsuccessful, contributed to the karmic balance. As the Christian era entered the 18th and 19th centuries, particularly the latter, the Poseid era began to reincarnate. Initially, oppressive tendencies resurfaced. However, a faint willingness to do right for its own sake has recently emerged in industrial matters. This signals the twilight of a fading age, with humanity showing a greater inclination to treat others fairly without legal coercion. Currently, this fair treatment is motivated by profit, but it stems from reincarnated righteousness. Experiments in profit-sharing aim to eliminate strikes and harmonize society. Paradoxically, this improvement is a direct descendant of the rights once forcibly obtained in Poseid, just as Atlantean oppression arose from even earlier ages. This pattern of reincarnated struggles traces back to our fallen ancestry, with humanity slowly ascending through various challenges. Though people often fall, they will rise again, not allowing the enemy to triumph. Glory to our Father, for His children are climbing His heights, albeit slowly and through winding paths.
It may be a seemingly inopportune intrusion, but I must here briefly describe the electro-odic transit system of Caiphul, and the other cities, towns and villages scattered throughout the empire and its colonies. The description is of the local transit-carriages only. On each side of every avenue was a broad tessellated pavement for pedestrians. A line of massive, bottomless stone vases in which throve ornamental shrubs and foliage plants stood upon the curb, and on either side of these was a metal rail, placed at a height of about nine feet, and supported upon davits similar to those from which ship-boats are swung. At regular distances other rails crossed these main runners, rails capable of being raised or lowered to form a switch-junction, a simple lever effecting this process. These rails served as cross streets, there being in comparatively few instances any paved street underneath the rails on any but the great radiate avenues. On the maps of the City Department of Transit these main and cross rails looked like the web of a garden spider. For each transit-district there were multitudes of carriages, having aut-odic mechanism, whereby they were made to speed at tremendous swiftness with their passengers; but collisions could not occur, as the conveying rods formed a double-track system.
I must briefly describe the electro-odic transit system of Caiphul and other cities, towns, and villages throughout the empire and its colonies. This description covers only the local transit carriages. On each side of every avenue was a wide, tiled sidewalk for pedestrians. A row of large, bottomless stone planters containing ornamental shrubs and foliage plants stood at the curb. On either side of these planters was a metal rail, placed about nine feet high and supported by brackets similar to those used for ship lifeboats. At regular intervals, other rails crossed these main runners. These cross-rails could be raised or lowered to form junctions, controlled by a simple lever. These rails served as cross streets, with few paved streets underneath except on the main radial avenues. On City Transit Department maps, these main and cross rails resembled a spider's web. Each transit district had numerous carriages with automatic mechanisms that allowed them to travel at high speeds with passengers. Collisions were impossible due to the double-track system formed by the conveying rods.