The New Democracy will be built like a medieval cathedral—step by step, brick by brick, with all and for the good of all. Foremost in the mind of the laborers will be Samuel Butler’s credo: “There is no way of making an aged art young again; it must be born anew and grow up from infancy as a new thing, working out its own salvation from effort to effort in all fear and trembling.”
As it is built, like in olden times when ships sailed to the seas buoyed by the chants of sailors, the song of Whitman will be heard among the workers:
I speak the password primeval … I give the sign of democracy;
By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counter-
part on the same terms.
And Dickinson’s hieroglyphic mysteries will illuminate the stained glass windows.
The foundations of the New Democracy will be laid next to an Indian burial site, and in close proximity to a slave graveyard; next to it, a memorial to fallen warriors.
The memory the ocean on which they sailed, the hopes and dreams of exiles, will never leave the citizens. The ministers will not be priests or pastors, but will wear the rainbow-colored garments of all religions. Saints and devils will coexist, just like gargoyles were sculpted next to the statues of saints in old cathedrals.
All will be welcome. Their prayers will be like a memory from ancient prophets: “When you pass through the waters I will be with you; and the rivers will not overflow.” No need of Empire then, for light and dark, good and evil, all polarities will be reconciled in harmony and proper balance. The only religion, like that of Erewhonians, will be self-respect and consideration for other people.