H.G. Wells’ Time Machine and Scientism Propaganda: Esoteric Analysis

By: Jay Dyer

Before there was Back to the Future, there was the early phase of science fiction embodied in Fabian H.G. Wells’ 1895 novella, The Time Machine.  Wells’ work is both entertaining and important for the course of modern literature, yet also calls for an analysis given the prevalence of propaganda functioning at many levels within the novel.  Functioning as a popular serial and eventually published, the story has captivated generations as a supposed warning tale of the potential dark future of mankind unless willing to heed the dictates of reason, science and methodical empirical deduction.  The novel also displays an early example of environmentalist themes, preparing the way for the dubious threats of man-made global warming, the human disruption of the biosphere, the burning out of the sun and stars as well as the propagation of Marxist class struggle and eschatological utopianism succeeded by dystopianism, all of which is predicated on one catch-all mythos – Darwinism.

With The Time Machine we have a clear example of what I have elucidated in many articles, where the new mythos of scientism and its revolutionary offspring, Darwinism, came to such prominence through the promotion of its primary source, through funding and global academic control, that of the Royal Society.   Illustrating even clearer the close relationship between Fabian Socialism and Masonry, Wells himself was a Mason and crafted his novels with rife reference to the so-called craft.  What also emerges is the close relationship of the leftist-socialist revolutionaries that espoused the worker’s revolution and their phony counterparts, the faux right with their core revolutionary values of scientism and empiricism that still maintainted a predilection for property rights and family.   Spewing forth, as it always has, from London, Marxism and socialism were always connected to Masonry and the banking houses, despite Wells or Bertrand Russell’s masks of anti-monetarism.  The republics and their socialist “parties” worldwide are actually controlled by this secretive Orwelian “Inner Party.”

The Time Machine not only demonstrates the paper-thin façade of the socialist and communist project, but simultaneously reveals, like Huxley’s Brave New World, the suppression of real metaphysics, science and cosmic truths, while feeding the masses a pubic consumption replacement intent on stunting, devolving and undermining the populace for their gradual, incrimentalist (the Fabian plan) integration of the continents into a global technocratic age.  Hardly anyone could be chosen as a more prominent or notable figure for the preparation and programming of the socialistic technostate than H.G. Wells and, as we will see, the present novel undoubtedly encodes many of the same themes and messages as Huxley’s dystopia, yet with other hidden angles.

Speaking of angles, the first curious reference in the book is to the notion of higher dimensions.  Like the Victorian era novel Flatland by Edwin Abbot that explored similar themes, or Madeleine L’engle’s later A Wrinkle in Time, the notion of the next dimension up being a certain mathematical reality, Wells seems content to slip the notion into the novel at the outset under the guise of a fictional hoodwink.  The protagonist, the Time Traveller, engages in a lengthy discussion with other academic and establishment colleagues concerning the reality of the 4th dimension as immaterial and most likely time itself.  Glorying in his scientistic approach, the empirical scientific method is touted as the only path to knowledge, as the scientist makes a fool of his unnamed colleagues, the Journalist, the Psychologist, the Medical Man, etc.  The anonymous naming signifies the preeminence of the “scientist” for Wells, despite Wells’ own self-satisfaction in his role as fiction propagandist.  The Time Traveler’s philosophy of pragmatic empiricism is also compounded with a close associate:

‘Then there is the future,’ said the Very Young Man. ‘Just think! One might invest all one’s money, leave it to accumulate at interest, and hurry on ahead!’

‘To discover a society,’ said I, ‘erected on a strictly communistic basis.’

Future utopias, he is convinced, will be erected on the basis of pure communism, having left aside the impediment of symbolic monetary exchange and the preference for personal property.   For the materialist, such dreamy philosophies have always been the secular salvific hope, despite their utterly irrational foundations and completely off base appraisals of “human nature” and the “human race” (which Wells lauds often).  Rather, the reality is something even Fabian Wells appears to light upon in his story, that mankind is not fundamentally rational, nor are his social structures, and on top of all that, nor is empirical scientism itself founded upon Pure Reason.

I feel sure Wells had quite a laugh to himself, as he proposed immaterial, invariant dimensions at the start of the novel, and proceeded to declare the dogma of scientism elsewhere.  Indeed, for Wells the reasoning is such that because the human body is a machine, and he distinctly notes his preference for mechanistic conceptions of man and his universe, then a like machine for the body might be constructed.  As the mind traverses the linear progress of beginning to end within time inside its machine, the human body, so might a machine for this machine be made in which man might overcome the dominance of time in his quest for secular apotheosis.

Crystals are curiously what propels the time machine, though we are not given any mechanics of the device.  Crystallography has, as I have detailed in the past, many subtle mysteries and properties that actually do have a connection to higher dimensions, through the example of the quasicrystal and Roger Penrose’s tiling.  Penrose tiling exhibits the same geometrical and mathematical matrices structures of quasicrystals, as well as a hypercube or tesseract.  It is therefore interesting that, in a scientistic fiction novel that also references Platonic Allegory of the Cave motifs, we also have similar ideas to the higher dimensional discussions found in Plato’s Phaedo, as I have explained here.  In other words, like Huxley’s Technocratic Controller, Mustapha Mond, the reality of metaphysics must be suppressed and dead-end empirical materialism promoted.

The next curious feature of the novel is the Sphinx, a great ruin the Time Traveler discovers as he reaches the year 802,701 A.D., now decaying from years of disuse as the utopian civilization that once did appear had now fallen.  The Sphinx is Wells’ masonic code for the Craft of Masonry itself, as Albert Pike explained:

“Masonry is the veritable Sphinx, buried to the head in the sands heaped round it by the ages.” (Albert Pike, Book of the Words)

The sphinx is also spoken of as relating to time and space, and in some traditions associated with the Cherubim, as the wheels of Ezekiel are associated with the governance of the natural forces of the cosmos.  Here, the sphinx and the ancient mysteries have been decoded and surpassed, as Wells’ scientistic hero usurps the previously accorded divine role to use his chariot to traverse time and space.  No longer is the body limited, but by a new body, a new chariot allows man to bend time and space like the angelic hierarchies and the Chariot of biblical theology.

Having overcome body and temporal limitations, man is threatened with an absurd fear-porn from Wells, where the future is a bleak one in which the Golden Age which had returned was once again lost due to the long evolutionary trek of the human race, now divided between Eloi and Morlock.  Blonde and 4 feet tall, the Eloi are surface dwellers who eat only fruit and graze like cattle for the troglodyte monkey men cave dwellers, the Morlocks.  Promoting the mythology of Paleolithic “cave men” and notorious frauds like Piltdown Man or Peking Man, Wells propaganda was quite successful in aiding the Darwinian ethos with its new timeline of imaginary aeons of millions of years in which humans rise from muck to walk upright.  For Wells, the loss of reason and science (embodied in the decayed Green Porcelain Museum) has doomed man once again to the crass ways of primal cannibalism, as Morlocks consume the Eloi at night.

Not only this, the novel also features another highlight of Marxist lore, the alienation of man from nature, the inevitable struggle of social Darwinism and the external threat of the decaying and dying environment.  Indeed, quite early in the game Wells was seeding the idea of man as a threat to the biosphere, where uncontrolled population has to be curbed to prevent Malthusian disasters.  Despite the glowing praise of materialism, Earth is treated as usual amongst this ilk as a “living being” for whom mankind is a cancer.  Wells, in fact, warns the entire cosmos is “dying” as his hero’s journey to the end of time results in the burning out of the stellar luminaries and the beginning of evolutionary process stars anew as prehistoric monsters and creatures emerge from the ocean.

Cyclical history, once again, all of which is a complete repackaging of ancient mythology under the cover of science!  The crucial factor to note here is that you can begin to see the real origins of where most gain their assumptions of Darwinian tales – science fiction preparation, not in any empirical observation of amoebas from muck or Peking Man.  For Wells, the socialist end goal must wipe away all, especially the family and the androgyny of alchemical gender bending:

“I felt that this close resemblance of the sexes was after all what one would expect; for the strength of a man and the softness of a woman, the institution of the family, and the differentiation of occupations are mere militant necessities of an age of physical force; where population is balanced and abundant, much childbearing becomes an evil rather than a blessing to the State; where violence comes but rarely and off-spring are secure, there is less necessity—indeed there is no necessity—for an efficient family, and the specialization of the sexes with reference to their children’s needs disappears. We see some beginnings of this even in our own time, and in this future age it was complete. This, I must remind you, was my speculation at the time. Later, I was to appreciate how far it fell short of the reality….

‘But with this change in condition comes inevitably adaptations to the change. What, unless biological science is a mass of errors, is the cause of human intelligence and vigour? Hardship and freedom: conditions under which the active, strong, and subtle survive and the weaker go to the wall; conditions that put a premium upon the loyal alliance of capable men, upon self-restraint, patience, and decision. And the institution of the family, and the emotions that arise therein, the fierce jealousy, the tenderness for offspring, parental self-devotion, all found their justification and support in the imminent dangers of the young. Now, where are these imminent dangers? There is a sentiment arising, and it will grow, against connubial jealousy, against fierce maternity, against passion of all sorts; unnecessary things now, and things that make us uncomfortable, savage survivals, discords in a refined and pleasant life.”

The family and gender, mere social constructs that merge and then submerge back into nature’s blind, meaningless force are subject to the same deterministic Necessity Wells states, as all other materialistic constructs.  Chaos reigns supreme in the evolutionary paradigm and never ceases to cancel out the supposed rationality that it stands upon.  There is no reason in a world where there is no telos or purpose, and Wells seems to acknowledge this with his admissions of geometric entities.  In great irony, the Time Traveler escapes his underground captors through the use of matches, symbolizing the Masonic use of reason once again, as if reason were a god.  How absurd, then, that the scientistic crowd never delves into the question of what exactly reason is, how it is had or functions universally as an invariant principle.  None of that matters, ony the story of the long march of history and “science” versus the “darkness” and Night of superstition, like Mozart’s Magic Flute.

Irony again, given that scientism endlessly touts the “freedom” it offers from the self-imposed tutelage of superstition, while then turning around and promoting numerous environmental catastrophe warnings that never manifest, from Malthus to global cooling to warming to climate change.  Even genetics is trotted out as a fear tactic, with the added bonus of class warfare that is the source of both evolution and devolution.  The wealthy end up docile cattle while the retarded Morlocks become sub-human.  For the Fabian Socialist it becomes clear that despite the supposed opposition to Nazi eugenics, it is the Fabians who are overtly behind the policy of covert dysgenics.  In fact one might even see an inkling of this in The Time Machine, noting the close correlation to Darwin and the completely mythological speculations and the “natural” state of all things dying and returning to an amorphous center:

“I think I have said how much hotter than our own was the weather of this Golden Age. I cannot account for it. It may be that the sun was hotter, or the earth nearer the sun. It is usual to assume that the sun will go on cooling steadily in the future. But people, unfamiliar with such speculations as those of the younger Darwin, forget that the planets must ultimately fall back one by one into the parent body. As these catastrophes occur, the sun will blaze with renewed energy; and it may be that some inner planet had suffered this fate. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that the sun was very much hotter than we know it.”

Being members of the same club with the Huxleys, we are reminded by Wells again through fiction of the strategy of admission through science fantasy what is fact: real metaphysics and science is suppressed, and the masses are fed garbage to keep them in a prison.  While not as subpar in prose as most science fiction, and certainly an entertaining story, Wells’ novella was much more than a fantasy tale for pulp publications.  The Fabian Socialist strategy was always to utilize all means necessary to gradually move the Masonic atheistic scientistic presuppositions into the realm of confessional dogma with the masses gleefully cheering on their own enslavement, believing they follow “reason” as they are denigrated into irrational beasts.  Like Huxley, Wells’ novel is a propaganda piece that reveals as much as it conceals, with early hints of transhumanism, it also functions to prepare the way for manufactured environmental crises and bogus cosmologies where man is situated in a purely chaotic universe of infinite flux, doomed to return to nothingness.  These are all, of course, lies, as Mustapha Mond explained to John the Savage in Brave New World:

“We don’t want to change. Every change is a menace to stability. That’s another reason why we’re so chary of applying new inventions. Every discovery in pure science is potentially subversive; even science must sometimes be treated as a possible enemy. Yes, even science.”

Science? The Savage frowned. He knew the word. But what it exactly signified he could not say. Shakespeare and the old men of the pueblo had never mentioned science, and from Linda he had only gathered the vaguest hints: science was something you made helicopters with, some thing that caused you to laugh at the Corn Dances, something that prevented you from being wrinkled and losing your teeth. He made a desperate effort to take the Controller’s meaning.

“Yes,” Mustapha Mond was saying, “that’s another item in the cost of stability. It isn’t only art that’s incompatible with happiness; it’s also science. Science is dangerous; we have to keep it most carefully chained and muzzled.”

“What?” said Helmholtz, in astonishment. “But we’re always saying that science is everything. It’s a hypnopædic platitude.””Three times a week between thirteen and seventeen,” put in Bernard.”

And all the science propaganda we do at the College …””Yes; but what sort of science?” asked Mustapha Mond sarcastically. “You’ve had no scientific training, so you can’t judge. I was a pretty good physicist in my time. Too good–good enough to realize that all our science is just a cookery book, with an orthodox theory of cooking that nobody’s allowed to question, and a list of recipes that mustn’t be added to except by special permission from the head cook. I’m the head cook now. But I was an inquisitive young scullion once. I started doing a bit of cooking on my own. Unorthodox cooking, illicit cooking. A bit of real science, in fact.” He was silent.

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