[PDF]Brave New World

BRAVE NEW WORLD



by

Aldous Huxley
(1894-1963)



Chapter One



A SQUAT grey building of only thirty-four stories. Over the main en-
trance the words, CENTRAL LONDON HATCHERY AND CONDITIONING
CENTRE, and, in a shield, the World State's motto, COMMUNITY, IDEN-
TITY, STABILITY.

The enormous room on the ground floor faced towards the north. Cold
for all the summer beyond the panes, for all the tropical heat of the
room itself, a harsh thin light glared through the windows, hungrily
seeking some draped lay figure, some pallid shape of academic goose-
flesh, but finding only the glass and nickel and bleakly shining porce-
lain of a laboratory. Wintriness responded to wintriness. The overalls of
the workers were white, their hands gloved with a pale corpse-
coloured rubber. The light was frozen, dead, a ghost. Only from the
yellow barrels of the microscopes did it borrow a certain rich and living
substance, lying along the polished tubes like butter, streak after
luscious streak in long recession down the work tables.

"And this," said the Director opening the door, "is the Fertilizing
Room."

Bent over their instruments, three hundred Fertilizers were plunged, as
the Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning entered the room, in the



scarcely breathing silence, the absent-minded, soliloquizing hum or
whistle, of absorbed concentration. A troop of newly arrived students,
very young, pink and callow, followed nervously, rather abjectly, at the
Director's heels. Each of them carried a notebook, in which, whenever
the great man spoke, he desperately scribbled. Straight from the
horse's mouth. It was a rare privilege. The D. H. C. for Central London
always made a point of personally conducting his new students round
the various departments.

"Just to give you a general idea," he would explain to them. For of
course some sort of general idea they must have, if they were to do
their work intelligently-though as little of one, if they were to be good
and happy members of society, as possible. For particulars, as every
one knows, make for virtue and happiness; generalities are intellectu-
ally necessary evils. Not philosophers but fret-sawyers and stamp col-
lectors compose the backbone of society.

"To-morrow," he would add, smiling at them with a slightly menacing
geniality, "you'll be settling down to serious work. You won't have time
for generalities. Meanwhile ..."

Meanwhile, it was a privilege. Straight from the horse's mouth into the
notebook. The boys scribbled like mad.

Tall and rather thin but upright, the Director advanced into the room.
He had a long chin and big rather prominent teeth, just covered, when
he was not talking, by his full, floridly curved lips. Old, young? Thirty?
Fifty? Fifty-five? It was hard to say. And anyhow the question didn't
arise; in this year of stability, A. F. 632, it didn't occur to you to ask it.

"I shall begin at the beginning," said the D.H.C. and the more zealous
students recorded his intention in their notebooks: Begin at the begin-
ning. "These," he waved his hand, "are the incubators." And opening
an insulated door he showed them racks upon racks of numbered test-
tubes. "The week's supply of ova. Kept," he explained, "at blood heat;
whereas the male gametes," and here he opened another door, "they
have to be kept at thirty-five instead of thirty-seven. Full blood heat
sterilizes." Rams wrapped in theremogene beget no lambs.

Still leaning against the incubators he gave them, while the pencils
scurried illegibly across the pages, a brief description of the modern



fertilizing process; spoke first, of course, of its surgical introduc-
tion-"the operation undergone voluntarily for the good of Society, not
to mention the fact that it carries a bonus amounting to six months'
salary"; continued with some account of the technique for preserving
the excised ovary alive and actively developing; passed on to a consid-
eration of optimum temperature, salinity, viscosity; referred to the liq-
uor in which the detached and ripened eggs were kept; and, leading
his charges to the work tables, actually showed them how this liquor
was drawn off from the test-tubes; how it was let out drop by drop
onto the specially warmed slides of the microscopes; how the eggs
which it contained were inspected for abnormalities, counted and
transferred to a porous receptacle; how (and he now took them to
watch the operation) this receptacle was immersed in a warm bouillon
containing free-swimming spermatozoa-at a minimum concentration
of one hundred thousand per cubic centimetre, he insisted; and how,
after ten minutes, the container was lifted out of the liquor and its
contents re-examined; how, if any of the eggs remained unfertilized, it
was again immersed, and, if necessary, yet again; how the fertilized
ova went back to the incubators; where the Alphas and Betas re-
mained until definitely bottled; while the Gammas, Deltas and Epsilons
were brought out again, after only thirty-six hours, to undergo Bo-
kanovsky's Process.

"Bokanovsky's Process," repeated the Director, and the students un-
derlined the words in their little notebooks.

One egg, one embryo, one adult-normality. But a bokanovskified egg
will bud, will proliferate, will divide. From eight to ninety-six buds, and
every bud will grow into a perfectly formed embryo, and every embryo
into a full-sized adult. Making ninety-six human beings grow where
only one grew before. Progress.

"Essentially," the D.H.C. concluded, "bokanovskification consists of a
series of arrests of development. We check the normal growth and,
paradoxically enough, the egg responds by budding."

Responds by budding. The pencils were busy.

He pointed. On a very slowly moving band a rack-full of test-tubes was
entering a large metal box, another, rack-full was emerging. Machinery
faintly purred. It took eight minutes for the tubes to go through, he



told them. Eight minutes of hard X-rays being about as much as an
egg can stand. A few died; of the rest, the least susceptible divided
into two; most put out four buds; some eight; all were returned to the
incubators, where the buds began to develop; then, after two days,
were suddenly chilled, chilled and checked. Two, four, eight, the buds
in their turn budded; and having budded were dosed almost to death
with alcohol; consequently burgeoned again and having budded-bud
out of bud out of bud-were thereafter-further arrest being generally
fatal-left to develop in peace. By which time the original egg was in a
fair way to becoming anything from eight to ninety-six embryos- a
prodigious improvement, you will agree, on nature. Identical twins-but
not in piddling twos and threes as in the old viviparous days, when an
egg would sometimes accidentally divide; actually by dozens, by
scores at a time.

"Scores," the Director repeated and flung out his arms, as though he
were distributing largesse. "Scores."

But one of the students was fool enough to ask where the advantage
lay.

"My good boy!" The Director wheeled sharply round on him. "Can't you
see? Can't you see?" He raised a hand; his expression was solemn.
"Bokanovsky's Process is one of the major instruments of social stabil-
ity!"

Major instruments of social stability.

Standard men and women; in uniform batches. The whole of a small
factory staffed with the products of a single bokanovskified egg.

"Ninety-six identical twins working ninety-six identical machines!" The
voice was almost tremulous with enthusiasm. "You really know where
you are. For the first time in history." He quoted the planetary motto.
"Community, Identity, Stability." Grand words. "If we could bo-
kanovskify indefinitely the whole problem would be solved."

Solved by standard Gammas, unvarying Deltas, uniform Epsilons. Mil-
lions of identical twins. The principle of mass production at last applied
to biology.



"But, alas," the Director shook his head, "we can't bokanovskify indefi-
nitely."

Ninety-six seemed to be the limit; seventy-two a good average. From
the same ovary and with gametes of the same male to manufacture as
many batches of identical twins as possible-that was the best (sadly a
second best) that they could do. And even that was difficult.

"For in nature it takes thirty years for two hundred eggs to reach ma-
turity. But our business is to stabilize the population at this moment,
here and now. Dribbling out twins over a quarter of a century-what
would be the use of that?"

Obviously, no use at all. But Podsnap's Technique had immensely ac-
celerated the process of ripening. They could make sure of at least a
hundred and fifty mature eggs within two years. Fertilize and bo-
kanovskify-in other words, multiply by seventy-two-and you get an
average of nearly eleven thousand brothers and sisters in a hundred
and fifty batches of identical twins, all within two years of the same
age.

"And in exceptional cases we can make one ovary yield us over fifteen
thousand adult individuals."

Beckoning to a fair-haired, ruddy young man who happened to be
passing at the moment. "Mr. Foster," he called. The ruddy young man
approached. "Can you tell us the record for a single ovary, Mr. Foster?"

"Sixteen thousand and twelve in this Centre," Mr. Foster replied with-
out hesitation. He spoke very quickly, had a vivacious blue eye, and
took an evident pleasure in quoting figures. "Sixteen thousand and
twelve; in one hundred and eighty-nine batches of identicals. But of
course they've done much better," he rattled on, "in some of the tropi-
cal Centres. Singapore has often produced over sixteen thousand five
hundred; and Mombasa has actually touched the seventeen thousand
mark. But then they have unfair advantages. You should see the way a
negro ovary responds to pituitary! It's quite astonishing, when you're
used to working with European material. Still," he added, with a laugh
(but the light of combat was in his eyes and the lift of his chin was
challenging), "still, we mean to beat them if we can. I'm working on a
wonderful Delta-Minus ovary at this moment. Only just eighteen



months old. Over twelve thousand seven hundred children already, ei-
ther decanted or in embryo. And still going strong. We'll beat them
yet."

"That's the spirit I like!" cried the Director, and clapped Mr. Foster on
the shoulder. "Come along with us, and give these boys the benefit of
your expert knowledge."

Mr. Foster smiled modestly. "With pleasure." They went.
In the Bottling Room all was harmonious bustle and ordered activity.
Flaps of fresh sow's peritoneum ready cut to the proper size came
shooting up in little lifts from the Organ Store in the sub-basement.
Whizz and then, click! the lift-hatches hew open; the bottle-liner had
only to reach out a hand, take the flap, insert, smooth-down, and be-
fore the lined bottle had had time to travel out of reach along the end-
less band, whizz, click! another flap of peritoneum had shot up from
the depths, ready to be slipped into yet another bottle, the next of that
slow interminable procession on the band.

Next to the Liners stood the Matriculators. The procession advanced;
one by one the eggs were transferred from their test-tubes to the
larger containers; deftly the peritoneal lining was slit, the morula
dropped into place, the saline solution poured in ... and already the
bottle had passed, and it was the turn of the labellers. Heredity, date
of fertilization, membership of Bokanovsky Group-details were trans-
ferred from test-tube to bottle. No longer anonymous, but named,
identified, the procession marched slowly on; on through an opening in
the wall, slowly on into the Social Predestination Room.
"Eighty-eight cubic metres of card-index," said Mr. Foster with relish,
as they entered.

"Containing all the relevant information," added the Director.
"Brought up to date every morning."
"And co-ordinated every afternoon."
"On the basis of which they make their calculations."
"So many individuals, of such and such quality," said Mr. Foster.
"Distributed in such and such quantities."
"The optimum Decanting Rate at any given moment."
"Unforeseen wastages promptly made good."

"Promptly," repeated Mr. Foster. "If you knew the amount of overtime I
had to put in after the last Japanese earthquake!" He laughed good-
humouredly and shook his head.

"The Predestinators send in their figures to the Fertilizers."
"Who give them the embryos they ask for."



"And the bottles come in here to be predestined in detail."
"After which they are sent down to the Embryo Store."
"Where we now proceed ourselves."

And opening a door Mr. Foster led the way down a staircase into the
basement.

The temperature was still tropical. They descended into a thickening
twilight. Two doors and a passage with a double turn insured the cellar
against any possible infiltration of the day.

"Embryos are like photograph film," said Mr. Foster waggishly, as he
pushed open the second door. "They can only stand red light."
And in effect the sultry darkness into which the students now followed
him was visible and crimson, like the darkness of closed eyes on a
summer's afternoon. The bulging flanks of row on receding row and
tier above tier of bottles glinted with innumerable rubies, and among
the rubies moved the dim red spectres of men and women with purple
eyes and all the symptoms of lupus. The hum and rattle of machinery
faintly stirred the air.

"Give them a few figures, Mr. Foster," said the Director, who was tired
of talking.

Mr. Foster was only too happy to give them a few figures.
Two hundred and twenty metres long, two hundred wide, ten high. He
pointed upwards. Like chickens drinking, the students lifted their eyes
towards the distant ceiling.

Three tiers of racks: ground floor level, first gallery, second gallery.
The spidery steel-work of gallery above gallery faded away in all direc-
tions into the dark. Near them three red ghosts were busily unloading
demijohns from a moving staircase.
The escalator from the Social Predestination Room.
Each bottle could be placed on one of fifteen racks, each rack, though
you couldn't see it, was a conveyor traveling at the rate of thirty-three
and a third centimetres an hour. Two hundred and sixty-seven days at
eight metres a day. Two thousand one hundred and thirty-six metres in
all. One circuit of the cellar at ground level, one on the first gallery,
half on the second, and on the two hundred and sixty-seventh morn-
ing, daylight in the Decanting Room. Independent existence-so called.
"But in the interval," Mr. Foster concluded, "we've managed to do a lot
to them. Oh, a very great deal." His laugh was knowing and trium-
phant.

"That's the spirit I like," said the Director once more. "Let's walk
around. You tell them everything, Mr. Foster."



Mr. Foster duly told them.

Told them of the growing embryo on its bed of peritoneum. Made them
taste the rich blood surrogate on which it fed. Explained why it had to
be stimulated with placentin and thyroxin. Told them of the corpus lu-
teum extract. Showed them the jets through which at every twelfth
metre from zero to 2040 it was automatically injected. Spoke of those
gradually increasing doses of pituitary administered during the final
ninety-six metres of their course. Described the artificial maternal cir-
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