by Aldous Huxley
Finished reading it on the flight home..couldnt stop thinking about it all through the holidays.
I dont know what the ending should have been like. I dont know if I should resent that world where everyone is happy, too happy, clinically happy. Where everything, passions, food, drug-induced highs, sex, books, religion, human-production, art, career, social position, everything is scientifically regulated to ensure happiness for everyone. Isn’t that the absolute aim? Ensure the greatest good for the greatest numbers?
If good is happiness that is.
Isnt it?
And yet, as I read it, as I shared that silent horror the writer felt at the reduction of humanity to meaninglessness.. and yet it made perfect sense.
we need our passions, our ideals, our loves our hates our ambition to be happy,succesful in the world we live in. perhaps those would be irrelevant in that happy, blissful, nightmarish ford’s world?