"No, I think there quite probably is one."

"Then why?..."

Mustapha Mond checked him. "But he manifests himself in different ways to different men. In premodern times he manifests himself as the being that's described in these books. Now..."

"How does he manifest himself now?" asked the Savage.

"Well, he manifests himself as an absence; as though he weren't there at all."

"That's your fault."

"Call it the fault of civilization. God isn't compatible with machinery and scientific medicine and universal happiness. You must make your choice. Our civilization has chosen machinery and medicine and happiness. That's why I have to keep these books locked up in the safe. They're smut. People would be shocked if..."

The Savage interrupted him. "But isn't it natural to feel there's a God?"

"You might as well ask if it's natural to do up one's trousers with zippers," said the Controller sarcastically. "You remind me of another of those old fellows called Bradley. He defined philosophy as the finding of bad reason for what one believes by instinct. As if one believed anything by instinct! One believed things because one has been conditioned to believe them. Finding bad reasons for what one believes for other bad reasons - that's philosophy. People believe in God because they've been conditioned to believe it God."

A Brave New World, Aldous Huxley.

---

I would hate to have this particular scene taken out of context, given the settings of A Brave New World, so I strongly suggest readers to read the entire book. Although, admittedly, the conversation between Mustapha Mond and The Savage is the sole interesting point of the book so far, at least for me. Perhaps I prefer dystopic rather than utopic premises but there is something dull about Bernard Marx. I wish Aldous Huxley had paid more mind to Helmholz Watson instead.

moving forward to make that dream a reality has got to be one of the most fulfilling sense of achievement imaginable. but lately, it's getting a little embarrassing to share dreams together with peers. not that the content of the imagination itself is anything to be shy about, but the conscious comparison one can't help but draw when one speaks dreams out loud. there are others who have managed to make their dreams come true, and there are others who simply have to make do with what they have. then there are those who rot away underneath, because their dreams grew too ripe with nary a hope of being plucked. i see that a lot with people around me. they grow old and burdened, sighing little voices of regret to themselves every now and then. they still brave on though, because life doesn't end when dreams die (rather, some people would say that children grow up when they stop dreaming...but what kind of twisted grown-up would that make?). they pass on their dreams to the young, and it is up to them what to do with it because they might have their own secret dream as well.

my own personal dreams have been extremely varied. it ranged from owning a large private house to being a unicorn princess (cue condescending laughter) and such other fancies. now that i have grown older and am able to review my dreams more objectively, i say that i definitely want to learn more languages. there are thousands of spoken languages today, and imagine how many of those are written with some of the most exquisite use of phrase and cultural charm, and i'm clueless about it because i can't read the language! being bilingual in multi-cultural malaysia has lots of advantages, but it is also a sore reminder of what else i'm missing out on. there are certain things that can't be conveyed in a literary translation, not unless it ruins the flow of the story and the authors' style of writing, and i think it's a dreadful pity that intricate, hidden nuances such as these had to be destroyed in order to make the story more accessible to the general public. reason as to why al-Quran is kept in its original text, which makes arabic a top language to learn, besides japanese and german. mandarin isn't a bad choice either, what with the global economical trend leaning towards china.

i am sad that i haven't utilised bahasa malaysia as well as i could have. it's a shame, actually. went to the UM library some time ago to borrow books, hoping to come across a. samad saids' famous salina, but they only had one copy of the book and it was all the way over at the cultural faculty. growing up with a limited selection of bahasa books was definitely a major factor that turned me to english. sastera is difficult to learn, and there wasn't any bahasa books geared for adventure and mysticism suited for younger children back then. i remember having to whet my appetite with mastika once usman awang proved to be too hard for me to grasp. nowadays, whenever i stroll to the bahasa section, it doesn't seem like the selection of choices have varied much. most are romance novels with flowery words and religious values interwoven into the story. the entire section gives of the general feeling that once you've read one, you've read them all.