Brave New World Deconstruction: Part 4 Fuck You, Helmholtz Watson

[wingedbeast]

During the 1984 deconstruction, I repeatedly noted how, on the level of emotional maturity, the whole thing felt like High School. Winston Smith was a burnout who wasn't really rebellious but found a way of making his internal rebellion a source of perceived superiority to others. Well, the High School feelings aren't going away any time soon.

Chapter 4 is broken into two parts (and we're going to handle both parts in this post, no I'm not deliberately padding these things). The first part focuses attention on Lenina Crowne's perspective. She walks through the lift room, noting the various men there, having spent the night with most of them at one point or another. (Although, it should be noted, if she spent one night with all of them, that's okay and it's not like this sex-mandating purity culture would object. I just note the possibility as something Huxley probably didn't imagine.) And, she has her own aesthetic concerns on any of them.

Here's going to be a ghost of some positivity. Huxley didn't go full on into this point, not that I can tell. But, in this society, men are as much objectified by women as women by men. Lenina looks over the various men and doesn't think "oh he's nice" or "he's really smarter than you think at first" or "you know, I'm not looking for sex, but I must have dinner with this one again because he has such a historical perspective on current events and I always learn something". She has internal remarks on their bodies.

It's nowhere near feminist. Women are still quite the subordinates of men. But, this isn't a world in which women all want a deeper relationship and men all want just the sexins. Everybody is equally shallow about each other. That's one of the points of their conditioning.

That's damning with faint praise. Grading on the scale of "this was written in the 1930s", it's something.

Now, let's talk about the shallowness that's demanded of the conditioning that everybody goes through.

Lenina Crowne, very publicly, accepts Bernard Marx's invitation to go to one of the savage reservations.

Then aloud, and more warmly than ever, "I'd simply love to come with you for a week in July," she went on. (Anyhow, she was publicly proving her unfaithfulness to Henry. Fanny ought to be pleased, even though it was Bernard.) "That is," Lenina gave him her most deliciously significant smile, "if you still want to have me."

Bernard's pale face flushed. "What on earth for?" she wondered, astonished, but at the same time touched by this strange tribute to her power.

"Hadn't we better talk about it somewhere else?" he stammered, looking horribly uncomfortable.

The publicity of the discussion, even though it's a very public announcement that would be positive for his social status, isn't comfortable for him. This... isn't a plea, on Bernard's part, for depth. I can see how Huxley might have thought it so. But, being that I identify so much with Bernard, I can tell you that it's a plea for internal quiet.

This is obviously a rare thing for Bernard. Asking her out took rare courage for him and he didn't really expect her to accept. At the same time, he's surrounded by people who have been frequently dismissive and/or contemptuous of him. Even with the assumption that all of them now have more respect for him, that's still more people to think about... all at once... while in this emotional territory that is already emotionally alien to him.

We shouldn't take this as an indication that Bernard has unusual respect for Lenina. That's an easy mistake to make. From my perspective as someone who has been somewhat Bernard-like in his life, this is an effort to get away from all the eyes and the thoughts about the show that they're getting, regardless of the effort to put one on or the effort not to do so (and yes, it's an effort either way).

That internal quiet, that lack of concern for other eyes that others might have even with so many eyes about, does enable more depth of connection than the internal din of constant worry about how others are going to react. It doesn't create that depth on its own.

But, Bernard does try. He gets her to the roof where he has a conversation with her... alone.

It was warm and bright on the roof. The summer afternoon was drowsy with the hum of passing helicopters: and the deeper drone of the rocket-planes hastening, invisible, through the bright sky for five or six miles overhead like a caress on the soft air. Bernard Marx drew a deep breath. He looked up into the sky and round the blue horizon and finally down into Lenina's face.

"Isn't it beautiful!" His voice trembled a little.

She smiled at him with an expression of the most sympathetic understanding. "Simply perfect for Obstacle Golf," she answered rapturously. "And now I must fly, Bernard. Henry gets cross if I keep him waiting. Let me know in good time about the date."

What Bernard Marx wants is quiet. It's not necessarily a lack of sound, but a lack of distraction. He wants a moment alone with his thoughts, even thoughts that simply appreciate the beauty of the sky. It's a thought so simple as to barely count as a thought, but it does take a moment of quiet to do so.

Lenina doesn't understand that because she can't. Neither can Bernard, really. Their conditioning doesn't allow it. So, Bernard can't explain it enough even to seek someone compatible with that desire for quiet.

So, I wind up feeling sorry for both, even though only Bernard would come close to understanding why. But, he would likely make a mistake there, too. Because, immediately after that exchange, he goes to beat himself up. He expected that her accepting the offer would make him feel great, but her reacting without comprehension of his abnormal need for quiet only makes him feel worse.

I've been there, Bernard. That longing for this thing that everybody both seems to get without effort and seems to believe will make everything better. Following that up with realizing that, no, it didn't make anything better. I've been there. I wish I, or someone anyone, could help you out, could help you recognize that the desire to connect on a romantic or sexual level is a separate desire. I wish that someone could tell you not to put too much stock in getting these things that everybody else has, such as social ease or sex, because contentment with self is both more valuable and more attainable.

But, Bernard remains a fictional character within a book. And, like Lenina, his conditioning just doesn't let him grasp certain things.

Speaking of people who's conditioning doesn't let them grasp certain things and speaking of people to whom I should give the same benefit of the doubt, let's talk about Helmholtz Watson.

Or, let's talk about Ace Rimmer.

I have a post-worth of thoughts on Ace Rimmer, but I'll try to focus. For those who haven't watched "Red Dwarf", Arnold Rimmer is the cowardly, officious, ambitious, incompetent, loser of a dead-man-made hologram. For all his ambition, effort, and repeated attempts to achieve promotion via test-taking, he's achieved the second-lowest rank of the mining ship Red Dwarf. The only person ranked below him is our main character, Lister. (If you've watched M*A*S*H, think Frank Burns with less personal charm.)

In one episode, to just make Rimmer suffer so much more for our amusement, we see an alternative Rimmer who went down an alternantive path. That Rimmer is, instead of Arnold Rimer, called Ace Rimmer. Everybody loves him. Men want to be him, women want to have sex with him, a straight man is bi-curious because of him, etc.

Ace Rimmer gets an introduction much like that of Helmholtz Watson... only better done and with one very important difference.

Remember last time where I praised Huxley's show-don't-tell means of expositing where the society is in this story, compared to the time when the book was written? Well, Helmholtz Watson gets a lot tell-don't-show.

He was a powerfully built man, deep-chested, broad-shouldered, massive, and yet quick in his movements, springly and agile. The round strong pillar of his neck supported a beautifully shaped head. His hair was dark and curly, his features strongly marked. In a forcible emphatic way, he was handsome and looked, as his secretary was never tired of repeating, every centimetre an Alpha-Plus. By profession he was a lecturer at the College of Emotional Engineering (Department of Writing) and in the intervals of his educational activities, a working Emotional Engineer. He wrote regularly for The Hourly Radio, composed feely scenarios, and had the happiest knack for slogans and hypnopaedic rhymes.

"Able," was the verdict of his superiors. "Perhaps," (and they would shake their heads, would significantly lower their voices) "a little too able."

Now, I'll admit. Off the top of my head, I don't see a lot of ways to communicate that directly. But, I'm not the one who wrote the whole thing out, had the time to consider all of it, sent it to an editor, got notes on what to do for a second or third draft, and still just left a big ol' exposition dump in place of characterization.

That said, let's take this character exposition and more at face value. Helmholtz Watson and Bernard Marx are both people who are painfully aware of how different they are from everybody else. They're painfully aware of their own uniqueness. They each feel lonely for it.

For Bernard, this awareness of his uniqueness was imposed upon him by a society conditioned to look down on his appearance and, later on, to be incapable of appreciating the quiet that was likely his only respite from everybody else.

For Helmholtz Watson, the applicable phrase would be "too smart for his own good". Helmholtz Watson was so smart, so aware of things, so aware of himself and the difference between himself and others, that he gained a sense of separation from other people.

In the series premier of the cartoon "The Critic", the character of Duke Phillips said "I have no one to envy. I envy you having me to envy." Yeah.

To put all that amazing intellectual ability in just so much more galling a context, there is one point of show-don't-tell.

Three charming girls from the Bureaux of Propaganda by Synthetic Voice waylaid him as he stepped out of the lift.

"Oh, Helmholtz, darling, do come and have a picnic supper with us on Exmoor." They clung round him imploringly.

He shook his head, he pushed his way through them. "No, No."

"We're not inviting any other man."

But Helmholtz remained unshaken by even this delightful promise. "No," he repeated, "I'm busy." And he held resolutely on his course. The girls trailed after him. It was not till he had actually climbed into Bernard's plane and slammed the door that they gave up pursuit. Not without reproaches.

"These women!" he said, as the machine rose into the air. "These women! And he shook his head, he frowned. "Too awful,' Bernard hypocritically agreed...

Now, he's not obligated to accept their proposal. Neither, considering the disrespect of their insistence given how clear he's making his refusal, is he obligated to be overly polite about the matter. They're certainly not being polite with him. Considering that the next lines out of his mouth will be that Helmholtz is cutting women (I presume that to mean sexual relations with same) out of his life, the offer they made is quite coercive.

But, he shouldn't follow that by, immediately once alone in conversation with Bernard Marx who is known to have nowhere near that sexual or romantic success, complaining that women want to offer him catered orgies. Complaining that this is a coercive effort to force him into a lifestyle he has chosen, for however long, not to live would be more appropriate.

You know, maybe I should be more kind to Helmholtz. Maybe, I should take his complaint and search for the validity. He is, after all, every bit the victim of his conditioning that Bernard and Lenina are.

Well... Helmholtz just doesn't make it easy to like him.

Speaking very slowly, "Did you ever feel," he asked, "as though you had something inside you that was only waiting for you to give it a chance to come out? Some sort of extra power that you aren't using-you know, like all the water that goes down the falls instead of through turbines? He looked at Bernard questioningly.

"You mean all the emotions one might be feeling if things were different?"

Helmholtz shook his head. "Not quite. I'm thinking of a queer feeling I sometimes get, a feeling that I've got something important to say and the power to say it-only I don't know what it is, and I can't make any use of the power. If there was some different way of writing...Or else something different to write about..." He was silent; then, "You see," he went on at last, "I'm pretty good at inventing phrases-you know, the sort of words that suddenly make you jump as though you'd sat on a pin, they seem so new and exciting even though they're about something hypnopaedically obvious. But that doesn't seem enough. It's not enough for the phrases to be good; what you make with them ought to be good too."

"But your things are good, Helmholtz."

"Oh, as far as they go..."

Helmholtz Watson lives in a world that has told him that he can accomplish anything, has given him the means of accomplishing anything, has taken his accomplishments and rewarded him for them, and it's not enough for him. He doesn't just want to have accomplished everything his society values. He wants to transcend those values. He wants more and more and more and... dude, you've been given everything.

And, I might accept a dissatisfaction with the shallowness that he has to work with. He's not really connecting with anything because there's no subject matter with enough depth for him. He's not connecting to the human experience because the human experience in this Fordian world just doesn't provide him with any. I mean, I really should be kind to him, even despite all this.

But, finally, there's his reaction to Bernard's complaints.

Helmholtz Watson listened with a certain sense of discomfort. "Poor little Bernard!" he said to himself. But at the same time he felt rather ashamed for his friend. He wished Bernard would show a little more pride.

"Should" be damned. Fuck you, Helmholtz Watson.

I mentioned a big difference between the Ace Rimmer character in "Red Dwarf" and Helmholtz Watson in this chapter. Ace Rimmer was shown to be respectful of other people. Ace Rimmer respected the engineers that made the ships he test-flew. To the extent his action-persona allowed for a one-time character in a half-hour sit-com, he respected the women he slept with. He even respected the incredibly-easy-to-disrespect main characters of the show. (Really, if you have the chance, give it a watch.)

Helmholtz doesn't respect other people. He doesn't respect Bernard. (Though, I'll agree that his complaints can be annoyingly stated, but they're one line worth after many paragraphs of reassuring Helmholtz that he's great and they come from a place of real alienation.) Bernard's just the only person around who would understand the bare concept of the feelings of alienation that would be inherent to the human condition if not for all the conditioning.

Maybe this is just the inevitability. Where objectification of people is a sin, Huxley is showing us that this is a world that makes it impossible to be fully clean of that sin, even with closest friends. Lenina uses Bernard as an object to make herself more socially acceptable despite her continued association with Henry Foster. Bernard uses Lenina as an object in a failing effort to gain validation for his deviance from the norm. Bernard uses Helmholtz as someone who will listen to his complaints and not try to foist soma onto him. And, Helmholtz uses Bernard as a sounding board for thoughts too controversial for other people.

Maybe none of them respect each other. I don't think so. Bernard at least gives consideration for Lenina, acknowledging that her reaction is only that of a healthy woman in their society. Lenina, for all that she mistakes Bernard for being conventional in his desires, tries to anticipate his desires and fill them. And, Bernard does give Helmholtz long paragraphs of masturbatory fantasizing about writing The Great Fordian Novel attempts at understanding and validation.

Helmholtz doesn't even listen to a couple sentences of complaining before he internally invalidates Bernard.

Fuck you, Helmholtz Watson.