But what sort of science?
'What?' said Helmholtz, in astonishment. 'But we're always saying that science is everything. It's a hypnopaedic 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, illict cooking. A bit of real science in fact.' He was silent.
'What happened?' asked Helmholtz Watson.
The Controller sighed. 'Very nearly what's going to happen to you young men. I was on the point of being sent to an island.'
Aldous Huxley, Brave new world, 1932, p. 171.