Narrator: What if the government decided your intelligence determined your right to have children? Imagine a world where every citizen is graded, from A-class intellects down to C-class, and your romantic partner is chosen not by love, but by a state-mandated certificate. If you dare to have a child with someone of a "lower" mental category, you're hit with a crippling "baby tax." But if you follow the rules and procreate with an approved partner, you receive a bonus. This isn't just a thought experiment; it's the bureaucratic reality in a post-war Britain desperate to engineer a smarter, more stable society and prevent another global catastrophe.

This chillingly logical, yet utterly absurd, vision of social engineering is the subject of Rose Macaulay's 1918 novel, What Not: A Prophetic Comedy. Written in the shadow of the Great War, this forgotten classic satirizes the dangerous allure of state-controlled progress, asking a profound question: can humanity be perfected by law, and what is the cost of trying?

Narrator: The novel's dystopian society is built upon the foundation of a single, powerful institution: the Ministry of Brains. Established in London after the war, its mission is to eradicate the perceived root of all conflict—stupidity. The Ministry’s primary tool is the Mental Progress Act, a sweeping piece of legislation that permeates every corner of public and private life. It's a system of bureaucratic eugenics, designed to "improve" the nation's intellect one birth at a time.

The system is both simple and terrifying. Every citizen is tested and assigned a mental category. An 'A' is a top-tier intellect, while a 'C' is considered a drain on the nation's brainpower. The Ministry then issues recommendations for marriage, rewarding "certificated" unions between approved categories with financial bonuses. Conversely, it punishes "unregulated" unions with heavy taxes. For those deemed "uncertificated"—either through low test scores or, more cruelly, through having intellectually deficient relatives—the penalties are even more severe, with the threat of imprisonment for having too many children.

This policy isn't just an abstract rule; it creates immediate and personal dilemmas. We see this through the eyes of characters like Ivy Delmer, a typist at the Ministry. Her own family grapples with the new reality. Her father, a vicar, worries about the morality of it all, calling the Ministry's interference in marriage a step "too far." He argues that "An Englishman's home had always been his castle," but that castle's walls are now being breached by government forms and regulations. The policy forces ordinary people to weigh love and desire against financial ruin and social stigma, turning the most personal decisions of life into a matter of state interest.

Narrator: The Ministry of Brains understands that laws alone are not enough; it must also win the hearts and minds of the people. To do this, it unleashes a sophisticated propaganda machine. It runs "Brains Week" campaigns, plasters cities with posters, and even sponsors state-approved dramas, all designed to sell the public on the virtues of mind training and selective breeding. One poster, for example, features satirical testimonials. A financier boasts that the Mind Training Course allowed him to double his income while ruining over a thousand others. A journalist brags about successfully defending libel actions after slandering nine prominent people. The propaganda cynically appeals not to the public good, but to individual greed and ambition.

Alongside this push for conformity is a powerful system of censorship designed to stamp out dissent. The Censor's office is a place of absurd and arbitrary rules. Words like "Freedom" are deemed improper subjects for discussion in a "well-regulated" country. Even the word "Peace" is treated with suspicion. A pamphlet titled "The Peace of Fools" is "strangled before birth" because the Censor fears it might be misinterpreted. Bookshops are raided, and any work deemed subversive, from "Free Verse" to tracts titled "Throw off your Chains!", is suppressed.

Yet, despite this immense effort to control the narrative, the novel shows the limits of propaganda. Many citizens remain stubbornly apathetic. On the daily commute, women are observed to be more concerned with the price of shoes and last year's fashion than with the grand political movements shaping their world. This public indifference is a constant source of frustration for the Ministry, proving that human nature is far more resistant to manipulation than the idealists in power believe.

Narrator: The Ministry's grand, scientific vision repeatedly collides with the messy, emotional, and unpredictable reality of human life. The most vivid illustration of this is a public relations disaster during an "Explanation Campaign" in a small village. A well-meaning but tactless official, Dr. Cross, decides to give a live demonstration of the Mental Progress Act's benefits. She holds up two infants for the crowd: one "certificated" baby, whose parents received a bonus, and one "uncertificated" baby, whose parents were taxed.

Dr. Cross proceeds to praise the "fine, intelligent little head" of the first baby while pointing out the lethargic nature of the second. The problem is, she gets the babies mixed up. The outraged mother of the criticized infant stands up and reveals the error, which other villagers quickly confirm. Dr. Cross collapses in public embarrassment, her "scientific" demonstration dissolving into farce. The incident shows how the Ministry's cold, categorical approach is not only offensive but utterly blind to the nuances of individual lives.

This resistance also comes from unexpected places. On "Brains Sunday," the local vicar, Mr. Delmer, is expected to deliver a sermon supporting the Ministry. He begins by dutifully talking about brainpower, but his conscience gets the better of him. He pivots to a fiery critique of the baby tax, declaring that the state has no right to interfere in the domestic lives of its citizens and even encourages his congregation to become "Conscientious Obstructionists." Though he softens his sermon at the end, his brief moment of rebellion highlights the deep-seated tension between state authority and personal conviction.

Narrator: The ultimate failure of the Ministry of Brains is embodied in its leader, Nicholas Chester. He is a true believer, an idealist driven by a fervent desire to build a better world by eliminating stupidity. Yet, his personal life is a direct contradiction of the very principles he champions. Chester has a secret: his twin sister is "half-witted," a family deficiency that, under his own Mental Progress Act, renders him "uncertificated for marriage."

This hypocrisy becomes his undoing when he falls in love with Kitty Grammont, an intelligent and cynical woman who works at the Ministry. Overwhelmed by a desire that transcends his own rigid ideology, Chester convinces Kitty to marry him in secret. Their personal happiness is built on a lie that violates the law of the land—a law he himself created. The secret doesn't last. A relentless journalist exposes not only the secret marriage but also Chester's family history.

The revelation is a spark in a powder keg of public discontent. On Boxing Day, a mob, united by anger over the intrusive laws and fueled by the news of the Minister's hypocrisy, storms the Ministry of Brains. Chester confronts them from a balcony, but when he defiantly admits the truth about his marriage and status, the crowd erupts. They drag him from the balcony, and in the chaos, the Ministry building is set on fire. Chester's personal downfall becomes a symbol for the collapse of his "great idea." His attempt to impose a perfect, rational order on society is destroyed by the one force he could not regulate: his own human heart.

Narrator: In the end, What Not delivers a powerful and enduring message: any system that attempts to perfect humanity by suppressing its fundamental nature is destined for ruin. The Ministry of Brains, with all its regulations, propaganda, and scientific certainty, is ultimately no match for the "simple human things"—love, family, and the stubborn desire for personal freedom. Nicholas Chester, reflecting on his failure, realizes his scandal wasn't the cause of the Ministry's collapse, but merely a symptom of a deeper "disease": the simple fact that people will not tolerate laws that fundamentally inconvenience their lives and violate their deepest instincts.

A century after its publication, Rose Macaulay's prophetic comedy remains startlingly relevant. It serves as a timeless warning against the hubris of social engineering and the belief that human beings can be reduced to data points on a government form. It forces us to ask a critical question: In our own pursuit of progress and a better society, where do we draw the line between helpful guidance and tyrannical control? And what do we risk losing when we value abstract ideals more than the messy, imperfect, and beautiful reality of being human?