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O’Brien continues his discourse on the grim life of underground rebellion against the Party. It can make apathy look attractive.
_ _ _
'You will have heard rumours of the existence of the Brotherhood. No doubt you have formed your own picture of it. You have imagined, probably, a huge underworld of conspirators, meeting secretly in cellars, scribbling messages on walls, recognizing one another by codewords or by special movements of the hand. Nothing of the kind exists. The members of the Brotherhood have no way of recognizing one another, and it is impossible for any one member to be aware of the identity of more than a few others. Goldstein himself, if he fell into the hands of the Thought Police, could not give them a complete list of members, or any information that would lead them to a complete list. No such list exists. The Brotherhood cannot be wiped out because it is not an organization in the ordinary sense. Nothing holds it together except an idea which is indestructible. You will never have anything to sustain you, except the idea. You will get no comradeship and no encouragement. When finally you are caught, you will get no help. We never help our members. At most, when it is absolutely necessary that someone should be silenced, we are occasionally able to smuggle a razor blade into a prisoner's cell. You will have to get used to living without results and without hope. You will work for a while, you will be caught, you will confess, and then you will die. Those are the only results that you will ever see. There is no possibility that any perceptible change will happen within our own lifetime. We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future. We shall take part in it as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. But how far away that future may be, there is no knowing. It might be a thousand years. At present nothing is possible except to extend the area of sanity little by little. We cannot act collectively. We can only spread our knowledge outwards from individual to individual, generation after generation. In the face of the Thought Police there is no other way.'
He halted and looked for the third time at his wrist-watch.
'It is almost time for you to leave, comrade,' he said to Julia. 'Wait. The decanter is still half full.'
He filled the glasses and raised his own glass by the stem.
'What shall it be this time?' he said, still with the same faint suggestion of irony. 'To the confusion of the Thought Police? To the death of Big Brother? To humanity? To the future?'
'To the past,' said Winston.
'The past is more important,' agreed O'Brien gravely.
They emptied their glasses, and a moment later Julia stood up to go. O'Brien took a small box from the top of a cabinet and handed her a flat white tablet which he told her to place on her tongue. It was important, he said, not to go out smelling of wine: the lift attendants were very observant. As soon as the door had shut behind her he appeared to forget her existence. He took another pace or two up and down, then stopped.
-- “1984” by George Orwell
_ _ _
Despite the indications of Julia being impressed by O’Brien, I have a hard time believing that she really wants to be part of the Brotherhood. We can understand Winston’s enthusiasm, as this is what he has been about from the beginning, in his constant aching to tear down the oppressive system. Maybe if she were older, I could see her becoming interested in such a movement, but surely she should just want to keep playing the system and trying to get the most out of life, out of her youth, rather than sacrifice herself and offer herself up for anonymous martyrdom. Though, it is difficult to say how reasonable it is to interpret the story so that she is just that deeply spellbound in her naiveté by Winston’s sexual charms and apparent maturity.
We also should make something of this toast to the past. Perhaps we can read it as a pledge offered up for us to accept, that is, to never let tyranny rise up from the struggles of liberal democracy. Life was never perfect and fair for everyone, but it is a far worse thing to suffer the emergence of totalitarian government. And once such a regime is established, it may be almost impossible to take back. Of course, I think this is the drumbeat that Orwell is constantly playing in the background of his novel.
_ _ _
'You will have heard rumours of the existence of the Brotherhood. No doubt you have formed your own picture of it. You have imagined, probably, a huge underworld of conspirators, meeting secretly in cellars, scribbling messages on walls, recognizing one another by codewords or by special movements of the hand. Nothing of the kind exists. The members of the Brotherhood have no way of recognizing one another, and it is impossible for any one member to be aware of the identity of more than a few others. Goldstein himself, if he fell into the hands of the Thought Police, could not give them a complete list of members, or any information that would lead them to a complete list. No such list exists. The Brotherhood cannot be wiped out because it is not an organization in the ordinary sense. Nothing holds it together except an idea which is indestructible. You will never have anything to sustain you, except the idea. You will get no comradeship and no encouragement. When finally you are caught, you will get no help. We never help our members. At most, when it is absolutely necessary that someone should be silenced, we are occasionally able to smuggle a razor blade into a prisoner's cell. You will have to get used to living without results and without hope. You will work for a while, you will be caught, you will confess, and then you will die. Those are the only results that you will ever see. There is no possibility that any perceptible change will happen within our own lifetime. We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future. We shall take part in it as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. But how far away that future may be, there is no knowing. It might be a thousand years. At present nothing is possible except to extend the area of sanity little by little. We cannot act collectively. We can only spread our knowledge outwards from individual to individual, generation after generation. In the face of the Thought Police there is no other way.'
He halted and looked for the third time at his wrist-watch.
'It is almost time for you to leave, comrade,' he said to Julia. 'Wait. The decanter is still half full.'
He filled the glasses and raised his own glass by the stem.
'What shall it be this time?' he said, still with the same faint suggestion of irony. 'To the confusion of the Thought Police? To the death of Big Brother? To humanity? To the future?'
'To the past,' said Winston.
'The past is more important,' agreed O'Brien gravely.
They emptied their glasses, and a moment later Julia stood up to go. O'Brien took a small box from the top of a cabinet and handed her a flat white tablet which he told her to place on her tongue. It was important, he said, not to go out smelling of wine: the lift attendants were very observant. As soon as the door had shut behind her he appeared to forget her existence. He took another pace or two up and down, then stopped.
-- “1984” by George Orwell
_ _ _
Despite the indications of Julia being impressed by O’Brien, I have a hard time believing that she really wants to be part of the Brotherhood. We can understand Winston’s enthusiasm, as this is what he has been about from the beginning, in his constant aching to tear down the oppressive system. Maybe if she were older, I could see her becoming interested in such a movement, but surely she should just want to keep playing the system and trying to get the most out of life, out of her youth, rather than sacrifice herself and offer herself up for anonymous martyrdom. Though, it is difficult to say how reasonable it is to interpret the story so that she is just that deeply spellbound in her naiveté by Winston’s sexual charms and apparent maturity.
We also should make something of this toast to the past. Perhaps we can read it as a pledge offered up for us to accept, that is, to never let tyranny rise up from the struggles of liberal democracy. Life was never perfect and fair for everyone, but it is a far worse thing to suffer the emergence of totalitarian government. And once such a regime is established, it may be almost impossible to take back. Of course, I think this is the drumbeat that Orwell is constantly playing in the background of his novel.
