'You do not exist', contain a logical absurdity?
But what use was it to say so?
His mind shrivelled as he thought of the unanswerable, mad arguments with which O'Brien would demolish him.
'I think I exist,' he said wearily. 'I am conscious of my own identity.
I was born and I shall die.
I have arms and legs.
I occupy a particular point in space.
No other solid object can occupy the same point simultaneously.
In that sense, does Big Brother exist?'
'It is of no importance.
He exists.'
'Will Big Brother ever die?'
'Of course not.
How could he die?
Next question.'
'Does the Brotherhood exist?'
'That, Winston, you will never know.
If we choose to set you free when we have finished with you, and if you live to be ninety years old, still you will never learn whether the answer to that question is Yes or No.
As long as you live it will be an unsolved riddle in your mind.'
Winston lay silent.
His breast rose and fell a little faster.
He still had not asked the question that had come into his mind the first.
He had got to ask it, and yet it was as though his tongue would not utter it.
There was a trace of amusement in O'Brien's face.
Even his spectacles seemed to wear an ironical gleam.
He knows, thought Winston suddenly, he knows what I am going to ask!
At the thought the words burst out of him:
'What is in Room 101?'
The expression on O'Brien's face did not change.
He answered drily:
'You know what is in Room 101, Winston.
Everyone knows what is in Room 101.'
He raised a finger to the man in the white coat.
Evidently the session was at an end.
A needle jerked into Winston's arm.
He sank almost instantly into deep sleep.
Chapter 3
'There are three stages in your reintegration,' said O'Brien. 'There is learning, there is understanding, and there is acceptance.
It is time for you to enter upon the second stage.'
As always, Winston was lying flat on his back.
But of late his bonds were looser.
They still held him to the bed, but he could move his knees a little and could turn his head from side to side and raise his arms from the elbow.
The dial, also, had grown to be less of a terror.
He could evade its pangs if he was quick-witted enough: it was chiefly when he showed stupidity that O'Brien pulled the lever.
Sometimes they got through a whole session without use of the dial.
He could not remember how many sessions there had been.
The whole process seemed to stretch out over a long, indefinite time--weeks, possibly--and the intervals between the sessions might sometimes have been days, sometimes only an hour or two.
'As you lie there,' said O'Brien, 'you have often wondered--you have even asked me--why the Ministry of Love should expend so much time and trouble on you.
And when you were free you were puzzled by what was essentially the same question.
You could grasp the mechanics of the Society you lived in, but not its underlying motives.