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.And if all othersaccepted the lie which the Party imposed -if all records told the same tale -- then the lie passed into historyand became truth. Who controls the past, ran the Party slogan,  controls the future: who controls thepresent controls the past. And yet the past, though of its nature alterable, never had been altered.Whateverwas true now was true from everlasting to everlasting.It was quite simple.All that was needed was anunending series of victories over your own memory. Reality control , they called it: in Newspeak, doublethink. Stand easy! barked the instructress, a little more genially.Winston sank his arms to his sides and slowly refilled his lungs with air.His mind slid away into thelabyrinthine world of doublethink.To know and not to know, to be conscious of complete truthfulnesswhile telling carefully constructed lies, to hold simultaneously two opinions which cancelled out, knowingthem to be contradictory and believing in both of them, to use logic against logic, to repudiate moralitywhile laying claim to it, to believe that democracy was impossible and that the Party was the guardian ofdemocracy, to forget whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at themoment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget it again: and above all, to apply the same processto the process itself.That was the ultimate subtlety: consciously to induce unconsciousness, and then, onceagain, to become unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed.Even to understand the word doublethink involved the use of doublethink.The instructress had called them to attention again. And now let s see which of us can touch our toes!she said enthusiastically. Right over from the hips, please, comrades.One-two! One- two!.Winston loathed this exercise, which sent shooting pains all the way from his heels to his buttocks andoften ended by bringing on another coughing fit.The half-pleasant quality went out of his meditations.Thepast, he reflected, had not merely been altered, it had been actually destroyed.For how could you establisheven the most obvious fact when there existed no record outside your own memory? He tried to rememberin what year he had first heard mention of Big Brother.He thought it must have been at some time in thesixties, but it was impossible to be certain.In the Party histories, of course, Big Brother figured as the leaderand guardian of the Revolution since its very earliest days.His exploits had been gradually pushedbackwards in time until already they extended into the fabulous world of the forties and the thirties, whenthe capitalists in their strange cylindrical hats still rode through the streets of London in great gleamingmotor-cars or horse carriages with glass sides.There was no knowing how much of this legend was true andhow much invented.Winston could not even remember at what date the Party itself had come intoexistence.He did not believe he had ever heard the word Ingsoc before 1960, but it was possible that in itsOldspeak form- English Socialism , that is to say it had been current earlier.Everything melted into mist.Sometimes, indeed, you could put your finger on a definite lie.It was not true, for example, as was claimedin the Party history books, that the Party had invented aeroplanes.He remembered aeroplanes since hisearliest childhood.But you could prove nothing.There was never any evidence.Just once in his whole lifehe had held in his hands unmistakable documentary proof of the falsification of an historical fact.And onthat occasion& Smith ! screamed the shrewish voice from the telescreen. 6079 Smith W.! Yes, you! Bend lower,please! You can do better than that.You re not trying.Lower, please! That s better, comrade.Now standat ease, the whole squad, and watch me.A sudden hot sweat had broken out all over Winston s body.His face remained completely inscrutable.Never show dismay! Never show resentment! A singleflicker of the eyes could give you away.He stood watching while the instructress raised her arms above herhead and one could not say gracefully, but with remarkable neatness and efficiency bent over and tuckedthe first joint of her fingers under her toes. There, comrades! That s how I want to see you doing it.Watch me again.I m thirty-nine and I ve hadfour children.Now look. She bent over again. You see my knees aren t bent.You can all do it if youwant to, she added as she straightened herself up. Anyone under forty-five is perfectly capable of touchinghis toes.We don t all have the privilege of fighting in the front line, but at least we can all keep fit.Remember our boys on the Malabar front! And the sailors in the Floating Fortresses! Just think what theyhave to put up with.Now try again.That s better, comrade, that s much better, she added encouragingly asWinston, with a violent lunge, succeeded in touching his toes with knees unbent, for the first time in severalyears [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]