of weariness had overwhelmed him. The faint, mad gleam of
enthusiasm had come back into O'Brien's face. He knew in advance what
O'Brien would say. That the Party did not seek power for its own ends, but
only for the good of the majority. That it sought power because men in the
mass were frail cowardly creatures who could not endure liberty or face the
truth, and must be ruled over and systematically deceived by others who
were stronger than themselves. That the choice for mankind lay between
freedom and happiness, and that, for the great bulk of mankind, happiness
was better. That the party was the eternal guardian of the weak, a
dedicated sect doing evil that good might come, sacrificing its own
happiness to that of others. The terrible thing, thought Winston, the
terrible thing was that when O'Brien said this he would believe it. You
could see it in his face. O'Brien knew everything. A thousand times better
than Winston he knew what the world was really like, in what degradation
the mass of human beings lived and by what lies and barbarities the Party
kept them there. He had understood it all, weighed it all, and it made no
difference: all was justified by the ultimate purpose. What can you do,
thought Winston, against the lunatic who is more intelligent than yourself,
who gives your arguments a fair hearing and then simply persists in his
lunacy?
'You are ruling over us for our own good,' he said feebly. 'You
believe that human beings are not fit to govern themselves, and
therefore--'
He started and almost cried out. A pang of pain had shot through his
body. O'Brien had pushed the lever of the dial up to thirty-five.
'That was stupid, Winston, stupid!' he said. 'You should know better
than to say a thing like