“But the world itself is only a speck of dust. And man is tiny helpless！ How long has he been in existence？ For millions of years the earth was uninhabited.”
“Nonsense. The earth is as old as we are， no older. How could it be older？ Nothing exists except through human consciousness.”
“But the rocks are full of the bones of extinct animals — mammoths and mastodons and enormous reptiles which lived here long before man was ever heard of.”
“Have you ever seen those bones， Winston？ Of course not. Nineteenth-century biologists invented them. Before man there was nothing. After man， if he could come to an end， there would be nothing. Outside man there is nothing.”
“But the whole universe is outside us. Look at the stars！ Some of them are a million light-years away. They are out of our reach for ever.”
“What are the stars？” said O’Brien indifferently.“They are bits of fire a few kilometres away. We could reach them if we wanted to. Or we could blot them out. The earth is the centre of the universe. The sun and the stars go round it.”Winston made another convulsive movement. This time he did not say anything. O’Brien continued as though answering a spoken objection：
“For certain purposes， of course， that is not true. When we navigate the ocean， or when we predict an eclipse， we often find it convenient to assume that the earth goes round the sun and that the stars are millions upon millions of kilometres away. But what of it？ Do you suppose it is beyond us to produce a dual system of astronomy？ The stars can be near or distant， according as we need them. Do you suppose our mathematicians are unequal to that？ Have you forgotten doublethink？”
Winston shrank back upon the bed. Whatever he said， the swift answer crushed him like a bludgeon. And yet he knew， he knew， that he was in the right. The belief that nothing exists outside your own mind — surely there must be some way of demonstrating that it was false？ Had it not been exposed long ago as a fallacy？ There was even a name for it， which he had forgotten. A faint smile twitched the corners of O’Brien’s mouth as he looked down at him.
“I told you， Winston，”he said，“that metaphysics is not your strong point. The word you are trying to think of is solipsism. But you are mistaken. This is not solipsism. Collective solipsism， if you like. But that is a different thing： in fact， the opposite thing. All this is a digression，”he added in a different tone.“The real power， the power we have to fight for night and day， is not power over things， but over men.” He paused， and for a moment assumed again his air of a schoolmaster questioning a promising pupil：“How does one man assert his power over another， Winston？”
Winston thought.“By making him suffer，”he said.“Exactly. By making him suffer. Obedience is not enough. Unless he is suffering， how can you be sure that he is obeying your will and not his own？ Power is in inflicting pain and humiliation. Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing. Do you begin to see， then， what kind of world we are creating？ It is the exact opposite of the stupid hedonistic Utopias that the old reformers imagined. A world of fear and treachery is torment， a world of trampling and being trampled upon， a world which will grow not less but more merciless as it refines itself. Progress in our world will be progress towards more pain. The old civilizations claimed that they were founded on love or justice. Ours is founded upon hatred. In our world there will be no emotions except fear， rage， triumph， and self-abasement. Everything else we shall destroy everything. Already we are breaking down the habits of thought which have survived from before the Revolution. We have cut the links between child and parent， and between man and man， and between man and woman. No one dares trust a wife or a child or a friend any longer. But in the future there will be no wives and no friends. Children will be taken from their mothers at birth， as one takes eggs from a hen. The sex instinct will be eradicated. Procreation will be an annual formality like the renewal of a ration card. We shall abolish the orgasm. Our neurologists are at work upon it now. There will be no loyalty， except loyalty towards the Party. There will be no love， except the love of Big Brother. There will be no laughter， except the laugh of triumph over a defeated enemy. There will be no art， no literature， no science. When we are omnipotent we shall have no more need of science. There will be no distinction between beauty and ugliness. There will be no curiosity， no enjoyment of the process of life. All competing pleasures will be destroyed. But always — do not forget this， Winston — always there will be the intoxication of power， constantly increasing and constantly growing subtler. Always， at every moment， there will be the thrill of victory， the sensation of trampling on an enemy who is helpless. If you want a picture of the future， imagine a boot stamping on a human face — for ever.”
He paused as though he expected Winston to speak. Winston had tried to shrink back into the surface of the bed again. He could not say anything. His heart seemed to be frozen. O’Brien went on：