“And remember that it is for ever. The face will always be there to be stamped upon. The heretic， the enemy of society， will always be there， so that he can be defeated and humiliated over again. Everything that you have undergone since you have been in our hands — all that will continue， and worse. The espionage， the betrayals， the arrests， the tortures， the executions， the disappearances will never cease. It will be a world of terror as much as a world of triumph. The more the Party is powerful， the less it will be tolerant： the weaker the opposition， the tighter the despotism. Goldstein and his heresies will live for ever. Every day， at every moment， they will be defeated， discredited， ridiculed， spat upon and yet they will always survive. This drama that I have played out with you during seven years will be played out over and over again generation after generation， always in subtler forms. Always we shall have the heretic here at our mercy， screaming with pain， broken up， contemptible — and in the end utterly penitent， saved from himself， crawling to our feet of his own accord. That is the world that we are preparing， Winston. A world of victory after victory， triumph after triumph after triumph： an endless pressing， pressing， pressing upon the nerve of power. You are beginning， I can see， to realize what that world will be like. But in the end you will do more than understand it. You will accept it， welcome it， become part of it.”
Winston had recovered himself sufficiently to speak.“You can’t！”he said weakly.
“What do you mean by that remark， Winston？”
“You could not create such a world as you have just described. It is a dream. It is impossible.”
“Why？”
“It is impossible to found a civilization on fear and hatred and cruelty. It would never endure.”
“Why not？”
“It would have no vitality. It would disintegrate. It would commit suicide.”
“Nonsense. You are under the impression that hatred is more exhausting than love. Why should it be？ And if it were， what difference would that make？ Suppose that we choose to wear ourselves out faster. Suppose that we quicken the tempo of human life till men are senile at thirty. Still what difference would it make？ Can you not understand that the death of the individual is not death？ The party is immortal.”
As usual， the voice had battered Winston into helplessness. Moreover he was in dread that if he persisted in his disagreement O’Brien would twist the dial again. And yet he could not keep silent. Feebly， without arguments， with nothing to support him except his inarticulate horror of what O’Brien had said， he returned to the attack.
“I don’t know — I don’t care. Somehow you will fail. Something will defeat you. Life will defeat you.”
“We control life， Winston， at all its levels. You are imagining that there is something called human nature which will be outraged by what we do and will turn against us. But we create human nature. Men are infinitely malleable. Or perhaps you have returned to your old idea that the proletarians or the slaves will arise and overthrow us. Put it out of your mind. They are helpless， like the animals. Humanity is the Party. The others are outside — irrelevant.”
“I don’t care. In the end they will beat you. Sooner or later they will see you for what you are， and then they will tear you to pieces.”
“Do you see any evidence that that is happening？ Or any reason why it should？”
“No. I believe it. I know that you will fail. There is something in the universe — I don’t know， some spirit， some principle — that you will never overcome.”
“Do you believe in God， Winston？”
“No.”
“Then what is it， this principle that will defeat us？”
“I don’t know. The spirit of Man.”
“And do you consider yourself a man？.”
“Yes.”
“If you are a man， Winston， you are the last man. Your kind is extinct； we are the inheritors. Do you understand that you are alone？ You are outside history， you are non-existent.”His manner changed and he said more harshly： “And you consider yourself morally superior to us， with our lies and our cruelty？”
“Yes， I consider myself superior.”
O’Brien did not speak. Two other voices were speaking. After a moment Winston recognized one of them as his own. It was a sound-track of the conversation he had had with O’Brien， on the night when he had enrolled himself in the Brotherhood. He heard himself promising to lie， to steal， to forge， to murder， to encourage drug-taking and prostitution， to disseminate venereal diseases， to throw vitriol in a child’s face. O’Brien made a small impatient gesture， as though to say that the demonstration was hardly worth making. Then he turned a switch and the voices stopped.
“Get up from that bed，”he said.
The bonds had loosened themselves. Winston lowered himself to the floor and stood up unsteadily.
“You are the last man，”said O’Brien.“You are the guardian of the human spirit. You shall see yourself as you are. Take off your clothes.”
Winston undid the bit of string that held his overalls together. The zip fastener had long since been wrenched out of them. He could not remember whether at any time since his arrest he had taken off all his clothes at one time. Beneath the overalls his body was looped with filthy yellowish rags， just recognizable as the remnants of underclothes. As he slid them to the ground he saw that there was a three-sided mirror at the far end of the room. He approached it， then stopped short. An involuntary cry had broken out of him.
“Go on，”said O’Brien.“Stand between the wings of the mirror. You shall see the side view as well.”