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GEORGE ORWELL & ALDOUS HUXLEY
Englishman Eric Blair (aka: George Orwell) was
born in India in 1903, where
his father was employed in
the Opium Department of the Indian Civil Service (the
Opium Department being
a whole other can of worms).
As a young man Blair entered the Eaton
preparatory boarding school in England where his French
teacher was none other than Aldous Huxley.
people say that Blair and Huxley became friends and
shared a common love of literature.
Some people say that Orwell wrote his novel, 1984,
based on information he was privy to furnished by The Fabian Society.
Other people say that
these two fellows read Ford’s
re-prints of the Protocols of
Zion and formulated two separate, albeit similar, novels
that are both considered
classics. Those being "1984" by
George Orwell and "Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley.
Both novels describe a bleak futuristic world that would
exist if the Protocols of
Zion were successfully executed to fruition.
Thanks once again to Fox News for the “some people
say” lame method of establishing credibility.
works for me!
And some people
say that Aldous Huxley
moved to L.A. and became a pioneer LSD guru in the
1950s. He wrote a book titled
"The Doors of Perception"
that was about his LSD adventures. The 60s L.A. rock
band, The Doors,
took their band name from Huxley’s book title.
For those who have
not read either book, read "1984" first.
If you don’t want to read all of "1984",
then at least read
the “document” by the book’s character Emmanuel
Goldstein titled, "The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical
Collectivism." It’s about
in the middle of the book
(OR SCROLL DOWN FURTHER ON THIS PAGE).
You will recognize what has come, or is coming, to be our
as Europa is today’s European Union, Oceania is
the countries that subscribe to NAFTA; Eastasia is
forming as the Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP), which
are China, Japan and Indonesia.
"1984" describes state
sponsored torture, 24/7 brainwashing media machines
like Fox News, perpetual war and war hysteria, war
not for territorial gains, omnipresent security cameras,
of wealth, representatives appointing other
representatives, rampant pornography, gun control
total gun confiscation, well-spaced terror
events, and so on.
Blair and Huxley weren’t genius predictors of the future,
simply read the Protocols of Zion. They probably
read Ford’s booklets as well and made some very
“Within the next generation I believe that the world’s
leaders will discover that infant conditioning and narco-
hypnosis are more efficient, as instruments of
government, than clubs and prisons, and that the lust for
power can be just as completely satisfied by suggesting
people into loving their servitude as by flogging them
and kicking them into obedience.” ...Aldous Huxley
BTW: My paperback copy of Orwell’s "1984" contains an
German social psychologist, psychoanalyst,
and son of Orthodox Jewish parents and member
in good standing of the FRANKFORT SCHOOL, Erich Fromm.
will have you believe that "1984" is all about the
of a communist takeover of the planet. And if you
consider that most commies were Jews, then he is
But he never once alludes to the Jewish hand in
the world domination scheme.
Fromm was included in Orwell’s masterpiece for the
purpose of distraction. I have no doubt
himself would not have approved of Fromm’s inclusion
as some sort of an expert on his
afterword was added to the New American Library of
World Literature version in 1961
(the height of the Cold War).
was first published on June 8th, 1949. Orwell died
on January 21st, 1950 and did not know what an impact
his novel would have.
It was required reading
high schools in the 60s, but no longer because it is
becoming a glimpse of your progeny’s
Aldous Huxley replaced God (or “the Lord”)
Ford in his futuristic novel "Brave New World." The story
is basically based on people’s
lives who are directly or
indirectly involved with the activities of the Central
London Hatchery and Conditioning
identical human beings are artificially conceived,
incubated and indoctrinated into their
roles in society).
The "Brave New World" story takes
place in the Seventh
Century A.F. (after Ford), the novel opening in the year
632 A.F. (2540 A.D. in the Gregorian
people make the sign of the “T” (for Model-T) instead of
the sign of the cross.
Huxley narrates the activities in the lives of central
such as Bernard Marx and Lenina Crowne,
with other characters sprinkled throughout the novel with
such as Reuben Rabinovitch, Polly Trotsky,
Morgana Rothschild and Sarojina Engels.
So we have the actual original Russian Jewish
Communists represented by characters named Bernard
Marx, Lenina Crowne, Polly Trotsky, and Sarojini
Engels all worshipping the deity named Ford.
Other characters include Benito Hoover (incorporating Italian
leader Benito Mussolini and President Herbert Hoover),
Mustapha Mond (incorporating Mustapha Kemal
the founder of Turkey after WWI, and Sir Alfred
Mond, the English industrialist and founder of the
Industries conglomerate), and Darwin
Bonaparte (incorporating naturalist Charles Darwin and
Oh, how clever of Huxley...eh?
The novel's title is derived from Miranda's speech in
William Shakespeare's The Tempest, Act V, Scene I:
"O wonder! How many godly
creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't."
BTW: Aldous Huxley died of laryngeal cancer
November 22nd, 1963 in Los Angeles. On that day he made
a written request to his wife that she inject him with
massive doses of LSD. She did so at 11:45 am and again
at 3 pm. Huxley died at 5:20 pm. His death was
by the assassination of President Kennedy
that happened on the same day near the time of Huxley’s
Click on this text to listen to Brave New World by Aldous Huxley, Audio Book...
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Click on this text to watch an Aldous Huxley television interview with Mike Wallace -1958...
THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF
Winston began reading:
Ignorance is Strength
time, and probably since the end of the Neolithic Age, there have been three kinds of people in the world, the High, the
Middle, and the Low. They have been subdivided in many ways, they have borne countless different names, and their relative
numbers, as well as their attitude towards one another, have varied from age to age: but the essential structure of society
has never altered. Even after enormous upheavals and seemingly irrevocable changes, the same pattern has always reasserted
itself, just as a gyroscope will always return to equilibrium, however far it is pushed one way or the other.
The aims of these groups are entirely irreconcilable...
Winston stopped reading, chiefly in order to appreciate the fact that he was reading, in comfort
and safety. He was alone: no telescreen, no ear at the keyhole, no nervous impulse to glance over his shoulder or cover
the page with his hand. The sweet summer air played against his cheek. From somewhere far away there floated the faint shouts
of children: in the room itself there was no sound except the insect voice of the clock. He settled deeper into the arm-chair
and put his feet up on the fender. It was bliss, it was eternity. Suddenly, as one sometimes does with a book of which one
knows that one will ultimately read and re-read every word, he opened it at a different place and found himself at Chapter
III. He went on reading:
. Chapter III
War is Peace
The splitting up of the world into three great
super-states was an event which could be and indeed was foreseen before the middle of the twentieth century. With the absorption
of Europe by Russia and of the British Empire by the United States, two of the three existing powers, Eurasia and Oceania,
were already effectively in being. The third, Eastasia, only emerged as a distinct unit after another decade of confused
fighting. The frontiers between the three super-states are in some places arbitrary, and in others they fluctuate according
to the fortunes of war, but in general they follow geographical lines. Eurasia comprises the whole of the northern part
of the European and Asiatic land-mass, from Portugal to the Bering Strait. Oceania comprises the Americas, the Atlantic
islands including the British Isles, Australasia, and the southern portion of Africa. Eastasia, smaller than the others
and with a less definite western frontier, comprises China and the countries to the south of it, the Japanese islands and
a large but fluctuating portion of Manchuria, Mongolia, and Tibet.
In one combination or another, these three super-states are permanently at war, and have
been so for the past twenty-five years. War, however, is no longer the desperate, annihilating struggle that it was in the
early decades of the twentieth century. It is a warfare of limited aims between combatants who are unable to destroy one
another, have no material cause for fighting and are not divided by any genuine ideological difference. This is not to say
that either the conduct of war, or the prevailing attitude towards it, has become less bloodthirsty or more chivalrous.
On the contrary, war hysteria is continuous and universal in all countries, and such acts as raping, looting, the slaughter
of children, the reduction of whole populations to slavery, and reprisals against prisoners which extend even to boiling
and burying alive, are looked upon as normal, and, when they are committed by one's own side and not by the enemy, meritorious.
But in a physical sense war involves very small numbers of people, mostly highly-trained specialists, and causes comparatively
few casualties. The fighting, when there is any, takes place on the vague frontiers whose whereabouts the average man can
only guess at, or round the Floating Fortresses which guard strategic spots on the sea lanes. In the centres of civilization
war means no more than a continuous shortage of consumption goods, and the occasional crash of a rocket bomb which may cause
a few scores of deaths. War has in fact changed its character. More exactly, the reasons for which war is waged have changed
in their order of importance. Motives which were already present to some small extent in the great wars of the early twentieth
century have now become dominant and are consciously recognized and acted upon.
To understand the nature of the present war -- for in spite of
the regrouping which occurs every few years, it is always the same war -- one must realize in the first place that it is
impossible for it to be decisive. None of the three super-states could be definitively conquered even by the other two in
combination. They are too evenly matched, and their natural defences are too formidable. Eurasia is protected by its vast
land spaces. Oceania by the width of the Atlantic and the Pacific, Eastasia by the fecundity and industriousness of its inhabitants.
Secondly, there is no longer, in a material sense, anything to fight about. With the establishment of self-contained economies,
in which production and consumption are geared to one another, the scramble for markets which was a main cause of previous
wars has come to an end, while the competition for raw materials is no longer a matter of life and death. In any case each
of the three super-states is so vast that it can obtain almost all the materials that it needs within its own boundaries.
In so far as the war has a direct economic purpose, it is a war for labour power. Between the frontiers of the super-states,
and not permanently in the possession of any of them, there lies a rough quadrilateral with its corners at Tangier, Brazzaville,
Darwin, and Hong Kong, containing within it about a fifth of the population of the earth. It is for the possession of these
thickly-populated regions, and of the northern ice-cap, that the three powers are constantly struggling. In practice no
one power ever controls the whole of the disputed area. Portions of it are constantly changing hands, and it is the chance
of seizing this or that fragment by a sudden stroke of treachery that dictates the endless changes of alignment.
All of the disputed territories contain
valuable minerals, and some of them yield important vegetable products such as rubber which in colder climates it is necessary
to synthesize by comparatively expensive methods. But above all they contain a bottomless reserve of cheap labour. Whichever
power controls equatorial Africa, or the countries of the Middle East, or Southern India, or the Indonesian Archipelago,
disposes also of the bodies of scores or hundreds of millions of ill-paid and hard-working coolies. The inhabitants of these
areas, reduced more or less openly to the status of slaves, pass continually from conqueror to conqueror, and are expended
like so much coal or oil in the race to turn out more armaments, to capture more territory, to control more labour power,
to turn out more armaments, to capture more territory, and so on indefinitely. It should be noted that the fighting never
really moves beyond the edges of the disputed areas. The frontiers of Eurasia flow back and forth between the basin of the
Congo and the northern shore of the Mediterranean; the islands of the Indian Ocean and the Pacific are constantly being
captured and recaptured by Oceania or by Eastasia; in Mongolia the dividing line between Eurasia and Eastasia is never stable;
round the Pole all three powers lay claim to enormous territories which in fact are largely unihabited and unexplored: but
the balance of power always remains roughly even, and the territory which forms the heartland of each super-state always
remains inviolate. Moreover, the labour of the exploited peoples round the Equator is not really necessary to the world's
economy. They add nothing to the wealth of the world, since whatever they produce is used for purposes of war, and the object
of waging a war is always to be in a better position in which to wage another war. By their labour the slave populations
allow the tempo of continuous warfare to be speeded up. But if they did not exist, the structure of world society, and the
process by which it maintains itself, would not be essentially different.
The primary aim of modern warfare (in accordance with the principles of
doublethink, this aim is simultaneously recognized and not recognized by the directing brains of the Inner Party) is to use
up the products of the machine without raising the general standard of living. Ever since the end of the nineteenth century,
the problem of what to do with the surplus of consumption goods has been latent in industrial society. At present, when
few human beings even have enough to eat, this problem is obviously not urgent, and it might not have become so, even if
no artificial processes of destruction had been at work. The world of today is a bare, hungry, dilapidated place compared
with the world that existed before 1914, and still more so if compared with the imaginary future to which the people of
that period looked forward. In the early twentieth century, the vision of a future society unbelievably rich, leisured,
orderly, and efficient -- a glittering antiseptic world of glass and steel and snow-white concrete -- was part of the consciousness
of nearly every literate person. Science and technology were developing at a prodigious speed, and it seemed natural to assume
that they would go on developing. This failed to happen, partly because of the impoverishment caused by a long series of
wars and revolutions, partly because scientific and technical progress depended on the empirical habit of thought, which
could not survive in a strictly regimented society. As a whole the world is more primitive today than it was fifty years
ago. Certain backward areas have advanced, and various devices, always in some way connected with warfare and police espionage,
have been developed, but experiment and invention have largely stopped, and the ravages of the atomic war of the nineteen-fifties
have never been fully repaired. Nevertheless the dangers inherent in the machine are still there. From the moment when the
machine first made its appearance it was clear to all thinking people that the need for human drudgery, and therefore to
a great extent for human inequality, had disappeared. If the machine were used deliberately for that end, hunger, overwork,
dirt, illiteracy, and disease could be eliminated within a few generations. And in fact, without being used for any such
purpose, but by a sort of automatic process -- by producing wealth which it was sometimes impossible not to distribute --
the machine did raise the living standards of the average human being very greatly over a period of about fifty years at
the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries.
But it was also clear that an all-round increase in wealth threatened the
destruction -- indeed, in some sense was the destruction -- of a hierarchical society. In a world in which everyone worked
short hours, had enough to eat, lived in a house with a bathroom and a refrigerator, and possessed a motor-car or even an
aeroplane, the most obvious and perhaps the most important form of inequality would already have disappeared. If it once
became general, wealth would confer no distinction. It was possible, no doubt, to imagine a society in which wealth, in
the sense of personal possessions and luxuries, should be evenly distributed, while power remained in the hands of a small
privileged caste. But in practice such a society could not long remain stable. For if leisure and security were enjoyed by
all alike, the great mass of human beings who are normally stupefied by poverty would become literate and would learn to
think for themselves; and when once they had done this, they would sooner or later realize that the privileged minority
had no function, and they would sweep it away. In the long run, a hierarchical society was only possible on a basis of poverty
and ignorance. To return to the agricultural past, as some thinkers about the beginning of the twentieth century dreamed
of doing, was not a practicable solution. It conflicted with the tendency towards mechanization which had become quasi-instinctive
throughout almost the whole world, and moreover, any country which remained industrially backward was helpless in a military
sense and was bound to be dominated, directly or indirectly, by its more advanced rivals.
Nor was it a satisfactory solution to keep the masses in poverty
by restricting the output of goods. This happened to a great extent during the final phase of capitalism, roughly between
1920 and 1940. The economy of many countries was allowed to stagnate, land went out of cultivation, capital equipment was
not added to, great blocks of the population were prevented from working and kept half alive by State charity. But this,
too, entailed military weakness, and since the privations it inflicted were obviously unnecessary, it made opposition inevitable.
The problem was how to keep the wheels of industry turning without increasing the real wealth of the world. Goods must be
produced, but they must not be distributed. And in practice the only way of achieving this was by continuous warfare.
The essential act of war is destruction,
not necessarily of human lives, but of the products of human labour. War is a way of shattering to pieces, or pouring into
the stratosphere, or sinking in the depths of the sea, materials which might otherwise be used to make the masses too comfortable,
and hence, in the long run, too intelligent. Even when weapons of war are not actually destroyed, their manufacture is still
a convenient way of expending labour power without producing anything that can be consumed. A Floating Fortress, for example,
has locked up in it the labour that would build several hundred cargo-ships. Ultimately it is scrapped as obsolete, never
having brought any material benefit to anybody, and with further enormous labours another Floating Fortress is built. In
principle the war effort is always so planned as to eat up any surplus that might exist after meeting the bare needs of the
population. In practice the needs of the population are always underestimated, with the result that there is a chronic shortage
of half the necessities of life; but this is looked on as an advantage. It is deliberate policy to keep even the favoured
groups somewhere near the brink of hardship, because a general state of scarcity increases the importance of small privileges
and thus magnifies the distinction between one group and another. By the standards of the early twentieth century, even
a member of the Inner Party lives an austere, laborious kind of life. Nevertheless, the few luxuries that he does enjoy his
large, well-appointed flat, the better texture of his clothes, the better quality of his food and drink and tobacco, his
two or three servants, his private motor-car or helicopter -- set him in a different world from a member of the Outer Party,
and the members of the Outer Party have a similar advantage in comparison with the submerged masses whom we call 'the proles'.
The social atmosphere is that of a besieged city, where the possession of a lump of horseflesh makes the difference between
wealth and poverty. And at the same time the consciousness of being at war, and therefore in danger, makes the handing-over
of all power to a small caste seem the natural, unavoidable condition of survival.
War, it will be seen, accomplishes the necessary destruction,
but accomplishes it in a psychologically acceptable way. In principle it would be quite simple to waste the surplus labour
of the world by building temples and pyramids, by digging holes and filling them up again, or even by producing vast quantities
of goods and then setting fire to them. But this would provide only the economic and not the emotional basis for a hierarchical
society. What is concerned here is not the morale of masses, whose attitude is unimportant so long as they are kept steadily
at work, but the morale of the Party itself. Even the humblest Party member is expected to be competent, industrious, and
even intelligent within narrow limits, but it is also necessary that he should be a credulous and ignorant fanatic whose
prevailing moods are fear, hatred, adulation, and orgiastic triumph. In other words it is necessary that he should have
the mentality appropriate to a state of war. It does not matter whether the war is actually happening, and, since no decisive
victory is possible, it does not matter whether the war is going well or badly. All that is needed is that a state of war
should exist. The splitting of the intelligence which the Party requires of its members, and which is more easily achieved
in an atmosphere of war, is now almost universal, but the higher up the ranks one goes, the more marked it becomes. It is
precisely in the Inner Party that war hysteria and hatred of the enemy are strongest. In his capacity as an administrator,
it is often necessary for a member of the Inner Party to know that this or that item of war news is untruthful, and he may
often be aware that the entire war is spurious and is either not happening or is being waged for purposes quite other than
the declared ones: but such knowledge is easily neutralized by the technique of doublethink. Meanwhile no Inner Party member
wavers for an instant in his mystical belief that the war is real, and that it is bound to end victoriously, with Oceania
the undisputed master of the entire world.
All members of the Inner Party believe in this coming conquest as an article of faith. It is to be achieved either
by gradually acquiring more and more territory and so building up an overwhelming preponderance of power, or by the discovery
of some new and unanswerable weapon. The search for new weapons continues unceasingly, and is one of the very few remaining
activities in which the inventive or speculative type of mind can find any outlet. In Oceania at the present day, Science,
in the old sense, has almost ceased to exist. In Newspeak there is no word for 'Science'. The empirical method of thought,
on which all the scientific achievements of the past were founded, is opposed to the most fundamental principles of Ingsoc.
And even technological progress only happens when its products can in some way be used for the diminution of human liberty.
In all the useful arts the world is either standing still or going backwards. The fields are cultivated with horse-ploughs
while books are written by machinery. But in matters of vital importance -- meaning, in effect, war and police espionage
-- the empirical approach is still encouraged, or at least tolerated. The two aims of the Party are to conquer the whole
surface of the earth and to extinguish once and for all the possibility of independent thought. There are therefore two
great problems which the Party is concerned to solve. One is how to discover, against his will, what another human being
is thinking, and the other is how to kill several hundred million people in a few seconds without giving warning beforehand.
In so far as scientific research still continues, this is its subject matter. The scientist of today is either a mixture
of psychologist and inquisitor, studying with real ordinary minuteness the meaning of facial expressions, gestures, and
tones of voice, and testing the truth-producing effects of drugs, shock therapy, hypnosis, and physical torture; or he is
chemist, physicist, or biologist concerned only with such branches of his special subject as are relevant to the taking
of life. In the vast laboratories of the Ministry of Peace, and in the experimental stations hidden in the Brazilian forests,
or in the Australian desert, or on lost islands of the Antarctic, the teams of experts are indefatigably at work. Some are
concerned simply with planning the logistics of future wars; others devise larger and larger rocket bombs, more and more
powerful explosives, and more and more impenetrable armour-plating; others search for new and deadlier gases, or for soluble
poisons capable of being produced in such quantities as to destroy the vegetation of whole continents, or for breeds of
disease germs immunized against all possible antibodies; others strive to produce a vehicle that shall bore its way under
the soil like a submarine under the water, or an aeroplane as independent of its base as a sailing-ship; others explore even
remoter possibilities such as focusing the sun's rays through lenses suspended thousands of kilometres away in space, or
producing artificial earthquakes and tidal waves by tapping the heat at the earth's centre.
But none of these projects ever comes anywhere near realization,
and none of the three super-states ever gains a significant lead on the others. What is more remarkable is that all three
powers already possess, in the atomic bomb, a weapon far more powerful than any that their present researches are likely
to discover. Although the Party, according to its habit, claims the invention for itself, atomic bombs first appeared as
early as the nineteen-forties, and were first used on a large scale about ten years later. At that time some hundreds of
bombs were dropped on industrial centres, chiefly in European Russia, Western Europe, and North America. The effect was
to convince the ruling groups of all countries that a few more atomic bombs would mean the end of organized society, and
hence of their own power. Thereafter, although no formal agreement was ever made or hinted at, no more bombs were dropped.
All three powers merely continue to produce atomic bombs and store them up against the decisive opportunity which they all
believe will come sooner or later. And meanwhile the art of war has remained almost stationary for thirty or forty years.
Helicopters are more used than they were formerly, bombing planes have been largely superseded by self-propelled projectiles,
and the fragile movable battleship has given way to the almost unsinkable Floating Fortress; but otherwise there has been
little development. The tank, the submarine, the torpedo, the machine gun, even the rifle and the hand grenade are still
in use. And in spite of the endless slaughters reported in the Press and on the telescreens, the desperate battles of earlier
wars, in which hundreds of thousands or even millions of men were often killed in a few weeks, have never been repeated.
None of the three super-states
ever attempts any manoeuvre which involves the risk of serious defeat. When any large operation is undertaken, it is usually
a surprise attack against an ally. The strategy that all three powers are following, or pretend to themselves that they
are following, is the same. The plan is, by a combination of fighting, bargaining, and well-timed strokes of treachery, to
acquire a ring of bases completely encircling one or other of the rival states, and then to sign a pact of friendship with
that rival and remain on peaceful terms for so many years as to lull suspicion to sleep. During this time rockets loaded
with atomic bombs can be assembled at all the strategic spots; finally they will all be fired simultaneously, with effects
so devastating as to make retaliation impossible. It will then be time to sign a pact of friendship with the remaining world-power,
in preparation for another attack. This scheme, it is hardly necessary to say, is a mere daydream, impossible of realization.
Moreover, no fighting ever occurs except in the disputed areas round the Equator and the Pole: no invasion of enemy territory
is ever undertaken. This explains the fact that in some places the frontiers between the superstates are arbitrary. Eurasia,
for example, could easily conquer the British Isles, which are geographically part of Europe, or on the other hand it would
be possible for Oceania to push its frontiers to the Rhine or even to the Vistula. But this would violate the principle,
followed on all sides though never formulated, of cultural integrity. If Oceania were to conquer the areas that used once
to be known as France and Germany, it would be necessary either to exterminate the inhabitants, a task of great physical
difficulty, or to assimilate a population of about a hundred million people, who, so far as technical development goes,
are roughly on the Oceanic level. The problem is the same for all three super-states. It is absolutely necessary to their
structure that there should be no contact with foreigners, except, to a limited extent, with war prisoners and coloured slaves.
Even the official ally of the moment is always regarded with the darkest suspicion. War prisoners apart, the average citizen
of Oceania never sets eyes on a citizen of either Eurasia or Eastasia, and he is forbidden the knowledge of foreign languages.
If he were allowed contact with foreigners he would discover that they are creatures similar to himself and that most of
what he has been told about them is lies. The sealed world in which he lives would be broken, and the fear, hatred, and
self-righteousness on which his morale depends might evaporate. It is therefore realized on all sides that however often
Persia, or Egypt, or Java, or Ceylon may change hands, the main frontiers must never be crossed by anything except bombs.
Under this lies a fact
never mentioned aloud, but tacitly understood and acted upon: namely, that the conditions of life in all three super-states
are very much the same. In Oceania the prevailing philosophy is called Ingsoc, in Eurasia it is called Neo-Bolshevism, and
in Eastasia it is called by a Chinese name usually translated as Death-Worship, but perhaps better rendered as Obliteration
of the Self. The citizen of Oceania is not allowed to know anything of the tenets of the other two philosophies, but he
is taught to execrate them as barbarous outrages upon morality and common sense. Actually the three philosophies are barely
distinguishable, and the social systems which they support are not distinguishable at all. Everywhere there is the same
pyramidal structure, the same worship of semi-divine leader, the same economy existing by and for continuous warfare. It
follows that the three super-states not only cannot conquer one another, but would gain no advantage by doing so. On the
contrary, so long as they remain in conflict they prop one another up, like three sheaves of corn. And, as usual, the ruling
groups of all three powers are simultaneously aware and unaware of what they are doing. Their lives are dedicated to world
conquest, but they also know that it is necessary that the war should continue everlastingly and without victory. Meanwhile
the fact that there is no danger of conquest makes possible the denial of reality which is the special feature of Ingsoc
and its rival systems of thought. Here it is necessary to repeat what has been said earlier, that by becoming continuous
war has fundamentally changed its character.
In past ages, a war, almost by definition, was something that sooner or later came to an end, usually
in unmistakable victory or defeat. In the past, also, war was one of the main instruments by which human societies were
kept in touch with physical reality. All rulers in all ages have tried to impose a false view of the world upon their followers,
but they could not afford to encourage any illusion that tended to impair military efficiency. So long as defeat meant the
loss of independence, or some other result generally held to be undesirable, the precautions against defeat had to be serious.
Physical facts could not be ignored. In philosophy, or religion, or ethics, or politics, two and two might make five, but
when one was designing a gun or an aeroplane they had to make four. Inefficient nations were always conquered sooner or
later, and the struggle for efficiency was inimical to illusions. Moreover, to be efficient it was necessary to be able to
learn from the past, which meant having a fairly accurate idea of what had happened in the past. Newspapers and history books
were, of course, always coloured and biased, but falsification of the kind that is practised today would have been impossible.
War was a sure safeguard of sanity, and so far as the ruling classes were concerned it was probably the most important of
all safeguards. While wars could be won or lost, no ruling class could be completely irresponsible.
But when war becomes literally continuous, it also
ceases to be dangerous. When war is continuous there is no such thing as military necessity. Technical progress can cease
and the most palpable facts can be denied or disregarded. As we have seen, researches that could be called scientific are
still carried out for the purposes of war, but they are essentially a kind of daydreaming, and their failure to show results
is not important. Efficiency, even military efficiency, is no longer needed. Nothing is efficient in Oceania except the Thought
Police. Since each of the three super-states is unconquerable, each is in effect a separate universe within which almost
any perversion of thought can be safely practised. Reality only exerts its pressure through the needs of everyday life --
the need to eat and drink, to get shelter and clothing, to avoid swallowing poison or stepping out of top-storey windows,
and the like. Between life and death, and between physical pleasure and physical pain, there is still a distinction, but
that is all. Cut off from contact with the outer world, and with the past, the citizen of Oceania is like a man in interstellar
space, who has no way of knowing which direction is up and which is down. The rulers of such a state are absolute, as the
Pharaohs or the Caesars could not be. They are obliged to prevent their followers from starving to death in numbers large
enough to be inconvenient, and they are obliged to remain at the same low level of military technique as their rivals; but
once that minimum is achieved, they can twist reality into whatever shape they choose.
The war, therefore, if we judge it by the standards of previous
wars, is merely an imposture. It is like the battles between certain ruminant animals whose horns are set at such an angle
that they are incapable of hurting one another. But though it is unreal it is not meaningless. It eats up the surplus of
consumable goods, and it helps to preserve the special mental atmosphere that a hierarchical society needs. War, it will
be seen, is now a purely internal affair. In the past, the ruling groups of all countries, although they might recognize
their common interest and therefore limit the destructiveness of war, did fight against one another, and the victor always
plundered the vanquished. In our own day they are not fighting against one another at all. The war is waged by each ruling
group against its own subjects, and the object of the war is not to make or prevent conquests of territory, but to keep
the structure of society intact. The very word 'war', therefore, has become misleading. It would probably be accurate to
say that by becoming continuous war has ceased to exist. The peculiar pressure that it exerted on human beings between the
Neolithic Age and the early twentieth century has disappeared and been replaced by something quite different. The effect
would be much the same if the three super-states, instead of fighting one another, should agree to live in perpetual peace,
each inviolate within its own boundaries. For in that case each would still be a self-contained universe, freed for ever
from the sobering influence of external danger. A peace that was truly permanent would be the same as a permanent war. This
-- although the vast majority of Party members understand it only in a shallower sense -- is the inner meaning of the Party
slogan: War is Peace.