THE PATH TO (IN)SANITY

I have long championed the book 1984 as essential reading for Christians as a blueprint of the coming age, and the following extract only illustrates the point.

When (if) you read this think of how many have been coerced into 'believing' that gender is a construct of society only and not a biological fact. Think of the endless and omnipresent propaganda behind the Anthropogenic Warming cult, as fast as evidence against it comes to the fore so the propaganda doubles and triples on the 'settled science' and 'scientific consensus' indoctrination. No matter how many major, minor or otherwise invisible research scientists disagree with the so-called 'consensus', no matter how many times the cheating and manipulation of statistics is uncovered, the propaganda merely increases in volume until it becomes overwhelming to the point when one just wants to surrender in order to stop the assault on the senses.

Think of the non-stop 'marriage equality' propaganda, it has now reached the point where ordinary people are wanting it to be passed just so the news cycle can go back to 'normal'...how many times have you heard that sentiment voiced on TV?

............................just like Winston:

George Orwell’s classic dystopian novel Nineteen Eighty-Four was modelled on one such totalitarian hellhole: the Stalinist Soviet Union. So his book features horrific and coercive mind-control activities carried out by the State. In one memorable scene from the book the hero, Winston Smith, is being tortured by O’Brien of the Thought Police to cure him of his “insanity”. He endures a few weeks of this, as O’Brien tells him that reality is whatever the Party says it is. Consider this harrowing account:

‘You believe that reality is something objective, external, existing in its own right. You also believe that the nature of reality is self-evident. When you delude yourself into thinking that you see something, you assume that everyone else sees the same thing as you. But I tell you, Winston, that reality is not external. Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else. Not in the individual mind, which can make mistakes, and in any case soon perishes: only in the mind of the Party, which is collective and immortal. Whatever the Party holds to be the truth, is truth. It is impossible to see reality except by looking through the eyes of the Party. That is the fact that you have got to relearn, Winston. It needs an act of self-destruction, an effort of the will. You must humble yourself before you can become sane.’

He paused for a few moments, as though to allow what he had been saying to sink in.

‘Do you remember,’ he went on, ‘writing in your diary, “Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four”?’

‘Yes,’ said Winston.

O’Brien held up his left hand, its back towards Winston, with the thumb hidden and the four fingers extended.

‘How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?’

‘Four.’

‘And if the party says that it is not four but five – then how many?’

‘Four.’

The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial had shot up to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over Winston’s body. The air tore into his lungs and issued again in deep groans which even by clenching his teeth he could not stop. O’Brien watched him, the four fingers still extended. He drew back the lever. This time the pain was only slightly eased.

‘How many fingers, Winston?’

‘Four.’

The needle went up to sixty.

‘How many fingers, Winston?’

‘Four! Four! What else can I say? Four!’

The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at it. The heavy, stern face and the four fingers filled his vision. The fingers stood up before his eyes like pillars, enormous, blurry, and seeming to vibrate, but unmistakably four.

‘How many fingers, Winston?’

‘Four! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? Four! Four!’

‘How many fingers, Winston?’

‘Five! Five! Five!’

‘No, Winston, that is no use. You are lying. You still think there are four. How many fingers, please?’

‘Four! Five! Four! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop the pain!’

Abruptly he was sitting up with O’Brien’s arm round his shoulders. He had perhaps lost consciousness for a few seconds. The bonds that had held his body down were loosened. He felt very cold, he was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth were chattering, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. For a moment he clung to O’Brien like a baby, curiously comforted by the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the feeling that O’Brien was his protector, that the pain was something that came from outside, from some other source, and that it was O’Brien who would save him from it.

‘You are a slow learner, Winston,’ said O’Brien gently.

‘How can I help it?’ he blubbered. ‘How can I help seeing what is in front of my eyes? Two and two are four.’

‘Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.’