The social criticism in george orwell'S 1984

Party.‖
―Does he exist in the same way as I exist?‖ 
―You do not exist,‖ said O‘Brien (Orwell, 1961:259). 
In O'Brien's supervision in every Winston's interrogation, Winston's realistic 
thinking skills gradually weakened. O'Brien says that the truth lies with the Party 
not on individual memory. When the Party says 2 + 2 = 5, then that's the truth, at 
certain moments Winston really cannot tell the difference between Four and Five. 
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 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‖ (Orwell, 1961: 249). 
Perhaps the needle was at eighty—ninety. Winston could only intermittently 
remember why the pain was happening. Behind his screwed-up eyelids a 
forest of fingers seemed to be moving in a sort of dance, weaving in and out, 
disappearing behind one and another and reappearing again. He was trying 
to count them, he could not remember why. He knew only that it was 
impossible to count them, and that this was somehow due to the mysterious 
identity between five and four (Orwell, 1961: 251) 
―From how many fingers am I holding up, Winston?‖ 

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72 
― I don‘t know. I don‘t know. You will kill me if you do that again. Four, 
five, six —in all honestly, I don‘t know.‖
―Better,‖ said O‘Brien (Orwell, 1961:252). 
Afterwards Winston's system of declining thinking, selfish self-esteem and 
Winston's self-pity appeared. When, he sees the physical reflection of his body 
from the mirror, that shown the actual age then the sense comes by itself. 
―Go on,‖ said O‘Brien. ―Stand between the wings of the mirror. You shall 
see the side view as well.‖ 
He has stopped because he was frightened. A bowel, gray colored, 
skeletonlike thing was coming toward him. Its actual appearance was 
frightening, and not merely the fact that knew it to be himself. He moved 
closer to the glass. The creature‘s face seemed to be protruded, because of 
its bent carriage. A forlorn, jailbird‘s with nobby forehead running back into 
a bald scalp, a crooked nose and battered-looking cheekbones above which 
the eyes were fierce and watchful. The cheeks were seamed, the mouth had 
a drawn-in look (Orwell, 1961:271). 
Strange emotions and feelings raced through Winston's face when he sees 
that, a once strong body now living a fleshy bone. Today his powerlessness is as 
weak as Winston's thought process. 
The emotions it registered would be different from ones he felt. He had 
gone partially bald. For the first moment he had thought that he had gray as 
well, but it was only the scalp that was gray. Except for his hand and a circle 
of his face, his body was gray all over with ancient, ingrained dirt. Here and 
there under the dirt there were the red scars of wounds, and near the ankle 
the varicose under was an inflamed mass with flakes of skin peeling off it 
(Orwell, 1961:271). 
But the truly frightening thing was the emaciation of his body. The barrel of 
the ribs was as narrow as that a skeleton; the legs had shrunk so that the 
knees were thicker than the thighs. He saw know what O‘Brien had meant 

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73 
about seeing the side view. The curvature of the spine was astonishing. The 
thin shoulders were hunched forward so as to make a cavity of the chest; the 
scraggy neck seemed to be bending double under the weight of the skull. At 
a guess he would have said that it was the body of a man of sixty, suffering 
from some malignant disease (Orwell, 1961:271-272). 
In the Ministry of Love, Winston lost everything. He is losing his pride, 
losing his self-esteem, losing his love, losing his way of thinking and losing his 
weight. 
Do you know that you have lost twenty-five kilograms since you have been 
in our hands? Even your hair is coming out in handfuls. Look!‖ he plucked 
at Winston‘s head and brought away a tuft of hair. ―Open your mouth. Nine, 
ten, eleven teeth left. How many had you when you came to us? And the 
few you have left are dropping out of your head. Look here!‖ (Orwell, 
1961:272). 
With all the tortures he gained, irregular lifestyle, inadequate eating and 
drinking make Winston like a sixty-years-old man. Even the core Party workers 
who are so old are far more human than they are. 
―You have thought sometime,‖ said O‘Brien, ―that my face—the face of a 
member of the Inner Party—looks old and worn. What do you think of your 
own face?‖ 
He seized Winston‘s shoulder and spun him round so that he was facing 
him. 
―Look at the condition you are in!‖ he said. ―Look at this filthy grime all 
over your body. Look at the dirt between your toes. Look at that disgusting 
running sore on your leg. Do you know that you stink like a goat? Probably 
you have ceased to notice it. Look at your emaciation. Do you see? I can 
make my thumb and forefinger meet around your biceps. I could snap your 
neck like a carrot (Orwell, 1961:272). 

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74 
With all the reality of his weakening body, Winston cried for himself, pity 
for his body is greater than the spirit of violation of the known truth. 
Then suddenly as he fixed the miserable rags round himself a feeling of pity 
for his ruined body overcame him. Before he knew what he was doing, he 
had collapsed into a small stool that stood beside the bed and burst into 
tears. He was aware of his ugliness, his gracelessness, a bundle of bones in 
fifty underclothes sitting weeping in the harsh white light; but he could not 
stop himself (Orwell, 1961:272-273). 
Utilizing Winston's regret for his condition, O'Brien kindly offered a 
solution to remove Winston from the guilt. 
O‘Brien laid his hand on his shoulder, almost kindly.
―It will not last forever,‖ he said. ―You can escape from it whenever you 
choose. Everything depends on yourself.‖ 
―You did it!‖ sobbed Winston. ―You reduced me to this state..‖ 
I do not think there can be much pride left in you. You have been kicked 
and flogged and insulted, you have screamed with pain, you have rolled on 
the floor in your own blood and vomit. You have whimpered from mercy, 
you have betrayed everybody and everything (Orwell, 1961:273). 
The solution O'Brien is offered, of course, a solution to stand on the side of 
the Party, to love Big Brother again, and to wipe Winston's desire to live freely as 
he had before. 
―No, Winston, you reduced yourself to it. This is what you accepted when 
you set yourself up against the Party (Orwell, 1961:273). 

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75 
Sabotage of O'Brien against Winston puts Winston's defines to the ground, 
everything that hinged on the most loved men (Julia) he bowed to the Party. 
Whatever Winston knew about Julia as small as she was, she told the Party. 
He had told them everything he knew about her, her habbits, her character, 
her past life; he had confessed in the most trivial detail everything that had 
happened at their meetings, all that he had said to her and she to him, their 
blackmarket meals, their adulteries, their vague plootings against the