The Spirit of Man: The Limits of Big Brother

The novel “1984” by George Orwell. (U. J. Alexander/Shutterstock)

“The secret of his style is its invisibility,” British critic John Carey wrote in 2003. He had in mind a writer who had composed “the most vibrant, surprising prose of the 20th century, but disguised it as ordinary talk.” His writer’s name was Eric Arthur Blair, otherwise known as George Orwell.

George Orwell, author of "1984." (AP Photo)

Among Orwell’s many books is the unforgettable “1984.” This masterpiece is often touted as a visionary novel that alerted the world to the dangers of totalitarianism. Its portrayals of Big Brother’s draconian surveillance make for an eerie and dispiriting read.

Yet Orwell understood the critical value of love and the hope it conveys.

Hope is especially salient in the character of Winston Smith. Winston’s story shows us that even in the bleakest circumstances, the desire for freedom can inspire resistance and change.

Big Brother Watches: Winston Smith’s Predicament

Winston works at the Ministry of Truth, where he alters historical documents to complement the Party’s public narrative of the past.

The Party governs Oceania, one of three totalitarian coalitions in the world. It operates mysteriously but ubiquitously, overseeing all citizens, at all times.

Led by the Thought Police, the Party’s minions administer food, direct employment, and structure asphyxiating schedules for the governed masses. To sustain its regimented surveillance, the Party sponsors an ominous dictator—Big Brother—whose rule is fueled by a feverish personality cult.

The "Nineteen Eighty-Four" Russian version published in the Soviet Union in 1984. A limited edition, only for members of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. (Public Domain)

Winston’s active role in the Ministry of Truth’s revisionist program makes him an accomplice to the Party, but it also enables him to question Big Brother’s monopoly on knowledge.

He realizes that independent thinking is forbidden and that truth is subordinate to manipulation. This realization inspires curiosity, which he pursues with subtle acts of rebellion against the Party. By word of mouth, Winston discovers a militant resistance group, the Brotherhood, and decides to join its efforts.

During his furtive struggles, Winston meets O’Brien, an enigmatic administrator who seems sympathetic to the Brotherhood’s efforts. O’Brien gifts him a book by Emmanuel Goldstein, the Brotherhood’s leader, titled “The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism,” thus gaining Winston’s trust.

Despite the sporadic glimpses of freedom he gains from contributing to the Brotherhood, Winston’s life is still smothered by the omnipresent Party. Hidden cameras and undercover agents surveil every nook and cranny of his life. Human interactions are tainted by fear. When all is bleak and dire, the most one can do is dare to love.

The Singing Thrush

On a day like every other, a woman named Julia gives Winston a secret note that begins their love affair. He despises her at first, for he recently saw her cheering in the Party’s “Two Minutes Hate” rally against the Brotherhood.

As they keep running into each other, Winston discovers that she, too, loathes the Party, though her zeal is cowed by fear. The two dissidents begin to plan escapades to the countryside, where they enjoy a mirage of freedom in warm embraces.

No hideout is completely safe, so they continue their secret rendezvous in the upper floor of an old shop.

So oppressive is the Party’s world that their simple defiance is akin to revolution: “Their embrace had been a battle, the climax a victory. It was a blow struck against the Party. It was a political act.”

The lovers know they will be arrested for insubordination. “Everybody always confesses,” admits Julia, “you can’t help it.”

Their yearning for human connection is worth it nonetheless.

Concealed by the illusion of utter intimacy, the two dissidents can finally be themselves. They chuckle and speak freely, dream and sleep in peace.

Their autonomy is best captured by the singing thrush, who chants a hypnotizing tune not by necessity, but by sheer will: “Winston and Julia clung together, fascinated. The music went on and on, minute after minute, with astonishing variations, never once repeating itself, almost as though the bird were deliberately showing off its virtuosity. Sometimes it stopped for a few seconds, spread out and resettled its wings, then swelled its speckled breast and again burst into song.”

A juvenile song thrush. (Sid Mosdell/CC BY 2.0)

A dictatorship can strip its prisoners of material freedoms. It can deprive them of food and water. It can trap them into filthy rooms like beasts, and watch their every movement. Its tentacles, however, can never touch the inner depths of the human spirit. There, where the beating heart endures, freedom is not bound to matter. Its translucent wings soar unfettered to the tunes of spontaneity.

The Spirit of Man

Orwell knew realism is more productive than fanciful optimism.

As Julia predicted, Winston is arrested for his allegiance to the resistance. The agent who apprehends him is none other than O’Brien. After months of brainwashing, Winston surrenders in speech, but his heart remains inviolate. He intends to hate Big Brother for the rest of his days, holding Julia, his only object of love, as the antidote against total surrender.

Towards the end of his torture, however, he is threatened with his worst fear: being eaten alive.

In a heartbreaking defeat, he pleads guilty, denounces Julia and proclaims his allegiance to Big Brother: “Two gin-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother.”

Instead of indulging his yearning for truth, Winston could have acquiesced to the Party’s demands from the very beginning. Instead of entertaining a flimsy future by Julia’s side, he could have reported her to the authorities and gained favor in their omniscient eyes. Had he done all this, he would have been safe and sound as a loyal minion of the Party. Yet—he would not have been human.

Only when love sang its song was Winston free. Only when he contemplated beauty as Julia slumbered before him was he human. Yes, hope made him suffer. But hope made him whole.

Edmond O'Brien and Jan Sterling star in the 1956 film "1984." (MovieStillDB)

Winston’s rare but precious moments of freedom recall Viktor Frankl’s breathtaking account of his experience as an Auschwitz prisoner. Amid the most ghastly of environments, freedom was but a bygone dream. And still, Frankl glimpsed a most beautiful insight into the human heart: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

Before his confession, Winston fires a cry for freedom, articulating the possibility of salvation for all humanity.

“In the end they will beat you,” he tells O’Brien in the torture room.

“Do you see any evidence that that is happening?” replies the sinister man.

“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.”

When asked what that principle could be, Winston answers with hopeful resolution: “I don’t know. The spirit of Man.”

A mural depicting British novelist George Orwell with the quote “Freedom is the right to tell people what they don't want to hear,” in Belgrade, Serbia, on May 8, 2018. (Oliver Bunic/AFP via Getty Images)

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