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diff --git a/old/24hrs10.txt b/old/24hrs10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c436de9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/24hrs10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1607 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext How to Live on 24 Hours a Day, by Bennett + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This Etext prepared by Tony Adam +anthony-adam@tamu.edu + + + + + +How to Live on Twenty-Four Hours a Day + +by Arnold Bennett + + + + +PREFACE TO THIS EDITION + +This preface, though placed at the beginning, as a preface must be, +should be read at the end of the book. + +I have received a large amount of correspondence concerning this +small work, and many reviews of it--some of them nearly as long +as the book itself--have been printed. But scarcely any of the +comment has been adverse. Some people have objected to a +frivolity of tone; but as the tone is not, in my opinion, at all +frivolous, this objection did not impress me; and had no weightier +reproach been put forward I might almost have been persuaded that +the volume was flawless! A more serious stricture has, however, +been offered--not in the press, but by sundry obviously sincere +correspondents--and I must deal with it. A reference to page 43 +will show that I anticipated and feared this disapprobation. The +sentence against which protests have been made is as follows:-- +"In the majority of instances he [the typical man] does not +precisely feel a passion for his business; at best he does not dislike +it. He begins his business functions with some reluctance, as late +as he can, and he ends them with joy, as early as he can. And his +engines, while he is engaged in his business, are seldom at their +full 'h.p.'" + +I am assured, in accents of unmistakable sincerity, that there are +many business men--not merely those in high positions or with fine +prospects, but modest subordinates with no hope of ever being +much better off--who do enjoy their business functions, who do not +shirk them, who do not arrive at the office as late as possible and + +depart as early as possible, who, in a word, put the whole of their +force into their day's work and are genuinely fatigued at the end +thereof. + +I am ready to believe it. I do believe it. I know it. I always knew +it. Both in London and in the provinces it has been my lot to spend +long years in subordinate situations of business; and the fact did +not escape me that a certain proportion of my peers showed what +amounted to an honest passion for their duties, and that while +engaged in those duties they were really *living* to the fullest +extent of which they were capable. But I remain convinced that +these fortunate and happy individuals (happier perhaps than they +guessed) did not and do not constitute a majority, or anything like +a majority. I remain convinced that the majority of decent average +conscientious men of business (men with aspirations and ideals) do +not as a rule go home of a night genuinely tired. I remain +convinced that they put not as much but as little of themselves as +they conscientiously can into the earning of a livelihood, and that +their vocation bores rather than interests them. + +Nevertheless, I admit that the minority is of sufficient importance +to merit attention, and that I ought not to have ignored it so +completely as I did do. The whole difficulty of the hard-working +minority was put in a single colloquial sentence by one of my +correspondents. He wrote: "I am just as keen as anyone on doing +something to 'exceed my programme,' but allow me to tell you that +when I get home at six thirty p.m. I am not anything like so fresh +as you seem to imagine." + +Now I must point out that the case of the minority, who throw +themselves with passion and gusto into their daily business task, is +infinitely less deplorable than the case of the majority, who go +half-heartedly and feebly through their official day. The former are +less in need of advice "how to live." At any rate during their +official day of, say, eight hours they are really alive; their engines +are giving the full indicated "h.p." The other eight working hours +of their day may be badly organised, or even frittered away; but it +is less disastrous to waste eight hours a day than sixteen hours a +day; it is better to have lived a bit than never to have lived at all. +The real tragedy is the tragedy of the man who is braced to effort +neither in the office nor out of it, and to this man this book is +primarily addressed. "But," says the other and more fortunate man, +"although my ordinary programme is bigger than his, I want to +exceed my programme too! I am living a bit; I want to live more. +But I really can't do another day's work on the top of my official +day." + + +The fact is, I, the author, ought to have foreseen that I should +appeal most strongly to those who already had an interest in +existence. It is always the man who has tasted life who demands +more of it. And it is always the man who never gets out of bed +who is the most difficult to rouse. + +Well, you of the minority, let us assume that the intensity of your +daily money-getting will not allow you to carry out quite all the +suggestions in the following pages. Some of the suggestions may +yet stand. I admit that you may not be able to use the time spent +on the journey home at night; but the suggestion for the journey to +the office in the morning is as practicable for you as for anybody. +And that weekly interval of forty hours, from Saturday to Monday, +is yours just as much as the other man's, though a slight +accumulation of fatigue may prevent you from employing the +whole of your "h.p." upon it. There remains, then, the important +portion of the three or more evenings a week. You tell me flatly +that you are too tired to do anything outside your programme at +night. In reply to which I tell you flatly that if your ordinary day's +work is thus exhausting, then the balance of your life is wrong and +must be adjusted. A man's powers ought not to be monopolised by +his ordinary day's work. What, then, is to be done? + +The obvious thing to do is to circumvent your ardour for your +ordinary day's work by a ruse. Employ your engines in something +beyond the programme before, and not after, you employ them on +the programme itself. Briefly, get up earlier in the morning. You +say you cannot. You say it is impossible for you to go earlier to +bed of a night--to do so would upset the entire household. I do not +think it is quite impossible to go to bed earlier at night. I think that +if you persist in rising earlier, and the consequence is insufficiency +of sleep, you will soon find a way of going to bed earlier. But my +impression is that the consequences of rising earlier will not be an +insufficiency of sleep. My impression, growing stronger every +year, is that sleep is partly a matter of habit--and of slackness. I am +convinced that most people sleep as long as they do because they +are at a loss for any other diversion. How much sleep do you think +is daily obtained by the powerful healthy man who daily rattles up +your street in charge of Carter Patterson's van? I have consulted a +doctor on this point. He is a doctor who for twenty-four years has +had a large general practice in a large flourishing suburb of +London, inhabited by exactly such people as you and me. He is a +curt man, and his answer was curt: + +"Most people sleep themselves stupid." + + +He went on to give his opinion that nine men out of ten would have +better health and more fun out of life if they spent less time in bed. + +Other doctors have confirmed this judgment, which, of course, does +not apply to growing youths. + +Rise an hour, an hour and a half, or even two hours earlier; and--if +you must--retire earlier when you can. In the matter of exceeding +programmes, you will accomplish as much in one morning hour as +in two evening hours. "But," you say, "I couldn't begin without +some food, and servants." Surely, my dear sir, in an age when an +excellent spirit-lamp (including a saucepan) can be bought for less +than a shilling, you are not going to allow your highest welfare to +depend upon the precarious immediate co-operation of a fellow +creature! Instruct the fellow creature, whoever she may be, at +night. Tell her to put a tray in a suitable position over night. On +that tray two biscuits, a cup and saucer, a box of matches and a +spirit-lamp; on the lamp, the saucepan; on the saucepan, the lid-- +but turned the wrong way up; on the reversed lid, the small teapot, +containing a minute quantity of tea leaves. You will then have to +strike a match--that is all. In three minutes the water boils, and you +pour it into the teapot (which is already warm). In three more minutes +the tea is infused. You can begin your day while drinking it. These +details may seem trivial to the foolish, but to the thoughtful they will +not seem trivial. The proper, wise balancing of one's whole life may +depend upon the feasibility of a cup of tea at an unusual hour. + +A. B. + + + CONTENTS + +PREFACE, V + + I THE DAILY MIRACLE, 21 + II THE DESIRE TO EXCEED ONE'S PROGRAMME, 28 + III PRECAUTIONS BEFORE BEGINNING, 35 + IV THE CAUSE OF THE TROUBLE, 42 + V TENNIS AND THE IMMORTAL SOUL, 49 + VI REMEMBER HUMAN NATURE, 56 + VII CONTROLLING THE MIND, 62 + VIII THE REFLECTIVE MOOD, 69 + IX INTEREST IN THE ARTS, 76 + X NOTHING IN LIFE IS HUMDRUM, 83 + + XI SERIOUS READING, 90 + XII DANGERS TO AVOID, 97 + + + + HOW TO LIVE ON + TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY + + + + I + THE DAILY MIRACLE + + +"Yes, he's one of those men that don't know how to manage. +Good situation. Regular income. Quite enough for luxuries +as well as needs. Not really extravagant. And yet the fellow's +always in difficulties. Somehow he gets nothing out of his +money. Excellent flat--half empty! Always looks as if he'd had +the brokers in. New suit--old hat! Magnificent necktie--baggy +trousers! Asks you to dinner: cut glass--bad mutton, or Turkish +coffee--cracked cup! He can't understand it. Explanation simply +is that he fritters his income away. Wish I had the half of it! I'd +show him--" + +So we have most of us criticised, at one time or another, in our +superior way. + +We are nearly all chancellors of the exchequer: it is the pride of +the moment. Newspapers are full of articles explaining how to live +on such-and-such a sum, and these articles provoke a correspondence +whose violence proves the interest they excite. Recently, in a daily +organ, a battle raged round the question whether a woman can exist +nicely in the country on L85 a year. I have seen an essay, "How to +live on eight shillings a week." But I have never seen an essay, "How +to live on twenty-four hours a day." Yet it has been said that time is +money. That proverb understates the case. Time is a great deal more +than money. If you have time you can obtain money--usually. But +though you have the wealth of a cloak-room attendant at the Carlton +Hotel, you cannot buy yourself a minute more time than I have, or the +cat by the fire has. + + +Philosophers have explained space. They have not explained time. It +is the inexplicable raw material of everything. With it, all is possible; +without it, nothing. The supply of time is truly a daily miracle, an +affair genuinely astonishing when one examines it. You wake up in +the morning, and lo! your purse is magically filled with twenty-four +hours of the unmanufactured tissue of the universe of your life! It is +yours. It is the most precious of possessions. A highly singular +commodity, showered upon you in a manner as singular as the +commodity itself! + +For remark! No one can take it from you. It is unstealable. And no +one receives either more or less than you receive. + +Talk about an ideal democracy! In the realm of time there is no aristocracy +of wealth, and no aristocracy of intellect. Genius is never rewarded by even +an extra hour a day. And there is no punishment. Waste your infinitely +precious commodity as much as you will, and the supply will never be +withheld from you. Mo mysterious power will say:--"This man is a fool, +if not a knave. He does not deserve time; he shall be cut off at the meter." +It is more certain than consols, and payment of income is not affected by +Sundays. Moreover, you cannot draw on the future. Impossible to get into +debt! You can only waste the passing moment. You cannot waste to- +morrow; it is kept for you. You cannot waste the next hour; it is kept for you. + +I said the affair was a miracle. Is it not? + +You have to live on this twenty-four hours of daily time. Out of it you have +to spin health, pleasure, money, content, respect, and the evolution of your + immortal soul. Its right use, its most effective use, is a matter of the highest +urgency and of the most thrilling actuality. All depends on that. Your +happiness--the elusive prize that you are all clutching for, my friends!-- +depends on that. Strange that the newspapers, so enterprising and up-to- +date as they are, are not full of "How to live on a given income of time," +instead of "How to live on a given income of money"! Money is far +commoner than time. When one reflects, one perceives that money is just +about the commonest thing there is. It encumbers the earth in gross heaps. + +If one can't contrive to live on a certain income of money, one earns a +little more--or steals it, or advertises for it. One doesn't necessarily +muddle one's life because one can't quite manage on a thousand pounds +a year; one braces the muscles and makes it guineas, and balances the +budget. But if one cannot arrange that an income of twenty-four hours +a day shall exactly cover all proper items of expenditure, one does +muddle one's life definitely. The supply of time, though gloriously +regular, is cruelly restricted. + + +Which of us lives on twenty-four hours a day? And when I say "lives," +I do not mean exists, nor "muddles through." Which of us is free from +that uneasy feeling that the "great spending departments" of his daily +life are not managed as they ought to be? Which of us is quite sure +that his fine suit is not surmounted by a shameful hat, or that in attending +to the crockery he has forgotten the quality of the food? Which of us is +not saying to himself--which of us has not been saying to himself all his +life: "I shall alter that when I have a little more time"? + +We never shall have any more time. We have, and we have always had, +all the time there is. It is the realisation of this profound and neglected +truth (which, by the way, I have not discovered) that has led me to the +minute practical examination of daily time-expenditure. + + + + II + + THE DESIRE TO EXCEED ONE'S PROGRAMME + + +"But," someone may remark, with the English disregard of everything +except the point, "what is he driving at with his twenty-four hours a day? +I have no difficulty in living on twenty-four hours a day. I do all that I +want to do, and still find time to go in for newspaper competitions. Surely +it is a simple affair, knowing that one has only twenty-four hours a day, to +content one's self with twenty-four hours a day!" + +To you, my dear sir, I present my excuses and apologies. You are precisely +the man that I have been wishing to meet for about forty years. Will you +kindly send me your name and address, and state your charge for telling me +how you do it? Instead of me talking to you, you ought to be talking to me. +Please come forward. That you exist, I am convinced, and that I have not +yet encountered you is my loss. Meanwhile, until you appear, I will continue +to chat with my companions in distress--that innumerable band of souls who +are haunted, more or less painfully, by the feeling that the years slip by, and +slip by, and slip by, and that they have not yet been able to get their lives into +proper working order. + +If we analyse that feeling, we shall perceive it to be, primarily, one of +uneasiness, of expectation, of looking forward, of aspiration. It is a source +of constant discomfort, for it behaves like a skeleton at the feast of all our +enjoyments. We go to the theatre and laugh; but between the acts it raises +a skinny finger at us. We rush violently for the last train, and while we are +cooling a long age on the platform waiting for the last train, it promenades +its bones up and down by our side and inquires: "O man, what hast thou +done with thy youth? What art thou doing with thine age?" You may urge +that this feeling of continuous looking forward, of aspiration, is part of life +itself, and inseparable from life itself. True! + +But there are degrees. A man may desire to go to Mecca. His conscience +tells him that he ought to go to Mecca. He fares forth, either by the aid of +Cook's, or unassisted; he may probably never reach Mecca; he may drown +before he gets to Port Said; he may perish ingloriously on the coast of the +Red Sea; his desire may remain eternally frustrate. Unfulfilled aspiration +may always trouble him. But he will not be tormented in the same way as +the man who, desiring to reach Mecca, and harried by the desire to reach +Mecca, never leaves Brixton. + +It is something to have left Brixton. Most of us have not left Brixton. We +have not even taken a cab to Ludgate Circus and inquired from Cook's the +price of a conducted tour. And our excuse to ourselves is that there are only +twenty-four hours in the day. + +If we further analyse our vague, uneasy aspiration, we shall, I think, see +that it springs from a fixed idea that we ought to do something in addition +to those things which we are loyally and morally obliged to do. We are +obliged, by various codes written and unwritten, to maintain ourselves +and our families (if any) in health and comfort, to pay our debts, to save, +to increase our prosperity by increasing our efficiency. A task sufficiently +difficult! A task which very few of us achieve! A task often beyond our +skill! yet, if we succeed in it, as we sometimes do, we are not satisfied; the +skeleton is still with us. + +And even when we realise tat the task is beyond our skill, that our powers +cannot cope with it, we feel that we should be less discontented if we gave +to our powers, already overtaxed, something still further to do. + +And such is, indeed, the fact. The wish to accomplish something outside +their formal programme is common to all men who in the course of evolution +have risen past a certain level. + +Until an effort is made to satisfy that wish, the sense of uneasy waiting for +something to start which has not started will remain to disturb the peace of +the soul. That wish has been called by many names. It is one form of the +universal desire for knowledge. And it is so strong that men whose whole +lives have been given to the systematic acquirement of knowledge have +been driven by it to overstep the limits of their programme in search of +still more knowledge. Even Herbert Spencer, in my opinion the greatest +mind that ever lived, was often forced by it into agreeable little backwaters +of inquiry. + +I imagine that in the majority of people who are conscious of the wish to +live--that is to say, people who have intellectual curiosity--the aspiration +to exceed formal programmes takes a literary shape. They would like to +embark on a course of reading. Decidedly the British people are becoming +more and more literary. But I would point out that literature by no means +comprises the whole field of knowledge, and that the disturbing thirst to +improve one's self--to increase one's knowledge--may well be slaked quite +apart from literature. With the various ways of slaking I shall deal later. +Here I merely point out to those who have no natural sympathy with +literature that literature is not the only well. + + + III + + PRECAUTIONS BEFORE BEGINNING + +Now that I have succeeded (if succeeded I have) in persuading you to admit +to yourself that you are constantly haunted by a suppressed dissatisfaction +with your own arrangement of your daily life; and that the primal cause of +that inconvenient dissatisfaction is the feeling that you are every day leaving +undone something which you would like to do, and which, indeed, you are +always hoping to do when you have "more time"; and now that I have drawn +your attention to the glaring, dazzling truth that you never will have "more +time," since you already have all the time there is--you expect me to let you +into some wonderful secret by which you may at any rate approach the ideal +of a perfect arrangement of the day, and by which, therefore, that haunting, +unpleasant, daily disappointment of things left undone will be got rid of! + +I have found no such wonderful secret. Nor do I expect to find it, nor do I +expect that anyone else will ever find it. It is undiscovered. When you first +began to gather my drift, perhaps there was a resurrection of hope in your +breast. Perhaps you said to yourself, "This man will show me an easy, +unfatiguing way of doing what I have so long in vain wished to do." Alas, +no! The fact is that there is no easy way, no royal road. The path to Mecca +is extremely hard and stony, and the worst of it is that you never quite get +there after all. + +The most important preliminary to the task of arranging one's life so that +one may live fully and comfortably within one's daily budget of twenty- +four hours is the calm realisation of the extreme difficulty of the task, of +the sacrifices and the endless effort which it demands. I cannot too strongly +insist on this. + +If you imagine that you will be able to achieve your ideal by ingeniously +planning out a time-table with a pen on a piece of paper, you had better +give up hope at once. If you are not prepared for discouragements and +disillusions; if you will not be content with a small result for a big effort, +then do not begin. Lie down again and resume the uneasy doze which +you call your existence. + +It is very sad, is it not, very depressing and sombre? And yet I think it +is rather fine, too, this necessity for the tense bracing of the will before +anything worth doing can be done. I rather like it myself. I feel it to be +the chief thing that differentiates me from the cat by the fire. + +"Well," you say, "assume that I am braced for the battle. Assume that +I have carefully weighed and comprehended your ponderous remarks; +how do I begin?" Dear sir, you simply begin. There is no magic method +of beginning. If a man standing on the edge of a swimming-bath and +wanting to jump into the cold water should ask you, "How do I begin to +jump?" you would merely reply, "Just jump. Take hold of your nerves, +and jump." + +As I have previously said, the chief beauty about the constant supply of +time is that you cannot waste it in advance. The next year, the next day, +the next hour are lying ready for you, as perfect, as unspoilt, as if you +had never wasted or misapplied a single moment in all your career. Which +fact is very gratifying and reassuring. You can turn over a new leaf every +hour if you choose. Therefore no object is served in waiting till next week, +or even until to-morrow. You may fancy that the water will be warmer next +week. It won't. It will be colder. + +But before you begin, let me murmur a few words of warning in your private +ear. + + +Let me principally warn you against your own ardour. Ardour in well-doing +is a misleading and a treacherous thing. It cries out loudly for employment; +you can't satisfy it at first; it wants more and more; it is eager to move +mountains and divert the course of rivers. It isn't content till it perspires. +And then, too often, when it feels the perspiration on its brow, it wearies +all of a sudden and dies, without even putting itself to the trouble of saying, +"I've +had enough of this." + +Beware of undertaking too much at the start. Be content with quite a little. +Allow for accidents. Allow for human nature, especially your own. + +A failure or so, in itself, would not matter, if it did not incur a loss of self- +esteem and of self-confidence. But just as nothing succeeds like success, +so nothing fails like failure. Most people who are ruined are ruined by +attempting too much. Therefore, in setting out on the immense enterprise +of living fully and comfortably within the narrow limits of twenty-four +hours a day, let us avoid at any cost the risk of an early failure. I will not +agree that, in this business at any rate, a glorious failure is better than a +petty success. I am all for the petty success. A glorious failure leads to +nothing; a petty success may lead to a success that is not petty. + +So let us begin to examine the budget of the day's time. You say your +day is already full to overflowing. How? You actually spend in earning +your livelihood--how much? Seven hours, on the average? And in actual +sleep, seven? I will add two hours, and be generous. And I will defy you +to account to me on the spur of the moment for the other eight hours. + + + + IV + + THE CAUSE OF THE TROUBLES + +In order to come to grips at once with the question of time-expenditure in +all its actuality, I must choose an individual case for examination. I can +only deal with one case, and that case cannot be the average case, because +there is no such case as the average case, just as there is no such man as the +average man. Every man and every man's case is special. + + +But if I take the case of a Londoner who works in an office, whose office +hours are from ten to six, and who spends fifty minutes morning and night +in travelling between his house door and his office door, I shall have got as +near to the average as facts permit. There are men who have to work longer +for a living, but there are others who do not have to work so long. + +Fortunately the financial side of existence does not interest us here; for our +present purpose the clerk at a pound a week is exactly as well off as the +millionaire in Carlton House-terrace. + +Now the great and profound mistake which my typical man makes in regard +to his day is a mistake of general attitude, a mistake which vitiates and +weakens two-thirds of his energies and interests. In the majority of instances +he does not precisely feel a passion for his business; at best he does not dislike +it. He begins his business functions with reluctance, as late as he can, and he +ends them with joy, as early as he can. And his engines while he is engaged +in his business are seldom at their full "h.p." (I know that I shall be accused +by angry readers of traducing the city worker; but I am pretty thoroughly +acquainted with the City, and I stick to what I say.) + +Yet in spite of all this he persists in looking upon those hours from ten to +six as "the day," to which the ten hours preceding them and the six hours +following them are nothing but a prologue and epilogue. Such an attitude, + +unconscious though it be, of course kills his interest in the odd sixteen +hours, with the result that, even if he does not waste them, he does not +count them; he regards them simply as margin. + +This general attitude is utterly illogical and unhealthy, since it formally +gives the central prominence to a patch of time and a bunch of activities +which the man's one idea is to "get through" and have "done with." If a +man makes two-thirds of his existence subservient to one-third, for which +admittedly he has no absolutely feverish zest, how can he hope to live fully +and completely? He cannot. + +If my typical man wishes to live fully and completely he must, in his mind, +arrange a day within a day. And this inner day, a Chinese box in a larger +Chinese box, must begin at 6 p.m. and end at 10 a.m. It is a day of sixteen +hours; and during all these sixteen hours he has nothing whatever to do but +cultivate his body and his soul and his fellow men. During those sixteen +hours he is free; he is not a wage-earner; he is not preoccupied with monetary +cares; he is just as good as a man with a private income. This must be his +attitude. And his attitude is all important. His success in life (much more +important than the amount of estate upon what his executors will have to +pay estate duty) depends on it. + +What? You say that full energy given to those sixteen hours will lessen the +value of the business eight? Not so. On the contrary, it will assuredly +increase the value of the business eight. One of the chief things which +my typical man has to learn is that the mental faculties are capable of a +continuous hard activity; they do not tire like an arm or a leg. All they +want is change--not rest, except in sleep. + +I shall now examine the typical man's current method of employing the +sixteen hours that are entirely his, beginning with his uprising. I will +merely indicate things which he does and which I think he ought not to +do, postponing my suggestions for "planting" the times which I shall +have cleared--as a settler clears spaces in a forest. + +In justice to him I must say that he wastes very little time before he +leaves the house in the morning at 9.10. In too many houses he gets +up at nine, breakfasts between 9.7 and 9.9 1/2, and then bolts. But +immediately he bangs the front door his mental faculties, which are +tireless, become idle. He walks to the station in a condition of mental +coma. Arrived there, he usually has to wait for the train. On hundreds +of suburban stations every morning you see men calmly strolling up +and down platforms while railway companies unblushingly rob them +of time, which is more than money. Hundreds of thousands of hours +are thus lost every day simply because my typical man thinks so little +of time that it has never occurred to him to take quite easy precautions +against the risk of its loss. + +He has a solid coin of time to spend every day--call it a sovereign. He +must get change for it, and in getting change he is content to lose heavily. + +Supposing that in selling him a ticket the company said, "We will change +you a sovereign, but we shall charge you three halfpence for doing so," +what would my typical man exclaim? Yet that is the equivalent of what +the company does when it robs him of five minutes twice a day. + +You say I am dealing with minutiae. I am. And later on I will justify myself. + +Now will you kindly buy your paper and step into the train? + + + + + V + + TENNIS AND THE IMMORTAL SOUL + +You get into the morning train with your newspaper, and you calmly and +majestically give yourself up to your newspaper. You do not hurry. You +know you have at least half an hour of security in front of you. As your +glance lingers idly at the advertisements of shipping and of songs on the +outer pages, your air is the air of a leisured man, wealthy in time, of a +man from some planet where there are a hundred and twenty-four hours +a day instead of twenty-four. I am an impassioned reader of newspapers. +I read five English and two French dailies, and the news-agents alone +know how many weeklies, regularly. I am obliged to mention this personal +fact lest I should be accused of a prejudice against newspapers when I say +that I object to the reading of newspapers in the morning train. Newspapers +are produced with rapidity, to be read with rapidity. There is no place in my +daily programme for newspapers. I read them as I may in odd moments. +But I do read them. The idea of devoting to them thirty or forty consecutive +minutes of wonderful solitude (for nowhere can one more perfectly immerse +one's self in one's self than in a compartment full of silent, withdrawn, smoking +males) is to me repugnant. I cannot possibly allow you to scatter priceless +pearls of time with such Oriental lavishness. You are not the Shah of time. +Let me respectfully remind you that you have no more time than I have. No +newspaper reading in trains! I have already "put by" about three-quarters of +an hour for use. + +Now you reach your office. And I abandon you there till six o'clock. I am +aware that you have nominally an hour (often in reality an hour and a half) +in the midst of the day, less than half of which time is given to eating. But +I will leave you all that to spend as you choose. You may read your +newspapers then. + +I meet you again as you emerge from your office. You are pale and tired. +At any rate, your wife says you are pale, and you give her to understand +that you are tired. During the journey home you have been gradually +working up the tired feeling. The tired feeling hangs heavy over the +mighty suburbs of London like a virtuous and melancholy cloud, +particularly in winter. You don't eat immediately on your arrival home. +But in about an hour or so you feel as if you could sit up and take a little +nourishment. And you do. Then you smoke, seriously; you see friends; +you potter; you play cards; you flirt with a book; you note that old age is +creeping on; you take a stroll; you caress the piano.... By Jove! a quarter +past eleven. You then devote quite forty minutes to thinking about going +to bed; and it is conceivable that you are acquainted with a genuinely good +whisky. At last you go to bed, exhausted by the day's work. Six hours, +probably more, have gone since you left the office--gone like a dream, +gone like magic, unaccountably gone! + +That is a fair sample case. But you say: "It's all very well for you to talk. +A man *is* tired. A man must see his friends. He can't always be on the +stretch." Just so. But when you arrange to go to the theatre (especially +with a pretty woman) what happens? You rush to the suburbs; you spare +no toil to make yourself glorious in fine raiment; you rush back to town in +another train; you keep yourself on the stretch for four hours, if not five; +you take her home; you take yourself home. You don't spend three-quarters +of an hour in "thinking about" going to bed. You go. Friends and fatigue +have equally been forgotten, and the evening has seemed so exquisitely +long (or perhaps too short)! And do you remember that time when you +were persuaded to sing in the chorus of the amateur operatic society, and +slaved two hours every other night for three months? Can you deny that +when you have something definite to look forward to at eventide, something +that is to employ all your energy--the thought of that something gives a glow +and a more intense vitality to the whole day? + +What I suggest is that at six o'clock you look facts in the face and admit that +you are not tired (because you are not, you know), and that you arrange your +evening so that it is not cut in the middle by a meal. By so doing you will +have a clear expanse of at least three hours. I do not suggest that you should +employ three hours every night of your life in using up your mental energy. +But I do suggest that you might, for a commencement, employ an hour and a +half every other evening in some important and consecutive cultivation of the +mind. You will still be left with three evenings for friends, bridge, tennis, +domestic scenes, odd reading, pipes, gardening, pottering, and prize +competitions. You will still have the terrific wealth of forty-five hours +between 2 p.m. Saturday and 10 a.m. Monday. If you persevere you will +soon want to pass four evenings, and perhaps five, in some sustained +endeavour to be genuinely alive. And you will fall out of that habit of +muttering to yourself at 11.15 p.m., "Time to be thinking about going to +bed." The man who begins to go to bed forty minutes before he opens +his bedroom door is bored; that is to say, he is not living. + + +But remember, at the start, those ninety nocturnal minutes thrice a week +must be the most important minutes in the ten thousand and eighty. They +must be sacred, quite as sacred as a dramatic rehearsal or a tennis match. +Instead of saying, "Sorry I can't see you, old chap, but I have to run off to +the tennis club," you must say, "...but I have to work." This, I admit, is +intensely difficult to say. Tennis is so much more urgent than the immortal +soul. + + + + VI + + REMEMBER HUMAN NATURE + +I have incidentally mentioned the vast expanse of forty-four hours between +leaving business at 2 p.m. on Saturday and returning to business at 10 a.m. +on Monday. And here I must touch on the point whether the week should +consist of six days or of seven. For many years--in fact, until I was approaching +forty--my own week consisted of seven days. I was constantly being informed +by older and wiser people that more work, more genuine living, could be got +out of six days than out of seven. + +And it is certainly true that now, with one day in seven in which I follow no +programme and make no effort save what the caprice of the moment dictates, +I appreciate intensely the moral value of a weekly rest. Nevertheless, had I +my life to arrange over again, I would do again as I have done. Only those +who have lived at the full stretch seven days a week for a long time can +appreciate the full beauty of a regular recurring idleness. Moreover, I am +ageing. And it is a question of age. In cases of abounding youth and +exceptional energy and desire for effort I should say unhesitatingly: Keep +going, day in, day out. + +But in the average case I should say: Confine your formal programme +(super-programme, I mean) to six days a week. If you find yourself +wishing to extend it, extend it, but only in proportion to your wish; and +count the time extra as a windfall, not as regular income, so that you can +return to a six-day programme without the sensation of being poorer, of +being a backslider. + +Let us now see where we stand. So far we have marked for saving +out of the waste of days, half an hour at least on six mornings a +week, and one hour and a half on three evenings a week. Total, +seven hours and a half a week. + + +I propose to be content with that seven hours and a half for the +present. "What?" you cry. "You pretend to show us how to live, +and you only deal with seven hours and a half out of a hundred +and sixty-eight! Are you going to perform a miracle with your +seven hours and a half?" Well, not to mince the matter, I am--if +you will kindly let me! That is to say, I am going to ask you to +attempt an experience which, while perfectly natural and explicable, +has all the air of a miracle. My contention is that the full use of those +seven-and-a-half hours will quicken the whole life of the week, add +zest to it, and increase the interest which you feel in even the most +banal occupations. You practise physical exercises for a mere ten +minutes morning and evening, and yet you are not astonished when +your physical health and strength are beneficially affected every hour +of the day, and your whole physical outlook changed. Why should +you be astonished that an average of over an hour a day given to the +mind should permanently and completely enliven the whole activity +of the mind? + +More time might assuredly be given to the cultivation of one's self. +And in proportion as the time was longer the results would be greater. +But I prefer to begin with what looks like a trifling effort. + +It is not really a trifling effort, as those will discover who have yet +to essay it. To "clear" even seven hours and a half from the jungle is +passably difficult. For some sacrifice has to be made. One may have +spent one's time badly, but one did spend it; one did do something +with it, however ill-advised that something may have been. To do +something else means a change of habits. + +And habits are the very dickens to change! Further, any change, even +a change for the better, is always accompanied by drawbacks and +discomforts. If you imagine that you will be able to devote seven +hours and a half a week to serious, continuous effort, and still live +your old life, you are mistaken. I repeat that some sacrifice, and an +immense deal of volition, will be necessary. And it is because I know +the difficulty, it is because I know the almost disastrous effect of failure +in such an enterprise, that I earnestly advise a very humble beginning. +You must safeguard your self-respect. Self-respect is at the root of all +purposefulness, and a failure in an enterprise deliberately planned deals +a desperate wound at one's self-respect. Hence I iterate and reiterate: +Start quietly, unostentatiously. + + +When you have conscientiously given seven hours and a half a week +to the cultivation of your vitality for three months--then you may +begin to sing louder and tell yourself what wondrous things you are +capable of doing. + +Before coming to the method of using the indicated hours, I have one +final suggestion to make. That is, as regards the evenings, to allow +much more than an hour and a half in which to do the work of an hour +and a half. Remember the chance of accidents. Remember human nature. +And give yourself, say, from 9 to 11.30 for your task of ninety minutes. + + + + VII + + CONTROLLING THE MIND + + +People say: "One can't help one's thoughts." But one can. The control +of the thinking machine is perfectly possible. And since nothing whatever +happens to us outside our own brain; since nothing hurts us or gives us +pleasure except within the brain, the supreme importance of being able +to control what goes on in that mysterious brain is patent. This idea is +one of the oldest platitudes, but it is a platitude who's profound truth and +urgency most people live and die without realising. People complain of +the lack of power to concentrate, not witting that they may acquire the +power, if they choose. + +And without the power to concentrate--that is to say, without the power to +dictate to the brain its task and to ensure obedience--true life is impossible. +Mind control is the first element of a full existence. + +Hence, it seems to me, the first business of the day should be to put the +mind through its paces. You look after your body, inside and out; you +run grave danger in hacking hairs off your skin; you employ a whole +army of individuals, from the milkman to the pig-killer, to enable you +to bribe your stomach into decent behaviour. Why not devote a little +attention to the far more delicate machinery of the mind, especially as +you will require no extraneous aid? It is for this portion of the art and +craft of living that I have reserved the time from the moment of quitting +your door to the moment of arriving at your office. + +"What? I am to cultivate my mind in the street, on the platform, in the +train, and in the crowded street again?" Precisely. Nothing simpler! +No tools required! Not even a book. Nevertheless, the affair is not easy. + +When you leave your house, concentrate your mind on a subject (no +matter what, to begin with). You will not have gone ten yards before +your mind has skipped away under your very eyes and is larking round +the corner with another subject. + +Bring it back by the scruff of the neck. Ere you have reached the station +you will have brought it back about forty times. Do not despair. Continue. +Keep it up. You will succeed. You cannot by any chance fail if you +persevere. It is idle to pretend that your mind is incapable of concentration. +Do you not remember that morning when you received a disquieting letter +which demanded a very carefully-worded answer? How you kept your mind +steadily on the subject of the answer, without a second's intermission, until +you reached your office; whereupon you instantly sat down and wrote the +answer? That was a case in which *you* were roused by circumstances to +such a degree of vitality that you were able to dominate your mind like a tyrant. +You would have no trifling. You insisted that its work should be done, and its +work was done. + +By the regular practice of concentration (as to which there is no secret-- +save the secret of perseverance) you can tyrannise over your mind (which +is not the highest part of *you*) every hour of the day, and in no matter +what place. The exercise is a very convenient one. If you got into your +morning train with a pair of dumb-bells for your muscles or an encyclopaedia +in ten volumes for your learning, you would probably excite remark. But as +you walk in the street, or sit in the corner of the compartment behind a pipe, +or "strap-hang" on the Subterranean, who is to know that you are engaged in +the most important of daily acts? What asinine boor can laugh at you? + +I do not care what you concentrate on, so long as you concentrate. It is the +mere disciplining of the thinking machine that counts. But still, you may as +well kill two birds with one stone, and concentrate on something useful. I +suggest--it is only a suggestion--a little chapter of Marcus Aurelius or Epictetus. + +Do not, I beg, shy at their names. For myself, I know nothing more "actual," +more bursting with plain common-sense, applicable to the daily life of plain +persons like you and me (who hate airs, pose, and nonsense) than Marcus +Aurelius or Epictetus. Read a chapter--and so short they are, the chapters! +--in the evening and concentrate on it the next morning. You will see. + +Yes, my friend, it is useless for you to try to disguise the fact. I can hear +your brain like a telephone at my ear. You are saying to yourself: "This +fellow was doing pretty well up to his seventh chapter. He had begun to +interest me faintly. But what he says about thinking in trains, and concen- +tration, and so on, is not for me. It may be well enough for some folks, +but it isn't in my line." + +It is for you, I passionately repeat; it is for you. Indeed, you are the very +man I am aiming at. + +Throw away the suggestion, and you throw away the most precious +suggestion that was ever offered to you. It is not my suggestion. It is +the suggestion of the most sensible, practical, hard-headed men who +have walked the earth. I only give it you at second-hand. Try it. Get +your mind in hand. And see how the process cures half the evils of life +--especially worry, that miserable, avoidable, shameful disease--worry! + + + + VIII + + THE REFLECTIVE MOOD + + +The exercise of concentrating the mind (to which at least half an hour a +day should be given) is a mere preliminary, like scales on the piano. +Having acquired power over that most unruly member of one's complex +organism, one has naturally to put it to the yoke. Useless to possess an +obedient mind unless one profits to the furthest possible degree by its +obedience. A prolonged primary course of study is indicated. + +Now as to what this course of study should be there cannot be any question; +there never has been any question. All the sensible people of all ages are +agreed upon it. And it is not literature, nor is it any other art, nor is it +history, nor is it any science. It is the study of one's self. Man, know + thyself. These words are so hackneyed that verily I blush to write them. +Yet they must be written, for they need to be written. (I take back my +blush, being ashamed of it.) Man, know thyself. I say it out loud. The +phrase is one of those phrases with which everyone is familiar, of which +everyone acknowledges the value, and which only the most sagacious put +into practice. I don't know why. I am entirely convinced that what is more +than anything else lacking in the life of the average well-intentioned man +of to-day is the reflective mood. + +We do not reflect. I mean that we do not reflect upon genuinely important +things; upon the problem of our happiness, upon the main direction in which +we are going, upon what life is giving to us, upon the share which reason has +(or has not) in determining our actions, and upon the relation between our +principles and our conduct. + +And yet you are in search of happiness, are you not? Have you discovered it? + +The chances are that you have not. The chances are that you have already +come to believe that happiness is unattainable. But men have attained it. +And they have attained it by realising that happiness does not spring from +the procuring of physical or mental pleasure, but from the development of +reason and the adjustment of conduct to principles. + +I suppose that you will not have the audacity to deny this. And if you admit +it, and still devote no part of your day to the deliberate consideration of your +reason, principles, and conduct, you admit also that while striving for a +certain thing you are regularly leaving undone the one act which is necessary +to the attainment of that thing. + +Now, shall I blush, or will you? + +Do not fear that I mean to thrust certain principles upon your attention. I care +not (in this place) what your principles are. Your principles may induce you to +believe in the righteousness of burglary. I don't mind. All I urge is that a life +in which conduct does not fairly well accord with principles is a silly life; and +that conduct can only be made to accord with principles by means of daily +examination, reflection, and resolution. What leads to the permanent sorrow- +fulness of burglars is that their principles are contrary to burglary. If they +genuinely believed in the moral excellence of burglary, penal servitude would +simply mean so many happy years for them; all martyrs are happy years for +them; all martyrs are happy, because their conduct and their principles agree. + + +As for reason (which makes conduct, and is not unconnected with the making +of principles), it plays a far smaller part in our lives than we fancy. We are +supposed to be reasonable but we are much more instinctive than reasonable. +And the less we reflect, the less reasonable we shall be. The next time you +get cross with the waiter because your steak is over-cooked, ask reason to +step into the cabinet-room of your mind, and consult her. She will probably +tell you that the waiter did not cook the steak, and had no control over the +cooking of the steak; and that even if he alone was to blame, you accomplished +nothing good by getting cross; you merely lost your dignity, looked a fool in +the eyes of sensible men, and soured the waiter, while producing no effect +whatever on the steak. + +The result of this consultation with reason (for which she makes no charge) +will be that when once more your steak is over-cooked you will treat the +waiter as a fellow-creature, remain quite calm in a kindly spirit, and politely +insist on having a fresh steak. The gain will be obvious and solid. + +In the formation or modification of principles, and the practice of conduct, +much help can be derived from printed books (issued at sixpence each and +upwards). I mentioned in my last chapter Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus. +Certain even more widely known works will occur at once to the memory. +I may also mention Pascal, La Bruyere, and Emerson. For myself, you do +not catch me travelling without my Marcus Aurelius. Yes, books are +valuable. But not reading of books will take the place of a daily, candid, +honest examination of what one has recently done, and what one is about +to do--of a steady looking at one's self in the face (disconcerting though +the sight may be). + +When shall this important business be accomplished? The solitude of the +evening journey home appears to me to be suitable for it. A reflective +mood naturally follows the exertion of having earned the day's living. +Of course if, instead of attending to an elementary and profoundly important +duty, you prefer to read the paper (which you might just as well read while +waiting for your dinner) I have nothing to say. But attend to it at some time +of the day you must. I now come to the evening hours. + + + + IX + + INTEREST IN THE ARTS + +Many people pursue a regular and uninterrupted course of idleness in +the evenings because they think that there is no alternative to idleness +but the study of literature; and they do not happen to have a taste for +literature. This is a great mistake. + +Of course it is impossible, or at any rate very difficult, properly to study +anything whatever without the aid of printed books. But if you desire to +understand the deeper depths of bridge or of boat-sailing you would not +be deterred by your lack of interest in literature from reading the best +books on bridge or boat-sailing. We must, therefore, distinguish between +literature, and books treating of subjects not literary. I shall come to +literature in due course. + +Let me now remark to those who have never read Meredith, and who are +capable of being unmoved by a discussion as to whether Mr. Stephen +Phillips is or is not a true poet, that they are perfectly within their rights. +It is not a crime not to love literature. It is not a sign of imbecility. The +mandarins of literature will order out to instant execution the unfortunate +individual who does not comprehend, say, the influence of Wordsworth on +Tennyson. But that is only their impudence. Where would they be, I wonder, +if requested to explain the influences that went to make Tschaikowsky's +"Pathetic Symphony"? + + +There are enormous fields of knowledge quite outside literature which +will yield magnificent results to cultivators. For example (since I have +just mentioned the most popular piece of high-class music in England +to-day), I am reminded that the Promenade Concerts begin in August. +You go to them. You smoke your cigar or cigarette (and I regret to say +that you strike your matches during the soft bars of the "Lohengrin" +overture), and you enjoy the music. But you say you cannot play the +piano or the fiddle, or even the banjo; that you know nothing of music. + +What does that matter? That you have a genuine taste for music is +proved by the fact that, in order to fill his hall with you and your peers, +the conductor is obliged to provide programmes from which bad music +is almost entirely excluded (a change from the old Covent Garden days!). + +Now surely your inability to perform "The Maiden's Prayer" on a piano +need not prevent you from making yourself familiar with the construction +of the orchestra to which you listen a couple of nights a week during a +couple of months! As things are, you probably think of the orchestra as a +heterogeneous mass of instruments producing a confused agreeable mass +of sound. You do not listen for details because you have never trained +your ears to listen to details. + +If you were asked to name the instruments which play the great theme at +the beginning of the C minor symphony you could not name them for your +life's sake. Yet you admire the C minor symphony. It has thrilled you. It +will thrill you again. You have even talked about it, in an expansive mood, +to that lady--you know whom I mean. And all you can positively state +about the C minor symphony is that Beethoven composed it and that it is +a "jolly fine thing." + +Now, if you have read, say, Mr. Krehbiel's "How to Listen to Music" (which +can be got at any bookseller's for less than the price of a stall at the Alhambra, +and which contains photographs of all the orchestral instruments and plans of +the arrangement of orchestras) you would next go to a promenade concert with +an astonishing intensification of interest in it. Instead of a confused mass, the +orchestra would appear to you as what it is--a marvellously balanced organism +whose various groups of members each have a different and an indispensable +function. You would spy out the instruments, and listen for their respective +sounds. You would know the gulf that separates a French horn from an English +horn, and you would perceive why a player of the hautboy gets higher wages +than a fiddler, though the fiddle is the more difficult instrument. You would +*live* at a promenade concert, whereas previously you had merely existed +there in a state of beatific coma, like a baby gazing at a bright object. + +The foundations of a genuine, systematic knowledge of music might be laid. +You might specialise your inquiries either on a particular form of music (such +as the symphony), or on the works of a particular composer. At the end of a +year of forty-eight weeks of three brief evenings each, combined with a study +of programmes and attendances at concerts chosen out of your increasing +knowledge, you would really know something about music, even though you +were as far off as ever from jangling "The Maiden's Prayer" on the piano. + +"But I hate music!" you say. My dear sir, I respect you. + +What applies to music applies to the other arts. I might mention Mr. Clermont +Witt's "How to Look at Pictures," or Mr. Russell Sturgis's "How to Judge +Architecture," as beginnings (merely beginnings) of systematic vitalising +knowledge in other arts, the materials for whose study abound in London. + +"I hate all the arts!" you say. My dear sir, I respect you more and more. + +I will deal with your case next, before coming to literature. + + + + X + + NOTHING IN LIFE IS HUMDRUM + +Art is a great thing. But it is not the greatest. The most important of all +perceptions is the continual perception of cause and effect-in other words, +the perception of the continuous development of the universe-in still other +words, the perception of the course of evolution. When one has thoroughly +got imbued into one's head the leading truth that nothing happens without a +cause, one grows not only large-minded, but large-hearted. + +It is hard to have one's watch stolen, but one reflects that the thief of the +watch became a thief from causes of heredity and environment which are +as interesting as they are scientifically comprehensible; and one buys +another watch, if not with joy, at any rate with a philosophy that makes +bitterness impossible. One loses, in the study of cause and effect, that +absurd air which so many people have of being always shocked and pained +by the curiousness of life. Such people live amid human nature as if human +nature were a foreign country full of awful foreign customs. But, having +reached maturity, one ought surely to be ashamed of being a stranger in a +strange land! + +The study of cause and effect, while it lessens the painfulness of life, adds +to life's picturesqueness. The man to whom evolution is but a name looks +at the sea as a grandiose, monotonous spectacle, which he can witness in +August for three shillings third-class return. The man who is imbued with +the idea of development, of continuous cause and effect, perceives in the +sea an element which in the day-before-yesterday of geology was vapour, +which yesterday was boiling, and which to-morrow will inevitably be ice. + +He perceives that a liquid is merely something on its way to be solid, and +he is penetrated by a sense of the tremendous, changeful picturesqueness of +life. Nothing will afford a more durable satisfaction than the constantly +cultivated appreciation of this. It is the end of all science. + +Cause and effect are to be found everywhere. Rents went up in Shepherd's +Bush. It was painful and shocking that rents should go up in Shepherd's +Bush. But to a certain point we are all scientific students of cause and effect, +and there was not a clerk lunching at a Lyons Restaurant who did not scienti- +fically put two and two together and see in the (once) Two-penny Tube the +cause of an excessive demand for wigwams in Shepherd's Bush, and in the +excessive demand for wigwams the cause of the increase in the price of +wigwams. + +"Simple!" you say, disdainfully. Everything-the whole complex movement +of the universe-is as simple as that-when you can sufficiently put two and +two together. And, my dear sir, perhaps you happen to be an estate agent's +clerk, and you hate the arts, and you want to foster your immortal soul, and +you can't be interested in your business because it's so humdrum. + +Nothing is humdrum. + +The tremendous, changeful picturesqueness of life is marvellously shown +in an estate agent's office. What! There was a block of traffic in Oxford +Street; to avoid the block people actually began to travel under the cellars +and drains, and the result was a rise of rents in Shepherd's Bush! And you +say that isn't picturesque! Suppose you were to study, in this spirit, the +property question in London for an hour and a half every other evening. +Would it not give zest to your business, and transform your whole life? + +You would arrive at more difficult problems. And you would be able to +tell us why, as the natural result of cause and effect, the longest straight +street in London is about a yard and a half in length, while the longest +absolutely straight street in Paris extends for miles. I think you will +admit that in an estate agent's clerk I have not chosen an example that +specially favours my theories. + +You are a bank clerk, and you have not read that breathless romance +(disguised as a scientific study), Walter Bagehot's "Lombard Street"? +Ah, my dear sir, if you had begun with that, and followed it up for ninety +minutes every other evening, how enthralling your business would be to +you, and how much more clearly you would understand human nature. + +You are "penned in town," but you love excursions to the country and +the observation of wild life-certainly a heart-enlarging diversion. Why +don't you walk out of your house door, in your slippers, to the nearest +gas lamp of a night with a butterfly net, and observe the wild life of +common and rare moths that is beating about it, and co-ordinate the +knowledge thus obtained and build a superstructure on it, and at last +get to know something about something? + +You need not be devoted to the arts, not to literature, in order to live fully. + +The whole field of daily habit and scene is waiting to satisfy that curiosity +which means life, and the satisfaction of which means an understanding heart. + +I promised to deal with your case, O man who hates art and literature, and +I have dealt with it. I now come to the case of the person, happily very +common, who does "like reading." + + + + XI + + SERIOUS READING + + +Novels are excluded from "serious reading," so that the man who, bent on +self-improvement, has been deciding to devote ninety minutes three times +a week to a complete study of the works of Charles Dickens will be well +advised to alter his plans. The reason is not that novels are not serious-- +some of the great literature of the world is in the form of prose fiction-- +the reason is that bad novels ought not to be read, and that good novels +never demand any appreciable mental application on the part of the reader. +It is only the bad parts of Meredith's novels that are difficult. A good novel +rushes you forward like a skiff down a stream, and you arrive at the end, +perhaps breathless, but unexhausted. The best novels involve the least +strain. Now in the cultivation of the mind one of the most important factors +is precisely the feeling of strain, of difficulty, of a task which one part of you +is anxious to achieve and another part of you is anxious to shirk; and that f +eeling cannot be got in facing a novel. You do not set your teeth in order to +read "Anna Karenina." Therefore, though you should read novels, you should +not read them in those ninety minutes. + +Imaginative poetry produces a far greater mental strain than novels. It +produces probably the severest strain of any form of literature. It is the +highest form of literature. It yields the highest form of pleasure, and +teaches the highest form of wisdom. In a word, there is nothing to +compare with it. I say this with sad consciousness of the fact that the +majority of people do not read poetry. + +I am persuaded that many excellent persons, if they were confronted +with the alternatives of reading "Paradise Lost" and going round +Trafalgar Square at noonday on their knees in sack-cloth, would +choose the ordeal of public ridicule. Still, I will never cease advising +my friends and enemies to read poetry before anything. + +If poetry is what is called "a sealed book" to you, begin by reading +Hazlitt's famous essay on the nature of "poetry in general." It is the +best thing of its kind in English, and no one who has read it can possibly +be under the misapprehension that poetry is a mediaeval torture, or a +mad elephant, or a gun that will go off by itself and kill at forty paces. +Indeed, it is difficult to imagine the mental state of the man who, after +reading Hazlitt's essay, is not urgently desirous of reading some poetry +before his next meal. If the essay so inspires you I would suggest that +you make a commencement with purely narrative poetry. + +There is an infinitely finer English novel, written by a woman, than +anything by George Eliot or the Brontes, or even Jane Austen, which +perhaps you have not read. Its title is "Aurora Leigh," and its author +E.B. Browning. It happens to be written in verse, and to contain a +considerable amount of genuinely fine poetry. Decide to read that +book through, even if you die for it. Forget that it is fine poetry. +Read it simply for the story and the social ideas. And when you +have done, ask yourself honestly whether you still dislike poetry. +I have known more than one person to whom "Aurora Leigh" has +been the means of proving that in assuming they hated poetry they +were entirely mistaken. + +Of course, if, after Hazlitt, and such an experiment made in the light +of Hazlitt, you are finally assured that there is something in you which +is antagonistic to poetry, you must be content with history or philosophy. +I shall regret it, yet not inconsolably. "The Decline and Fall" is not to be +named in the same day with "Paradise Lost," but it is a vastly pretty thing; +and Herbert Spencer's "First Principles" simply laughs at the claims of +poetry and refuses to be accepted as aught but the most majestic product +of any human mind. I do not suggest that either of these works is suitable +for a tyro in mental strains. But I see no reason why any man of average +intelligence should not, after a year of continuous reading, be fit to assault +the supreme masterpieces of history or philosophy. The great convenience +of masterpieces is that they are so astonishingly lucid. + +I suggest no particular work as a start. The attempt would be futile in the +space of my command. But I have two general suggestions of a certain +importance. The first is to define the direction and scope of your efforts. +Choose a limited period, or a limited subject, or a single author. Say to +yourself: "I will know something about the French Revolution, or the +rise of railways, or the works of John Keats." And during a given period, +to be settled beforehand, confine yourself to your choice. There is much +pleasure to be derived from being a specialist. + +The second suggestion is to think as well as to read. I know people who +read and read, and for all the good it does them they might just as well +cut bread-and-butter. They take to reading as better men take to drink. +They fly through the shires of literature on a motor-car, their sole object +being motion. They will tell you how many books they have read in a year. + +Unless you give at least forty-five minutes to careful, fatiguing reflection +(it is an awful bore at first) upon what you are reading, your ninety minutes +of a night are chiefly wasted. This means that your pace will be slow. + +Never mind. + +Forget the goal; think only of the surrounding country; and after a period, +perhaps when you least expect it, you will suddenly find yourself in a lovely +town on a hill. + + + + XII + + DANGERS TO AVOID + + +I cannot terminate these hints, often, I fear, too didactic and abrupt, upon +the full use of one's time to the great end of living (as distinguished from +vegetating) without briefly referring to certain dangers which lie in wait +for the sincere aspirant towards life. The first is the terrible danger of +becoming that most odious and least supportable of persons--a prig. +Now a prig is a pert fellow who gives himself airs of superior wisdom. +A prig is a pompous fool who has gone out for a ceremonial walk, and +without knowing it has lost an important part of his attire, namely, his +sense of humour. A prig is a tedious individual who, having made a +discovery, is so impressed by his discovery that he is capable of being +gravely displeased because the entire world is not also impressed by it. +Unconsciously to become a prig is an easy and a fatal thing. + +Hence, when one sets forth on the enterprise of using all one's time, it is +just as well to remember that one's own time, and not other people's time, +is the material with which one has to deal; that the earth rolled on pretty +comfortably before one began to balance a budget of the hours, and that it +will continue to roll on pretty comfortably whether or not one succeeds in +one's new role of chancellor of the exchequer of time. It is as well not to +chatter too much about what one is doing, and not to betray a too-pained +sadness at the spectacle of a whole world deliberately wasting so many +hours out of every day, and therefore never really living. It will be found, +ultimately, that in taking care of one's self one has quite all one can do. + +Another danger is the danger of being tied to a programme like a slave to +a chariot. One's programme must not be allowed to run away with one. +It must be respected, but it must not be worshipped as a fetish. A programme +of daily employ is not a religion. + +This seems obvious. Yet I know men whose lives are a burden to themselves + and a distressing burden to their relatives and friends simply because they +have failed to appreciate the obvious. "Oh, no," I have heard the martyred +wife exclaim, "Arthur always takes the dog out for exercise at eight o'clock +and he always begins to read at a quarter to nine. So it's quite out of the +question that we should. . ." etc., etc. And the note of absolute finality in +that plaintive voice reveals the unsuspected and ridiculous tragedy of a career. + +On the other hand, a programme is a programme. And unless it is treated +with deference it ceases to be anything but a poor joke. To treat one's +programme with exactly the right amount of deference, to live with not +too much and not too little elasticity, is scarcely the simple affair it may +appear to the inexperienced. + +And still another danger is the danger of developing a policy of rush, of +being gradually more and more obsessed by what one has to do next. In +this way one may come to exist as in a prison, and ones life may cease to +be one's own. One may take the dog out for a walk at eight o'clock, and +meditate the whole time on the fact that one must begin to read at a quarter +to nine, and that one must not be late. + +And the occasional deliberate breaking of one's programme will not help +to mend matters. The evil springs not from persisting without elasticity +in what one has attempted, but from originally attempting too much, from +filling one's programme till it runs over. The only cure is to reconstitute +the programme, and to attempt less. + +But the appetite for knowledge grows by what it feeds on, and there are +men who come to like a constant breathless hurry of endeavour. Of them +it may be said that a constant breathless hurry is better than an eternal doze. + +In any case, if the programme exhibits a tendency to be oppressive, and +yet one wishes not to modify it, an excellent palliative is to pass with +exaggerated deliberation from one portion of it to another; for example, +to spend five minutes in perfect mental quiescence between chaining up +the St. Bernard and opening the book; in other words, to waste five +minutes with the entire consciousness of wasting them. + +The last, and chiefest danger which I would indicate, is one to which I +have already referred--the risk of a failure at the commencement of the +enterprise. + +I must insist on it. + +A failure at the commencement may easily kill outright the newborn +impulse towards a complete vitality, and therefore every precaution +should be observed to avoid it. The impulse must not be over-taxed. +Let the pace of the first lap be even absurdly slow, but let it be as +regular as possible. + +And, having once decided to achieve a certain task, achieve it at all costs +of tedium and distaste. The gain in self-confidence of having accomplished +a tiresome labour is immense. + +Finally, in choosing the first occupations of those evening hours, be guided +by nothing whatever but your taste and natural inclination. + +It is a fine thing to be a walking encyclopaedia of philosophy, but if you +happen to have no liking for philosophy, and to have a like for the natural +history of street-cries, much better leave philosophy alone, and take to +street-cries. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext How to Live on 24 Hours a Day, by Bennett + |