How to Live on Twenty-Four Hours a Day
阿诺德.本涅特 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 thissmall work, and many reviews of it--some of them nearly as longas the book itself--have been printed. But scarcely any of thecomment has been adverse. Some people have objected to afrivolity of tone; but as the tone is not, in my opinion, at allfrivolous, this objection did not impress me; and had no weightierreproach been put forward I might almost have been persuaded thatthe volume was flawless! A more serious stricture has, however,been offered--not in the press, but by sundry obviously sincerecorrespondents--and I must deal with it. A reference to page 43will show that I anticipated and feared this disapprobation. Thesentence against which protests have been made is as follows:--"In the majority of instances he (the typical man) does notprecisely feel a passion for his business; at best he does not dislikeit. He begins his business functions with some reluctance, as lateas he can, and he ends them with joy, as early as he can. And hisengines, while he is engaged in his business, are seldom at theirfull 'h.p.'"
I am assured, in accents of unmistakable sincerity, that there aremany business men--not merely those in high positions or with fineprospects, but modest subordinates with no hope of ever beingmuch better off--who do enjoy their business functions, who do notshirk 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 theirforce into their day's work and are genuinely fatigued at the endthereof.
I am ready to believe it. I do believe it. I know it. I always knewit. Both in London and in the provinces it has been my lot to spendlong years in subordinate situations of business; and the fact didnot escape me that a certain proportion of my peers showed whatamounted to an honest passion for their duties, and that whileengaged in those duties they were really *living* to the fullestextent of which they were capable. But I remain convinced thatthese fortunate and happy individuals (happier perhaps than theyguessed) did not and do not constitute a majority, or anything likea majority. I remain convinced that the majority of decent averageconscientious men of business (men with aspirations and ideals) donot as a rule go home of a night genuinely tired. I remainconvinced that they put not as much but as little of themselves asthey conscientiously can into the earning of a livelihood, and thattheir vocation bores rather than interests them.
Nevertheless, I admit that the minority is of sufficient importanceto merit attention, and that I ought not to have ignored it socompletely as I did do. The whole difficulty of the hard-workingminority was put in a single colloquial sentence by one of mycorrespondents. He wrote: "I am just as keen as anyone on doingsomething to 'exceed my programme,' but allow me to tell you thatwhen I get home at six thirty p.m. I am not anything like so freshas you seem to imagine."
Now I must point out that the case of the minority, who throwthemselves with passion and gusto into their daily business task, isinfinitely less deplorable than the case of the majority, who gohalf-heartedly and feebly through their official day. The former areless in need of advice "how to live." At any rate during theirofficial day of, say, eight hours they are really alive; their enginesare giving the full indicated "h.p." The other eight working hoursof their day may be badly organised, or even frittered away; but itis less disastrous to waste eight hours a day than sixteen hours aday; 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 effortneither in the office nor out of it, and to this man this book isprimarily addressed. "But," says the other and more fortunate man,"although my ordinary programme is bigger than his, I want toexceed 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 officialday."
The fact is, I, the author, ought to have foreseen that I shouldappeal most strongly to those who already had an interest inexistence. It is always the man who has tasted life who demandsmore of it. And it is always the man who never gets out of bedwho is the most difficult to rouse.
Well, you of the minority, let us assume that the intensity of yourdaily money-getting will not allow you to carry out quite all thesuggestions in the following pages. Some of the suggestions mayyet stand. I admit that you may not be able to use the time spenton the journey home at night; but the suggestion for the journey tothe 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 slightaccumulation of fatigue may prevent you from employing thewhole of your "h.p." upon it. There remains, then, the importantportion of the three or more evenings a week. You tell me flatlythat you are too tired to do anything outside your programme atnight. In reply to which I tell you flatly that if your ordinary day'swork is thus exhausting, then the balance of your life is wrong andmust be adjusted. A man's powers ought not to be monopolised byhis ordinary day's work. What, then, is to be done?
The obvious thing to do is to circumvent your ardour for yourordinary day's work by a ruse. Employ your engines in somethingbeyond the programme before, and not after, you employ them onthe programme itself. Briefly, get up earlier in the morning. Yousay you cannot. You say it is impossible for you to go earlier tobed of a night--to do so would upset the entire household. I do notthink it is quite impossible to go to bed earlier at night. I think thatif you persist in rising earlier, and the consequence is insufficiencyof sleep, you will soon find a way of going to bed earlier. But myimpression is that the consequences of rising earlier will not be aninsufficiency of sleep. My impression, growing stronger everyyear, is that sleep is partly a matter of habit--and of slackness. I amconvinced that most people sleep as long as they do because theyare at a loss for any other diversion. How much sleep do you thinkis daily obtained by the powerful healthy man who daily rattles upyour street in charge of Carter Patterson's van? I have consulted adoctor on this point. He is a doctor who for twenty-four years hashad a large general practice in a large flourishing suburb ofLondon, inhabited by exactly such people as you and me. He is acurt 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 havebetter health and more fun out of life if they spent less time in bed.
Other doctors have confirmed this judgment, which, of course, doesnot apply to growing youths.
Rise an hour, an hour and a half, or even two hours earlier; and--ifyou must--retire earlier when you can. In the matter of exceedingprogrammes, you will accomplish as much in one morning hour asin two evening hours. "But," you say, "I couldn't begin withoutsome food, and servants." Surely, my dear sir, in an age when anexcellent spirit-lamp (including a saucepan) can be bought for lessthan a shilling, you are not going to allow your highest welfare todepend upon the precarious immediate co-operation of a fellowcreature! Instruct the fellow creature, whoever she may be, atnight. Tell her to put a tray in a suitable position over night. Onthat tray two biscuits, a cup and saucer, a box of matches and aspirit-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 tostrike a match--that is all. In three minutes the water boils, and youpour it into the teapot (which is already warm). In three more minutesthe tea is infused. You can begin your day while drinking it. Thesedetails may seem trivial to the foolish, but to the thoughtful they willnot seem trivial. The proper, wise balancing of one's whole life maydepend upon the feasibility of a cup of tea at an unusual hour.
A. B.