How to Live on Twenty-Four Hours a Day
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
VIII THE REFLECTIVE MOOD
The exercise of concentrating the mind (to which at least half an hour aday should be given) is a mere preliminary, like scales on the piano.Having acquired power over that most unruly member of one's complexorganism, one has naturally to put it to the yoke. Useless to possess anobedient mind unless one profits to the furthest possible degree by itsobedience. 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 areagreed upon it. And it is not literature, nor is it any other art, nor is ithistory, nor is it any science. It is the study of one's self. Man, knowthyself. 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 myblush, being ashamed of it.) Man, know thyself. I say it out loud. Thephrase is one of those phrases with which everyone is familiar, of whicheveryone acknowledges the value, and which only the most sagacious putinto practice. I don't know why. I am entirely convinced that what is morethan anything else lacking in the life of the average well-intentioned manof to-day is the reflective mood.
We do not reflect. I mean that we do not reflect upon genuinely importantthings; upon the problem of our happiness, upon the main direction in whichwe 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 ourprinciples 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 alreadycome to believe that happiness is unattainable. But men have attained it.And they have attained it by realising that happiness does not spring fromthe procuring of physical or mental pleasure, but from the development ofreason and the adjustment of conduct to principles.
I suppose that you will not have the audacity to deny this. And if you admitit, and still devote no part of your day to the deliberate consideration of yourreason, principles, and conduct, you admit also that while striving for acertain thing you are regularly leaving undone the one act which is necessaryto 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 carenot (in this place) what your principles are. Your principles may induce you tobelieve in the righteousness of burglary. I don't mind. All I urge is that a lifein which conduct does not fairly well accord with principles is a silly life; andthat conduct can only be made to accord with principles by means of dailyexamination, reflection, and resolution. What leads to the permanent sorrow-fulness of burglars is that their principles are contrary to burglary. If theygenuinely believed in the moral excellence of burglary, penal servitude wouldsimply mean so many happy years for them; all martyrs are happy years forthem; all martyrs are happy, because their conduct and their principles agree.
As for reason (which makes conduct, and is not unconnected with the makingof principles), it plays a far smaller part in our lives than we fancy. We aresupposed 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 youget cross with the waiter because your steak is over-cooked, ask reason tostep into the cabinet-room of your mind, and consult her. She will probablytell you that the waiter did not cook the steak, and had no control over thecooking of the steak; and that even if he alone was to blame, you accomplishednothing good by getting cross; you merely lost your dignity, looked a fool inthe eyes of sensible men, and soured the waiter, while producing no effectwhatever 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 thewaiter as a fellow-creature, remain quite calm in a kindly spirit, and politelyinsist 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 andupwards). 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 donot catch me travelling without my Marcus Aurelius. Yes, books arevaluable. 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 aboutto do--of a steady looking at one's self in the face (disconcerting thoughthe sight may be).
When shall this important business be accomplished? The solitude of theevening journey home appears to me to be suitable for it. A reflectivemood naturally follows the exertion of having earned the day's living.Of course if, instead of attending to an elementary and profoundly importantduty, you prefer to read the paper (which you might just as well read whilewaiting for your dinner) I have nothing to say. But attend to it at some timeof the day you must. I now come to the evening hours.