soul over again!" Well, in a slightly more abstract form, it is. (I
never said I had discovered anything new.) I do not permit myself to
be dogmatic about the persistence of personality, or even of
individuality after death. But, in basing my physical and mental life
on the assumption that there is something in me which is
indestructible and essentially changeless, I go no further than
science points. Yes, if it gives you pleasure, let us call it the
immortality of the soul. If I miss my train, or my tailor disgraces
himself, or I lose that earthly manifestation of Force that happens to
be dearest to me, I say to my mind: "Mind, concentrate your powers
upon the full realization of the fact that I, your master, am immortal
and beyond the reach of accidents." And my mind, knowing by this time
that I am a hard master, obediently does so. Am I, a portion of the
Infinite Force that existed billions of years ago, and which will
exist billions of years hence, going to allow myself to be worried by
any terrestrial physical or mental event? I am not. As for the
vicissitudes of my body, that servant of my servant, it had better
keep its place, and not make too much fuss. Not that any fuss
occurring in either of these outward envelopes of the eternal _me_
could really disturb me. The eternal is calm; it has the best reason
for being so.
So you say to yourselves: "Here is a man in a penny weekly paper
advocating daily meditation upon the immortality of the soul as a cure
for discontent and unhappiness! A strange phenomenon!" That it should
be strange is an indictment of the epoch. My only reply to you is
this: Try it. Of course, I freely grant that such meditation, while it
"casts out fear," slowly kills desire and makes for a certain high
indifference; and that the extinguishing of desire, with an
accompanying indifference, be it high or low, is bad for youth. But I
am not a youth, and to-day I am writing for those who have tasted
disillusion: which youth has not. Yet I would not have you believe
that I scorn the brief joys of this world. My attitude towards them
would fain be that of Socrates, as stated by the incomparable Marcus
Aurelius: "He knew how to lack, and how to enjoy, those things in the
lack whereof most men show themselves weak; and in the fruition,
intemperate."
Besides commanding my mind to dwell upon the indestructibly and final
omnipotence of the Force which is me, I command it to dwell upon the
logical consequence of that _unity_ of force which science is now
beginning to teach. The same essential force that is _me_ is also
_you_. Says the Indian proverb: "I met a hundred men on the road to
Delhi, and they were all my brothers." Yes, and they were all my twin
brothers, if I may so express it, and a thousand times closer to me
even than the common conception of twin brothers. We are all of us the
same in essence; what separates us is merely differences in our
respective stages of evolution. Constant reflection upon this fact
must produce that universal sympathy which alone can produce a
positive content. It must do away with such ridiculous feelings as
blame, irritation, anger, resentment. It must establish in the mind an
all-embracing tolerance. Until a man can look upon the drunkard in his
drunkenness, and upon the wife-beater in his brutality, with pure and
calm compassion; until his heart goes out instinctively to every other
manifestation of the unique Force; until he is surcharged with an
eager and unconquerable benevolence towards everything that lives;
until he has utterly abandoned the presumptuous practice of judging
and condemning--he will never attain real content. "Ah!" you exclaim
again, "he has nothing newer to tell us than that 'the greatest of
these is charity'!" I have not. It may strike you as excessively
funny, but I have discovered nothing newer than that. I merely remind
you of it. Thus it is, twins on the road to Delhi, by continual
meditation upon the indestructibility of Force, that I try to
cultivate calm, and by continual meditation upon the oneness of Force
that I try to cultivate charity, being fully convinced that in
calmness and in charity lies the secret of a placid if not ecstatic
happiness. It is often said that no thinking person can be happy in
this world. My view is that the more a man thinks the more happy he is
likely to be. I have spoken. I am overwhelmingly aware that I have
spoken crudely, abruptly, inadequately, confusedly.
THE END
THE NOVELS OF ARNOLD BENNETT
WHOM GOD HATH JOINED:
Price $1.20 Net
WHOM GOD HATH JOINED is a dramatic presentation of the working of the
English divorce laws. Their injustice to woman has long been
acknowledged; Arnold Bennett proves them almost as unjust to man.
The novel is a stern morality, with laughter interspersed. It
possesses the sincerity and vitality which come of a careful study of
the problem.
It contains passages of the most brilliant motive analysis which have
been written in recent years. It presents a vivid world of actual
personages.
THE GLIMPSE:
_The Adventures of a Soul._ Price $1.20 Net
The story is told of a man who passed over to the Other Side and
remained there long enough to gain a glimpse--only to return again.
Written with the careful realism which distinguishes all Arnold
Bennett's work, it is curious to note the fine use that he makes of
his realistic genius in the handling of a visionary situation.
A MAN FROM THE NORTH:
Price $1.20 Net
The story of a young man from the Five Towns, who comes up London to
seek his fortune. He is grossly ignorant of life and naively curious
about love. This is the history of his adventures towards love and of
his enlightenment.
All the loneliness, passion and quenchless curiosity of youth are in
these pages--and the magic power of youth to wrap about the
commonplace the cloak of romance.
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY, Publishers
ARNOLD BENNETT: PLAYS
CUPID AND COMMON-SENSE:
_A Play in Four Acts, with a Preface on the Crisis in the Theatre._
Price $1.00 Net
"Cupid and Common-Sense" reads well, and reads as if it would prove
still more effective and enjoyable when acted.--_The Scotsman._
WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS: A Play.
Price $1.00 Net
This clever comedy, based on modern neswpaperdom, reveals Arnold
Bennett in another phase.
POLITE FARCES: Three Plays.
Price $1.00 Net
The three farces which comprise this book deal with possible domestic
and refined crises of everyday life.
THE HONEYMOON:
_A Comedy in Three Acts._ Price $1.00 Net
Originality without grotesquerie and satire without malice combine to
make a play that is full of sparkle and genuine charm.
THE GREAT ADVENTURE:
_A Play of Fancy in Four Acts._ Price $1.00 Net
The play based on Mr. Bennett's successful novel, "Buried Alive." As
the novel stands out among humorous fiction so THE GREAT ADVENTURE
stands out among modern comedies.
ARNOLD BENNETT AND EDWARD KNOBLAUCH
MILESTONES:
_A Play in Three Acts._ Price $1.00 Net
This is the play which has created a sensation because of its boldness
and novelty. It passes, in rapid survey, three generations--the
milestones of the last half century. A big New York success.
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY, Publishers
* * * * *
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
| Typographical errors corrected in text: |
| |
| Page 110: artificialties replaced with artificialities |
| Page 114: prevades replaced with pervades |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
* * * * *