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.