THE HUMAN MACHINE BY ARNOLD BENNETT _First Published November 1908 Second Edition September 1910 Third Edition April 1911 Fourth Edition August 1912 Fifth Edition January 1913 Sixth Edition August 1913_ CONTENTS I TAKING ONESELF FOR GRANTED II AMATEURS IN THE ART OF LIVING III THE BRAIN AS A GENTLEMAN-AT-LARGE IV THE FIRST PRACTICAL STEP V HABIT-FORMING BY CONCENTRATION VI LORD OVER THE NODDLE VII WHAT 'LIVING' CHIEFLY IS VIII THE DAILY FRICTION IX 'FIRE!' X MISCHIEVOUSLY OVERWORKING IT XI AN INTERLUDE XII AN INTEREST IN LIFE XIII SUCCESS AND FAILURE XIV A MAN AND HIS ENVIRONMENT XV L.S.D. XVI REASON, REASON! I TAKING ONESELF FOR GRANTED There are men who are capable of loving a machine more deeply than they can love a woman. They are among the happiest men on earth. This is not a sneer meanly shot from cover at women. It is simply a statement of notorious fact. Men who worry themselves to distraction over the perfecting of a machine are indubitably blessed beyond their kind. Most of us have known such men. Yesterday they were constructing motorcars. But to-day aeroplanes are in the air--or, at any rate, they ought to be, according to the inventors. Watch the inventors. Invention is not usually their principal business. They must invent in their spare time. They must invent before breakfast, invent in the Strand between Lyons's and the office, invent after dinner, invent on Sundays. See with what ardour they rush home of a night! See how they seize a half-holiday, like hungry dogs a bone! They don't want golf, bridge, limericks, novels, illustrated magazines, clubs, whisky, starting-prices, hints about neckties, political meetings, yarns, comic songs, anturic salts, nor the smiles that are situate between a gay corsage and a picture hat. They never wonder, at a loss, what they will do next. Their evenings never drag--are always too short. You may, indeed, catch them at twelve o'clock at night on the flat of their backs; but not in bed! No, in a shed, under a machine, holding a candle (whose paths drop fatness) up to the connecting-rod that is strained, or the wheel that is out of centre. They are continually interested, nay, enthralled. They have a machine, and they are perfecting it. They get one part right, and then another goes wrong; and they get that right, and then another goes wrong, and so on. When they are quite sure they have reached perfection, forth issues the machine out of the shed--and in five minutes is smashed up, together with a limb or so of the inventors, just because they had been quite sure too soon. Then the whole business starts again. They do not give up--that particular wreck was, of course, due to a mere oversight; the whole business starts again. For they have glimpsed perfection; they have the gleam of perfection in their souls. Thus their lives run away. 'They will never fly!' you remark, cynically. Well, if they don't?