How to Live on 24 Hours a Day begins with a financial analogy: just as we criticise those who fritter away money while remaining blind to our own waste, we fritter away time without noticing, because its daily supply appears automatic. Bennett's argument is that time is more precious than money, since it cannot be borrowed, saved up, or increased, and that the right use of the twenty-four hours one is handed each morning is the supreme practical question of life.
The book identifies a general attitude that underlies most of the waste: the habit of treating the eight hours of employment as the real day and the remaining sixteen as fringe. This attitude is, in Bennett's word, illogical, because it makes a person's whole life subservient to the portion he most wants to escape. The corrective is to arrange, in the mind, a day within a day: one that begins at six in the evening and ends when work resumes, and that belongs entirely to the person's own cultivation.
Bennett's practical programme is deliberately small. He asks for half an hour on six mornings a week, spent in focused thought during the commute, and ninety minutes on three evenings a week, leaving three evenings free for ordinary sociability. He is emphatic that even this modest plan represents a change of habits, that habits resist change, and that a too-ambitious beginning is the most common cause of failure. A petty success that is sustained is worth more than a glorious effort that collapses in week three.
The morning half-hour is devoted to training concentration: choosing a subject and repeatedly hauling the mind back to it whenever it wanders. The evenings are then given to reflection and study. Bennett recommends beginning with self-examination, the honest review of one's principles and whether conduct accords with them, and proceeding to systematic reading in history, philosophy, or whichever field genuinely interests the reader. He is careful to exclude novels from this kind of reading on the grounds that good novels require no mental strain, and strain is precisely what develops the mind.
The final chapter on dangers is as important as the prescriptions that precede it. Bennett warns against priggishness, the smug superiority of the newly self-improving, and against turning a programme into a fetish. The schedule must be respected but not worshipped; elasticity is as necessary as regularity. Above all, the reader is warned not to fill the programme so full that it becomes a breathless rush from one obligation to another, for in that condition one has exchanged one form of unfreedom for another.