We have no peace of mind.
And here is the question of it that the theologists and the scientists have not yet hit upon:
So long as one man suffers unjustly from his fellows, be he yellow or black or white, there shall be no peace of mind for anybody.
And here is the demonstration:
Whatever Man does that he should not, and knows he should not, and whatever man does not, that he knows he should, becomes the substance of the fear of every man, lest it happen to him in his turn.
Integrity of man to man is not a paltering "ideal"; it is man's most essential ingredient, for it measures his potential for continuum in the sufficient space and patient time of God.
Whoever thinks to have peace of mind, these days, is therefore the figment of his own imagination; whoever wants it for himself without thought to others is a criminal.
Only the man-concerned ever knows that fragmented trifle of tranquillity permitted by our noxious times and customs. The rest are dead already in their souls—of science, of religion, of egoistic lust, of a deliberate return to childishness, of every fatal evidence of our plague.
Now a man—the Englishman—opened a newspaper noisily at his table across from me.
This is what I read: