I cannot understand the people who take literature seriously; but I can love them, and I do. Outof my love I warn them to keep clear of this book. It is a collection of crude and shapeless papersupon current or rather flying subjects; and they must be published pretty much as they stand.They were written, as a rule, at the last moment; they were handed in the moment before it wastoo late, and I do not think that our commonwealth would have been shaken to its foundations ifthey had been handed in the moment after. They must go out now, with all their imperfections ontheir head, or rather on mine; for their vices are too vital to be improved with a blue pencil, orwith anything I can think of, except dynamite.Their chief vice is that so many of them are very serious; because I had no time to make themflippant. It is so easy to be solemn; it is so hard to be frivolous. Let any honest reader shut hiseyes for a few moments, and approaching the secret tribunal of his soul, ask himself whether hewould really rather be asked in the next two hours to write the front page of the Times, which isfull of long leading articles, or the front page of Tit-Bits, which is full of short jokes. If the readeris the fine conscientious fellow I take him for, he will at once reply that he would rather on thespur of the moment write ten Times articles than one Tit-Bits joke. Responsibility, a heavy andcautious responsibility of speech, is the easiest thing in the world; anybody can do it. That is whyso many tired, elderly, and wealthy men go in for politics. They are responsible, because theyhave not the strength of mind left to be irresponsible. It is more dignified to sit still than to dancethe Barn Dance. It is also easier. So in these easy pages I keep myself on the whole on the levelof the Times: it is only occasionally that I leap upwards almost to the level of Tit-Bits.I resume the defence of this indefensible book. These articles have another disadvantagearising from the scurry in which they were written; they are too long-winded and elaborate. Oneof the great disadvantages of hurry is that it takes such a long time. If I have to start for Highgate this day week, I may perhaps go the shortest way. If I have to start this minute, I shallalmost certainly go the longest. In these essays (as I read them over) I feel frightfully annoyedwith myself for not getting to the point more quickly; but I had not enough leisure to be quick.There are several maddening cases in which I took two or three pages in attempting to describean attitude of which the essence could be expressed in an epigram; only there was no time forepigrams. I do not repent of one shade of opinion here expressed; but I feel that they might havebeen expressed so much more briefly and precisely. For instance, these pages contain a sort ofrecurring protest against the boast of certain writers that they are merely recent. They brag thattheir philosophy of the universe is the last philosophy or the new philosophy, or the advancedand progressive philosophy. I have said much against a mere modernism. When I use the word"modernism," I am not alluding specially to the current quarrel in the Roman Catholic Church, though I am certainly astonished at any intellectual group accepting so weak and unphilosophicala name. It is incomprehensible to me that any thinker can calmly call himself a modernist; hemight as well call himself a Thursdayite