pages contain a sort of recurring protest against the boast of certain writers that they are merely recent.  They brag that their philosophy of the universe is the last philosophy or the new philosophy, or the advanced and 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 unphilosophical a name.  It is incomprehensible to me that any thinker can calmly call himself a modernist; he might as well call himself a Thursdayite.  But apart altogether from that particular disturbance, I am conscious of a general irritation expressed against the people who boast of their advancement and modernity in the discussion of religion.  But I never succeeded in saying the quite clear and obvious thing that is really the matter with modernism.  The real objection to modernism is simply that it is a form of snobbishness.  It is an attempt to crush a rational opponent not by reason, but by some mystery of superiority, by hinting that one is specially up to date or particularly “in the know.”  To flaunt the fact that we have had all the last books from Germany is simply vulgar; like flaunting the fact that we have had all the last bonnets from Paris.  To introduce into philosophical discussions a sneer at a creed’s antiquity is like introducing a sneer at a lady’s age.  It is caddish because it is irrelevant.  The pure modernist is merely a snob; he cannot bear to be a month behind the fashion Similarly I find that I have tried in these pages to express the real objection to philanthropists and have not succeeded.  I have not seen the quite simple objection to the causes advocated by certain wealthy idealists; causes of which the cause called teetotalism is the strongest case.  I have used many abusive terms about the thing, calling it Puritanism, or superciliousness, or aristocracy; but I have not seen and stated the quite simple objection to philanthropy; which is that it is religious persecution.  Religious persecution does not consist in thumbscrews or fires of Smithfield; the essence of religious persecution is this:  that the man who happens to have material power in the State, either by wealth or by official position, should govern his fellow-citizens not according to their religion or philosophy, but according to his own.  If, for instance, there is such a thing as a vegetarian nation; if there is a great united mass of men who wish to live by the vegetarian morality, then I say in the emphatic words of the arrogant French marquis before the French Revolution, “Let them eat grass.”  Perhaps that French oligarch was a humanitarian; most oligarchs are.  Perhaps when he told the peasants to eat grass he was recommending to them the hygienic simplicity of a vegetarian restaurant.  But that is an irrelevant, though most fascinating, speculation.  The point here is that if a nation