I have dealt with the two general major causes of friction¹ in the daily use of the machine. I will now deal with a minor² cause, and make an end of mere³ dailiness. This minor cause—and after all I do not know that its results are so trifling⁴ as to justify⁵ the epithet⁶ 'minor'—is the straining of the machine by forcing it to do work which it was never intended to do. Although we are incapable⁷ of persuading our machines to do effectively that which they are bound to do somehow, we continually overburden them with entirely⁸ unnecessary and inept⁹ tasks. We cannot, it would seem, let things alone.  
For example, in the ordinary household the amount of machine horse-power expended¹⁰ in fighting for the truth is really quite absurd. This pure zeal¹¹ for the establishment and general admission of the truth is usually termed 'contradictoriness¹².' But, of course, it is not that; it is something higher. My wife states that the Joneses have gone into a new flat, of which the rent is £165 a year. Now, Jones has told me personally that the rent of his new flat is £156 a year. I correct my wife. Knowing that she is in the right, she corrects me. She cannot bear that a falsehood should prevail. It is not a question of £9, it is a question of truth. Her enthusiasm for truth excites my enthusiasm for truth. Five minutes ago I didn't care twopence whether the rent of the Joneses' new flat was £165 or £156 or £1056 a year. But now I care intensely that it is £156. I have formed myself into a select society for the propagating of the truth about the rent of the Joneses' new flat, and my wife has done the same. In eloquence¹³, in argumentative skill, in strict supervision¹⁴ of our tempers, we each of us squander¹⁵ enormous quantities of that h.-p. which is so precious to us. And the net effect is naught¹⁶.
 
Now, if one of us two had understood the elementary principles of human engineering, that one would have said (privately): 'Truth is indestructible. Truth will out. Truth is never in a hurry. If it doesn't come out to-day it will come out to-morrow or next year. It can take care of itself. Ultimately my wife (or my husband) will learn the essential cosmic truth about the rent of the Joneses' new flat. I already know it, and the moment when she (or he) knows it also will be the moment of my triumph. She (or he) will not celebrate my triumph openly, but it will be none the less real. And my reputation for accuracy and calm restraint will be consolidated¹⁷. If, by a rare mischance, I am in error, it will be vastly better for me in the day of my undoing¹⁸ that I have not been too positive now. Besides, nobody has appointed me sole custodian¹⁹ of the great truth concerning the rent of the Joneses' new flat. I was not brought into the world to be a safe-deposit, and more urgent matters summon me to effort.' If one of us had meditated²⁰ thus, much needless friction would have been avoided and power saved; amour-propre would not have been exposed to risks; the sacred cause of truth would not in the least have suffered; and the rent of the Joneses' new flat would anyhow have remained exactly what it is.
 
In addition to straining the machine by our excessive anxiety for the spread of truth, we give a very great deal too much attention to the state of other people's machines. I cannot too strongly, too sarcastically²¹, deprecate this astonishing habit. It will be found to be rife²² in nearly every household and in nearly every office. We are most of us endeavouring to rearrange the mechanism²³ in other heads than our own. This is always dangerous and generally futile²⁴. Considering the difficulty we have in our own brains, where our efforts are sure of being accepted as well-meant, and where we have at any rate a rough notion of the machine's construction, our intrepidity²⁵ in adventuring among the delicate adjustments of other brains is

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