round him that the stars swung. All the tortures torn out of
forgotten hells could not make him admit that he was heretical.
But a few modern phrases have made him boast of it. He says,
with a conscious laugh, "I suppose I am very heretical," and looks
round for applause. The word "heresy" not only means no longer
being wrong; it practically means being clear-headed and courageous.
The word "orthodoxy" not only no longer means being right;
it practically means being wrong. All this can mean one thing,
and one thing only. It means that people care less for whether
they are philosophically right. For obviously a man ought
to confess himself crazy before he confesses himself heretical.
The Bohemian, with a red tie, ought to pique himself on his orthodoxy.
The dynamiter, laying a bomb, ought to feel that, whatever else he is,
at least he is orthodox.

It is foolish, generally speaking, for a philosopher to set fire
to another philosopher in Smithfield Market because they do not agree
in their theory of the universe. That was done very frequently
in the last decadence of the Middle Ages, and it failed altogether
in its object. But there is one thing that is infinitely more
absurd and unpractical than burning a man for his philosophy.
This is the habit of saying that his philosophy does not matter,
and this is done universally in the twentieth century,
in the decadence of the great revolutionary period.
General theories are everywhere contemned; the doctrine of the Rights
of Man is dismissed with the doctrine of the Fall of Man.
Atheism itself is too theological for us to-day. Revolution itself
is too much of a system; liberty itself is too much of a restraint.
We will have no generalizations. Mr. Bernard Shaw has put the view
in a perfect epigram: "The golden rule is that there is no golden rule."