ts; it was the hands of the indifferent that turned the rack.
There have come some persecutions out of the pain of a passionate
certainty; but these produced, not bigotry, but fanaticism--a very
different and a somewhat admirable thing. Bigotry in the main has
always been the pervading omnipotence of those who do not care crushing
out those who care in darkness and blood.

There are people, however, who dig somewhat deeper than this into the
possible evils of dogma. It is felt by many that strong philosophical
conviction, while it does not (as they perceive) produce that sluggish
and fundamentally frivolous condition which we call bigotry, does
produce a certain concentration, exaggeration, and moral impatience,
which we may agree to call fanaticism. They say, in brief, that ideas
are dangerous things. In politics, for example, it is commonly urged
against a man like Mr. Balfour, or against a man like Mr. John Morley,
that a wealth of ideas is dangerous. The true doctrine on this point,
again, is surely not very difficult to state. Ideas are dangerous, but
the man to whom they are least dangerous is the man of ideas. He is
acquainted with ideas, and moves among them like a lion-tamer. Ideas
are dangerous, but the man to whom they are most dangerous is the man
of no ideas. The man of no ideas will find the first idea fly to his
head like wine to the head of a teetotaller. It is a common error, I
think, among the Radical idealists of my own party and period to
suggest that financiers and business men are a danger to the empire
because they are so sordid or so materialistic. The truth is that
financiers and business men are a danger to the empire because they can
be sentimental about any sentiment, and idealistic about any ideal, any
ideal that they find lying about. just as a boy who has not known much
of women is apt too easily to take a woman for the woman, so these
practical men, unaccustomed to causes, are always inclined to think
that if a thing is proved to be an ideal it is proved to be the ideal.
Many, for example, avowedly followed Cecil Rhodes because he had a
vision. They might as well have followed him because he had a nose; a
man without some kind of dream of perfection is quite as much of a
monstrosity as a noseless man. People say of such a figure, in almost
feverish whispers, "He knows his own mind," which is exactly like
saying in equally feverish whispers, "He blows his own nose." Human
nature simp