"Is it true?" is never a
disturbing one, nor does it lead to a troublesome investigation of
matters of fact. His definition of truth has the virtue of perfect
simplicity,--"A truth is that which has got itself believed by me." His
thoughts form an exclusive club, and when a new idea applies for
admission it is placed on the waiting list. A single black-ball from an
old member is sufficient permanently to exclude it. When an idea is once
in, it has a very pleasant time of it. All the opinions it meets with
are clubable, and on good terms with one another. Whether any of them
are related to any reality outside their own little circle would be a
question that it would be impolite to ask. It would be like asking a
correctly attired member who was punctilious in paying his club dues,
whether he had also paid his tailor. To the Doctrinaire there seems
something sordid and vulgar in the anxiety to make the two ends--theory
and practice--meet. It seems to indicate that one is not intellectually
in comfortable circumstances.

The Doctrinaire, when he has conceived certain ideals, is not content
that they should be cast upon the actual world, to take their chances
in the rough-and-tumble struggle for existence, proving their right to
the kingdom by actually conquering it, inch by inch. He cannot endure
such tedious delays. He must have the satisfaction of seeing his ideals
instantly realized. The ideal life must be lived under ideal conditions.
And so, for his private satisfaction, he creates for himself such a
world into which he retires.

It is a world of natural law, as he understands natural law. There are
no exceptions, no deviation from general principles, no shadings off, no
fascinating obscurities, no rude practical jokes, no undignified
by-play, no "east windows of divine surprise," no dark unfathomable
abysses. He would not allow such things. In his world the unexpected
never happens. The endless chain of causation runs smoothly. Every event
has a cause, and the cause is never tangled up with the effect, so that
you cannot tell where one begins and the other ends. He is
intellectually tidy, and everything must be in its place. If something
turns up for which he cannot find a place, he sends it to the junk shop.

When the Doctrinaire descends from the homogeneous world which he has
constructed, into the actual world which, in the attempt to get itself
made, is becoming more amazingly heterogeneous all the time, he is i