But can one write philosophical books without using words which are not in common use among the unphilosophic?  I doubt it.  Some such words it seems impossible to avoid.  However, it does seem possible to bear in mind the dangers of a special philosophical terminology and to reduce such words to a minimum.

Finally, we may appeal to the humanity of the philosopher.  The path to reflection is a sufficiently difficult one as it is; why should he roll rocks upon it and compel those who come after him to climb over them?  If truths are no truer for being expressed in a repellent form, why should he trick them out in a fantastic garb?  What we want is the naked truth, and we lose time and patience in freeing our mummy from the wrappings in which learned men have seen fit to encase it.

93.  DO NOT HASTILY ACCEPT A DOCTRINE.—­This brings me to the last of the maxims which I urge upon the attention of the reader.  All that has been said so far may be regarded as leading up to it.

The difficulty that confronts us is this:  On the one hand, we must recognize the uncertainty that reigns in this field of investigation.  We must ever weigh probabilities and possibilities; we do not find ourselves in the presence of indubitable truths which all competent persons stand ready to admit.  This seems to argue that we should learn to suspend judgment, and should be most wary in our acceptance of one philosophical doctrine and our rejection of another.

On the other hand, philosophy is not a mere matter of intellectual curiosity.  It has an intimate connection with life.  As a man thinks, so is he, to a great extent, at least.  How, then, can one afford to remain critical and negative?  To counsel this seems equivalent to advising that one abandon the helm and consent to float at the mercy of wind and tide.

The difficulty is a very real one.  It presents itself insistently to those who have attained to that degree of intellectual development at which one begins to ask oneself questions and to reflect upon the worth and meaning of life.  An unreflective adherence to tradition no longer satisfies such persons.  They wish to know why they should believe in this or that doctrine, and why they should rule their lives in harmony with this or that maxim.  Shall we advise them to lay hold without delay of a set of philosophical tenets, as we might advise a disabled man to aid himself with any staff that happens to come to hand?  Or shall we urge them to close their eyes to the light, and to go back again to the old unreflective life?

Neither of these counsels seems satisfactory, for both assume tacitly that it does not much matter what the truth is, and that we can afford to disregard it.