tion would be itself a science, and would be, moreover, the science of science generally. It is impossible to determine in advance of the investigation whether such an answer is possible or not; that is, whether our whole knowledge has a cognizable, firm basis, or whether it rests, after all—however closely its separate parts may be connected—upon nothing, that is to say, upon nothing for us. But if our knowledge is to have a basis for us, then such an answer must be possible, and there must be a science which gives this answer. And if there is such a science, then our knowledge has a cognizable ground. Hence, in advance of the investigation, it is impossible to say whether our knowledge has a basis or has no basis at all; and the possibility of the science in question can only be demonstrated by its actual realization.
The naming of such a science, whereof the very possibility is as yet problematical, is altogether arbitrary. Still, if it should appear that all the territory hitherto considered useful for the cultivation of sciences has already been appropriated, and that only one piece of uncultivated land has been left vacant for the science of all other sciences; and if, moreover, it should appear that under a well-known name—the name of Philosophy—the idea of a science exists which pretends to be, or wishes to be, also a science, and is only in doubt where to settle down; then it might not be improper to assign this science to the empty and uncultivated place. Whether the word Philosophy has hitherto signified pre-
