The case, then, stands thus: a certain group of disciplines is regarded
as falling peculiarly within the province of the professor of
philosophy, and the sciences which constitute it are frequently called
the philosophical sciences; moreover, it is regarded as quite proper
that the teacher of philosophy should concern himself with the problems
of religion, and should pry into the methods and fundamental
assumptions of special sciences in all of which it is impossible that
he should be an adept. The question naturally arises: Why has his task
come to be circumscribed as it is? Why should he teach just these
things and no others?

To this question certain persons are at once ready to give an answer.
There was a time, they argue, when it seemed possible for one man to
embrace the whole field of human knowledge. But human knowledge grew;
the special sciences were born; each concerned itself with a definite
class of facts and developed its own methods. It became possible and
necessary for a man to be, not a scientist at large, but a chemist, a
physicist, a biologist, an economist. But in certain portions of the
great field men have met with peculiar difficulties; here it cannot be
said that we have sciences, but rather that we have attempts at
science. The philosopher is the man to whom is committed what is left
when we have taken away what has been definitely established or is
undergoing investigation according to approved scientific methods. He
is Lord of the Uncleared Ground, and may wander through it in his
compassless, irresponsible way, never feeling that he is lost, for he
has never had any definite bearings to lose.

Those who argue in this way support their case by pointing to the lack
of a general consensus of opinion which obtains in many parts of the