From all this it follows that in science itself absolutely nothing can be found that might serve it to prove whether or not there is genuine progress toward knowledge--that is, whether all these endless series, which every experiment and every piece of thought opens up, do or do not proceed toward a final conclusion. At this stage one view of the matter has precisely as much justification as the other; an _ignorabimus_ just as much and just as little value as the most flamboyant optimism. We cannot know. It is, so to speak, entirely a matter of taste as to the sense in which one chooses to interpret these endless series. In full consonance with this is the value which science possesses in relation to morality and religion. Whoso will give mankind morality and religion, must give it something in which it can find support. Both morality and religion at bottom are nothing but a support in the wide waste of infinitudes. Every thinking man craves for such a support. If it is lacking, then for the real thinker a condition supervenes that is all as unbearable as that physical one, when for the moment a person has lost all possibility of learning the lie of his surroundings, as, for instance, when he wakes up confused out of a deep sleep and does not know how to find his way anywhere. Here as there it is the pure anguish of thought that comes over us in such a condition, an anguish that will not let us rest until we have again constructed the mental support, again established continuity in thought with the whole.