We must, says Wittgenstein, rely on our forms of life and language games, we must accept them like the ground on which we tread. Yet this does not mean that we had a reason to leave ourselves a last ground, a final certainty, because each life form and each language game remains contingent on a kind of pending architecture, not built on any sort of stable foundation. When we say “ground” or “foundation,” we insinuate a certain reliability and consistency. A ground lacking any consistency wouldn’t be a foundation. As frail as the ground might be, it is a ground only if it retains at least a minimal load-bearing capacity. The ground bearing the body of critique, of question, of skepticism or doubt, must be treadable. As everyone knows, Descartes in his Meditations on First Philosophy built such a foundation into philosophy, a fundamentum certum et inconcussum: a certain and unshakeable foundation that aims to be the ego cogito, the “I think,” the thinking ego. Since its very beginnings, philosophy has articulated itself as the exploration of the consistency of its own conditions, by inquiring for the archaí, the first reasons and principles, which are such grounds. The philosophy of the twentieth century has generally articulated itself as thinking critically of philosophy, by beginning to doubt the existence of a final ground, by establishing provisional grounds in thinking, be it Heidegger’s pre-understanding, Lacan’s symbolic order, Deleuze’s levels of immanence and consistency, or what Adorno calls “society.”