or goes in his own consciousness
as to his work.

Beyond this point, in estimating his ideals and his value, he
sometimes seems not to wish to go, either because he is unreflective
or because he is modest. But when we remember that the unity of human
experience, in the light of which scientific results are tested, and
to whose growth and enrichment the scientific worker is devoted, is
indeed a superhuman reality of the type that we have now discussed;
when we also recall the profound values which the scientific ideal has
for all departments of human life in our day; when, further, we see
how resolutely the true investigator gives his all to contribute to
what is really the unity of the spirit, we may well wonder who is in
essence more heartily religious than the completely devoted scientific
investigator--such a man, for instance, as was Faraday.

When I have the fortune to hear of really great scientific workers who
are as ready to die for their science (if an experiment or an
observation requires risk) as to live for it through years of worldly
privation and of rigid surrender of private interests to truth, and
when I then by chance also hear that some of them were called, or
perhaps even called themselves, irreligious men, I confess that I
think of the little girl who walked by Wordsworth's side on the beach
at Calais. The poet estimated her {290} variety of religious
experience in words that I feel moved to apply to the ardently loyal
hero of science:

"Thou dwellest in Abraham's bosom all the year,
And worship'st at the temple's inmost shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not."

There also exists a somewhat threadbare verse of the poet Young which
tells us how "the undevout astronomer is mad." I should prefer to say
that the really loyal scientific man who imagines himself undevout is
not indeed mad at all, but, like Wordsworth's young companion at
Calais, unobservant of himself and of the wondrous and beautiful love
that inspires him. For he is, indeed, inspired by a love for something
much more divine than is that august assemblage of mechanical and
physical phenomena called the starry heavens. The soul of his work is
the service of the unity of the spirit in one of its most exalted
forms.

That all who, belonging to any body of the visible church, are
seriously loyal to the divine according to their lights, are members
also of the invisible church, needs, after what I have said, no
further e