come only when the higher principles of philosophy have been fully
developed, and when the departmental ideas of the various sciences are
organized into a view of the world as a whole. And this is a task which
has not as yet been accomplished. The forces from above and below have
not met. When they do meet, they will assuredly find that they are
friends, and not foes. For philosophy can articulate its supreme
conception only by interaction with the sciences; and, on the other
hand, the progress of science, and the effectiveness of its division of
labour, are ultimately conditioned by its sensitiveness to the hints,
given by poets and philosophers, of those wider principles in virtue of
which the world is conceived as a unity. There are many, indeed, who
cannot see the wood for the trees, as there are others who cannot see
the trees for the wood. Carlyle cared nothing though science were able
to turn a sunbeam on its axis; Ruskin sees little in the advance of
invention except more slag-hills. And scientific men have not been slow
to return with interest the scorn of the moralists. But a more
comprehensive view of the movement of human knowledge will show that
none labour in vain. For its movement is that of a thing which _grows_!
and in growth there is always movement towards both unity and
difference. Science, in pursuing truth into greater and greater detail,
is constrained by its growing consciousness of the unlimited wealth of
its material, to divide and isolate its interests more and more; and
thus, at the same time, the need for the poets and philosophers is
growing deeper, their task is becoming more difficult of achievement,
and a greater triumph in so far as it is achieved. Both science and
philosophy are working towards a more concrete view of the world as an
articulated whole. If we cannot quite say with Browning that "poets
never dream," we may yet admit with gratitude that their dreams are an
inspiration.