The values served by science, in terms of which its claim to consideration is to be judged, have become more numerous as science has developed. The earliest scientific researches were concerned wholly with the particular event, with, at most, the vaguest inkling of large perspectives. The savage who discovers that the branch lying partly in the stream is not really bent, is prompted by the same localised and detached curiosity which led to most of the early scientific discoveries. Interest in the oddity of an event is undoubtedly the root of scientific observations. The more closely the events concern us, the more pregnant they may be with possible pleasure or pain, the greater the degree of abstraction necessary to see them in their relations. Human beings remain miracles to us long after we have learned to predict the motion of a planet. Psychology is the latest of the sciences, not so much because of the intrinsic difficulty of its subject-matter as because our interest in the subject-matter is so vehement that it is almost impossible to be indifferent to the results. An intelligent fish would probably have found most of the painfully won results of human psychology fairly obvious. From the accumulation of facts and the attempt to see them in relation springs the scientific theory. With the construction of theories science enters on a new phase in its development, and serves a different set of human values. Its facts, the products of local curiosities, now take on an order, and serve the desire for comprehension. The apparently dissimilar becomes related; law supervenes on chaos. The desire for knowledge becomes transformed into the desire for _significant_ knowledge--significant primarily for contemplation, and secondarily for practice. It is the scientific theory alone that gives to science its true being and makes it worthy of a deep concern. The desire for comprehension is deeply rooted in human nature. Religious myths and philosophical systems arose in obedience to this impulse. Science also exists to satisfy this craving, and the terms on which it does so are altogether to its advantage. The fact that it is an extension of common knowledge, and infers nothing that cannot be verified, differentiates it from myth, and is the secret of the grave and serious satisfaction it affords. Those accustomed to this homely, invigorating atmosphere find the rarer air of much traditional philosophy quite insupportable. A certain indifference to other methods of describing reality becomes more evident as the years advance and the domain of science becomes more and more extended. Peaceful penetration takes the place of open warfare, and in face of rival systems men of science feel less inclined to disprove what they feel more at liberty to ignore.