Science and Tradition 11 



progress is tangible and indisputable; we can hardly speak of progress 

 in the other fields of human endeavor. 



These arguments are plausible and convincing, but I am not naive 

 enough to believe that their power of conviction is transferable to other 

 people. They convince me, because I know science and love it, but how 

 could they convince other people who do not know it and shrink from 

 it, now perhaps more than ever. They might taunt me and say, "Progress 

 leading to the atomic bomb, what kind of progress is that?" For a man 

 more intensely religious than I am, the history of religion would naturally 

 seem more important than the history of science, and to an artist loving 

 beauty above aught else, would not the history of art be far more inter- 

 esting than the history of religion or the history of science? Indeed, 

 those other histories would hardly have a meaning for him and he would 

 have little patience with them. 



The history of science is not simply what the title implies, a history 

 of our increasing knowledge of the world and of ourselves; it is a story 

 not only of the spreading light but also of the contracting darkness. It 

 might be conceived as a history of the endless struggle against errors, in- 

 nocent or wilful, against superstitions and spiritual crimes. It is also 

 the history of growing tolerance and freedom of thought. The historian 

 of science must give an example of toleration in admitting the equal 

 claims to other minds than his of the history of art or the history of re- 

 ligion; he should even be ready to admit the anti-historical attitude of the 

 tough-minded technicians. 



It is nevertheless his duty as well as his pleasure to explain as well 

 as he can the civilizing and liberating power of science, the humanities 

 of science. He must vindicate science from the crimes which have been 

 committed in its name or under its cloak; he must commemorate the 

 great men of the past especially those which have been deprived of their 

 meed; he must justify the man of science in comparison with the saint, 

 the philosopher, the artist or the statesman. Each of these is playing 

 his part, and it would be foolish to insist that this part or that is more 

 important than the others, for all are necessary and none is sufficient. 



Inasmuch as the development of science is the only development in 

 human experience which is truly cumulative and progressive, tradition 

 acquires a very different meaning in the field of science than in any 

 other. Far from there being any conflict between science and tradition, 

 one might claim that tradition is the very life of science.'^ The tradition 



' This has been beautifully explained by Herbert Dingle in his inaugural lec- 

 ture: "The history of science is inseparable from science itself. Science is essen- 

 tially a process, stretching through time, in contrast with the instantaneous or 

 eternal character of traditional philosophy. In the first half of the eighteenth cen- 

 tury Bradley records the positions of a number of stars. In 1818 his reductions are 

 revised by Bessel, and in 1886 again revised by Aijwers. New observations are 

 made and the results compared, and after 200 years we learn that certain stars 

 have moved in certain directions by a few seconds of arc. Out of such sublime 

 patience scientific knowledge emerges. Science may ignore its history, but if so it 



