12 Introduction 



of science is the most rational or the least irrational of all traditions. 

 The gradual unveiling of the truth is the noblest tradition of mankind as 

 well as the clearest, the only one wherein there is nothing to be ashamed 

 of. The humanized man of science, he whom I have called the New 

 Humanist, is of all men the one who is most conscious of his traditions 

 and of the traditions of mankind. 



This is true from the humanistic point of view, but it is also true from 

 the purely scientific or philosophic one. For the inveterate and narrow- 

 minded technician the only things worth considering are the latest fruits 

 of science; the tree is "irrelevant." For the philosophically minded sci- 

 entist, however precious the fruits, the tree itself is infinitely more pre- 

 cious. It is not the results of today that matter most in his eyes, but 

 the curves leading to them and beyond them. For practical, immediate 

 purposes the last points or knots, the last discoveries, may be sufficient; 

 for true understanding the whole curves must be taken into account. 

 This is even more obvious to the historically minded scientist who re- 

 alizes more keenly the probable imperfection of the latest results and 

 is not so easily taken in by the latest fashion; the immature technician 

 is likely to fancy that he is sitting at the top of the world; he does not 

 know that later technicians will deride him as heartily as he derides his 

 own predecessors. From his parochial angle, the latest results are excep- 

 tionally wonderful; from the point of view of eternity they are just points 

 on infinite curves. Men of science (excepting perhaps the astrophys- 

 icists) do not indulge in extrapolations, but they know that the curves 

 have reached neither their climax, nor their end; they know that the 

 curves will be continued, though they would be chary of prophesying 

 their direction. 



When we contemplate the universe we may adopt one of two points 

 of view — horizontal or vertical, geographical or historical; we may con- 

 template the side-by-sidedness of things or their one-after-anotherness. 

 It would be misleading to say that the second point of view is exclusive 

 to the historian, and the first to the naturalist. Both assertions would 

 be wrong. In reality, both points of view are necessary and complemen- 

 tary. We need geography and history; we need natural history as well 

 as physical geography and human history as well as human geography. 



This remark applies also to science itself. Science is not simply the 

 top of the tree; it is the whole tree growing upward, downward and in 

 every direction; the living tree, alive not only in its periphery but in its 

 whole being. The historian of science appreciates as keenly as other 

 scientists the "marvels" of modern science, but he is more deeply im- 



fails." And a little further he remarks, "The history of philosophy, in the narrower 

 sense of the word, is the history of philosophy, but the history of science is sci- 

 ence. Scientific workers may forget this, and, knowing little or nothing of the 

 ground on which their edifice rests, may add to its structure and reach positions 

 of the highest eminence in their profession, but they are not then educated men. 

 To the true scientist they are as the artificer to the artist, the sleep-walker to the 

 explorer, the instinctive cry to the pregnant phrase. Such a one may achieve much 

 of value, but he is also a potential danger. At the moment he happens to be a pro- 

 foundly disquieting menace to our civilization" (p. 3-4, London, Lewis, 1947). 



