The Telegraph, January 16, Matt Ridley
The failure of Britain’s first space launch is coming in for a lot of Schadenfreude. (Given how much we Brits revel in the misfortune of others, it is surprising we have to borrow a German word for it.) While an inquest into what went wrong is clearly warranted, it would be a mistake if we gave up on a technology after a single failure as some are suggesting. I hold no brief for the UK space programme, but I do know the importance of failure along the road to success.
Thomas Savery’s first steam engine was a failure. Richard Trevithick’s first locomotive engine was a flop. Jean Lenoir’s first internal combustion engine was no good. Before committing suicide Rudolf Diesel poured out his disillusionment because nobody wanted his engine: “The introduction [of an invention] is a time fraught with combating stupidity and jealousy, inertia and venom, furtive resistance and an open conflict of interests, an appalling time spent battling with people, a martyrdom to be overcome, even if the invention is a success.”
On September 17 1908 Orville Wright, brother of Wilbur, was demonstrating his “flyer” to the US Army for the tenth and final time, ten trials being required in the contract. His passenger, Lieutenant Thomas Selfridge, was the heaviest yet. After three laps of the field, the propeller broke and the plane nose-dived, killing Selfridge and severely injuring Wright. The Wright brothers did not give up; they returned a year later with an improved machine and took another passenger aloft for an hour and twelve minutes without mishap. The Army bought the planes.
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