Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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Tha r^ni\Idhq nrinH r^an he i iiv> v^unvyyu vj i ii i v^i kstji i i We try to provide you v\ i.i' ...creative ciotning, gooc fine gift items. j|g|j|? ^ K' - THE Q/ltrtCnl. 747 SALUDA A Ttloma?;;MedU; reconciles scie By Lehman Stiles Entertainment Editor The Medusa and the Snail V awic TtlAmnc / \ livtvio a iivmas v vinuig; For as long as both disciplines have existed, science and humanism have been bitter enemies. This is not due to some inbred incompatibility between the two, but to a peculiar egotism in certain adherents to each. Both camps have their caricatures. Science brings to mind the mad doctor in his spooky laboratory, unleashing lethal monsters to destroy mankind. The humanist is depicted as a dreamy, bearded idealist, rpfitino Marv QnH PI'ltn hut imaklo irk nhifto 1 (irn Kit ? ^v.w..b /X MIIU A 1MW WUl UHUWIV tv ^Iia5t a UI C | Book Review j himself. That such cruel pictures are conjured up to represent these two major forces of human history points out the ironies of the "battle." Most laymen throw up their hands at the conflict and retreat to some vague middle ground of inaction. unsaustiea wiin tnis recourse, author and physician Lewis Thomas, in his book The Medusa and the Snail, embraces the two "extremes," showing that they are not extremes at all. "We've never been so self-conscious about ourselves as we seem to be these days," Thomas begins, and the concept of the self and its relation to nature is a theme for many of the essays in this book. This is not the self of selfishness, but the self of humanity as a whole; Thomas works his subjects into stark metaphors of human behavior. One is constantly stopping to muse at Thomas' ideas as this book is read. No matter how badly that tough chemistry class smothered one's interest inscience, Thomas manages to breathe life into such mundane subjects as warts and lymphocytic cnoriomeningms. somenow ine words seem unimposing as they surface in Thomas' essays; instead of alienating the reader with gobs of technicalia, Thomas sparks his interest with well-placed facts. But the most outstanding aspect of The Medusa and the Snail is its ability to astonish. Just as Thomas seems to be settling down to a careful explanation of warts, he tells of the mystery of their cure by hypnosis. What is it about the subconscious that it knows how to cure warts? Thomas goes on to speculate about the awesome power of his own subconscious: "Some intelligence or other knows how to get rid of warts, and this is a disquieting thought." Indeed it is. And the reader is led to feel that disquiet through ! such a bore! /ith alternatives to the ] books and r.~ 1 - " riy i i nu nigors ur uoiiego Li AJ/t 'tlhu ^ w V/C IWI Cl\/C DAlklTC kv l. jn n?t rvinij sa and the Snail' nee, humanism l nomas remarkably lucid prose style. In "An Apology," Thomas says that he often sits at his desk onrl in Df Alnmoin f acViinn f Via iiiKaIa iitiivrAt^in MIIV4, III A l-VIVI1IC4 1V. A aoi iivsi 1, OtlO tilt WllVIt UKUVUi dC spinning around his pencil point. He worries, then, that "this may, in fact, be going on all the time, heaving the universe this way and that, around one still point after another, sometimes even pulling against each other, and the astronomers should certainly he told of this before it is too late to make sense of the mess of numbers." Thomas is that rarest of creatures, a scientist with a Doet's imagination and morp imnort^ntlv hp i?i unafraid to set the universe spinning on the point of a pencil (which is what a good poet does anyway), to call the human race "the youngest and brightest thing around." He possesses and develops a refreshingly unique voice and viewpoint, finding in oom science ana poeiry me oeauty mai is irum. Thomas can write practically: he explains why cloning will probably never be the horor we imagine, he writes on the ideal premedical curriculum. He can be humorous: he writes about punctuation in a way that makes it fresh and delightful even to commaplagued editors, he spoofs meditation in 'Tran- ? scendental Metaworry" ("Now breathe, thinking analytically about the muscular effort involved: it is useful to attempt breathing through one nostril at a time, alternating sides.") But the real treasure of The Medusa and the Snail is Thomas' overwhelming clear-headedness in looking at the world around him. When he writes about "The Scrambler in the Mind," the reader recognizes that peculiar trait of the brain that causes mathematical theory or literary criticism suddenly to lose all of its secse, right in the middle of undei standings. When he recommends "A Trip Abroad" to another planet for humanity, the reader finds himself agreeing with the idea without thinking of the monumental effort of the task. The effort seems secondary when the idea is so solid. In "Why Montaigne is Not A Bore," Thomas expresses his admiration for the French essayist and describes him in a way that could well describe Thomas himself: "He is, as he says everywhere, an ordinary man. He persuades you of his ordinariness on every page. You can not help but believe him in this; he is, above all else, an honest and candid man. And here is the marvel of his book: if he is an ordinary man, then what an encouragement, what a piece of work is, after all, an ordinary man! You cannot help but hope." se stresses f ill*? llsJS J 11 ?/LSjy/lLy. L V