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Miroslav Holub: Shedding Life

by Francis Hwang
January 21, 1998

Miroslav Holub
Shedding Life
Milkweed

MIROSLAV HOLUB IS both a poet and a scientist, but it's no secret in which discipline he invests his pride. Holub has a deep distrust of the intuition, faith, and love of the profound that defines the poetic, a distrust he elaborates repeatedly in Shedding Life, his collection of essays. In one essay, the internationally acclaimed immunologist derides "metaphysical and paranoid sciences, exorcism, parapsychology, and the natural cures of 'alternative medicine,' which have a single advantage: they are easy to understand, even for an ass." In another, he praises the scientist's acceptance of her own ignorance, contrasting it to the Zen master's proclivity toward "jumping to conclusions."

Of course, Zen masters do jump to conclusions, as does almost anyone else who finds research on T-cells and amoebas an insufficient methodology for achieving an understanding of the world and a person's place in it. Holub is among these great unscientific masses, though he doesn't seem entirely aware of the fact: It's telling that his hard-science essays are his least engaging. They do offer some intriguing notions--how disease has encoded itself into our genetic makeup, or the extent to which the process of discovery is an exhaustive, unglamorous one--but it's here that the writer's prose becomes occasionally impenetrable. When Holub bases his arguments on deep intuitions--not his impressive scientific knowledge--the author brings the most enthusiasm and conviction to the page. Take "Whatever the Circumstances," in which an observation of an opera company in a near-ghost town leads to a meditation on the indomitability of a thing for its own sake. Or the elegiac "The Night Song," in which Holub praises the quality of night and the beauty of the inexpressible with a disciplined elegance. It's in these pieces that Holub comes across as not just a respected scientist, but also an essayist of the highest order, equipped with an innate sense of poetry and a highly tuned sense of the profound. Holub should stop stumping for objectivity; his instincts are much better than he would like to admit.

About Francis Hwang
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