By Mario Bunge
To struggle through the pages of the Autobiography of Mario Bunge is to accompany him via dozens of nations and consider the highbrow, political, philosophical and medical spheres of the final hundred years. it truly is an event that oscillates among various worlds: different and the same, the pro and the personal.
It is a longtime indisputable fact that certainly one of his nice loves was once, and nonetheless is, technological know-how. He has continuously been devoted to clinical paintings, educating, study, and coaching women and men in a number of disciplines. existence classes fall like ripe fruit from this booklet, bringing us in the direction of an idea, a philosophical proposal, a systematic digression, which had on the grounds that been exposed in different notes, articles or books.
Bunge writes concerning the existence reviews during this booklet with ardour, naturalness and with a colloquial frankness, whether or not they be persecutions, banishment, imprisonment, successes, would-be losses, feelings, relationships, debates, impressions or critiques approximately humans or things.
In his pages we go by way of the folk with whom he shared a fruitful century of achievements and significant depths of notion. every little thing is remembered with sincerity and humor.
This autobiography is, truthfully, Bunge on Bunge, sharing every little thing that passes in the course of the sieve of his reminiscence, as he could say.
Mario’s many grandchildren are a testomony to his proud status as a kin guy, and on the age of ninety six he offers us a booklet for everybody: in case you price the thoughts that carry the trauma of his existence in addition to if you happen to proportion his ardour for technology and tradition. additionally, probably, for a few with whom he has had disagreements or controversy, for he nonetheless merits attractiveness for being a staunch defender of his convictions.
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Extra info for Between Two Worlds : Memoirs of a Philosopher-Scientist
At that time, long before the emergence of super-markets, shopkeepers were kept very busy. The hardware-store owner had to cut to measure every piece of wood or pane of glass, and weigh every bunch of nails. The pharmacist had to prepare nearly every prescription, using a mortar and scales. The grocer had to cut and wrap up 10 cents’ worth of sugar or four slices of cheese. The butcher had to cut, weigh, and wrap 50 cents’ worth of thin slices of meat. Many customers bought on credit, and the shop keeper had to wait until his customers could pay for his monthly bill.
In the same journal my father published in 1933 his well-documented study on Argentine oil and the international oil trusts. The universities would touch neither of these subjects. The Colegio’s lectures on genetics had such an impact that my friend Goyo Aráoz, a lawyer, spoke of nothing else. Once we were visited at El Ombú by the professional excentric Omar Viñole, a veterinarian and prolific writer who expressed his contempt for the contemporary Argentine politics by writing incomprehensible books and taking his cow on a leash for a walk in downtown Buenos Aires, which earned him the nickname The Cow’s Man.
I pressed the pencil so hard that the patient and sweet Miss Bottini complained that I ploughed the exercise book. I never acquired a decent hand, except for mathematical symbols, which my classmates found elegant. Learning to type at age 7 on the discarded typewriter of my father’s office did not help. Nor did it help that my father’s own handwriting was hardly legible, as was de rigueur among physicians. Miss Bottini’s bother, Liborio, was tall, thin, placid and amiable, and had no known occupation.