The central thesis of this book, Newman writes, is to show that “alchemy provided a uniquely powerful focus for discussing the boundary between art and nature” and the goal of the book is “to reveal the influence of the art–nature debate on European culture as a whole”. For Newman, alchemy provides a unique way to understand not only the development of modern science but also the development of European culture from about 1200–1700. Alchemy was nothing less, writes Newman, than “the symbol of man’s ability to change the natural world”. He also makes clear that alchemy was not primarily concerned with attempts to make gold but with transmutation in general. In some cases, the goal was the creation of life itself.

What is the art–nature debate? Some clarification is needed because the word “art” is being used in the Aristotelian sense. An art, for Aristotle, was a “reasoned state of capacity to make, the ability to produce in a methodical or clever way”. In this view, any activity carried out with forethought is considered an art. In this sense, medicine, technology, and painting are all arts. Crucial for understanding the debate is the Aristotelian distinction between “perfecting” and “mimetic” arts. Mimetic arts, like painting or sculpture, simply imitate nature; but the “perfective” arts, such as medicine, perfect nature, which means that by removing obstacles they allow nature to accomplish what it cannot do unaided. While the two questions are not identical (this book is rich enough that I do not pretend to understand all the implications of the arguments presented) the art–nature debate is closely related to the question of the relationship between the artificial and the natural.

By now you might be saying, so what? That may have been of importance to the alchemists but surely we now understand the difference between the natural and the artificial. If you think that, I recommend that you go down to your nearest food store that sells “organically” grown food and see how many times the word natural is used as synonymous with “good” and the word artificial with “bad”. Ask the sales clerk why that is so and you will be told that “the artificial and the natural are essentially different” and that “man and nature cannot produce the same effects”. If you have been reading Newman, you would recognize that you are in the presence of a disciple of the 12th-century Arabic philosopher Averroes and of the Persian philosopher and physician Avicenna. The topic of this book is relevant to all kinds of questions that we face everyday. There is a multimillion-dollar advertising industry based on the assumption that natural equals good and artificial equals bad. On cloning, stem cell research, and other topics in biotechnology the question of the relation between the artificial and the natural is crucial. The same is true of robotics. One hears that there will be conscious robots within 50 years and the question always is: are they really conscious or do they just seem to be? In the area of human enhancement technologies or psychotropic drugs, the claim is that the interventions will allow nature to do what it should. The ultimate perfective arts. Or try this one, which is particularly relevant to us as chemical educators: why is it that the word “chemical” is used as a pejorative term? Why do people sell products by claiming that they contain no “chemicals”? The answer is that the word “chemical” is being used to mean a “synthetic chemical”, one that is not “natural” and for that reason is harmful. The notion that the natural and the artificial are different and that the natural is benign and the artificial harmful is powerful beyond belief (no it doesn’t help to remind people that gangrene is 100% natural). Newman, by the way, shows in chapter one that in antiquity the rival notion that the artificial could be as good and sometimes better than the natural had already developed.

I hope I have made the case for the relevance of this topic. Newman begins the book by framing the problem of the artificial and the natural. In chapter two, he details the place of alchemy in the art–nature debate. From there he moves to talk about the relationship between alchemy and the visual arts in chapter 3. Here he establishes that alchemy had its origins on the decorative arts. In chapter four he proceeds to detail the relationship between alchemy and the production of artificial life. This will be, no doubt, the most surprising chapter for those that thought that alchemy was primarily in the business of producing gold. There was, Newman shows, an alchemy of living beings. He concludes by talking about the relationship between alchemy and the origins of experimental science in the 17th century. There is a view that claims that Aristotelian natural philosophy was hostile to the idea of experimenting with nature. For Newman, experimental science evolved out of the methods of alchemy. The final chapter concentrates on the ramifications of the art–nature debate to more recent cases such as the work of Charles Darwin and Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe.

This book is beautifully produced with many illustrations; it has four pages of color plates and a nice index. Any library that aims for a good collection in the history and philosophy of science should have it. A warning: This is not an easy book. It is rich in nuance and detail, but it is also readable. It is not the place to start if one is interested in learning about alchemy. For those interested in the history and cultural importance of alchemy it is a must-read. If in a moment of scientific triumphalism one is tempted to ask, “What are the humanities for?” this book answers the question. The humanities are indispensable because they are essential to our self-understanding. Read Newman and you will understand why Newton was an alchemist and why, dear reader, if you are a chemist, you are one too.