The human sciences—including psychology, anthropology, and social theory—are widely held to have been born during the eighteenth century. This first full-length, English-language study of the Enlightenment sciences of humans explores the sources, context, and effects of this major intellectual development. The book argues that the most fundamental inspiration for the Enlightenment was the scientific revolution of the seventeenth century. Natural philosophers from Copernicus to Newton had created a magisterial science of nature based on the realization that the physical world operated (...) according to orderly, discoverable laws. Eighteenth-century thinkers sought to cap this achievement with a science of _human_ nature. Belief in the existence of laws governing human will and emotion; social change; and politics, economics, and medicine suffused the writings of such disparate figures as Hume, Kant, and Adam Smith and formed the basis of the new sciences. A work of remarkable cross-disciplinary scholarship, this volume illuminates the origins of the human sciences and offers a new view of the Enlightenment that highlights the period's subtle social theory, awareness of ambiguity, and sympathy for historical and cultural difference. (shrink)

The field of bacterial physiology illustrates some of these patterns of innovation in normal science. Bacterial physiology did not emerge as a distinct specialty until the mid-1940s, when systematic efforts were made (especially in Britain) to organize societies, journals, training programs, and patronage net- works for "general microbiology," as the discipline was then called. However, the fundamental ideas and methodologies of bacterial physiology had already been worked out between about 1915 and 1940. In this period, the nascent re- search field (...) developed under the aegis of half a dozen disciplines in half a dozen countries. By 1940 there were active centers of research in bacterial physiology at the Pasteur Institute in Paris; at the Rockefeller Institute in New York; in agricultural schools at the universities of Iowa, Wisconsin and Helsinki; in bi- ology departments at Stanford University, the University of Delft, and California Institute of Technology; in biochemistry at Cambridge University; and in bacteriology at the Middlesex Hospital in London and the London School of Hygiene. (shrink)

Camus's apparent flirtation with Catholicism is rooted in his notion of absurdity. Paradoxically, an absurdity of existence both unites us to the world and alienates us from it. Whereas the alienation was avoided by a traditional philosophy that improperly imposed reason on reality, ultimate reality was construed by religion as a God who passes understanding. And though limitations on understanding are embodied by such things as a paradox of Christ who is both man and not man, Camus's profound insights on (...) man's absurd condition may have been remiss because he imposed an understanding of rational philosophy on religion. (shrink)

Wittgenstein and Heidegger were not merely pioneering leaders of different philosophical schools. They both disavowed a Judeo-Christian God and influenced trends opposed to traditional metaphysical arguments. Therefore, we may suppose that they had a major role in relegating medieval arguments for God to archaic syllogistic pedantries. But I will argue that a conditional premise in Thomas’ Second-Way argument not only finds expression in modal logic, since it specifies necessarily if there is no God, there is no world, but involves a (...) natural sort of reasoning. Its ordinariness bears on Wittgenstein and Heidegger because they had extraordinary moods induced by considering the world’s possible nonexistence. Taken with their expressed disbelief in God when they consider the nonexistence, these things suggest a surreptitious embracement of Thomas’ reasoning. This fact both strengthens and makes it relevant to a pervasive twentieth-century “angst.”. (shrink)

ABSTRACT After a productive start in the 1980s, laboratory history is now surprisingly neglected—not lab science, but the lab as social institution. To restart interest, I suggest that we see labs as period specific (early modern, modern, postmodern) and of a piece with each era's dominant social institutions and practices. In the modern era, for example, labs have become powerful and ubiquitous because their operating principles are those of the nation-state and its consumerist political economy. Their educational function is crucial: (...) labs have authority because they are an effective vehicle for educating en masse for life in modern states; they provide general entry to careers in scores of disciplines and a thousand occupations; and they embody prevailing ideals of a meritocracy of competence, transparency (through publication), and a universalistic logic of objectivity. An older microhistory of laboratory practices may thus be reborn as a systematic, macrosocial history of the lab. (shrink)

What general conclusions can be drawn about the reception of zymase, its relation to the larger shift from a protoplasm to an enzyme theory of life, and its status as a social phenomenon?The most striking and to me unexpected pattern is the close correlation between attitude toward zymase and professional background. The disbelief of the fermentation technologists, Will, Delbrück, Wehmer, and even Stavenhagen, was as sharp and unanimous as the enthusiasm of the immunologists and enzymologists, Duclaux, Roux, Fernback, and Bertrand, (...) and of Pfeffer, the experimental plant physiologist. Other skeptics—Voit, Kupffer, and Fischer—were conservatives in traditional fields. In all these cases it seems clear that professional commitments and outlook profoundly influenced the reception of zymase.In some cases there is a correlation with a specific earlier statement favoring the protoplasm theory or predicting a fermentation enzyme. Reynolds Green is a striking case of both. In 1893 he stated his belief that life processes in higher plants and fungi were identical, both being mediated by protoplasm.109 Thus he claimed that digestion was not carried out by enzymes, as in higher animals, but by the whole protoplasm, and so too fermentation in yeast: “All the metabolic processes must be carried out in the unicellular organism in the same mass of protoplasm.”110 But Green also insisted that there was no essential difference between “organized” and “unorganized ferments”; enzymes were simply more highly differentiated and specialized forms of primitive protoplasm. He spoke of “the alcoholic ferment” (that is, enzyme), and of intracellular enzymes—very advanced beliefs for 1893. Thus it is understandable why Green saw no reason to doubt his first negative results with yeast juice, and rushed into print. But it is also understandable that he persisted and soon became an outspoken advocate of Buchner's view; like Wroblewski and Pfeffer, he had already accepted the idea of an intracellular fermentation enzyme.The physiological chemists also fit the pattern in a special way. Physiological chemistry is generally regarded as the source of biochemistry; indeed, many early biochemists were trained in physiological chemistry, and imbibed there a progressive interest in enzymes and metabolism. It is not surprising, therefore, that on the whole Neumeister, Madfadyen, Wroblewski, and Loew accepted cell-free fermentation. But what is surprising, and significant, is the diversity of opinion in this group, from Abeles' living protoplasm to Wroblewski's organized array of active proteins. The feelings of the physiological chemists were mixed, and there was enough of the old protoplasm view in Macfadyen's and even Wroblewski's views to allow Buchner to see them as attacks on zymase. The ideas of physiological chemistry were also changing; the idea of protoplasm was already adjusting to the new interest in enzymes in the early 1890's. But in contrast to immunochemistry, the change in physiological chemistry was gradual, uneven, undramatic, and relatively invisible. For the new biochemistry, the tradition of physiological chemistry was the source of traditional conservatism as well as of new ideas of enzymes.In general, then, I claim that it was not experimental facts that determined attitudes toward zymase so much as previous commitments, experience, and expectations. Initially, at least, zymase was less a determinant of opinion than a touchstone of pre-existing opinion. Like a prism, it revealed the spectrum of existing attitudes toward vital phenomena.Also relevant here is the fact that the experimental evidence was entirely ambiguous; the interpretation of Buchner's experiments with antiseptics or dried yeast depended entirely on how far one was willing to stretch the scope of the terms “protoplasm” and “enzyme”. Likewise, how important one judged the instability of zymase to be, or the low level of in vitro activity, depended largely on one's point of view. There was no crucial experiment, no certain proof. Logically zymase could be regarded as protoplasm. A. Fischer did so in 1900;111 Macfadyen was still wavering in 1907;112 and Beijerinck was holding out as late as 1916.113 There were undoubtedly others. Besides the special case of Reynolds Green and the technologists, there are no recorded cases of conversion.But if there was no evidence to convert a dedicated protoplasmist, there was plenty to encourage a dedicated belief in the enzyme theory, and that, I believe, is precisely what happened. The arguments of Buchner et al in support of zymase had the greatest effect not on the protoplasmists but on those who were already predisposed toward the biochemical view. The zymase debate enabled the emerging group of biochemists to recognizethemselves as a group with a community of out-look and objectives; it brought the issue of protoplasm vs. enzyme into the open and gave it a specific and concrete issue on which to turn. The debate sharpened the biochemists' awareness that their point of view was becoming the new mainstream of biochemical thought.All this of course had an important secondary effect on those who opposed the new view, or who were not immediately concerned with it. After the zymase debate, it would have been almost impossible to ignore the new ideas; the dramatic and wide publicity the debate enjoyed would have made it difficult not to take sides. Buchner's successful defense of zymase itself became an important influence on opinion; the new movement had to be looked at with respect. But the primary effect of the debate, I assert, was on those who were already inclined to the new view. The outcome was not a mass conversion of individuals, nor the ejection of one idea by another. The sides probably did not change much; the real change was in the way each side regarded itself and its place in history. The zymase debate may perhaps best be regarded as a process of selection. Buchner's party became aware of itself as the new progressive point of view, while those holding the traditional view could no longer expound it publicly without appearing obstinate or old-fashioned. Thus the way was clear for the gradually wider establishment of the new ideas, especially among the new generation of biochemists. In this specific sense, the acceptance of zymase was a social phenomenon.This way of looking at the zymase debate also illuminates its coincidence with the emergence of biochemistry as a profession. The new professional trappings and organizations were the social manifestation of the new self-awareness gained from the zymase controversy. One of the most important effects on those disposed toward the new view was the awareness of an intellectual community and of the need to give that community social forms. The almost mythical importance of Buchner's “victory” over the old protoplasm theory that later became current is readily understandable. It was a useful ideology for a group anxious to assert the novelty of their approach, a novelty which they in fact felt quite keenly.But if the primary effect of the zymase controversy was on those predisposed to accept zymase, then obviously the success of zymase depended on the fact that change had already begun to occur. Indeed, one of the most striking, and again unexpected, results of this study is the extent to which the importance of enzymes was already recognized in the early 1890's. The new immunology clearly pointed the way. Macfadyen and Hans Buchner were looking for active proteins inside the cell in 1893. Reynolds Green, Wroblewski, and Pfeffer had all anticipated the discovery of a fermentation enzyme. Other discoveries in enzymology in the 1890's pointed the same way.114 Moreover, it is clear from this study that the old protoplams theory was adapting to the new discoveries concerning the importance of enzymes. The sidechains of the old protoplasm molecule were simply reinterpreted as enzymes, as in Wroblewski's theory, for example, or in Paul Ehrlich's extremely influential “sidechain theory” of antibody formation (1897). Despite the later views of Hopkins et al., the old protoplasm and the new enzyme theories were not irreconcilable; a continuity of development had already begun when zymase came so dramatically on the scene. Buchner himself observed that the difference between the two views had become largely verbal; in retrospect we might say, not verbal, but social and historical. The gap between the continuous change in ideas and the contemporary feeling of sharply discontnuous change is a measure of the elusive but real social and historical implications of the zymase debate, of the demise of an old establishment, and the emergence of a new.In retrospect, then, it is clear that a trend was already under way in various quarters when zymase appeared. But it was still a collection of isolated and dispersed events. The zymase controversy made the trend visible and gave it a dramatic unity. The debate influenced those who had already begun to change. It was so effective because things had begun to change and because it coincided with the direction of that trend. (shrink)

With contributions from a galaxy of economists -€including David Colander, Robin Hahnel, Yanis Varioufakis and Fred Lee - this book is an important read and an€attempt to break down the varied barriers that have been erected to economic pluralism.

This article explores the philosophies of Heidegger and Wittgenstein to illustrate the thesis that philosophy is a human activity exhibiting a unity of investigative and therapeutic aims. For both philosophers, the purpose of philosophical concepts is to point toward a path of transformation rather than to explain. For both, a first step on this path is the recognition of constraining illusions, whether conventional or metaphysical. For both, such illusions are sedimented in linguistic practices, and for both, philosophical investigation is a (...) way of emancipating thought and life from illusion by bringing what is already prereflectively understood into the light of thematic explicitness. And what both philosophers bring into thematic explicitness are aspects of the context-embeddedness and finitude of human existence. It is hoped that comparing the works of these two philosophers will unveil features of each that are more difficult to discern in the works of either considered in isolation. (shrink)

Tally reviews Loren Goldner's Herman Melville: Between Charlemagne and the Antemosaic Cosmic King, which posits that Melville was the American Marx, exposing the crisis of bourgeois ideology in the revolutionary period around 1848. In this, Goldner follows a tradition of Marxian scholarship of Melville, notably including C.L.R. James, Michael Paul Rogin, and Cesare Casarino. Tally concludes that Goldner's argument, while interesting, is limited by its focus on American exceptionalism and by ignoring the postnational force of Melville's novels.

Deleuze’s career is frequently divided between his “early” monographs devoted to the history of philosophy and his more mature work, including the collaborations with Félix Guattari, written “in his own voice.” Yet Deleuze’s early work is integral to the later writings; far from merely summarizing Hume, Nietzsche, Bergson, or Spinoza, Deleuze transforms their thought in such a way that they become new, fresh, and strange. Deleuze’s distaste for the Hegelian institution of the history of philosophy is overcome by his peculiar (...) approach to it, by which he transforms the project into something else, a nomadography that projects an alternative line of flight, not only allowing Deleuze to “get out” of the institution, but allowing us to re-imagine it in productive new ways. Deleuze’s nomad thinkers are like sudden, bewildering eruptions of “joyful wisdom” in an apparent continuum of stable meanings, standard commentaries, settled thought. The early Deleuze, by engaging these thinkers, discovered a new way of doing philosophy. (shrink)

Deleuze’s career is frequently divided between his “early” monographs devoted to the history of philosophy and his more mature work, including the collaborations with Félix Guattari, written “in his own voice.” Yet Deleuze’s early work is integral to the later writings; far from merely summarizing Hume, Nietzsche, Bergson, or Spinoza, Deleuze transforms their thought in such a way that they become new, fresh, and strange. Deleuze’s distaste for the Hegelian institution of the history of philosophy is overcome by his peculiar (...) approach to it, by which he transforms the project into something else, a nomadography that projects an alternative line of flight, not only allowing Deleuze to “get out” of the institution, but allowing us to re-imagine it in productive new ways. Deleuze’s nomad thinkers are like sudden, bewildering eruptions of “joyful wisdom” in an apparent continuum of stable meanings, standard commentaries, settled thought. The early Deleuze, by engaging these thinkers, discovered a new way of doing philosophy. (shrink)

In the 1930s Warburg's spare prose and disciplined respect for the facts set the style for a new generation of biochemists who had not known the conceptual revolutions of earlier years. Led by Warburg, they rejected the excesses of the colloid school and the false starts of the teens and twenties. Talk of active structure virtually disappeared as chemists began to identify enzymes, coenzymes, vitamins, and hormones. In the gradual transformation of the Atmungsferment from an ironcolloid complex to a specific (...) haem-protein, the roots of Warburg's inspiration were readily forgotten-the richer and more varied intellectual currents of the early decades of biochemistry. Experimental cytology and pharmacology were important strands. Most of what Warburg was doing on narcosis from 1908 to 1912 was typical of this school. He was deeply influenced by Loeb and his theory of the fertilization membrane. In the period from 1900 to 1914 the ups and down of belief in Hofmeister's enzyme theory was an important trend which helped determine the style of biochemistry in later decades. Warburg's conception of the Atmungsferment was shaped by the general reaction c. 1910 against Buchner's optimistic view. Warburg's Heidelberg lecture was framed as an answer to Hofmeister's lecture of 1901 and turned out almost as an imitation or second edition of it. It was a style that was soon out of fashion. The affinity between the early concept of enzymes and the old concept idea of “living protein” should not be neglected in discussions of Warburg's distaste for “enzymology.” The colloid school is too easily dismissed as a mere impediment to the chemical triumphs of the 1930s. Warburg's Atmungsferment was obviously colored by the colloidal cast of biochemical thought in 1912. The Atmungsferment represented, in short, a hybrid transition from the romantic biochemistry of the period 1900–1925 to the mature, classical of the 1930s. It is fascinating precisely because it reflects, and refracts through a unique and powerful mind, the varied local traditions of the early history of modern biochemistry. (shrink)