From the time of its emergence in New England in the early 1830s, Transcendentalism often proved unintelligible to the uninitiated, who were unsure what to make of its heady mixture of liberal spiritual renewal, German philosophic idealism, and progressive social reform. Area divines like the Cambridge-based Unitarian theologian Andrews Norton responded to the challenge posed to his religion by the Transcendentalist worldview by naming it “the latest form of infidelity.” Those who were inclined to caricaturize meanwhile set about establishing the stereotype (which retains its appeal in the popular imagination today) of the Transcendentalists as an insular cohort of young, white, mostly middle-class regional intellectuals whose deep reading in period Continental thought and English and European Romanticism rendered them a feckless band of starry-eyed dreamers, ill-equipped for active involvement in the world. Indeed, despite the subsequent canonization in the United States of such celebrated Transcendentalist stalwarts as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, and Theodore Parker, a largely fictional portrayal of the Transcendentalists as abstracted and detached has had surprising staying power. Author Nathaniel Hawthorne epitomized a contemporary trend in Transcendentalist satire with his novel The Blithedale Romance (1852); the roman à clef narrative contained therein reads less as an objective depiction of the famous Brook Farm experiment in communal living in which Hawthorne himself participated than it does a seriocomic sendup of a Transcendentalistled enterprise that figures as ridiculous on the page. Even recent critics of a cultural phenomenon that qualifies more as a historical moment than a full-fledged movement have found it hard to resist the too-easy dismissal of Transcendentalism as an esoteric afterthought to the rough and tumble realities of antebellum America. Writing of what he calls the “politics” of classic American literature, for example, John Carlos
{"title":"Race and the Cultures of Transcendental Reform","authors":"David Faflik","doi":"10.1353/rah.2022.0003","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rah.2022.0003","url":null,"abstract":"From the time of its emergence in New England in the early 1830s, Transcendentalism often proved unintelligible to the uninitiated, who were unsure what to make of its heady mixture of liberal spiritual renewal, German philosophic idealism, and progressive social reform. Area divines like the Cambridge-based Unitarian theologian Andrews Norton responded to the challenge posed to his religion by the Transcendentalist worldview by naming it “the latest form of infidelity.” Those who were inclined to caricaturize meanwhile set about establishing the stereotype (which retains its appeal in the popular imagination today) of the Transcendentalists as an insular cohort of young, white, mostly middle-class regional intellectuals whose deep reading in period Continental thought and English and European Romanticism rendered them a feckless band of starry-eyed dreamers, ill-equipped for active involvement in the world. Indeed, despite the subsequent canonization in the United States of such celebrated Transcendentalist stalwarts as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, and Theodore Parker, a largely fictional portrayal of the Transcendentalists as abstracted and detached has had surprising staying power. Author Nathaniel Hawthorne epitomized a contemporary trend in Transcendentalist satire with his novel The Blithedale Romance (1852); the roman à clef narrative contained therein reads less as an objective depiction of the famous Brook Farm experiment in communal living in which Hawthorne himself participated than it does a seriocomic sendup of a Transcendentalistled enterprise that figures as ridiculous on the page. Even recent critics of a cultural phenomenon that qualifies more as a historical moment than a full-fledged movement have found it hard to resist the too-easy dismissal of Transcendentalism as an esoteric afterthought to the rough and tumble realities of antebellum America. Writing of what he calls the “politics” of classic American literature, for example, John Carlos","PeriodicalId":43597,"journal":{"name":"REVIEWS IN AMERICAN HISTORY","volume":"50 1","pages":"25 - 30"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-03-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"49518231","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
The peaceful atom is a thick historical object. Its analysis covers a range of material practices from exploiting radioisotopes for agriculture, medicine, and biomedical research to constructing and operating nuclear power reactors for research and to generate electricity. Although the social benefits of the atom predated WWII, it was the horror of nuclear war, as evidenced in August 1945, that propelled the exploitation of the peaceful atom to the core of the political process. Actively promoted as a benign alternative to atoms for war, the dissemination of the fruits of the peaceful atom, with the cooperation of industry, became entangled with interstate competition, superpower rivalry and the wave of decolonization that began to sweep across the globe in the late 1940s. Its attraction was catalyzed by President Eisenhower’s famous ‘Atoms for Peace’ speech at the United Nations in December 1953. Eisenhower was stung by a rising crescendo of criticism of the U.S. for developing and testing both atomic and hydrogen bombs. In a determined attempt “to convince the world that we are working for peace and not trying to blow them to kingdom come,”1 the President announced that his government would work along with others to make fissionable material available to those who wanted “to apply atomic energy to the needs of agriculture, medicine and other peaceful activities” and, most notably, to the provision of “abundant electrical energy in the power-starved areas of the world.”2 The enthusiastic response to this suggestion provided the impetus for a revision of the 1946 Atomic Energy Act in 1954 to facilitate the exchange of information with other nations and the commercialization of nuclear energy by private industry. Eisenhower’s speech was the backdrop to two major international conferences on the peaceful uses of atomic energy in Geneva in 1955 and 1958.3 And it led to the establishment of an International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) under UN auspices to promote the exploitation of the peaceful atom and to implement safeguards against a nuclear power program being diverted from civil to military objectives. By the time the decade was out, the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission
{"title":"Unmasking the Peaceful Atom","authors":"J. Krige","doi":"10.1353/rah.2022.0010","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rah.2022.0010","url":null,"abstract":"The peaceful atom is a thick historical object. Its analysis covers a range of material practices from exploiting radioisotopes for agriculture, medicine, and biomedical research to constructing and operating nuclear power reactors for research and to generate electricity. Although the social benefits of the atom predated WWII, it was the horror of nuclear war, as evidenced in August 1945, that propelled the exploitation of the peaceful atom to the core of the political process. Actively promoted as a benign alternative to atoms for war, the dissemination of the fruits of the peaceful atom, with the cooperation of industry, became entangled with interstate competition, superpower rivalry and the wave of decolonization that began to sweep across the globe in the late 1940s. Its attraction was catalyzed by President Eisenhower’s famous ‘Atoms for Peace’ speech at the United Nations in December 1953. Eisenhower was stung by a rising crescendo of criticism of the U.S. for developing and testing both atomic and hydrogen bombs. In a determined attempt “to convince the world that we are working for peace and not trying to blow them to kingdom come,”1 the President announced that his government would work along with others to make fissionable material available to those who wanted “to apply atomic energy to the needs of agriculture, medicine and other peaceful activities” and, most notably, to the provision of “abundant electrical energy in the power-starved areas of the world.”2 The enthusiastic response to this suggestion provided the impetus for a revision of the 1946 Atomic Energy Act in 1954 to facilitate the exchange of information with other nations and the commercialization of nuclear energy by private industry. Eisenhower’s speech was the backdrop to two major international conferences on the peaceful uses of atomic energy in Geneva in 1955 and 1958.3 And it led to the establishment of an International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) under UN auspices to promote the exploitation of the peaceful atom and to implement safeguards against a nuclear power program being diverted from civil to military objectives. By the time the decade was out, the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission","PeriodicalId":43597,"journal":{"name":"REVIEWS IN AMERICAN HISTORY","volume":"50 1","pages":"88 - 95"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-03-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47861303","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Twenty years ago, while I was studying at Cambridge University, my accommodation overlooked a college chapel that had once been a victim of Puritan iconoclasm. The chapel of Peterhouse was consecrated in 1633 by supporters of Archbishop William Laud and his Beauty of Holiness movement. Unsurprisingly, its quirky Renaissance-Gothic synthesis did not appeal to the thousands of Parliamentary troops who were quartered in Cambridge during the English Civil Wars, nor the newly appointed “Commissioner for the destruction of monuments of idolatry and superstition” for the Eastern Association, William Dowsing (1596–1668). Though Dowsing succeeded in removing statues of angels and cherubs from the chapel in 1643, High-Church-leaning Peterhouse fellows managed to hide the Flemish stained-glass panel that depicted Rubens’s Le Coup de Lance, which they reinstalled after the restoration of the Stuart royal line in 1660.1 Ten years after gazing at that chapel roof, during my two-day campus interview for a job at the University of Minnesota, I included its iconoclastic story in my response to a question from a search committee member. I had been discussing how the 1707 Act of Union between the English and Scottish parliaments had created a bi-confessional British state, which provided a model of jurisdictional pluralism for dissenting Protestants in North America. But the professor asked me to rewind one century to consider how the 1603 Regal Union between the English and Scottish monarchies might also help us to understand the origins of religious pluralism in colonial North America and the nascent United States. I used the chapel story to illustrate a warning that I offered to students: be careful mining seventeenth-century Anglo-Scottish history for the disestablishmentarian roots of British imperial life and American religious pluralism, or even the notion that multiple religious establishments might cohere within a single political union. As demonstrated by the deployment of authority by William Dowsing, iconoclastic Puritans shared a tendency for
{"title":"The Not-So-Puritan Origins of the American Self","authors":"Gideon A. Mailer","doi":"10.1353/rah.2022.0001","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rah.2022.0001","url":null,"abstract":"Twenty years ago, while I was studying at Cambridge University, my accommodation overlooked a college chapel that had once been a victim of Puritan iconoclasm. The chapel of Peterhouse was consecrated in 1633 by supporters of Archbishop William Laud and his Beauty of Holiness movement. Unsurprisingly, its quirky Renaissance-Gothic synthesis did not appeal to the thousands of Parliamentary troops who were quartered in Cambridge during the English Civil Wars, nor the newly appointed “Commissioner for the destruction of monuments of idolatry and superstition” for the Eastern Association, William Dowsing (1596–1668). Though Dowsing succeeded in removing statues of angels and cherubs from the chapel in 1643, High-Church-leaning Peterhouse fellows managed to hide the Flemish stained-glass panel that depicted Rubens’s Le Coup de Lance, which they reinstalled after the restoration of the Stuart royal line in 1660.1 Ten years after gazing at that chapel roof, during my two-day campus interview for a job at the University of Minnesota, I included its iconoclastic story in my response to a question from a search committee member. I had been discussing how the 1707 Act of Union between the English and Scottish parliaments had created a bi-confessional British state, which provided a model of jurisdictional pluralism for dissenting Protestants in North America. But the professor asked me to rewind one century to consider how the 1603 Regal Union between the English and Scottish monarchies might also help us to understand the origins of religious pluralism in colonial North America and the nascent United States. I used the chapel story to illustrate a warning that I offered to students: be careful mining seventeenth-century Anglo-Scottish history for the disestablishmentarian roots of British imperial life and American religious pluralism, or even the notion that multiple religious establishments might cohere within a single political union. As demonstrated by the deployment of authority by William Dowsing, iconoclastic Puritans shared a tendency for","PeriodicalId":43597,"journal":{"name":"REVIEWS IN AMERICAN HISTORY","volume":"50 1","pages":"15 - 7"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-03-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47894448","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
He was a daring fellow, they all agreed. A damned daring infidel, old Tom Paine. Of course, not all would go his distance, take his risks, and reason their way into his radical deism. But at least one among them did. Young Abraham Lincoln would echo Paine to engage—maybe to impress—the company of men who gathered at New Salem’s general store in frontier Illinois. He would point out contradictions in the Bible and ridicule those passages that beggared belief. He even composed “a little book on Infidelity” modeled on Paine’s Age of Reason, and in its pages he dismissed the virgin birth, Christ’s miracles, and his resurrection. As for the clergy, he shared Paine’s contempt: a scheming bunch, bent on gaining money and power by scaring their credulous flocks. Strong words, the men of New Salem nodded, but they had to wonder: would that damned daring infidel Lincoln ever regret flapping his gums? Strictly speaking, the Lincoln of the 1830s, like Paine before him, was no infidel. He believed in a powerful, unknowable God even as he harbored a deep skepticism about the inspiration of the Bible, the divinity of Jesus, and the intentions of religious leaders. But for most antebellum Americans, those deistical convictions placed Lincoln squarely in the infidel camp along with other doubters, agnostics, and downright atheists. Bad company for an aspiring politician, warned a friend—the same one who convinced him not to publish that “little book on Infidelity.” It was prudent advice: even without such an albatross in print, political opponents would hurl the charge of unbelief against Lincoln in his subsequent campaigns for the state legislature and Congress.1 An older and more politic Lincoln stopped ridiculing Christianity in public, and the events of his last years may also have leavened his skepticism. It appears that Lincoln came to regard the Bible as a repository of wisdom rather than as a book of fables and that the remote deist God of his youth had been supplanted by one that intervened directly in human history. His Second Inaugural, which Frederick Douglass described as “more like a sermon than a state paper,” refers to God 14 times and describes slavery as a sin for which
他们一致认为，他是个大胆的家伙。一个该死的大胆异教徒，老汤姆·潘恩。当然，并不是所有人都会走他的路，冒着他的风险，推理出他激进的自然神论。但他们中至少有一个人做到了。年轻的亚伯拉罕·林肯（Abraham Lincoln）会附和潘恩（Paine），与聚集在伊利诺伊州边境新塞勒姆百货公司（New Salem’s general store）的一群人交往——也许是为了给人留下深刻印象。他会指出《圣经》中的矛盾之处，并嘲笑那些缺乏信仰的段落。他甚至仿照潘恩的《理性时代》写了一本“关于不忠的小书”，在书中，他驳斥了童贞出生、基督的奇迹和他的复活。至于神职人员，他和潘恩一样鄙视：一群诡计多端的人，一心想通过恐吓轻信的信徒来获得金钱和权力。新萨勒姆的人用强硬的言辞点了点头，但他们不得不怀疑：那个该死的大胆异教徒林肯会后悔扇他的牙龈吗？严格地说，19世纪30年代的林肯和他之前的潘恩一样，不是异教徒。他相信一个强大的、不可知的上帝，尽管他对《圣经》的灵感、耶稣的神性和宗教领袖的意图怀有深深的怀疑。但对于大多数南北战争前的美国人来说，这些神教信仰将林肯与其他怀疑论者、不可知论者和彻头彻尾的无神论者一起完全置于异教徒阵营。一位朋友警告说，对于一位有抱负的政治家来说，这是一个糟糕的伙伴，正是这位朋友说服他不要出版那本“关于不忠的小书”，在随后的州议会和国会竞选中，政治对手会对林肯提出不信任的指控。1一个更年长、更政治的林肯不再在公共场合嘲笑基督教，他晚年发生的事件也可能加剧了他的怀疑。林肯似乎开始将《圣经》视为智慧的宝库，而不是寓言的书籍，他年轻时那个遥远的神只已经被一个直接干预人类历史的神所取代。弗雷德里克·道格拉斯（Frederick Douglass）将他的第二次就职演说描述为“更像是一次布道，而不是一份国家文件”，他14次提到上帝，并将奴隶制描述为一种罪恶
{"title":"High Infidelity","authors":"C. Heyrman","doi":"10.1353/rah.2022.0000","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rah.2022.0000","url":null,"abstract":"He was a daring fellow, they all agreed. A damned daring infidel, old Tom Paine. Of course, not all would go his distance, take his risks, and reason their way into his radical deism. But at least one among them did. Young Abraham Lincoln would echo Paine to engage—maybe to impress—the company of men who gathered at New Salem’s general store in frontier Illinois. He would point out contradictions in the Bible and ridicule those passages that beggared belief. He even composed “a little book on Infidelity” modeled on Paine’s Age of Reason, and in its pages he dismissed the virgin birth, Christ’s miracles, and his resurrection. As for the clergy, he shared Paine’s contempt: a scheming bunch, bent on gaining money and power by scaring their credulous flocks. Strong words, the men of New Salem nodded, but they had to wonder: would that damned daring infidel Lincoln ever regret flapping his gums? Strictly speaking, the Lincoln of the 1830s, like Paine before him, was no infidel. He believed in a powerful, unknowable God even as he harbored a deep skepticism about the inspiration of the Bible, the divinity of Jesus, and the intentions of religious leaders. But for most antebellum Americans, those deistical convictions placed Lincoln squarely in the infidel camp along with other doubters, agnostics, and downright atheists. Bad company for an aspiring politician, warned a friend—the same one who convinced him not to publish that “little book on Infidelity.” It was prudent advice: even without such an albatross in print, political opponents would hurl the charge of unbelief against Lincoln in his subsequent campaigns for the state legislature and Congress.1 An older and more politic Lincoln stopped ridiculing Christianity in public, and the events of his last years may also have leavened his skepticism. It appears that Lincoln came to regard the Bible as a repository of wisdom rather than as a book of fables and that the remote deist God of his youth had been supplanted by one that intervened directly in human history. His Second Inaugural, which Frederick Douglass described as “more like a sermon than a state paper,” refers to God 14 times and describes slavery as a sin for which","PeriodicalId":43597,"journal":{"name":"REVIEWS IN AMERICAN HISTORY","volume":"50 1","pages":"1 - 6"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-03-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"44632666","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Black Women and the Power of Biography","authors":"Alison M. Parker","doi":"10.1353/rah.2022.0007","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rah.2022.0007","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":43597,"journal":{"name":"REVIEWS IN AMERICAN HISTORY","volume":"50 1","pages":"56 - 74"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-03-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"45946994","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Was the American Revolution an old-time religious revival? Did the urge for political independence and individual rights begin with the yearning to find salvation in Christ? For a number of Americans, these questions are settled matters of fact: yes. Some of those folks have entered the public sphere with a definitive notion that because the Revolution was Christian, the United States is also Christian. Ryan Williams at the far-right Claremont Institute declared in 2021 that “The Founders were pretty unanimous, with Washington leading the way, that the Constitution is really only fit for a Christian people.”1 Williams has threatened civil war if his visions are not enacted. During the siege of the Capitol on January 6, the QAnon Shaman found his way to the Senate chamber and rededicated it to Jesus Christ. Do I have your attention? Good, because the issue of religion and the American Revolution has become one of the most critical historical questions of our own age. Much of the narrative that pervades sentiment like Williams’s derives in part from shoddy or antiquated scholarship; John Fea has shown, for example, that the popular tale of George Washington praying on his knees in the snows at Valley Forge is a myth. David Barton’s popular Christian history of Jefferson has been pulled from most bookstores because of its falsifications; it continues to sell online.2 In part, these interpretations hang on because many of the Founders were churchgoing men—Congress really did call for a day of fasting and prayer in 1775—and in part they linger because American historiography has a hard time interpreting religion except as a handmaid to politics. The current scholarly consensus assumes that religion and the Revolution were somehow
{"title":"On Which Rock?: Churches, Empires, and the American Revolution","authors":"Adam Jortner","doi":"10.1353/rah.2022.0002","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rah.2022.0002","url":null,"abstract":"Was the American Revolution an old-time religious revival? Did the urge for political independence and individual rights begin with the yearning to find salvation in Christ? For a number of Americans, these questions are settled matters of fact: yes. Some of those folks have entered the public sphere with a definitive notion that because the Revolution was Christian, the United States is also Christian. Ryan Williams at the far-right Claremont Institute declared in 2021 that “The Founders were pretty unanimous, with Washington leading the way, that the Constitution is really only fit for a Christian people.”1 Williams has threatened civil war if his visions are not enacted. During the siege of the Capitol on January 6, the QAnon Shaman found his way to the Senate chamber and rededicated it to Jesus Christ. Do I have your attention? Good, because the issue of religion and the American Revolution has become one of the most critical historical questions of our own age. Much of the narrative that pervades sentiment like Williams’s derives in part from shoddy or antiquated scholarship; John Fea has shown, for example, that the popular tale of George Washington praying on his knees in the snows at Valley Forge is a myth. David Barton’s popular Christian history of Jefferson has been pulled from most bookstores because of its falsifications; it continues to sell online.2 In part, these interpretations hang on because many of the Founders were churchgoing men—Congress really did call for a day of fasting and prayer in 1775—and in part they linger because American historiography has a hard time interpreting religion except as a handmaid to politics. The current scholarly consensus assumes that religion and the Revolution were somehow","PeriodicalId":43597,"journal":{"name":"REVIEWS IN AMERICAN HISTORY","volume":"50 1","pages":"16 - 24"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-03-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42488697","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Impairing Public Understanding: Flawed History, Uncritical Reviews and Interviews, and Misrepresenting A-Bomb-Related History","authors":"B. Bernstein","doi":"10.1353/rah.2022.0009","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rah.2022.0009","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":43597,"journal":{"name":"REVIEWS IN AMERICAN HISTORY","volume":"50 1","pages":"78 - 87"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-03-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"45994537","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"All (Sexual) Things in Moderation—And in Private","authors":"Natalia Mehlman Petrzela","doi":"10.1353/rah.2022.0012","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rah.2022.0012","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":43597,"journal":{"name":"REVIEWS IN AMERICAN HISTORY","volume":"50 1","pages":"103 - 109"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-03-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"41665931","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
When Robert Gross’s The Transcendentalists and Their World arrived in my mailbox, I recalled a haunting passage in Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. Late in the novel, Captain Ahab reminisces to first mate Starbuck how long it has been since he struck his first whale, when he was eighteen. “Forty—forty— forty years ago! Forty years of continual whaling! Forty years of privation, and peril, and storm-time!” “For forty years,” he continued, “has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make war on the horrors of the deep!” But to what end? “How the better or richer is Ahab, now?”1 Those who have followed Robert Gross’s career will understand why this searing passage came to mind, for scholars now have in hand the book that they have anticipated for over forty years, ever since Gross decided to continue his deep excavation of the town of Concord, Massachusetts that he began in his Bancroft Prize-winning The Minute Men and Their World (1976). Coming when it did, his elegant history followed a handful of seminal demographic investigations of communities or discrete regions by such then-budding historians as Michael Zuckerman, Philip Greven, and Kenneth A. Lockridge.2 Armed with bulky first-generation computers, they and other demographers meticulously combed local archives for town and church records, tax lists, genealogical data, probate records, and other materials that they regarded not as historical detritus but as significant, virtually unstudied repositories for the study of family and community in the colonies. Another reason that this book has been so long in coming is because over these decades, Gross has also been engaged in other scholarship, perhaps most significantly as a member of the editorial board of, and as an editor of and contributor to, one of the volumes in the American Antiquarian Society’s five-volume History of the Book in America.3 He also is a frequent participant in various symposia whose proceedings often eventuate in publication: vide his essay on Shays’s Rebellion in the volume he edited, In Debt to Shays (1993); and another, in Transient and Permanent: The Transcendentalist Movement and its Context (1999), his contribution to a conference at the Massachusetts Historical
{"title":"He Has \"Travelled Much in Concord\"","authors":"Philip F. Gura","doi":"10.1353/rah.2022.0004","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1353/rah.2022.0004","url":null,"abstract":"When Robert Gross’s The Transcendentalists and Their World arrived in my mailbox, I recalled a haunting passage in Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick. Late in the novel, Captain Ahab reminisces to first mate Starbuck how long it has been since he struck his first whale, when he was eighteen. “Forty—forty— forty years ago! Forty years of continual whaling! Forty years of privation, and peril, and storm-time!” “For forty years,” he continued, “has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make war on the horrors of the deep!” But to what end? “How the better or richer is Ahab, now?”1 Those who have followed Robert Gross’s career will understand why this searing passage came to mind, for scholars now have in hand the book that they have anticipated for over forty years, ever since Gross decided to continue his deep excavation of the town of Concord, Massachusetts that he began in his Bancroft Prize-winning The Minute Men and Their World (1976). Coming when it did, his elegant history followed a handful of seminal demographic investigations of communities or discrete regions by such then-budding historians as Michael Zuckerman, Philip Greven, and Kenneth A. Lockridge.2 Armed with bulky first-generation computers, they and other demographers meticulously combed local archives for town and church records, tax lists, genealogical data, probate records, and other materials that they regarded not as historical detritus but as significant, virtually unstudied repositories for the study of family and community in the colonies. Another reason that this book has been so long in coming is because over these decades, Gross has also been engaged in other scholarship, perhaps most significantly as a member of the editorial board of, and as an editor of and contributor to, one of the volumes in the American Antiquarian Society’s five-volume History of the Book in America.3 He also is a frequent participant in various symposia whose proceedings often eventuate in publication: vide his essay on Shays’s Rebellion in the volume he edited, In Debt to Shays (1993); and another, in Transient and Permanent: The Transcendentalist Movement and its Context (1999), his contribution to a conference at the Massachusetts Historical","PeriodicalId":43597,"journal":{"name":"REVIEWS IN AMERICAN HISTORY","volume":"50 1","pages":"31 - 39"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-03-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42663022","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-01-01Epub Date: 2022-05-28DOI: 10.1016/j.nicl.2022.103063
Varina L Boerwinkle, Bethany L Sussman, Sarah N Wyckoff, Iliana Manjón, Justin M Fine, P David Adelson
The goal of this study was to determine resting state fMRI (rs-fMRI) effective connectivity (RSEC) capacity, agnostic of epileptogenic events, in distinguishing seizure onset zones (SOZ) from propagation zones (pZ). Consecutive patients (2.1-18.2 years old), with epilepsy and hypothalamic hamartoma, pre-operative rs-fMRI-directed surgery, post-operative imaging, and Engel class I outcomes were collected. Cross-spectral dynamic causal modelling (DCM) was used to estimate RSEC between the ablated rs-fMRI-SOZ to its region of highest connectivity outside the HH, defined as the propagation zone (pZ). Pre-operatively, RSEC from the SOZ and PZ was expected to be positive (excitatory), and pZ to SOZ negative (inhibitory), and post-operatively to be either diminished or non-existent. Sensitivity, accuracy, positive predictive value were determined for node-to-node connections. A Parametric Empirical Bayes (PEB) group analysis on pre-operative data was performed to identify group effects and effects of Engel class outcome and age. Pre-operative RSEC strength was also evaluated for correlation with percent seizure frequency improvement, sex, and region of interest size. Of the SOZ's RSEC, only 3.6% had no connection of significance to the pZ when patient models were individually reduced. Among remaining, 96% were in expected (excitatory signal found from SOZ → pZ and inhibitory signal found from pZ → SOZ) versus 3.6% reversed polarities. Both pre-operative polarity signals were equivalently as expected, with one false signal direction out of 26 each (3.7% total). Sensitivity of 95%, specificity 73%, accuracy of 88%, negative predictive value 88%, and positive predictive value of 88% in identifying and differentiating the SOZ and pZ. Groupwise PEB analysis confirmed SOZ → pZ EC was excitatory, and pZ → SOZ EC was inhibitory. Patients with better outcomes (Engel Ia vs. Ib) showed stronger inhibitory signal (pZ → SOZ). Age was negatively associated with absolute RSEC bidirectionally but had no relationship with Directionality SOZ identification performance. In an additional hierarchical PEB analysis identifying changes from pre-to-post surgery, SOZ → pZ modulation became less excitatory and pZ → SOZ modulation became less inhibitory. This study demonstrates the accuracy of Directionality to identify the origin of excitatory and inhibitory signal between the surgically confirmed SOZ and the region of hypothesized propagation zone in children with DRE due to a HH. Thus, this method validation study in a homogenous DRE population may have potential in narrowing the SOZ-candidates for epileptogenicity in other DRE populations and utility in other neurological disorders.
{"title":"Discerning Seizure-Onset v. Propagation Zone: Pre-and-Post-Operative Resting-State fMRI Directionality and Boerwinkle Neuroplasticity Index.","authors":"Varina L Boerwinkle, Bethany L Sussman, Sarah N Wyckoff, Iliana Manjón, Justin M Fine, P David Adelson","doi":"10.1016/j.nicl.2022.103063","DOIUrl":"10.1016/j.nicl.2022.103063","url":null,"abstract":"<p><p>The goal of this study was to determine resting state fMRI (rs-fMRI) effective connectivity (RSEC) capacity, agnostic of epileptogenic events, in distinguishing seizure onset zones (SOZ) from propagation zones (pZ). Consecutive patients (2.1-18.2 years old), with epilepsy and hypothalamic hamartoma, pre-operative rs-fMRI-directed surgery, post-operative imaging, and Engel class I outcomes were collected. Cross-spectral dynamic causal modelling (DCM) was used to estimate RSEC between the ablated rs-fMRI-SOZ to its region of highest connectivity outside the HH, defined as the propagation zone (pZ). Pre-operatively, RSEC from the SOZ and PZ was expected to be positive (excitatory), and pZ to SOZ negative (inhibitory), and post-operatively to be either diminished or non-existent. Sensitivity, accuracy, positive predictive value were determined for node-to-node connections. A Parametric Empirical Bayes (PEB) group analysis on pre-operative data was performed to identify group effects and effects of Engel class outcome and age. Pre-operative RSEC strength was also evaluated for correlation with percent seizure frequency improvement, sex, and region of interest size. Of the SOZ's RSEC, only 3.6% had no connection of significance to the pZ when patient models were individually reduced. Among remaining, 96% were in expected (excitatory signal found from SOZ → pZ and inhibitory signal found from pZ → SOZ) versus 3.6% reversed polarities. Both pre-operative polarity signals were equivalently as expected, with one false signal direction out of 26 each (3.7% total). Sensitivity of 95%, specificity 73%, accuracy of 88%, negative predictive value 88%, and positive predictive value of 88% in identifying and differentiating the SOZ and pZ. Groupwise PEB analysis confirmed SOZ → pZ EC was excitatory, and pZ → SOZ EC was inhibitory. Patients with better outcomes (Engel Ia vs. Ib) showed stronger inhibitory signal (pZ → SOZ). Age was negatively associated with absolute RSEC bidirectionally but had no relationship with Directionality SOZ identification performance. In an additional hierarchical PEB analysis identifying changes from pre-to-post surgery, SOZ → pZ modulation became less excitatory and pZ → SOZ modulation became less inhibitory. This study demonstrates the accuracy of Directionality to identify the origin of excitatory and inhibitory signal between the surgically confirmed SOZ and the region of hypothesized propagation zone in children with DRE due to a HH. Thus, this method validation study in a homogenous DRE population may have potential in narrowing the SOZ-candidates for epileptogenicity in other DRE populations and utility in other neurological disorders.</p>","PeriodicalId":43597,"journal":{"name":"REVIEWS IN AMERICAN HISTORY","volume":"2 1","pages":"103063"},"PeriodicalIF":3.4,"publicationDate":"2022-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9163994/pdf/","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"90813956","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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