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New Directions in American Intellectual History
Book by Higham, Professor John
- GenresHistory
265 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1979
67 people want to read
About the author
John Higham
14 books5 followersJohn William Higham (26 October 1920 - 26 July 2003) was an American historian, scholar of American culture and specialist on issues of ethnicity.
Born in Jamaica, Queens, Higham earned his undergraduate history degree from Johns Hopkins in 1941 and received a master's degree from Yale University in 1942. In World War II, he served with the historical division of the Army Air Corps in Italy. He married psychologist Eileen Moss Higham in 1948.
After serving as assistant editor of The American Mercury, he earned a doctorate at the University of Wisconsin–Madison in 1949. He taught at the University of California, Los Angeles, Rutgers University, Columbia University and the University of Michigan before returning to Johns Hopkins in 1971.
He is noted for having described anti-Catholicism in the United States as "the most luxuriant, tenacious tradition of paranoiac agitation in American history".
Higham died of a cerebral aneurysm in Baltimore.
Born in Jamaica, Queens, Higham earned his undergraduate history degree from Johns Hopkins in 1941 and received a master's degree from Yale University in 1942. In World War II, he served with the historical division of the Army Air Corps in Italy. He married psychologist Eileen Moss Higham in 1948.
After serving as assistant editor of The American Mercury, he earned a doctorate at the University of Wisconsin–Madison in 1949. He taught at the University of California, Los Angeles, Rutgers University, Columbia University and the University of Michigan before returning to Johns Hopkins in 1971.
He is noted for having described anti-Catholicism in the United States as "the most luxuriant, tenacious tradition of paranoiac agitation in American history".
Higham died of a cerebral aneurysm in Baltimore.
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July 31, 2009
Required reading for students of American intellectual, cultural, and (arguably) social history. This set of essays, published in 1979, derives from the "Wingspread Conference" in Racine, Wisconsin, in late 1977. The contributors came together to discuss the state and future of the field of American intellectual history. For the most part, these essays are still highly relevant today.
At the heart of this book is a disciplinary catch-22 created by the dominance of social history. On the one hand, social historians have pointed out that a lot of earlier intellectual history -- of the "New England mind" sort -- relied on unrepresentative evidence. Intellectualists at mid-century were guilty of studying elites and treating them as if their ideas obtained among everyone else in society. Careful intellectual historians (the contributors generally concede) need to restrict their claims to the population segments represented in their evidence. Yet on the other hand, the dominance of social history also means that intellectualists now have to make claims about the population at large. The scholarly public demands that our history reveal the experiences and agency of the inarticulate masses. So what's an intellectual historian to do, given the apparent fact that he or she, by definition, studies the articulate?
The first part of the collection, "Definitions," contains the most direct solutions to this problem. The solutions presented, however, are not entirely consistent with each other. First, Laurence Veysey argues that we must embrace rigor; we must be modest, making claims that are only as broad as our evidence can support, even if this means we no longer produce the majestic syntheses that made the reputations of people like Miller and Hofstadter. Next, Gordon Wood argues that the business of intellectual history is to study the construction of reality. This allows us to skirt a tricky professional debate. We need not assume that ideas are the primary causes of behavior; instead, we can simply take them as the manifestation of the meaning of behavior. Cognitive life, whatever else it may be, is the way people make sense of life in general, and thus is worth studying. Next, David Hollinger argues that we should study intellectual life as a social phenomenon, not studying autonomous ideas or even traditions but rather studying specific discourse communities. In practice, he suggests, this means looking at the questions that people have in common. A community of intellectuals may not have the same answers (and should not be assumed to think alike), but they will share a common set of questions. Finally, Rush Welter argues a contrarian position. He argues that we must try to study large patterns of thought -- in particular, the "national mind" of a given era -- in order to put particular thoughts in context. Without some sense of the larger setting, we can't properly understand any given person or group. This does not, however, require us to pretend that everyone at a given time thought alike. Instead, it leads us to study overlapping ranges of patterns of thought, which defined the intellectual resources and risks that presented themselves to a given thinker.
The rest of the book comprises more concrete essays on different aspects of American thought and culture, from the colonial period to the present day. Many of these essays, however, also address the social-history challenge. Henry May, for example, argues that American intellectual history should exist in a dialectic with religious history; the latter often provides insight into popular attitudes, and especially into ideals, symbols, and emotions. Intellectual history informed by religious history thus promises to reveal American culture as a "richer and more various" milieu that is not limited to the production of an articulate elite. In another essay, Murray Murphey argues that modern American culture is fundamentally different from premodern culture. Thanks to the specialization, professionalization, and institutionalization of inquiry, he claims, modern American thought does not amount to a coherent worldview to study; instead, intellectual historians must study isolated institutions and disciplines. And in a related article dealing with the nineteenth rather than the twentieth century, Thomas Bender argues that we should study intellectual life in its local social context. Like Murphey, Bender sees professionalization as having a corrosive effect on the civic sharing of American thought. He also argues, however, that we should be studying the cities and institutions within which the intellect has been exercised. (In other words, he advocates the "social history of ideas" as a way to reconcile social and intellectual history. I heartily approve.)
Besides the articles I have mentioned, several of these essays may be important for understanding specific topics in American intellectual history.
I'd like to note that the second annual US Intellectual History Conference, which will be held this November in New York, will feature a panel retrospective on the Wingspread Conference. Several of the original participants have agreed to appear.
At the heart of this book is a disciplinary catch-22 created by the dominance of social history. On the one hand, social historians have pointed out that a lot of earlier intellectual history -- of the "New England mind" sort -- relied on unrepresentative evidence. Intellectualists at mid-century were guilty of studying elites and treating them as if their ideas obtained among everyone else in society. Careful intellectual historians (the contributors generally concede) need to restrict their claims to the population segments represented in their evidence. Yet on the other hand, the dominance of social history also means that intellectualists now have to make claims about the population at large. The scholarly public demands that our history reveal the experiences and agency of the inarticulate masses. So what's an intellectual historian to do, given the apparent fact that he or she, by definition, studies the articulate?
The first part of the collection, "Definitions," contains the most direct solutions to this problem. The solutions presented, however, are not entirely consistent with each other. First, Laurence Veysey argues that we must embrace rigor; we must be modest, making claims that are only as broad as our evidence can support, even if this means we no longer produce the majestic syntheses that made the reputations of people like Miller and Hofstadter. Next, Gordon Wood argues that the business of intellectual history is to study the construction of reality. This allows us to skirt a tricky professional debate. We need not assume that ideas are the primary causes of behavior; instead, we can simply take them as the manifestation of the meaning of behavior. Cognitive life, whatever else it may be, is the way people make sense of life in general, and thus is worth studying. Next, David Hollinger argues that we should study intellectual life as a social phenomenon, not studying autonomous ideas or even traditions but rather studying specific discourse communities. In practice, he suggests, this means looking at the questions that people have in common. A community of intellectuals may not have the same answers (and should not be assumed to think alike), but they will share a common set of questions. Finally, Rush Welter argues a contrarian position. He argues that we must try to study large patterns of thought -- in particular, the "national mind" of a given era -- in order to put particular thoughts in context. Without some sense of the larger setting, we can't properly understand any given person or group. This does not, however, require us to pretend that everyone at a given time thought alike. Instead, it leads us to study overlapping ranges of patterns of thought, which defined the intellectual resources and risks that presented themselves to a given thinker.
The rest of the book comprises more concrete essays on different aspects of American thought and culture, from the colonial period to the present day. Many of these essays, however, also address the social-history challenge. Henry May, for example, argues that American intellectual history should exist in a dialectic with religious history; the latter often provides insight into popular attitudes, and especially into ideals, symbols, and emotions. Intellectual history informed by religious history thus promises to reveal American culture as a "richer and more various" milieu that is not limited to the production of an articulate elite. In another essay, Murray Murphey argues that modern American culture is fundamentally different from premodern culture. Thanks to the specialization, professionalization, and institutionalization of inquiry, he claims, modern American thought does not amount to a coherent worldview to study; instead, intellectual historians must study isolated institutions and disciplines. And in a related article dealing with the nineteenth rather than the twentieth century, Thomas Bender argues that we should study intellectual life in its local social context. Like Murphey, Bender sees professionalization as having a corrosive effect on the civic sharing of American thought. He also argues, however, that we should be studying the cities and institutions within which the intellect has been exercised. (In other words, he advocates the "social history of ideas" as a way to reconcile social and intellectual history. I heartily approve.)
Besides the articles I have mentioned, several of these essays may be important for understanding specific topics in American intellectual history.
I'd like to note that the second annual US Intellectual History Conference, which will be held this November in New York, will feature a panel retrospective on the Wingspread Conference. Several of the original participants have agreed to appear.
Displaying 1 of 1 review