In 1948 the pharmaceutical company Leo launched a placental hormonal preparation, called Gonadex, in Sweden. During a press conference, and in commercials and newspapers, it was said that Gonadex could cure sterility as well as many other problems related to the endocrine system. The remedy was described as effective and pure, with no side effects whatsoever. For several reasons, Gonadex was looked upon as a ‘Swedish triumph’. Inspired by research on ‘mediation’, conducted within the field of social studies of pharmaceutical (...) drugs, the present essay explores the political and scientific visions and values behind Gonadex; the propaganda for and marketing of Gonadex; the mediated image of Gonadex in the press; the reception by the medical profession, and finally the hopes and fears of the women who tried Gonadex. The essay argues that the public image of Gonadex was ‘oversell’ of hormone therapy, and that it was shaped by the way endocrinologists at Karolinska Hospital, notably Professor Axel Westman, mediated between Leo, the mass media, and the consumers when, and even before, Gonadex was introduced to the market. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 30.2 (2006) 450-470 MuseSearchJournalsThis JournalContents[Access article in PDF]Romantic Love: A Literary Universal?Jonathan Gottschall Washington and Jefferson College (JG)Marcus Nordlund * Göteborg University (MN)ITo love someone romantically is—at least according to innumerable literary works, much received wisdom, and even a gradually coalescing academic consensus—to experience a strong desire for union with someone who is deemed entirely unique. It is to idealize this person, to think constantly (...) about him or her, and to discover that one's own life priorities have changed dramatically. It is to care deeply for that person's well-being and to feel pain or emptiness when he or she is absent.But is this intense emotional experience a universal experience, something that is characteristically and quintessentially human, or is it merely a sociocultural construct that belongs to a particular time and place? On this point there is less agreement, both within and between different academic disciplines. The audacious question we want to raise in the pages that follow is whether literature—or more specifically, a large-scale, multiple-coder content analysis of thousands of folk tales drawn from different parts of the planet—can contribute something to this difficult question about love, culture, and human nature.Let us first look briefly at the theoretical problem that we aim to address. A widespread view among literary scholars and social scientists over the last decades has been that romantic love is a social construction specific to Western culture. This is part of a relentless skepticism [End Page 450] toward assumptions that important categories of human psychology and emotion—romantic and parental love, gender, sexual orientation, and so on—are "natural" rather than constructed. This position is often, if not always, linked to an ideological concern to demystify (or at least problematize) what is perceived as an essentially destructive or oppressive emotion or belief. Taking her cue from Simone de Beauvoir, Marilyn Friedman gives no less than ten reasons why it may be problematic for women to fall in love with men. 1Of course, no argument of any kind can be strictly ideological in nature since it always involves empirical assumptions—either explicit or implicit—about the nature of things. For example, the psychoanalyst E. S. Persons opines that the "best evidence that romantic love is not hard-wired into the emotional repertoire of humanity but is a cultural construct is the fact that there are so many cultures in which it is virtually absent." 2 Another frequent argument for love's constructedness has been that "there is no definition that describes love throughout the ages or across cultures." 3In some literary-critical accounts, it is even argued that romantic love is a cultural invention that can be traced back with precision to the courtly troubadour culture of twelfth-century France. 4 According to yet another school, represented by the influential literary theorist Jonathan Culler, "the notion of romantic love (and its centrality to the lives of individuals) is arguably a massive literary creation." 5While the social constructivist position on romantic love typically involves a strong commitment to cultural specificity, a weaker version is held even by some cognitive theorists who grant more to biology and panhuman traits. From the perspective of their communicative theory of emotion, Philip Johnson-Laird and Keith Oatley argue that the "components [of romantic love] exist separately in different societies, but their integration into a recognizable complex is a cultural accomplishment [by the West]." 6At the other end of the romantic love continuum we find those who argue that this emotion belongs to a universal human nature: or, more specifically, that it can be attributed to specialised neural circuits whose ultimate purpose is to enhance reproductive success. Not surprisingly, this has been a favorite position among evolutionary psychologists, and it has recently received some support from neuroscientific studies.For example, the neuroscientists Andreas Bartels and Samir Zeki claim to have uncovered a "functionally specialised system" that lights up in fMRI (magnetic resonance) scans of brains whose owners claim to... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 26.2 (2002) 312-333 [Access article in PDF] Consilient Literary Interpretation Marcus Nordlund I THIS IS AN EXCITING TIME in the history of human self-knowledge. Like the two souls in Plato's Symposium, the life sciences and the human sciences are slowly coming to terms with their painful divorce and are increasingly on speaking terms. Thanks to important developments across a broad range of academic disciplines from (...) biology and neuroscience to anthropology and psychology, we are starting to glean the possibility of a new conceptual integration that may have important consequences for our understanding of human nature. After hundreds of years of virtuoso variations on the theme of philosophical and scientific dualism, we have come some way towards bridging the gap between mind and matter, biology and culture, science and the arts.From the perspective of literary studies, two recent developments have been especially valuable. The previous decade saw a growing recognition among social scientists of the explanatory force of evolutionary theory, and of the ultimate bankruptcy of the nature-nurture opposition that forces biology and culture into different compartments. Since the social sciences have always supplied literary studies with food for thought, it would be strange if such developments did not reflect on literature, too. Equally important has been the increasing impatience among scholars in the humanities with the radical skepticism, antiscientism, and dogmatic agnosticism that turns both science and literature into mere self-validating narratives and sees no significant difference between descriptive and normative statements. Together, these theoretical shifts have slowly begun to pave the way for a new dialogue between those who study biology, psychology, and cultural artifacts like literature. Since the mid-1990s, a number of literary [End Page 312] scholars have taken the first steps towards merging evolutionary and cultural explanation in the study of literature. 1One striking defense of such a conceptual integration between science and literature was delivered a few years ago in Edward O. Wilson's Consilience. 2 According to Wilson, there is "only one way to unite the great branches of learning and end the culture wars. It is to view the boundary between the scientific and literary cultures not as a territorial line but as a broad and mostly unexplored terrain awaiting cooperative entry from both sides" (p. 138). While he concedes that the two cultures can and should be characterized by "radically different goals and methods," he also stresses that interpretation provides a "logical channel of consilient explanation between science and the arts" (p. 234).While we have good reason to be optimistic about the potential of this joint endeavor, it is nevertheless fraught with massive problems. The current track record in interdisciplinary literary studies is uneven, to say the least. Strange confusions about the nature and status of theory abound, and these often take the shape of spontaneous raids into foreign conceptual frameworks that are bound to baffle the practitioners of the host discipline. As Richard Levin importantly points out, 3 there are numerous reasons why current interdisciplinary literary theories tend to become self-validating. There are no negative tests; critics tend to choose theories on the basis of ideological preferences rather than the criterion of truth; and there is a widespread assumption that theories can simply be transformed willfully whenever they do not meet the requirements of the interpreter.Many of the problems Levin points to can, I think, be remedied by something as trivial as a change in attitude within the discipline of literature itself. For example, something has obviously gone seriously wrong when the automatic spouting of political ad hominem arguments and genetic fallacies has become second nature to so many critics. But there are other and more fundamental problems that seem intrinsic to the whole question of interdisciplinarity. One of these, according to Wilson, is that as we move forward in the hierarchy of sciences, from physics to biology to literature, we encounter a rapidly accelerating complexity: "It is far easier to go backward through the branching corridors than to go forward.... Biology is almost unimaginably more complex than physics, and the arts equivalently more complex than... (shrink)

The aim of the article is to analyse the relationship between Quaternary geology, the idea of land elevation, nationalism and regionalism in Scandinavia, with special regard to the contribution of Swedish geologists at the end of the nineteenth century. From a scientific point of view, the idea of land elevation was connected to the acceptance of the glaciation theory and the elevation theory of Thomas F. Jamieson, but analysed in a wider cultural context it is possible to understand both the (...) professionalization of Quaternary geology and the new theory of shore-line displacement as expressions of Swedish cultural nationalism. As a complement to the specific cultural history, the Quaternary geology enterprise was a way of constituting a unique natural history of the nation. One of the new theories that developed in this process was that of the Highest Marine Border, a complex concept established by the distinguished geologist Gerard De Geer at the end of the 1880s in order to defend the theory of land elevation, which was threatened by the work of Eduard Suess. The line was considered to be a geographical border that both expressed the elevation pattern and sharply divided Sweden into one part that had been covered by water during the post-glacial period and another part that had not. The study continues by looking more closely at the construction of the border in the north of Sweden. Through an account of a subsequent scientific dispute between De Geer and the geologist Arvid Gustaf Hogbom it is clear that the concept of the Highest Marine Border was shaped not only by nationalism but also by regionalism. (shrink)

Rec. av Håkon Witt Andersen et al., Aemula Lauri: The Royal Norwegian Society of Sciences and Letters, 1760–2010.