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The twilight of Rusch’s years are highlighted in Chapter 8, beginning with distinguishing honors Rusch received during the 1970s. Rusch’s health became increasingly frail as KEEP confronted various crises. The Kiyosato Farm School closed for lack of applicants, the consequence of a changing Japanese economy. There was scandal at KEEP, as Ryo Natori was accused of misappropriating funds sent from America. Then cancer began to cast a shadow over Rusch’s life, as his dearest friend, Karl Branstad, succumbed to the disease. The ailment also took the life of three of Rusch’s other protégés at KEEP, most painfully Ryo Natori, who passed away from liver cancer. Because Rusch was unable to travel and raise money owing to his ill health, the prospects for KEEP looked grim until Eli Lilly Jr. bequeathed over $2 million in Lilly stock to KEEP. Rusch died of cancer at the age of seventy-nine at St. Luke’s International Hospital in Tokyo.

This chapter continues the analysis of early scientific and technological activities in the late 1970s which is now relevant to the commercial uses of genetic engineering. In late 1977, the somatostatin experiment described in the previous chapter indicated the potential feasibility and applicability of using genetic engineering techniques as a method of producing human proteins. This chapter follows the strategies and actions of the three firms, Lilly, Genentech, and Kabi in their attempts to generate and access scientific and technological knowledge and techniques for the economic environments in 1978. These three firms clearly affected the growth rate and direction of the scientific environment by developing closely related activities for other environments. The focus of this chapter is on scientific and technological activities for using genetic engineering to express insulin and human growth hormone in bacteria. It also shows that perceptions were based on ideas which could not be immediately realized because the necessary knowledge and/or techniques were not available.

This chapter provides a historical background of the cultural strands that intertwine to produce diversity advocacy in open-technology. It gives an overview of the history of women in computing, cyberfeminism, and hacking and FLOSS, while challenging conventional accounts of hacking. It also includes critiques to suggest that present-day diversity advocacy needs to be read as a recentering and redefinition of what counts as hacking and by extension, who counts as a hacker or technological agent more generally. National and global economic and labor currents are important contexts for understanding diversity advocacy. So, too, is the underarticulated history of hacking in which peripheral people and practices move to the center of the frame. At present, exhortations to “learn to code” are all but deafening.

Since the 1990s, partisans of religiously affiliated liberal arts institutions have wrestled with the charge that, by adopting the ideals of the secular research university, they have abandoned their mission to create thoughtful and empathetic citizens. Armed with a Lilly Program for the Theological Foundation for Vocation grant, thirteen scholars at St. Olaf College set out to enter this debate through the lens of vocation. The result is a diverse collection of chapters that are by turns theoretical, personal, and practical in nature, that describe both individual journeys as well as an institutional one, and that wrestle with the term “vocation” as a way of revealing the best of what religious liberal arts institutions have to offer.

In conjunction with the growing impact of ecological thinking and its emphasis on empathy, the seventies witnessed a new focus on the affective quality of human-animal relations. Numerous popular works advocated the recognition of animals as intelligent, feeling, and communicative beings. Acknowledging the emotional lives of animals demanded moving beyond behaviorist approaches, which remained rooted in the dualism of mind and matter that characterized Enlightenment science. This led to a particular excitement about exploring new forms of human relationship with horses and small toothed whales (dolphins and killer whales), as these were two groups of animals that were known to resist behavioral conditioning. Due to its reliance on empathy and physicality, the new ideal for interacting with animals was often described as a kind of dance. A range of innovative choreographies, including John Lilly's flotation therapy, contact improvisation, and horse whispering, were developed to foster empathetic connections between humans and animals through interactive or emulative bodily movements. The goal of achieving better emotional rapport with animals was not entirely directed toward establishing their more humane treatment; it was also predicated on the idea that humans could benefit from the interaction by learning to empathize with their own animal being.

Chapter One reconsiders a key case in biopiracy debates, Eli Lilly’s discovery of leukemia treatments from rosy periwinkle (Catharanthus roseus). It contrasts periwinkle with pennywort (Centella asiatica), a plant Malagasy and French researchers transformed into Madecassol, a wound treatment licensed to La Roche, implicating African researchers in biopiracy. The story of the two plants suggests recent drug discovery is tied to longer historical migrations of plants and ideas, and that Africans used patents filed in the West to claim priority and drug profits since the 1960s. While Lilly claims that they owe Madagascar nothing because periwinkle is widely dispersed and used in folk remedies around the world, Malagasy scientists suggest that they owe little to communities in South Asia where pennywort grows. It incorporates interviews with Malagasy scientists and plant sellers, alongside correspondence between scientists in North America, and competing labs in Madagascar, India, Jamaica, the Philippines, Canada, and France.

This chapter argues that the exploration of vocation in academic courses and programs can constitute a “high-impact” educational practice that promotes engaged learning and intellectual development, not only for students but for their instructors as well. Like other high-impact practices, the study of vocation requires intellectual investment, fosters interaction with others about substantive matters, promotes the integration and application of learning, and enhances understanding of oneself and one’s place in a diverse world. These patterns in student and faculty learning were observable in assessment and program evaluation data examining the impact of a grant-funded multidisciplinary initiative integrating the study of vocation into faculty teaching and scholarship. The chapter concludes with reflections on the ways in which the assessment of student learning can be an important tool in helping an institution discern, articulate, pursue, and communicate its institutional vocation.

This chapter places Bateson's work with dolphins within a broader 1960s "dolphin mystique"--a cultural site where anxieties over modern science’s physical models went unresolved. Most associated with scientist John C. Lilly, the dolphin mystique had futurist, utilitarian, and romantic components, also found in a similar "outer space mystique." The chapter shows how Lilly's and Bateson's research goals differed through a further substantiation of the sources of Bateson's thought: the Macy Conferences on Cybernetics (his theory of play, the concepts of positive feedback, negative feedback, servomechanisms, and the naturalization of teleology); and his father William Bateson and his career amid the ongoing conflict between Darwinist and Lamarckian theories of evolution. In Hawaii, Bateson expressed his isolation from potential peers and research frustrations in letters to old friend and Darwin granddaughter/scholar Nora Barlow. This isolation, however, allowed Bateson to articulate a justification for scientific inquiry that was neither utilitarian nor a value-neutral pursuit of truth, but an effort to establish an accurate depiction of the relationship between nature and the human self, which he called the riddle of the Sphinx.

The notable neurophysiologist John C. Lilly moved from work on macaques to dolphins in the late 1950s, eventually elaborating a research program that placed Tursiops truncatus (the bottlenose dolphin) at the center of an increasingly visionary effort to transcend the boundaries of the human. His stated objective: “communication” with an alien intelligence. Along the way he succeeded in selling dolphins to NASA (and others) as an intimate animal alterity, creatures capable of showing us ourselves from elsewhere. This chapter traces the rise and fall of Lilly’s scientific enterprise, in an effort to make sense of his own trajectory (from “right stuff” avionics bio-engineer to Esalen guru), but also to use his story to illuminate the imbrication of Cold War science and the counter cultural imaginary. Lilly’s dolphins became avatars of the Age of Aquarius.

Evangelicalism became the political and cultural baseline for measuring the status of religion in American public life. The dissemination of two influential metaphors—Richard John Neuhaus's “naked public square” and James Davison Hunter's “culture wars”—demonstrated how evangelicalism was woven into key interpretations of the times. Many who shaped those symbols—not least a group of “thoughtful evangelicals,” such as historians Mark Noll and George Marsden, who received support from the Lilly Endowment and the Pew Charitable Trusts—were themselves believers or fellow-travelers. Late twentieth-century evangelicalism was paradigmatic in ways both obvious and subtle. Ralph Reed's ambitious Christian Coalition and other born-again banes of President Bill Clinton turned the impeachment scandal into a kind of evangelical drama. Whether the setting was Colorado Springs or Willow Creek Community Church, or a Habitat for Humanity worksite or a Promise Keepers rally, evangelical civil society proliferated.

This chapter examines ideological developments unfolding in the last months of the civil war. In particular, it examines the coalescence of a “propaganda collective,” centering on John Lilburne and his closest collaborators, which began to promulgate a distinctive vision of political reality, put forward as the need for a final settlement became evident. This “collective” established many of the ideological, organizational, and personal ligatures that would hold together the Leveller movement in 1647. However, this collective remained in 1645 an integral part of the wider “independent” coalition, sharing broader political and ideological objectives with other constituents of that coalition. Moreover, there were also important developments among other independent sympathizers, evident most notably in the emergence, for the first time, of overtly republican sentiments and arguments at the end of 1645.

After New York women won the vote in 1917, many joined political party clubs and some ran for office. In the 1920s, only a few won seats in the state legislature, and only one served more than one term. A few women won other posts—register of New York County and alderwoman—and a few others won appointive government and judicial posts. Local and state political party committees elected women as officers. These small victories encouraged other women to keep trying. The obstacles to women’s political success in the first decade after suffrage remained high, however. Some suffragists were ambivalent toward partisanship and discouraged women from being active party members; party men remained prejudiced against women politicians and government officials. In the 1920s African American women and Socialists had no electoral success at all.

The final chapter of the discursive history outlines how Robert Crookall’s and Robert A. Monroe’s books on “astral projection,” but also C. G. Jung and other researchers discussing paranormal and parapsychological phenomena in the 1960s and early 1970s, already assembled almost all phenomena that Moody could bundle in 1975 under the new term “near-death experiences.” However, the chapter points to the fact that, in contrast to the opinio communis, the term had already been introduced by John C. Lilly in 1972. Other influences discussed are the use of LSD, which sometimes triggered near-death experiences, and the growing interest of psychologists and psychotherapists in such experiences (e.g., Russell Noyes and Roy Kletti or Stanislav Grof). It concludes with the institutionalization of the term as grasped in the post-Moodian “Greyson scale.” The latter serves as an example for the still-dominant religious interest in the experiences, i.e., their mystic, esoteric, and transformative qualities.

What does it mean to represent women’s interests in a polarized era? This chapter explores how gender affects the policy activities of legislators in a polarized Congress. In the chapter a theory is developed of how the politics of women’s rights in a sharply partisan era shapes the policy priorities and political opportunities for women in the Democratic and Republican parties. This theory is illustrated with case studies of the confrontation over President George W. Bush’s lower court judicial nominees and the fight for the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, the equal pay legislation that became the first piece of legislation signed by President Barack Obama. The chapter concludes by demonstrating how the “war on women” frame in the 2012 elections reflects the new politics of women’s rights and by exploring the future dynamics of gender politics within the Republican and Democratic congressional parties.

Chapter 1 analyzes a mid-seventeenth-century pamphlet exchange that suggests how global fantasies infuse writings that on their surface seem little interested in situating England on a world stage. In 1651, William Lilly, the “Christian astrologer,” responded to a Royalist Presbyterian’s pamphlet attack on the Parliamentarian cause. The two authors debated events of their time by exchanging prophecies that depended on the twinned notions of a Christian millennialism in which Christ would become a “universall monarch” over the whole world and of translatio imperii, fidei, and scientiae, the movement of government, faith, and learning from the East to the West. The coda adds an additional voice to the debate, triangulating the exchange between Lilly and the anonymous pamphleteer with a reader whose marginalia are preserved in a copy held by Purdue University. This exchange illustrates the fervor with which millennial ideas were being discussed throughout the seventeenth century.