In a recent forum contribution to the American Historical Review on the relationship between history and biology, Lynn Hunt proposed that the future of academic scholarship devoted to exploring the origins and development of modern selfhood would depend on the disciplinary alliance between history and neuroscience. Tabling, for the moment, the cogency of her central assertion, we can nevertheless agree that Hunt espouses a sentiment shared by many historians: “the question of the self is a huge and difficult subject on its own,” she writes, and historical analysis of some sort can help us make better sense of it. The effort to do precisely that over the past several decades, through a variety of historiographic approaches, has engendered a remarkably sizable corpus of writings on the history and conceptual development of the modern, typically Western, self.

As a young man, Thoreau found the pencil of American manufacture a gross and greasy tool unfit for finer uses. In a breakthrough, then, for the family business, he discovered that by grinding the graphite to a near impalpable powder, then mixing it with clay just so, a pencil could be made that would write and sketch with such elegance and precision as to out-perform the standard Old World imports. It is hard to say whether Thoreau's technological fix was an application of the New England Transcendentalist imagination or, more prosaically, a shrewd colluding with the Industrial Revolution and the global market economy. But increasingly, and especially as we observe the bicentennial of Thoreau's birth, here is where we find him most: at the pivot point between this world and a world made better by intelligence, between raw nature and its sublimated refinement into meanings. We tend rightly to suppose that we can't have too many watchers posted at that gate.