bluuebunny/crossref_metadata_2025 huggingface dataset:
Canon Theory and Emergent Practice
Authors: Lauter Paul
Published: November 2020

I want to begin with what some might cite as a characteristic move of the socialist intellectual in capitalist society: namely, biting the hand that feeds you. In the course of explaining to me the rejection by the National Endowment for the Humanities board of a highly-rated proposal for a Seminar for College Teachers, the NEH program officer wrote that “some reviewers were concerned that the focus on the canon, while doubtless an important issue for teachers of American literature, lacked the kind of scholarly significance generally expected of Summer Seminars. . . .” Pursuing this theme, he later wrote that my “application was rather more thesis-driven than most of our seminar proposals.” I discover everywhere signs of this division. On the one side, we find the supposedly pedagogical or professional problems raised by the question of the canon, and on the other side, what is lauded as “of scholarly significance” or, more simply, criticism or theory. In a recent “Newsletter for Graduate Alumnae and Alumni" issued by the Yale English Department, for example, Cyrus Hamlin ruminates “precisely how this procedure of hermeneutical recuperation” he is proposing “should affect the canon and the curriculum of our institution is difficult to say. . . .” and he proceeds to ignore the question (p. 2). In the same document, Margaret Homans suggests why he does so. “At Yale,” she writes . . . while post-structuralism has proven to be intellectually more unsettling than liberal humanism, the feminist versions of post-structuralism are institutionally more easily accommodated than some of the projects of liberal feminism, such as challenging the content of the canon we teach, with its vast preponderance of white, male authors (p. 4). . . . Interestingly, Homans here appropriates the project of canon revision solely to the domain of “liberal feminism,” a common enough way of trying to limit the scope of this intellectual movement to a supposed clique of uppity, middleclass women.
University Reform: Threat or Opportunity
Authors: Lauter Paul
Published: November 2020

When you feel yourself beginning to slide down a cliff, you are not likely to think too hard about what it is you grab to stop the fall. But the choice of handholds makes a difference—the difference between continuing to plunge and holding on long enough to plant your feet. As you descend, what seems a vine turns out to be a viper, and what seems a solid trunk proves rootless and tears away. So it is as faculty have contended with the growing shelf of studies criticizing, occasionally analyzing, and mostly prescribing for, higher education. We feel the structure, the norms of our profession, shifting and sliding beneath our feet. We reach for a handhold, a point of stability, and discover, alas, that there’s little that is reliable, much that is frail and fragile. Three of the mid-1980s higher education studies1 were among the opening shots in what has become an extended battle over the character and quality of the institutions in which professors work, as well as over what exactly it is that faculty and staff do. One could, of course, dismiss these and more recent studies, perhaps citing their manifold banalities as sufficient reason for indifference. Or, as faculty, we could acquiesce, agreeing to such changes as the reformists are able to compel, but doing little more than what is necessary to protect our turf. Either course is rationally defensible. Neither is advisable for the academic community. It seems to me that either indifference or generalized resistance would be mistaken—for at least two reasons. First, this has proven to be an unusually strong tide of reform, and even now, half a decade later, it seems still to be waxing. Even from the perspective of strict self-interest, not an unfamiliar ground for academics to stand upon, it would be dangerous to ignore what is a continuing effort to reshape the character of our work and lives. Second, the drive to reform college education presents faculty and staff with an opportunity to shape the direction of change, and in particular to raise what none of these reports really contends with: What political values, what economic forms, what social objectives do we really wish to pursue?
The School System before 1870
Authors: Lamberti Marjorie
Published: November 2020

Through most of the nineteenth century the public elementary school in Prussia was de jure an institution of the state but de facto an institution of the church through the clergy’s virtual monopoly of school inspection offices and the precedence given to confessional religious instruction in the curriculum. So extensive was church influence in the public school system that Catholic Bishop Wilhelm von Ketteler of Mainz was moved to praise the Protestant monarchy in the north. In 1867 he wrote that a peaceful solution of the school question, which had kindled a bitter conflict between the state and the Catholic church in Baden, was already present in Prussia, in the practices of the school administration and in the constitution of 1850. The bishop’s depiction of the Prussian school administration as a model for the other German states to emulate is a poignant reminder of a point that has not always been fully appreciated in modern historical scholarship. The Volksschule in Prussia was not an affair of the state alone. The traditional partnership of the church and the state in the supervision of the schools was put on a secure and enduring foundation when the constitution recognized the church, the local community, and the state as social entities with legitimate interests and formal rights in the public schools. The General Civil Code of 1794 defined the Volksschule as an institution of the state but did not consistently carry out this principle. While the civil code proclaimed that the schools were under the supervision of the state authorities, it also recognized the church’s historical ties to the schools and entrusted school supervision to the superintendents of the church dioceses and the parish clergy. The local pastors or priests inspected the schools, watched the work and personal conduct of the schoolmasters, and reported any deficiency or disorder to the civil and church authorities. Adding to the ambiguity of the school’s institutional nature was the continuation of the Kilsterschule in which the teacher served also as the church organist and sexton. In many villages the school remained an extension of the parish church.
Fuel and Materials
Authors: Gordon Robert B. , Malone Patrick M.
Published: November 2020

As American entrepreneurs enlarged their undertakings and began to shift them from waterpowered shops in the countryside to factories in the cities, they created a demand for new sources of energy and larger quantities of raw materials. The coal and, later, oil that they used to power their factories were brought to manufacturing centers on canals and railways and by coastal or river shipping. They used the wood and water resources of North America more heavily than ever, but they also created new kinds of workplaces. Their workplaces in the coal and oil fields, on canals and railways, in mills that made iron with mineral coal, and in the nonferrous-metal mines and mills were outside any previous experience of American artisans. Often, these workplaces were not adequately described or recorded before they were replaced. Material evidence helps us fill this gap in the historical record. In mining anthracite, both miners and mine operators faced a complex underground environment where there were few reliable clues to guide their work (Chapter 4). Geologists could help little, and, as anthracite was not much used elsewhere in the world, mining expertise could not be easily borrowed; instead, mining methods were developed through experience and error on the part of individual miners. The technological and social practices that endured in anthracite mining were largely established in the years between 1827 and 1834 by inexperienced adventurers whose aim was to obtain coal quickly and with the least trouble. Many of these practices were later adopted in underground bituminous mines. We can reconstruct a picture of the work of anthracite miners from study of the remaining mines, artifacts, and accounts of mine operation. Each breast in a mine was worked by a miner, who was paid on piece rate. He directed and paid one or two helpers, for whom he provided the necessary tools and supplies. They reached the breast where they worked by walking through the haulage ways and gangways that were the common ground in the mine.
Attributes of Creativity
Authors: Kim Steven
Published: November 2020

As discussed in the previous chapter, the term problem is used in a general sense to refer to any task that requires resolution. These tasks may range from solving a mathematical problem to formulating a business strategy, from generating an engineering prototype to conceiving an artistic design. A problem is called easy if the identification of an acceptable solution is straightforward. The label of easiness refers to the generation of the solution rather than its implementation. According to this view, finding the average value of a thousand numbers is as easy as calculating the mean of two values, since the procedure is equally straightforward. In contrast, a hard or difficult problem is one whose resolution is not readily discernable. A common source of difficulty lies in the fact that the ultimate objective is not known a priori. This situation is reminiscent of the fictional detective rummaging through a ransacked house. “What are you looking for?” asks his companion. “I don't know—but I'll know it when I find it!” In a more sedate context, the same situation applies to an investigator who wants to develop a science of manufacturing but cannot specify beforehand the nature of such a discipline. Manufacturing is one arena which until recently was regarded as a domain so complex that it would remain only an art rather than a science. A second and perhaps more prevalent difficulty in resolving a problem relates to the route rather than the destination: the desired objective may be known, but not its means of attainment. This situation occurs when an automotive engineer must design an electric car that can travel over 1000 kilometers between battery recharges. It also occurs when a federal committee must develop a policy to contain the outbreak of a new epidemic: it is not clear to what extent emphasis should be placed on public education, medical research, governmental regulation, or other mechanisms for prevention and redress. The resolution of such difficult problems requires a creative approach. In fact, we can summarize the preceding discussion in the following definitions.
Factors of Creativity
Authors: Kim Steven
Published: November 2020

The dictionary defines a factor as “something that actively contributes to the production of a result.” A number of factors may be attributed to the creative process and its final product. These factors are purpose, diversity, relationships, imagery, and externalization. The ingredients of creativity seem to be the same for diverse domains, from the arts to the sciences and social studies. The factors of creativity are depicted in Figure 4.1. These parameters refer to the purpose of the project, plus four others identified by diversity, relationships, imagery, and externalization. The second and third factors define the structure of the problem and its solution, while the last two relate to representation issues for generating the solution and expressing it in some form. The creative factors are listed in Table 4.1, along with their defining characteristics and prescriptive implications. The operational implications are described for both the human problem solver, as well as for the computer system that might be developed to assist in this task. For example, imagery relates to the development of ideas through sensory mechanisms, whether in actuality or in conception. The prescriptive implication is to generate a series of images in various formats, whether pictorial, auditory, or tactile. Of these, the most powerful vehicle is the visual image which can simultaneously represent numerous objects and their relationships. The operational implication for a computer-based system is a rich store of icons or pictorial images that may be depicted on color screens using versatile graphic techniques. The problem to be resolved defines the purpose of the creative process. The factor of purpose involves the distillation of a problem into its essential elements. This involves the identification of critical attributes and the elimination of extraneous features. For millennia people had yearned to fly. The existence of birds was proof that flight was possible. Man’s straightforward approach to achieving flight was to imitate aviary shapes and motions, especially wings and their flapping. But birds have functional requirements other than airborne motion, such as feeding, fleeing, and reproduction. It was not until the peripheral activities such as wing-flapping were ignored, that man could design a machine allowing him to attain active flight.
Conclusion
Authors: Kim Steven
Published: November 2020

Previous approaches to creativity have often focused on the person or problem domain, as well as the task itself. In this book, we have focused on the task: a difficult problem is one that has no ready solution or even the means to a solution. Some consequences of this perspective are as follows: • Creativity is a matter of degree. The operant question is not “Is this result creative?” but rather “How creative?” • Creativity is a domain-independent concept. An accountant may be creative, as may a shopkeeper or a musician. • All of us face difficult problems from time to time. We may be creative at one point, and uncreative at another. • Creativity involves purposive novelty. Originality or diversity is a necessary component of creativity, but diversity in itself is not a sufficient factor if it does not resolve the referent problem. • As encapsulated in the Multidistance Principle, the solution must incorporate components exhibiting some properties that are distant, and others that are close. • If creativity is a form of higher-order problem solving, itself a cornerstone of general intelligence, then there exist rational approaches to enhancing creative results. • An effective procedure for dealing with difficult problems lies in the Method of Directed Refinement. • Active failure is the highway to success. • Productivity in project managment involves the pursuit of a select number of parallel activities: too few, and efficiency suffers through slack time; too many, and overhead paralyzes productivity. • Our social institutions, including the educational system, encourage conformity— a homogeneity often leading to mediocrity rather than harmony. For each problem of consequence, we should rather seed myriad ideas and cultivate multiple solutions. • Supervision of creative individuals is a delicate affair involving both intervention and insulation. It calls for inspiring action at a distance, without undermining interest nor tainting intrinsic drive. In this book, we have partitioned the components of creativity into five factors: purpose, diversity, relationships, imagery, and externalization. The purpose of the creative effort defines the problem to be resolved.
Dancing on the Edge of a Volcano
Authors: Cohen Robert
Published: November 2020

Herbert Hoover’s America was a dismal place in 1931. The president had failed to end or even mitigate the economic crisis, which began with the stock market crash of 1929. Unemployment had spiraled out of control; the number of jobless Americans had soared from 429,000 in 1929 to more than nine million in 1931. The Hoover White House had undermined its credibility in 1929 and 1930 by erroneously predicting economic recovery. But by late summer 1931 even some of the president’s closest congressional allies were glumly admitting that the end of the Depression was not in sight. Breadlines and shantytowns—dubbed “Hoovervilles” to mock the impotent president—had spread across the nation, grim testimony to the hunger and homelessness wrought by the Great Depression. Municipalities and private charities could not keep pace with the need of millions of unemployed Americans for economic assistance. Relief workers, local officials, and liberals on Capitol Hill in August 1931 called for a special session of Congress to legislate aid for the unemployed; they warned that without federal relief dollars, the coming winter would bring widespread starvation. That same month, as their elders in Washington fretted over how to ready themselves for another year of Depression, students at the University of California at Berkeley also began to prepare for the coming year. But for Berkeley students that preparation did not include discussions of hunger, poverty, or other Depression-related problems. As the fall 1931 semester began, fraternities arid football, sororities and parties, were the talk of the campus. In its opening editorial of the semester, the Daily Californian, Berkeley’s student newspaper, gave advice to new students, making it sound as if their most serious problems would be chosing the proper Greek house and deciding whether to participate “in sports, in dramatics or publications.” The editor also informed the freshmen that they were “fortunate to have a classmate in [football] coach Bill Ingram . . . [who will] bring back another ‘Golden Era’ for California athletics.”
Springtime of Revolt
Authors: Cohen Robert
Published: November 2020

The spring of 1932 marked the dawn of a new age in American student politics. Shaken by the Depression, collegians began to discard their traditional political apathy. Even college debating teams were affected, choosing as their leading topic that spring “social planning of industry,” and arguing over whether the “Stuart Chase plan,” the “Charles Beard plan,” or the Socialist plan offered the best way out of the economic crisis. And college students were doing more than talking about politics; they were starting to become involved in political actions, signaling a major change on campus. Where for the past decade political activism had been a rarity among college youth, beginning in 1932 such activism became increasingly common. The campuses were entering an era of protest: from the spring of 1932 until the end of the Depression decade not a semester would pass without some significant expression of political protest by American undergraduates. The shift toward activism became evident during a series of political protests led by the NSL in the spring semester of 1932. These initial political actions involved only a minority of students, most of whom were from just one region of the country—the Northeast. But these protests were the start of something big; they gave life to a dissident tradition, which by the mid-1930s would yield the first mass student protest movement in American history. The student political actions of the spring of 1932 did not focus upon a single issue. Instead, there were a diversity of concerns, ranging from the exploitation of workers off campus to free speech and economic problems on campus. Though the issues around which students mobilized were diverse, all of this activism was characterized by a common spirit: a desire to prove that undergraduates cared about the problems of Depression America and were organizing to address those problems. This was a conscious revolt against the apolitical collegiate lifestyle inherited from the 1920s, which because of the Depression had begun to seem anachronistic; it was an attempt to replace that lifestyle with a more adult-like and political undergraduate tradition that would be more appropriate to a generation and a society troubled by hard times.
Beyond the New Deal? Egalitarian Dreams and Communist Schemes
Authors: Cohen Robert
Published: November 2020

The student movement came to President Roosevelt’s doorstep on February 20, 1937, when some 3000 young demonstrators marched on the White House. The protesters, representing student and youth organizations from across the nation, sought to dramatize the economic hardships of youth in Depression America. Marching down Pennsylvania Avenue, they waved banners and chanted their demands. “Pass the American Youth Act—We want jobs;” “Scholarships not Battleships;” “Homes not barracks.” One group dressed in prison garb, carried a sign “We never had jobs.” Others costumed as pilgrims, miners, and farmers made the same point. The California delegation rode in oil a covered wagon bearing the battered sign “Go East Young Man.” To the tune of Yankee Doodle, the protesters—carrying signs that identified their college, school, religious group, or trade union affiliation— sarig “American youth is on the march for jobs and education.” This was, as the Washington Post observed “a line of marchers such as Washington has never seen before.” This march on the White House was part of a three day Youth Pilgrimage for Jobs and Education. The protesters did more than parade down Pennsylvania Avenue; they also lobbied Congress on behalf of greater federal assistance to the millions of young Americans hurt by the Great Depression. The pilgrimage attested that even though peace was the most popular cause on campus, the student movement of the 1930s was not merely an anti-war crusade. It was also a movement for social justice, whose leaders cared so much about the plight of low-income youth that they chose to make this, rather than war, the focus of the movement’s first sizable national march on Washington. The pilgrimage symbolized the student movement leadership’s commitment to building a more egalitarian America. The movement’s leaders envisioned a society where education would be a right rather than a privilege; they thought Washington should ensure that no one would be—as millions of Depression era youth had already been—forced to drop out of school because of insufficient funds. The student movement sought to make America a nation free of unemployment, poverty, and racism.
From Popular Front to Unpopular Sect
Authors: Cohen Robert
Published: November 2020

Students in the 1939—1940 academic year had more reason than ever to worry that they might soon be carrying rifles instead of textbooks. With the start of classes in September came news of Hitler’s invasion of Poland, followed by the British and French declarations of war against Germany. Before the first month of classes had ended, the Nazi conquest of Poland was complete. The great European war, which American student activists had spent much of the decade trying to prevent, was at hand. There followed several tense months without hostilities, Europe’s “phony war.” But any hopes that this was more than a temporary lull were shattered during the spring semester when Hitler struck again, launching Blitzkriegs which defeated Denmark and Norway in April and the Low Countries in May. The most shocking blow of all came at graduation time, when American students learned that France had fallen to a Nazi invasion. Although this news from Europe was horrible, it should have strengthened the student movement in the United States. After all, the movement’s most influential organizations—the ASU and Youth Congress—had spent years warning Americans of the threat that Nazi Germany posed to world peace. Hitler’s aggression had borne out those warnings. America seemed on the verge of adopting the anti-fascist position long advocated by the student movement. Even Congress began to move away from strict neutrality and rigid isolationism by repealing the arms embargo so as to aid Great Britain. All of this could have enhanced the student movement’s prestige, conferring upon its activists a prophetic cast. Hitler’s march through Europe should also have boosted the American student movement because it gave students an added impetus for turning out at rallies, lectures, and other movement events to protest Nazi aggression. At a time of surging student anxiety about a potential United States entry into the war, the student movement might have expanded greatly by continuing to carry its hopeful message that America could stay out of war by supplying Hitler’s foes in Europe. But instead of growing in this new crisis atmosphere, the American student movement began to crumble.
Decision-Making Processes, Choice Behavior, and Environmental Design: Conceptual Issues and Problems of Application
Authors: Timmermans Harry
Published: November 2020

Environmental design is a conscious process in which the environment is shaped to meet certain objectives. In manipulating physical attributes of the environment, the environmental designer influences the aesthetic, functional, economic, and social dimensions of the built environment. Designs will either directly or indirectly exert impacts on the spatial and social behavior of individuals. The architect or urban planner may therefore wish to assess the likely effects of design alternatives on human behaviors when addressing the problem of ex ante evaluation of different design options. Traditional designers employed rules of thumb and did not spend much time explicitly analyzing and predicting human behavior. However, especially in the field of urban planning, the development of public demands for higher environmental standards, the ever-increasing complexity of urban planning problems, and the process of democratization have all stimulated application of models for predicting the consequences of design alternatives on human behavior. This tendency has perhaps been most strong in the context of spatial behavior. In the Netherlands, for example, it has become common practice, especially in such problem contexts as transportation, retailing, recreation, public facilities, and housing, to base design decisions in part on analyses of human behavior. The present chapter focuses exclusively on a particular type of decision making and action, namely spatial choice behavior. The extensive research on this type of decision making is not well known to environmental psychologists but there may be a great potential for integrating it with the more traditional research on environmental cognition and assessment. The chapter is organized as follows. First, the problem context is sketched in more depth. A characteristic of research on spatial choice is the development of mathematical-statistical models for predicting choice behavior. The following section outlines a general conceptual framework for the different modeling approaches, which are then briefly explained. A separate section is then devoted to a discussion of the role of the physical environment in spatial choice behavior. The chapter concludes with a discussion of a number of problems research on spatial choice faces. It is contended that the solution to some of these problems may benefit from a broader psychological approach similar to the one taken in environmental psychology.
Environmental Assessment, Cognition, and Action: Research Applications
Authors: Zube Ervin H.
Published: November 2020

Environmental assessment has been defined as “a general conceptual and methodological framework for describing and predicting how attributes of places relate to a wide range of cognitive, affective, and behavioral responses” (Craik & Feimer, 1987). A primary purpose for assessing environments is to provide valid and reliable information that has utility in environmental planning, design, and management decision making. Implicit in the assessment activity is the assumption of identifiable relationships of physical environmental factors with descriptive and evaluative assessments, and with predictions of responses to places conceptualized in plans and designs, but not yet built. This chapter addresses the utility of research findings. Three primary questions are posed. Why are some environmental assessment and cognition research findings used successfully in decision making while others are not? What factors contribute to these outcomes? And how important are physical environmental factors in planning, design, and management decision making? The preceding chapters by Rachel Kaplan, Reginald Golledge, and Harry Timmermans provide the background for the following discussion. The first section of this chapter presents a brief review of similarities and differences among the three preceding chapters, with specific attention directed to interpretations or definitions of the concepts of assessment and preference, the use of physical environmental variables in the assessment process, and the roles of laypersons and experts in assessment. Potential uses for and applications of environmental assessment research are described in the second section. This is followed by a discussion of the differences between instrumental and conceptual applications and of factors that have been identified as influencing applications, factors such as communications between researchers and users, responsibilities for problem definition, and the context within which the research is conducted. This chapter concludes with a discussion of the opportunities for and probable limitations on applications of the preceding chapters by R. Kaplan, Golledge, and Timmermans. Four concepts and elements that are addressed in the three chapters have been selected for purposes of structuring a comparison among them. These concepts and elements—assessment, preference, roles of laypersons and experts, and physical environmental factors—are particularly salient to the issue of research applications.
Environmental Assessment Across the Life Span
Authors: Giovanna Axia , Mainardi Peron Erminielda
Published: November 2020

Before trying to analyze environmental assessment throughout the life span, let us briefly consider what environmental assessment means. Craik (1971), for instance, distinguishes five kinds of place assessment: physical and spatial properties of places, number and variety of artifacts in a place, traits of places, behaviors typically occurring in a place, and institutional attributes or social climate of places. In general, models of environmental assessment can be considered place centered, while environmental appraisal relates more to observer-centered variables. Gifford (1987) stresses how environmental appraisal refers to different personal impressions, such as descriptions, evaluations, emotional reactions, meanings, and attitudes of concern. In his recent review of environmental psychology, Holahan (1986) includes under assessment studies relating to the affective appraisal of the environment (Russell & Lanius, 1984), place evaluation envisioned in terms of the degree to which a place is seen as helping to achieve goals (Canter, 1983), the cognitive components in environmental assessment and the “supporting environment”—that is, an environment in which the information necessary for making decisions is readily available and interpretable (Kaplan, 1982), preferences for places and their attractiveness (Nasar, 1983; Zube & Pitt, 1981), residential satisfaction and neighborhood attachment (Fried, 1982; Galster & Hesser, 1981), and identification of standards of quality for various settings (Craik, 1981). Thus environmental assessment includes a variety of factors and/or of processes, ranging from the mere perception of a place to affective/emotional evaluations of it. Even if all of the components of assessment are relevant, not all of them will be considered here. We will focus mainly on cognitive aspects of environmental assessment. This means perception, cognitive evaluation, affective/emotional evaluation, and preference for places. These aspects are all interrelated to the concept of “place schema” (we will use “schema” when referring to one single schema, and “schemata” when referring to the plural). A place schema is abstract and hierarchically organized knowledge about places. Perception of a place can be viewed as the mere fact of coming into contact with a setting through the senses. Perception may also include the categorization and/or the conceptualization of a place, and it can also mean to form or use place schemata.
Life-Span Changes in Activities, and Consequent Changes in the Cognition and Assessment of the Environment
Authors: Christopher Spencer
Published: November 2020

In this chapter, I sketch an integrated account of environmental assessment, cognition, and action throughout the individual’s life span. Zimring and Gross (this volume) have already described how the schema is structured to include all three aspects; Canter (this volume) has extended this to stress the social context of meanings and actions in which these schema operate; and this chapter accepts and develops their positions. What further can a life-span approach add to the arguments advanced in these earlier integrative chapters? Liben (this volume) has already stated the case most powerfully with respect to her topic, environmental cognition; and it can as easily be applied to evaluation and action. A life-span approach enables development to be put in context: what earlier stages have so far equipped the individual to do, what the demands of the current situation are on the individual, and how variations at the present stage can affect later development. Taking this developmental perspective throws the emphasis on process and on the adaptive nature of the environmental schema for the particular life stage reached by the individual. As such, the perspective provides a test bed for examining the range of theoretical relationships between affect, cognition, and action in the environment advanced in earlier chapters. The life-span approach can also serve to reintroduce into the field a sense of the importance of individual differences, and continuities of individuality through life, which is conspicuously missing from many of the earlier chapters. The developmental tradition within psychology has not, as a whole, stressed individual differences as much as has done the life-span developmental. The life-span perspective has been much concerned with continuities and developments within the individual, as goals and tasks change over the life course. Much mainstream “developmental” research lacks this sense of continuity, being often presented as a series of snapshots of the typical child at different ages or stages. In contrast, the life-span approach, as Liben’s chapter reminds us, emphasizes the processes whereby developments occur, and conceptualizes this development as affected by biological changes, psychological development, changes in the individual’s social role and context, cultural forces, and historical changes during the individual’s life span.
The Clinical Impulse and the National Response, 1780-1830
Authors: Bonner Thomas Neville
Published: November 2020

As the previous chapters have suggested, striking changes in medical education had occurred by 1800 in nearly every Western country. In particular, the movement toward practical training in medical teaching had gathered momentum toward the end of the eighteenth century. Not only in Vienna, Paris, Edinburgh, and Leyden but also in scores of universities, hospitals, military schools, dispensaries, lying-in clinics, and private courses spread across Europe and North America, students were finding new opportunities to practice dissection; see patients at the bedside; take case histories; practice surgical, obstetrical, and other procedures; and even diagnose and treat patients under a teacher’s supervision. It is this sea change in attitudes toward practical training that we explore in this chapter. Spurred by Enlightenment concerns for public health and utilitarian concepts of practical training, new clinical experiences were becoming available in many places. Although in some countries, notably France and Germany, the state played a decisive role in fostering the new development, in others, especially Britain and America, students were left largely on their own to gather practical experience, choosing from a variety of lecture-demonstration courses, hospital training, apprenticeship opportunities, experience in outpatient dispensaries, and private classes. National differences in social and political development channeled the strong pressures for utilitarian education into new forms of clinical training. Differing concepts of what constituted a “teaching clinic” came to exist side by side, especially in Europe. In unsettled France, the clinical impulse, which had early centered on surgical practice in urban hospitals and was now promoted by an all-powerful revolutionary government, found its primary outlet in large hospitals. In the German states, on the other hand, politically divided and lacking large hospitals in most university towns, clinics developed largely as small appendages to university programs in medicine. British clinical training, as described in earlier chapters, was centered haphazardly in the London hospitals away from the nation’s universities and was growing also in provincial hospitals and dispensaries. In North America, the search for clinical experience was spread over a great variety of small infirmaries, dispensaries, and private courses, and apprenticeship training remained the dominant mode of getting hands-on practice.
Toward New Goals for Medical Education, 1830-1850
Authors: Bonner Thomas Neville
Published: November 2020

The years around 1830, as just described, were a turning point in the movement to create a more systematic and uniform approach to the training of doctors. For the next quarter-century, a battle royal raged in the transatlantic countries between those seeking to create a common standard of medical training for all practitioners and those who defended the many-tiered systems of preparing healers that prevailed in most of them. At stake were such important issues as the care of the rural populations, largely unserved by university-trained physicians, the ever larger role claimed for science and academic study in educating doctors, the place of organized medical groups in decision making about professional training, and the role to be played by government in setting standards of medical education. In Great Britain, the conflict over change centered on the efforts of reformers, mainly liberal Whigs, apothecary-surgeons, and Scottish teachers and practitioners, to gain a larger measure of recognition for the rights of general practitioners to ply their trade freely throughout the nation. Ranged against them were the royal colleges, the traditional universities, and other defenders of the status quo. Particularly sensitive in Britain was the entrenched power of the royal colleges of medicine and surgery— “the most conservative bodies in the medical world,” S. W. F. Holloway called them—which continued to defend the importance of a liberal, gentlemanly education for medicine, as well as their right to approve the qualifications for practice of all other practitioners except apothecaries. Members of the Royal College of Physicians of London, the most elite of all the British medical bodies, were divided by class into a small number of fellows, almost all graduates of Oxford and Cambridge, and a larger number of licentiates, who, though permitted to practice, took no part in serious policy discussions and could not even use such college facilities as the library or the museum. “The Fellows,” claimed a petition signed by forty-nine London physicians in 1833, “have usurped all the corporate power, offices, privileges, and emoluments attached to the College.”
Mathematical Background
Authors: Anderson Greg M. , Crerar David A.
Published: November 2020

Thermodynamics, like other sciences, has a theoretical side, expressed in mathematical language, and a practical side, in which experiments are performed to produce the physical data required and interpreted by the theoretical side. The mathematical side of thermodynamics is simple and elegant and is easily derived from first principles. This might lead to the conclusion that thermodynamics is a simple subject, one that can be easily absorbed early in one's education before going on to more challenging and interesting topics. This is true, if by learning thermodynamics one means learning to manipulate its equations and variables and showing their interrelationships. But for most students the subject is actually far from simple, and for professors it is a considerable challenge to present the necessary material intelligibly. The equations and the variables are somehow related to the real world of beakers and solutions, fuels and engines, rocks and minerals, and it is this interface that provides most of the difficulties. What do variables such as entropy and free energy really mean, and what physical processes do the equations describe? The difficulty in understanding and using thermodynamics is conceptual, not mathematical. We will attempt to explain the relationship between the mathematical and the physical sides of thermodynamics, but it is advisable first to review the mathematics involved and subsequently to define the terms used in thermodynamics. The mathematics required for thermodynamics consists for the most part of nothing more complex than differential and integral calculus. However, several aspects of the subject can be presented in various ways that are either more or less mathematically based, and the "best" way for various individuals depends on their mathematical background. The more mathematical treatments are elegant, concise, and satisfying to some people, and too abstract and divorced from reality for others. In this book we attempt to steer a middle-of-the-road course. We review in the first part of this chapter those aspects of mathematics that are absolutely essential to an understanding of thermodynamics. The chapter closes with mathematical topics that, although not essential, do help in understanding certain aspects of thermodynamics.
Applications to Simple Systems
Authors: Anderson Greg M. , Crerar David A.
Published: November 2020

Thus far we have developed just about all the thermodynamic concepts required by Earth scientists with the exception of those needed to deal with solutions. Since all naturally occurring substances are solutions of one kind or another (although some can usefully be treated as pure substances), this is quite an important limitation, and we will proceed to discuss the treatment of solutions in Chapter 10. However, a great deal can be done with the thermodynamics of pure systems, and in this chapter we discuss a couple of applications of the concepts so far developed which are of particular interest to Earth scientists—the thermal effects associated with adiabatic volume changes, and the T-P phase diagrams of pure minerals. All systems experience a change in volume in response to changes in pressure. We have discussed this mostly from the point of view of the work accomplished by isobaric volume changes in Chapter 4, but it is even more informative to consider the temperature changes accompanying volume changes. The best way to do this is to consider only cases uncomplicated by heat entering or leaving the system, i.e., adiabatic processes. Such processes, although yet another "hypothetical limiting case," serve as useful end-members in considering actual processes in real systems. The most familiar everyday example is the hand-held bicycle pump, which most cyclists at least know gets quite warm during pumping (compressing air). This process, while not strictly adiabatic (bicycle pumps are not well insulated) is sufficient to show that volume changes can be associated with temperature changes, and it is not difficult to see in this case why—a great deal of energy in the form of work is being added to the gas, and some of it is being used to warm the gas. It seems reasonable to suppose, too, that by reversing the process—suddenly expanding the gas—it would experience a temperature decrease. This much may seem intuitively reasonable, perhaps even obvious. What is not so obvious is the fact, first investigated by Joule and Thompson in 1853, that some substances do not warm but cool during compression, and that in fact all substances have a range of conditions where they warm on expansion and another where they cool on expansion. When the expansions are at constant enthalpy, these two ranges are separated by the Joule-Thompson inversion curve.
Aqueous Electrolyte Solutions
Authors: Anderson Greg M. , Crerar David A.
Published: November 2020

In dealing with the thermodynamic properties of ions we have one difficulty in addition to those encountered in dealing with compounds and elements. For compounds and elements we found that although we could measure absolute values for some properties, others such as enthalpy and the other energy terms contained an undetermined constant. We got around this by using the concept of "formation from the elements." It would of course be very convenient to also have thermodynamic properties of individual ions, but because positively and negatively charged ions cannot be separated from each other to any significant extent, their individual properties cannot be measured. To get around this, we need an additional convention, while retaining the formation from the elements convention. In addition we have certain problems in dealing with the activities and activity coefficients of electrolytes and individual ions. In the following section we discuss the problems of activities of ionic species. We follow the presentation of Klotz (1964), and include the HC1 example used by Pitzer and Brewer (1961), and an expanded consideration of the choice of solute components. Following that we discuss the conventions used to obtain numerical values for the state variables of individual ions. We begin by demonstrating that the basic approach is not arbitrarily chosen by chemists with a view to confusing students, nor is it dictated by the electrically charged nature of ions. It is dictated by the algebraic consequence of the fact that when neutral solute molecules dissociate into charged particles, the number of solute particles is increased. For example, when one mole of the undissociated solute AB(aq), which can be treated using Henry's Law, Raoult's Law, and the rest of the equations developed in previous chapters, becomes instead one mole of A(aq) plus one mole of B(aq), certain consequences develop that have nothing to do with whether A(aq) and B(aq) are electrically charged or not.