bluuebunny/crossref_metadata_2025 huggingface dataset:
Antiquarian Dreams: Collections and Competition in the Early Republic
Authors: Snead James E.
Published: November 2020

Tales of unusual discoveries made in the limestone caverns of Tennessee and Kentucky began to circulate in the first decade of the nineteenth century. According to Samuel Brown, a doctor based in Lexington, the underground realms presented “scenes so uncommon and so romantic, that the most stupid beholder cannot contemplate them without expressions of the greatest astonishment.” Rather than scholars, however, those delving in the depths were typically miners seeking saltpeter for gunpowder production and other minerals, in the process exposing evidence of earlier visitors to the caves, animal and human. Exploration and exploitation were thus inextricably linked. Brown’s dispatch from the West was accompanied by the bones of fossil mammals and, as if by afterthought, “also an earthen cup, probably Indian, (broken in the carriage).” The significance of fragmentary ground sloths and “the bones of the head of the peccary of South America” found in the caves was debated, but the slight traces of human presence in those subterranean realms also provoked comment. John Clifford, another resident of Lexington, interpreted such ephemeral signs at one location as suggesting that the cave to had . . . been inhabited either by a horde of troglodytes or . . . the scene of some religious mysteries . . . Dead bodies have been found which when first seen were apparently as perfect as at the period when deposited there. . . . “It would be a great desideratum,” he concluded, “to see one of these bodies.” And yet the value to scholarship of the discoveries made in western caves was debatable. The utility of relics as a means to understand the history of the American continent was not universally acknowledged. The scholarly apparatus for pursuing such investigations was meager as well. In particular, the ephemeral character of the community of inquiry interested in the material past—dispersed, divided by class and association, subject to disruption through constant mobility, poor communication, and personal rivalries—had a profound impact on how such relics might be used.
The Plateau Zone West of G St
Authors: James Simon
Published: November 2020

One of the first structures explored at Dura in 1920, this temple (or perhaps better, sanctuary: Buchmann 2016, 116) was subsequently completely excavated but never fully published. Preliminary accounts were written by the excavators (Cumont 1926, 29–41; PR 2, 11–12, 67–9 (Pillet), PR 4, 16–19 (Pillet); Rostovtzeff 1938, 68–75 and pl. VI) and it has been much discussed since (Downey 1988, 105–10 for overview and references; Dirven 1999, 326–49 for the Palmyrene evidence; Leriche et al. 2011, 28). It remained a temple through the Roman period, apparently no part of it other than, presumably, the upper levels of city wall Tower 1 being used for secular military purposes. However, its continued existence in the farthest corner of the military base, and its attested use for worship by the Roman military community, demand discussion here. Indeed one of the very first military discoveries was the Terentius wall painting on the N wall of the temple’s room A, depicting a Roman military sacrifice by cohors XX Palmyrenorum before a triad of its national deities and the Tychai of Dura and Palmyra (Pl. I; Breasted 1922; Cumont 1923; Breasted 1924, 94–101, pl. XXI). Cumont consequently called the sanctuary the ‘Temple of the Palmyrene Gods’ (Cumont 1926, 29). In recent decades it has been more usually known as the ‘Temple of (i.e. Palmyrene) Bêl’, following Rostovtzeff (1938, 51), although in Parthian times it was probably dedicated to Zeus (Welles 1969, 63; Millar 1998, 482; Kaizer 2002, 122). No evidence indicates Palmyrene worship in the Parthian-era temple (Dirven 1999, 327–8). There is no consensus on the name for the sanctuary, so I follow MFSED’s ‘Temple of Bêl’ (Leriche et al. 2011, 28; also now Kaizer 2016b, 37–41). Described as laying in ‘J3/5’ by the Yale expedition, it actually lies N of these blocks in an area MFSED has labelled J9 (Leriche et al. 2011, 28–30). During the third century when the temple lay within the Roman base area, it did become the focus of Palmyrene cults, likely ‘related to Palmyrene soldiers or people associated with them’ (Dirven 1999, 328).
How Did the Base Work?
Authors: James Simon
Published: November 2020

We now consider how the military base area operated, as a zone where a large number of people lived and worked on a routine basis. On one hand, to function it required the affordances of its internal communications, connections with the civil town, and access to roads, river, and lands beyond the walls; on the other, there was a need for surveillance and control of activities within the base, and of movements across its boundary. The most obvious part of the base boundary (Plate XXII) is the substantial mud brick wall ploughed across four blocks from the city defences just S of Tower 21, and blocking Wall, A, C, and D Sts, with a gate established at B St. How the S boundary was defined E of D St has always remained an issue. If it was necessary to build a wall at the W end, why was this not simply continued all the way to, e.g., the S end of the Citadel? Across blocks F7 and F5 it seems that the boundary of the military zone simply comprised party walls between military and civilian-occupied structures. The same was true within block B2, by the Citadel, although the boundary probably comprised building frontages along Lower Main St. On the plateau, as the camp wall may have been a subsequent local enhancement, except where the amphitheatre formed part of it, the boundary may generally have comprised the rear walls of military-held houses lining the S side of 8th St—probably all properties from the city wall to H St. The course of the boundary along the W side of the inner wadi is unknown, but the base is suggested, as along 8th St, to have incorporated at least all properties lining the S side of the Wadi Ascent Road, if not encompassing all blocks on the wadi slope—in which case the boundary here may rather have comprised property frontages on K St. The base area was split by site topography into two major zones, the flat plateau, and the N branch of the inner wadi around the Citadel. Each was further subdivided.
Epilogue and Prospect
Authors: James Simon
Published: November 2020

Since Syria’s descent into civil and proxy war of appalling savagery, like so much of its living infrastructure and cultural heritage, Dura has been devastated. Initially, in 2012, the expedition house was systematically looted and stripped of everything including doors and window frames. Satellite imagery shows that then, at some time between July 2012 and April 2014, a campaign of systematic looting of the unexcavated portions of the city interior and the adjacent necropolis was undertaken, on an industrial scale. The result was hundreds of huge holes all over the city, which at first glance looks like it has been subjected to intensive artillery bombardment—except that the holes do not impinge on the road lines, kept clear to allow vehicles in and out. The destruction is so devastating that it is no exaggeration to call it the second destruction of Dura-Europos. And if it did not involve the slaughter which accompanied the first destruction of the city c.256, it seems this new onslaught was not bloodless. The region found itself in the midst of Daesh’s self-proclaimed territorial ‘Caliphate’, and it has been reported that, on taking control of the ancient city and surrounding villages, they murdered the site guardian to make clear who was now in charge. Most of the looting comprised a highly organized professional criminal enterprise requiring a major, sustained logistics effort; at its height in 2014 up to 400 people were involved, using mechanical excavators and metal detectors, concentrating especially on easily saleable coins. It was sanctioned by Daesh, which reportedly took 60 per cent of the proceeds from sales on the illicit antiquities market to fund their war (Brodie and Isber 2018, 77–9). In part, the looting was likely conducted by local people, under direct duress from Daesh or others, or simply finding themselves desperate to feed their families in dangerous times. In such circumstances, whether in the second, third, or twenty-first centuries, people do what they can, and do what they must, to survive.
Introduction
Authors: Kiddey Rachael
Published: November 2020

As I write this book, statistics show that there is an increasing housing shortage that has been projected, by 2025, to leave a third of the global urban population living in substandard housing or going without essentials to pay for their housing. Homelessness is an increasing problem worldwide. In Britain, where the fieldwork drawn on throughout this book was conducted, the latest available statistics show that rough sleeping rose by 31 per cent between autumn 2014 and autumn 2015. In the United States, the number of people living in severely overcrowded households has risen by 67 per cent since the effects of the subprime mortgage crisis triggered the recession of 2007. If we add to this data the rising number of people who are being forcibly displaced from their homes by war and other violence, the need to study how homelessness materializes and shapes the world around us becomes more urgent. As a child growing up by the sea in Devon, a rural county in the south-west of England, I initially encountered homelessness in two ways: the first was while on a rare shopping trip to Plymouth to buy school uniform in 1986. I was 8 years old. It was raining and the post-war architecture loomed greyer than usual. A man sitting on the pavement huddled his dog close to him, their heads down. I asked my mum what he was doing. ‘He’s homeless. Poor man! Don’t stare,’ she said. Her words rang in my ears as I tried, but failed, to conceive of having no home. The second encounter was more cheerful. I grew up in a house by the River Avon.5 When the tide is out, the riverbed becomes a mudflat, and in July and August it is green with samphire. A tramp called Albert, his yellow oilskins and bushy white beard making him seem to me a real-life Captain Birdseye, could be seen collecting samphire from the riverbed every summer until he died. A bench has since been erected in his memory. Albert was homeless too, but in a different, older way than the man I remember from Plymouth.
‘This Whole Project Has Given Me Focus, Hope and Positivity’: The Co Presentation of Findings
Authors: Kiddey Rachael
Published: November 2020

I was explicitly clear with everyone who became involved in the Homeless Heritage project that the intention was to present our findings publically in a number of ways. We did this by co-publishing articles in popular magazines and peer-reviewed journals, speaking at public meetings and academic conferences, and through co-curating two interactive public exhibitions on the heritage of homelessness. It was important to spread the ways in which our findings were presented across a variety of platforms so that our results reached diverse audiences; for example, John Schofield, my homeless colleagues, and I published co-authored articles in The Big Issue, and in British Archaeology, in the hope that our work might reach people outside academia. That said, we were equally keen to demonstrate that the Homeless Heritage project was just as valid as archaeological investigations into any other marginalized culture or period so we also published co-authored peer-reviewed papers in Public Archaeology, Post-Medieval Archaeology, and created, in collaboration with artist Mats Brate, a comic based on fieldwork for the Journal of Contemporary Archaeology. Further to this, various book chapters were co-produced for academic books,6 and I have since published a paper for the International Journal of Heritage Studies, which focused on how cultural heritage methodologies can function as tools for empowerment. I encouraged my homeless colleagues to co-present papers at a variety of conferences and public talks. Jane, Danny, Deano, and Whistler co-presented a paper entitled ‘Punks and Drunks: Counter Mapping Homeless Heritage’ at the conference of the Theoretical Archaeology Group (TAG) at the University of Bristol in 2010, while Andrew, Jane, Dan, and Mark co-presented a paper called ‘Stories from the Street: Contemporary Homelessness as Heritage’ at the Postgraduate Conference in Historical Archaeology at the University of Leicester Centre for Historical Archaeology in 2011. To me, it was essential that those homeless colleagues who wanted to remain involved with the project once fieldwork had been completed were given real opportunities to do so.
The man with the terrible trousers
Authors: Dermot Turing Sir John
Published: November 2020

My uncle, Alan Turing, was not a well-dressed man. It is a tribute to those who employed him that he was able to flourish in environments that ignored his refusal to comply with social norms as much as he disregarded mindless social conventions. Social conventions, however, became an increasingly powerful influence over his life. Here I retell the story from the family perspective. There is an old photograph in the family album that shows Alan in his last years at Sherborne (Fig. 2.1). It was taken in June 1930—a few months after his friend Christopher Morcom’s death—and Alan looks relaxed and happy. But his trousers are a complete disgrace. It is not clear who took the picture, but the timing suggests that it was done at Commemoration, the annual festival at Sherborne to which parents and dignitaries are invited, and where boys, particularly senior boys, should be smartly turned-out. Ordinarily, Alan’s mother (my grandmother) would have intervened and spruced him up. But given that Alan was, like other boarding-school boys, responsible for his own clothes, she probably had no control over him any more, if indeed she ever had done. My grandmother had had little direct control over Alan during his formative years. My grandfather was serving the Empire in India, and she, as a good memsahib, was expected to be with him to run his household. (From the distance of a century or so, this seems a waste of talent, for my grandmother had a formidable intellect as well as many other gifts, and in a later age would probably have become a scientist of distinction.) So Alan was deposited in England with foster parents in St Leonards-on-Sea, and at nine years of age was sent off to a prep school called Hazelhurst, near Frant in Sussex. School seems to have been a reasonably good experience for him—at least in his first term. There was the incident of the geography test. At that time my father, being four years older than Alan, was in the top form while Alan was in the bottom one. The whole school was made to do a geography test. Turing 1 (my father) got 59 marks and Turing 2 (Alan) got 77; my father considered this a thoroughly bad show.
Banburismus revisited: depths and Bayes
Authors: Simpson Edward
Published: November 2020

Chapter 13 covered all aspects of Banburismus, but without much of the mathematical and other detail. This chapter seeks to explain depth, Bayes’ theorem, logarithmic scoring (and its application to the Banburies discovered in the roof of Hut 6), decibanning, chains and depth cribbing, comic strips, and twiddling. This seems to be the first publication of much of this explanation. In Chapter 13 I promised a simple illustrative example of depth and some of the terms associated with it. In Table 38.1 QVAJX . . . and the others are three enciphered messages as transmitted. This table does not relate to any particular real-life cipher, and its three enciphered messages are unrealistically short. It illustrates an imaginary system which enciphers letter by letter (as Enigma did), using an enciphering table which would provide hundreds, or more probably thousands, of individual enciphering units, whatever the nature of the imaginary enciphering system. The numbers 180, 181, . . . indicate the positions of the units in the table. The encipherer could choose where in the table to begin enciphering (say, at position 183) and, once started, continued to use the enciphering units in sequence (183, 184, 185, . . .). The legitimate receiver of the message had to be told where to start in the table. This was done by an ‘indicator’, which was itself enciphered, usually by a different system, and formed part of a preamble to the message as transmitted. The three enciphered messages in this example, which may have come from different sources, start at different positions in the enciphering table. They have significant overlaps, and it is where they overlap that they are said to be ‘in depth’. Here the depths are of two messages (as in column 182) or of three (column 183). In real life they could be of ten or twenty. All the letters in a particular column (as QDF in column 183) have been enciphered in exactly the same way.
Bones Without Barriers: The Social Impact of Digging the Dead
Authors: Sayer Faye , Sayer Duncan
Published: November 2020

The excavation of human remains is one of the most contentious issues facing global archaeologies today. However, while there are numerous discussions of the ethics and politics of displaying the dead in museums, and many academic studies addressing the repatriation and reburial of human remains, there has been little consideration of the practice of digging up human remains itself (but see Kirk and Start 1999; Williams and Williams 2007). This chapter will investigate the impact of digging the dead within a specific community in Oakington, Cambridgeshire, during the excavation of an early Anglo-Saxon cemetery in 2010 and 2011. The analysis of impact was enabled by applying a double-stranded methodology of collecting quantitative and qualitative social data within a public archaeology project. This aimed to explore the complexity of local people’s response to the excavation of ancient skeletal material. These results will provide a starting point to discuss the wider argument about screening excavation projects (see also Foreword this volume; Pearson and Jeffs this volume). It is argued that those barriers, rather than displaying ‘sensitivity’ to local people’s concerns, impede the educational and scientific values of excavation to local communities, and fosters alienation and misunderstandings between archaeologists and the public. The professionalization of British archaeology has taken place within Protestant modernity, and we will argue that it is this context which drives the desire to screen off human remains from within the industry, rather than the need to protect the public or the dead from one another. In England, Wales, and Northern Ireland, it is a condition of the Ministry of Justice licence to remove human remains that modern excavation is screened from public gaze. For many projects, particularly those carried out in an urban or public context, this condition manifests as the erection of barriers to block lines of sight. However, this has not always been standard practice. Archaeological projects have often involved a public engagement element, even before public archaeology was formally recognized. Large excavation projects, such as Whithorn, a Scottish project carried out in the late 1980s, included a viewing platform so members of the visiting public could see the excavation, including burials, from the edge of the trench (Rick Peterson, pers. comm.).
Museum Practice and the Display of Human Remains
Authors: Swain Hedley
Published: November 2020

Visitors to the Lawrence Room, Girton College, Cambridge University, on Thursday afternoons (when the small one room museum is open to the public) will find a dead body on display. The body is that of an Egyptian mummy from the Coptic period with a painted face mask and inscription ‘Hermione Grammatike’. It was this inscription that attracted Girton College to acquire this ancient body. A loose translation suggests this was a woman scholar, and therefore the first recorded woman scholar in history and as such an appropriate ‘mascot’ for one of the early great champions for formal female education. The mummy was purchased from Egyptologist Flinders Petrie who had excavated it in 1910–11 (Imogen Gunn and Dorothy Thompson, pers. comm.). The case of Hermione is both particular and general. Across all of the UK and indeed the Western world, human remains from all ages and all parts of the world can be found in all types of museums of all sizes apparently isolated and insulated from society’s normal relationships with the dead: grief, morbidity, respect, invisibility. Context would appear to be everything in terms of attitudes to the display of the human dead. This paper reviews this concept of context, and offers some commentary on the origins, constraints, and boundaries for the display of human remains. To begin with an Egyptian mummy as an example is also appropriate, as this particular category has an almost ubiquitous and overpowering place in Western museums. It has been accepted practice to include human remains in displays since the widespread establishment of public museums in the nineteenth century. These are normally associated with archaeological discoveries but can also be found in physical and social anthropological displays, medical and history of medicine displays, and occasionally in other contexts. Museum practice is very much a creation of Western, primarily Enlightenment, values and the inclusion of human remains in displays can be traced in these values (for example, the anatomical drawings of Leonardo da Vinci and the public anatomy demonstrations of the nascent Royal Society in London) and in the Christian European culture from which this derived (for example, the display in churches of saints’ relics: Weiss-Krejci this volume).
Displaying the Dead: The English Heritage Experience
Authors: Tatham Sarah
Published: November 2020

It is an accepted standard that any new interpretation at a heritage site needs to be stimulating and engaging, while appealing to the widest audience possible (Carver 2008a–c) in the most accessible manner. A number of events in the last decade, such as the repatriation of indigenous human tissue and material culture (see Jenkins this volume), have encouraged debate around artefact ownership and sensitive presentation in respect of minority cultural traditions and values (see Rathouse this volume). As well as an increased awareness in professional bodies, there has been a perceived heightened sensitivity of visitors, and their awareness of propriety and respect of different cultures. For many English Heritage sites open to the public, including ancient monuments, historic buildings, their collections and the stories attached to them have links to sensitive subjects. Some have the power to elicit strong emotions in the modern public. As well as human remains and death memorials, these sites include stories about slavery (e.g. Kenwood House), theories of evolution (Darwin’s home at Down House), religious persecution (e.g. Clifford’s Tower; Mount Grace), prisoner of war experiences (e.g. Portchester Castle), and human destitution and poverty (e.g. the Poor House at Framlingham Castle). In designing displays, considerable emphasis is placed on tone and language to sensitively guide the visitor through an engaging yet thoughtful presentation. As the discipline of interpretation is the visitor-facing product building from many academic fields, it is open to influence. This openness to different ideas, however, can occasionally lapse into a lack of cohesion and self-doubt (see Jenkins 2011). An example of this ambivalence is particularly evident in the display of human remains which has shifted from a frequently low-brow form of morbid entertainment (such as the display of Egyptian mummies in Victorian times) to that of occasionally disproportionate respect and shielding (see Jenkins this volume). Where time and funds permit, this is usually managed by the use of interpretation evaluation, both formative (before the interpretation is created) and summative (after the interpretation has been installed). In addition, organizations such as English Heritage have also benefited from internal and externally appointed scientific advisors who can authoritatively aid the navigation of delicate subjects such as the presentation of pre-Christian era human remains (for example at Avebury; see Giles and Williams this volume).
Covering the Mummies at the Manchester Museum: A Discussion of Authority, Authorship, and Agendas in the Human Remains Debate
Authors: Exell Karen
Published: November 2020

From 2006 to 2009, Manchester Museum, University of Manchester, UK, was one of the leading institutions promoting the debate surrounding the ethics of preserving and displaying the dead in museums. The discussion in this chapter analyses the activities of Manchester Museum in relation to human remains within the context of a critical assessment of recent developments in museum practice and the continuing cultural significance of the museum. In particular, the discussion will pay particular attention to the omission of any acknowledgement of the individuals responsible for exhibitions and related events, i.e. the authors of its public discourse. Two case studies will be used to illustrate the discussion: the exhibition, Lindow Man: A Bog Body Mystery (2008–9), and the incident of the ‘covering the mummies’ in April 2008 where three of the twelve Egyptian embalmed bodies on display were fully covered, resulting in a public outcry (Jenkins 2011a; Exell 2013a). Both the exhibition and the ‘covering the mummies’ formed part of a series of high-profile activities related to human remains that took place at Manchester Museum at this time. At the time, I was in post as Curator of Egyptology, and this discussion also illustrates the changing role of subject-specialist curators in relation to exhibition production and other aspects of a museum’s public communications (see Farrar 2004). … ‘There are, as far as we know, no a priori reasons for supposing that scientists’ scientific practice is any more rational than that of outsiders.’ (Latour and Woolgar 1986: 29) ‘Another word for “local knowledges” is prejudice.’ (Sokal 2008: 108)… Working on the public consultation process during the period 2008–10 for the new archaeology and ancient Egypt galleries at Manchester Museum, opened as the Ancient Worlds galleries in October 2012, the general lack of understanding of the exhibition and gallery development process amongst museum visitors became evident. From discussions with participants in the various consultation events (Exell and Lord 2008; Exell 2013a,b), it emerged that people in the institution either regarded the decision-making process as being the sole responsibility of the most relevant subject-specialist curator, or somehow the result of a monolithic and neutral institutional mind (Arnold 1998: 191).
Introduction to psychiatry
Authors: McKnight Rebecca , Price Jonathan , Geddes John
Published: November 2020

Psychiatry is the branch of medicine which specializes in the treatment of those brain disorders which pri­marily cause disturbance of thought, behaviour, and emotion. These are often referred to as mental, or psy­chiatric, disorders. The boundary with the specialty of neurology, which also deals with disorders of the cen­tral nervous system, is therefore indistinct. Neurology mainly focuses on brain disease with clear physical pathology and/ or obvious peripheral effects on, for ex­ample, motor function. Mental disorders such as depressive disorder and psychoses have been recognized since antiquity. Modern epidemiological studies have demonstrated that they are both highly prevalent and widely dis­tributed across all societies. Overall, mental disorders account for a very high proportion of the disability experienced by the human race (see Chapter 2). Unfortunately, in most societies mental disorders still do not receive the recognition or a level of health ser­vice commensurate with their public health import­ance. There are several reasons for this. Probably most importantly, the brain is a vastly complex organ and the neural systems underlying mental disorders re­main poorly characterized. This inevitably means that our understanding of the pathophysiology is rela­tively poor compared to disorders such as diabetes or heart disease. The absence of a clear body of reliable scientific evidence means that competing unscien­tific views— and stigma— can flourish. Recently, how­ever, our neurobiological techniques have improved in sophistication and sensitivity to the extent that mental disorders have become tractable problems. Phenomena such as mood symptoms, anxiety, and even psychosis seem to exist on a continuum in the population, and the absence of reliable neurobiological measures creates difficulties in determining where the thresholds lie in the gradual change from normality to illness. In clinical practice, the use of diagnostic cri­teria can increase the reliability of diagnoses and re­duce the variations between clinicians. However, small changes in diagnostic criteria can have large effects on the resulting estimates of the prevalence of disorders. Unfortunately, the criteria themselves are based on very imperfect knowledge about the natural history or boundaries of the disorders.
Conducting the assessment: examining the patient
Authors: McKnight Rebecca , Price Jonathan , Geddes John
Published: November 2020

In general hospital and community settings, the term ‘physical examination’ is almost always applied to the procedures used by medical and other staff to examine the body, including the nervous system, of patients. In mental health settings, the terms ‘psy­chological examination’ or ‘mental examination’ might seem most appropriate for the procedures used to examine the mind. However, the lengthier term ‘mental state examination’ is usually used, often with capitals, for reasons of tradition. This term is often shortened to MSE. You will find that effective communication of the re­sults of the MSE requires familiarity with many new terms and with their precise meanings. It is important that you grapple with these issues early on in your training. Like specific diagnostic terms, the terms for specific abnormalities of mental state become an ef­fective shorthand, aiding communication between healthcare professionals. The goal of the MSE is to elicit the patient’s cur­rent psychopathology, that is, their abnormal sub­jective experiences, and an objective view of their mental state, including abnormal behaviour. It therefore includes both symptoms (what the pa­tient reports about current psychological symptoms, such as mood, thoughts, beliefs, abnormal percep­tions, cognitive function, etc.) and signs (what you observe about the patient’s behaviour during the interview). Inevitably, the MSE (i.e. now) merges at the edges with the history of the presenting problems (recently). Behavioural abnormalities which the pa­tient reports as still present, but which cannot be ob­served at interview (e.g. disturbed sleep, overeating, cutting) are part of the history of the presenting illness. A symptom which has resolved, such as an abnormal belief held last week but not today, should usually form part of the history, but will not be re­ported in the MSE. In contrast, an abnormal belief held last week which is still held today will be re­ported in both the history of the presenting prob­lems and the MSE. The components of the MSE are listed in Box 5.1. In taking the history, the interviewer will have learnt about the patient’s symptoms up to the time of the consultation. Often the clinical features on the day of the examination are no different from those described in the recent past, in which case the mental state will overlap with the recent history.
Problems due to use of alcohol and other psychoactive substances
Authors: McKnight Rebecca , Price Jonathan , Geddes John
Published: November 2020

Archaeological evidence has demonstrated that for at least the past 10,000 years humans have been using psychoactive substances. From the chewing of coca leaves in Ancient Peru (c.4000– 3000 bce) to the popular use of laudanum in Victorian England, the recreational, cultural, and medicinal use of ‘mind- altering’ substances has been widespread. As of 2016, alcohol and other psychoactive substances remain a leading cause of medical and social problems world­wide: humans are clearly vulnerable to their attrac­tion. Although a myriad of substances are available, only a few are commonly used, and all tend to produce similar harms upon the individual and society. This chapter will provide a general approach to managing a patient presenting with a problem stemming from substance misuse. It is extremely difficult to gather accurate data on the use of substances in the general population, especially if they are illegal. It is therefore likely that most figures are underestimations of the true incidence. The WHO estimates that tobacco, alcohol, and illicit drugs are a factor in 12.4 per cent of all deaths worldwide. This is a stark reminder of the severity that problems associated with substance usage can reach, but the morbidity sur­rounding them affects a much wider section of society. In the UK, 80 per cent of adults drink alcohol, 19 per cent smoke tobacco, and 30 per cent admit to having used an illegal drug at least once in their lifetime. Worldwide, the highest prevalence of drug misuse is found in the 16- to 30- year age group, with males outnumbering females at a ratio of 4 to 1. Table 29.1 shows a selection of epidemiological figures associ­ated with commonly used substances. Substance misuse is associated with an array of con­fusing terminology, the majority describing different disorders that may occur due to use of any substance. The following terms are internationally agreed and ap­pear in major classification systems:… ● Intoxication is the direct psychological and physical effects of the substance that are dose dependent and time limited. They are individual to the substance and typically include both pleasurable and unpleasant symptoms.
Appearances
Authors: Hanson Robin
Published: November 2020

What kind of world do ems see? We have several reasons to expect ems to usually experience simulated “virtual” realities. First, compared with ordinary humans, it is easier to fully immerse ems in computer-generated virtual realities. One could feed computed inputs into an em’s emulated eyes, ears, nose, fingers, etc., and take outputs from that em’s emulated arms, legs, tongue, etc., to create a complete sensory experience of the sight, sound, smell, touch, etc., of being in contact with and partially controlling a constructed but vivid world. Humans get many sensory clues telling them that their virtual realities are not real. Ems need see no such clues. Second, the cost to compute a workable virtual reality can be very low, compared with the cost to compute an em. Now it is true that the cost to compute a virtual environment depends greatly on the level of realistic detail required. Consider the cost to give simulated inputs to an em that it could not distinguish, even with careful examination, from a real physical environment. For many familiar physical environments, such a simulation may cost many times the cost of running the emulation brain itself. However, humans today are routinely comfortable and moderately productive interacting with video game environments that require vastly less computing power than human-speed brain emulations will require. Also, instead of sending very fine-grain low-level signals of very particular sights and sounds, it may become possible to send cheaper-to-compute higherlevel signals that em brains interpret as their having seen the lower-level signals. For example, instead of sending individual light pixels to the eye, which then translates that to lines and areas, one might just send those lines and areas to the appropriate emulated neurons. Ems may prefer virtual reality environments that are expensive to compute, relative to the cost of running the ems themselves. Even so, cheaply computed environments seem sufficient to functionally support the vast majority of em activities, in both work and leisure. On the job, there is a tradeoff regarding whether to pay more for a more realistic virtual environment that might add to worker productivity.
Politics
Authors: Hanson Robin
Published: November 2020

Who is higher status in an em world? Humans are much less competent than ems in most jobs, and so ems see humans and styles and habits associated with humans as lower status. As ems must retire when they can no longer compete with younger workers, retirees are also lower status, as are styles and habits associated with retirees. Also, we have long treated places where people congregate more densely, and the people who congregate there, as higher status. Humans, retirees, and ems away from urban centers all tend to be slower. These features help to make slow speed seem low status to ems. In addition, faster ems tend to have many other features that are today treated as markers of higher status. Faster ems tend to be bosses, to embody more wealth, to host meetings, and to sit at premium locations. Faster ems find it easier to coordinate with each other in contests with slower ems. Fast ems hear of and react to news first, and so more quickly adopt new fashions. As faster em brains embody more capital, impoverished ems are often forced to run at slower speeds. Also, the lives of slower ems seem more like “death,” in the sense that they have a larger chance of ending sooner because of civilization instability. For example, if the em era lasts for 2 objective years, a micro-em experiences only 1 subjective minute during that period. Thus slower ems can naturally seem nearer to death, which seems low status. Thus we have many reasons to expect that ems who run faster are usually seen as higher status. Similarly, during meetings the more centrally located ems, for whom signal delays are smallest, may usually appear to be more central and powerful. Note that as em speeds will tend to clump, this creates a class system of distinct status levels. Today, residents of bigger cities tend to be seen as higher status, and their higher status isn’t much lost when they temporarily visit rural areas. Similarly, em status may not change much during temporary speed changes. It might instead be the typical speed of their clan or subclan that matters most. Slow ems can have the status mark of taking a longer-term bigger-picture view, and a few of them are trusted to manage capital for long-term payoffs.
Finale
Authors: Hanson Robin
Published: November 2020

Over 150 readers have commented on previous drafts of this book. Here are very quick summaries of some of their most common criticisms. Most individual views are of course subtler than these summaries can be. If we include those who declined to read my draft, the most common complaint is probably “who cares?” Many just can’t see why they should want to know much detail about the lives of people who are not they, their children, or grandchildren. While many readers seem interested in the lives of past people who were not personally their ancestors, perhaps these readers make up only a small fraction of the population. Other readers doubt that one can ever estimate the social consequences of technologies decades in advance. It is not so much that these readers have specific complaints about my analyses. Instead, they have a general skepticism that makes them uninterested in considering such analyses. Many see human behavior as intrinsically inscrutable, and many doubt that social science exists as a source of reliable insight. A few are off ended by the very idea of estimating social outcomes, as they see this as denying our free will and ability to choose our futures. A more specific version of this sort of criticism accepts that it is often possible for us to foresee social consequences in worlds like ours, but then says that it is impossible to foresee the social behaviors of creatures substantially smarter than us. So, they reason, we today cannot see past the future point in time when typical descendants become smarter than we are today, and ems are effectively smarter than us in several ways. This view suggests that social scientists today are less able to predict the behavior of smarter people, or of people who are smarter than the typical social scientist. That seems incorrect to me. Still other readers accept my social analysis, but are disappointed that I consider only the next great era, and not the eras that may follow it. These readers mainly care about the long-term future. They reject my argument that understanding the em era is a good first step to understanding the eras that may follow it.
Iron Age landscape and society The settlement patterns
Authors: Rippon Stephen
Published: November 2020

That the character of settlement across Iron Age Britain was far from uniform is well known, although Hawkes’ (1931, fig. 1) plotting of the distribution of hillforts was not expanded upon for many years, with key studies such as Harding’s (1974) The Iron Age in Lowland Britain and the early edition of Cunliffe’s (1974) Iron Age Communities in Britain lacking distribution maps of settlement types. Cunliffe’s (1978, fig. 16.2; 1991, fig. 20.6; 2005, fig. 4.3) eventual mapping of four settlement character areas across Britain was therefore a seminal piece of work, although the whole of eastern England fell within a single zone characterized by ‘villages and open settlements’, while Bradley (2007, fig. 5.14) suggested that eastern England was a landscape of ‘open and wandering settlements’ (Fig. 3.1). In contrast, Hill (1999; 2007) has suggested that while the East Midlands and his ‘northern Anglia’ (Norfolk and northern Suffolk) were characterized by clusters of agglomerated settlements and large ‘open villages’, parts of his ‘southern Anglia’ (i.e. what is referred to here as the Northern Thames Basin) has ‘little evidence for densely settled communities’ in the Middle Iron Age. He suggested instead that the ‘apparently empty areas’ in ‘southern Anglia’ were ‘probably exploited economically and agriculturally in a much less intensive manner by relatively few permanent settlements . . . and, especially, by people visiting them’ (Hill 2007, 22). Hill’s (2007) view that ‘southern Anglia’ was a sparsely settled and peripheral area has not, however, stood the test of time and what is in fact striking is just how much Iron Age settlement has been discovered there through recent developmentled archaeological work. The most intensively investigated area, at Stansted Airport and the nearby new A120, for example, comprised a landscape littered with small enclosed farmsteads consisting of one or two roundhouses associated with a small number of four-post granaries (Havis and Brooks 2004; Timby et al. 2007a; Cooke et al. 2008). The character of these settlements is clearly suggestive of permanent occupation, while their density suggests that this was far from an empty landscape that was seasonally exploited by outsiders.
The Research-Intensive University
Authors: Willetts David
Published: November 2020

Professor Liebig of Giessen University is looking back with pride on his career in organic chemistry and his keen young team of researchers in their lab ‘almost exclusively devoted to the improvement of organic analysis . . . The only complaints were those of the attendant who in the evenings, when he had to clean, could not get the workers to leave the laboratory.’ All quite typical—except that he is describing a laboratory he created in 1826. It was the first research laboratory based in a university. There were a few other laboratories but they were usually sponsored by learned societies (you can still see Michael Faraday’s laboratory at the Royal Institution) and were nothing to do with universities. Professor Liebig knew the significance of what he was doing: ‘there began at the small university an activity such as the world had not yet seen’. It was the birth of one of the most important institutions of the modern world—the research-based university systematically creating new knowledge—and it was conceived in Germany, as we saw in Chapter One. Wilhelm von Humboldt wrote a short policy paper which proved to be one of the seminal documents in the emergence of the modern university, proposing that the university should become a centre of research. Underneath the idealist Hegelian prose he wrestles with issues which are still live today. He argues that research based in the university is enhanced by teaching, compared with the alternative model of research in a separate academy: . . . If one declares the university as destined only for the teaching and dissemination of science, but the academy to its expansion, one clearly does the former an injustice. Surely, the sciences have been just as much—and in Germany more so—expanded by university professors as by the academy members, and these men have arrived at their advances in their field precisely through their teaching. For the free oral lecture before listeners, among whom there is always a significant number of minds that think along for themselves, surely spurs on the person who has become used to this kind of study as much as the solitary leisure of the writer’s life or the loose association of an academic fellowship. . . .
Which Three Years?
Authors: Willetts David
Published: November 2020

I meant it when I said that I loved universities. But attitudes to universities are mixed. Other stages of education do better in winning hearts and minds, and politicians react accordingly. The target of three million apprenticeships was celebrated as a popular policy whereas there was little celebration of the reality of two million students in British universities. Telegenic rows of students serve as a backdrop for politicians’ speeches on any subject—apart from higher education itself. Legislation on schools was seen as popular use of parliamentary time but there was reluctance to devote any parliamentary time to sorting out an incoherent legal framework for universities which lagged way behind our reforms. Above all the early years of childhood were seen as far more important than later stages of education in shaping life chances and improving social mobility. I do not begrudge these other stages of education their political appeal— honest! Anyway politicians and their advisers are just reflecting a wider conventional wisdom. Universities themselves helped shape this view of educational priorities. I would go to university meetings where protesters outside demanded more public funding so higher education could be ‘free’ whilst inside earnest public policy students and academics told me that actually public funding should be shifted to the early years or that primary school literacy and numeracy programmes were the real educational priority. These attitudes are influenced by the tendency of educators at whatever level to blame the previous stage of education for their problems. Universities say they would love to recruit someone from a disadvantaged background but prospective students have been let down by their schooling so their A level grades just aren’t good enough and the university cannot gamble on their being able to catch up at such a late stage. Colleges say it is hard for them to focus on helping students get good A levels when they are also expected to provide remedial education for 16–18-year-olds who have failed at secondary school. Secondary schools say it is hard for them to deliver good GCSE results when too many kids arrive from primary school without the basics of reading and writing.