bluuebunny/crossref_metadata_2025 huggingface dataset:
“Lost by Being Found”: The Public and the Material Past in the Nineteenth-Century United States
Authors: Snead James E.
Published: November 2020

In the flurry of activity following the Centennial Exposition, the Kentucky Mummy’s onward journey to Washington went unremarked. Her addition to the national collection was eventually acknowledged in the Smithsonian’s annual report for 1876, without further comment. Cryptic references to this item’s new status can be found in institutional memoranda over the next few years: “Dr. Rau has the mummy on exhibition in first case to the left as you enter his hall,” reads one such note. But in the wilderness of artifacts at the Smithsonian there was little space for nostalgia, and the Mummy does not seem to have attracted the notice of the Washington audience. The implicit alignment of perspectives between local antiquarians and Smithsonian scholars at the end of the 1870s—that the documentation of archaeological evidence was fundamentally tied to experience on the ground, demonstrating the need for local knowledge and widespread cooperation—did not, however, affect the trajectory of archaeological practice in the United States. The implications of the deep files in Mason’s office remained largely unremarked. The passing of this opportunity for archaeological synthesis testifies perhaps more to inadequate institutional frameworks than to conceptual shortcomings. The Smithsonian’s efforts to collect information on American antiquity in the 1870s differed only in detail and scale from the correspondence of the American Antiquarian Society in the 1810s. In both cases—and in many others launched during the intervening years—an institution sought to acquire antiquarian capital through a network of collaborators, exchanging prestige and modest access for information and associated commodities. In the context of the late nineteenth century, however, the failures of such approaches were more evident than their episodic successes, and the sense that opportunities to understand the American past had been squandered was widespread. The words of Moses Fisk, published in 1820, could describe the antiquarian enterprise of his and subsequent generations. “It is to be regretted,” he wrote, “that these ancient ruins and relicks have been exposed to so much depredation. Valuable articles are lost by being found.”
Introduction
Authors: Kidd Edwina , Fejerskov Ole
Published: November 2020

A pain-free, functioning, and good-looking dentition for a lifetime seems a reasonable goal! Is this what dentists do? An advertisement for a North American dental practice recently suggested that dentists practising general dentistry provide amalgam and composite fillings, sealants, cosmetic dentistry, pulp and root canal treatment, crown and bridges, dentures, and dental implants. Moreover, they do minor oral surgery, gum disease treatment, and occasionally temporomandibular joint (TMJ) therapy, tobacco cessation, and nutrition counselling. The topics listed in the first sentence comprise the daily work in general dentistry, but do you realize that 85% of these are a direct consequence of dental caries? Yet dental caries is not mentioned as the main reason for most dental treatments. Restorative treatment is the focus of dentistry. The disease dental caries is the only disease which has been combatted with metals and composites for more than a century. Some 50 years ago the concept of prevention became fashionable. Now restorative treatment was described as ‘secondary prophylaxis’ because it was considered that once the inevitable dental caries had occurred, it had to be treated (i.e. restored) to prevent further break down of the teeth and the dentition. Therefore, it is not surprising that the most time in the dental curriculum is devoted to the many skilled restorative procedures. These have to be conducted in a moist, slippery, small, and moving oral cavity attached to a person who may find the procedure unpleasant! No wonder it is difficult to perform intra-oral restorative work of high quality as part of oral rehabilitation, and no wonder so much time in the curriculum is devoted to these aspects. However, supposing it was possible to prevent or control the disease so that restorations are reduced to a minimum? This control of caries is what this book is about! Seven chapters present the essentials of what is known about dental caries. The observations will be based on current scientific evidence. This is a hands-on book, which means that what is suggested and observed should have immediate implications for how patients may be treated.
Developing a New Perspective on Dura’s Military Base
Authors: James Simon
Published: November 2020

This research project arose, as many do, from an intersection of personal research interests and fieldwork opportunity. At its inception, I had already been working on material from Dura for twenty years, principally writing my PhD on the remarkable finds of (mostly Roman) arms and military equipment from the site, resulting in Final Report 7. I originally came to Dura as a Roman military archaeology specialist, but was acutely aware of my limited grounding in the specifics of the archaeology and history of the region. However, it is also clear that study of so huge and complex a data set as that from Dura must be a team effort involving many specialists from a wide array of disciplines and backgrounds, all of whom may bring outside perspectives potentially illuminating to the whole. My collaboration with MFSED began with an invitation from Pierre Leriche to examine some newly found items of military equipment. Spending time at Dura permitted an extended examination of the city, the Sasanian siege works, and Roman countermeasures (resulting in a publication on the Tower 19 complex, and indications of use of a ‘chemical weapon’ in the fighting: James 2011b), and especially of the military base where the soldiers whose equipment I had studied through artefacts and iconography had mostly lived. As previously mentioned, the base was not a primary research objective of MFSED. However, a project on the fixed infrastructure of the garrison would form a logical follow-on to my study of its martial material culture in FR 7. Contributing to MFSED’s general aims of recording and publishing the city’s remains, and to wider Dura scholarship, it also offered the chance to publish arguably the most important revealed but incompletely studied Roman military site in the empire. Further, this intra-urban military base constituted an ideal opportunity to pursue my own wider research interest, in how the Roman military interacted with civilian populations. At an early stage in my research career, I had come to believe that the Roman military could only be understood in context, of Roman society as a whole, and of the peoples it fought, conquered, and settled amongst.
What and Where? Revised Overview of Base Extent
Authors: James Simon
Published: November 2020

Archaeological evidence indicates that, during the final halfcentury of the life of the city, the area directly annexed by the military was significantly larger than the original excavators realized. In addition to concentrations of soldiers around the gates and defences, and at various places within the ‘civil’ town, the military came to control a single continuous swathe of the urban interior, comprising the entire N part of the walled area from the W defences to the river cliffs, and extending as far as the S end of the Citadel, plus the floor of the inner wadi right down to Lower Main St opposite the (by Durene standards) showy C3 bath, which it also apparently built. This area totals c.13.5 ha (c.33 acres)—a literal quarter of the intramural area which today covers c.52 ha (c.118 acres, measured from the CAD plan of the city by Dan Stewart; both city and base were slightly bigger in antiquity, before loss of the River Gate and parts of the Citadel). In its final form, the base included several distinct zones (Pl. XXIII). The NW part of the city had become a military enclosure, bounded on the E side by a continuous wall down the W side of G St, incorporating the street facades of the E3 bath and E4 house. On the S it was defined by the ‘camp wall’ from the city defences to D St; with no sign of a wall across blocks F5 or F7, the perimeter between D and F Sts is inferred. It must be presumed that, as to the W, the 8th-St-fronting properties of the two blocks were taken over, but that the party walls comprising the boundary with civil housing to the S was not further elaborated. These lines converged on the amphitheatre, which formed the corner of the enclosure. This perimeter of the NW enclosure involved physically blocking Wall, A, C, D, and 10th Sts. A major entrance was on 8th St, at G St between the amphitheatre and the E4 house.
Why Was the Base Where It Was, and As It Was?
Authors: James Simon
Published: November 2020

In the foregoing, it was argued that the unitary base area seen in the third century, encompassing the entire N part of the city from the W defences almost to the River Gate, resulted from expansion and coalescence of two later-second-century nuclei, one near the Temple of Bêl, the other focused on the Citadel. Subsequently, presumably increasing Roman troop numbers at Dura led to takeover of the far N part of the intramural area, linking up the military holdings. But why did it start as two nuclei? When Roman power became permanently established over Dura c.165, and a decision was made to station Palmyrene symmachiarii there, while the Realpolitik may have been that these were proxy forces holding the city for Rome, the option of sending in troops from a long-standing friend of Dura may have been chosen as a face-saving measure for the Durene elite. The Palmyrenes were likely presented as defending the newly ‘liberated’ city from Arsacid interference. Under such circumstances, a less obtrusive, peripheral location would have been appropriate. The zone around the Temple of Bêl appears at the time to have comprised only partially built-up city blocks offering open ground, with more free space along the city wall to accommodate the Palmyrene force with minimal disruption to civic life. The temple plaza also offered a ready-made military assembly space. It is further possible that the Palmyrenes attested in Arsacid Dura—visiting traders and soldiers, and resident expatriates—already tended to congregate in or use this zone, around the temple which, at least later, would become especially associated with Palmyrene Bêl. With subsequent arrival of regular Roman troops, and the proposed enrolling of the Palmyrene archers as the nucleus of the nascent cohors XX, the NW cantonment was then probably expanded as it was developed into a Roman auxiliary base. With regard to the inner wadi/Citadel zone, it was suggested above that the incoming Romans would have taken over the great inner stronghold by default, as part of the defensive circuit. They also used the flat wadi floor in its shadow as a campus.
Homelessness in a Global Historical Context
Authors: Kiddey Rachael
Published: November 2020

One afternoon in late summer of 2010 I was walking home from the shops when I bumped into Punk Paul. ‘Hungry?’ He joked in his thick West Yorkshire accent, gesturing to my bags full of bread, salad, sausages, and wine. ‘I’m having a BBQ at my flat with some friends. Do you want to come?’ Paul eagerly took a few bags from me and we began to the short walk up the hill to where I lived in Bristol. By then I had known him for almost two and a half years. We trusted one another. As we entered the flat, we were first greeted by my dogs, Joey and Pea. Both dogs wagged cheerfully before diving nose first into the bags that we were carrying. ‘Get out of there!’ Paul said gently to the dogs. They knew him from fieldwork. As I started to unpack the shopping, Paul sat cross-legged on the floor, stroking the dogs so that they settled down beside him. ‘Are you any good at making burgers?’ I asked Paul, slapping beef mince and onions onto the kitchen worktop. ‘Can I put some music on? I can’t work wi’out music,’ he said. I tossed him my phone. ‘What the fuck am I supposed to do wi’ that?’ ‘It has music on it!’ I laughed, taking back the phone and flicking to the music library. I gave it to Paul so that he could choose what we listened to and we spent the next hour or so chopping vegetables, dressing leaves and making burgers to Nobody’s Heroes by Stiff Little Fingers. Friends arrived, we barbecued, and, as it got later, one friend put her little girl to sleep in my bed. Paul came to the door of the bedroom where I was reading the little girl a story. ‘Marmite!’ I heard him say my name in a loud whisper. ‘Thanks for your hospitality mate but I’ve got to get going now.’ I went to the door. ‘Everything OK, Paul?’
Ultra revelations
Authors: Randell Brian
Published: November 2020

In 1974 and 1975 two books (The Ultra Secret and Bodyguard of Lies) were published. These books alerted the general public for the first time to some of the secrets of Bletchley Park’s wartime activities, and caused a great sensation. These developments provided me with an excuse to enquire again about the possibility of persuading the British government to declassify the Colossus project. This second account describes how, following a partial such declassification, I received official permission in July 1975 to undertake and publish the results of a detailed investigation into the work of the project. As a consequence, at the 1976 Los Alamos Conference on the History of Computing I was able to describe in some detail, for the first time, how Tommy Flowers led the work at the Post Office Dollis Hill Research Station on the construction of a series of special-purpose electronic computers for Bletchley Park, and to discuss how these fitted into the overall history of the development of the modern electronic computer. The present chapter describes the course of this further investigation. In the spring of 1974 the official ban on any reference to Ultra, a code name for information obtained at Bletchley Park from decrypted German message traffic, was relaxed somewhat, and Frederick Winterbotham’s book The Ultra Secret was published. Described as the ‘story of how, during World War II, the highest form of intelligence, obtained from the “breaking” of the supposedly “unbreakable” German machine cyphers, was “processed” and distributed with complete security to President Roosevelt, Winston Churchill, and all the principal Chiefs of Staff and commanders in the field throughout the war’, this book caused a sensation, and brought Bletchley Park, the Enigma cipher machine, and the impact on the war of the breaking of wartime Enigma traffic, to the general public’s attention in a big way. The book’s single reference to computers came in the statement:… It is no longer a secret that the backroom boys of Bletchley used the new science of electronics to help them . . . I am not of the computer age nor do I attempt to understand them, but early in 1940 I was ushered with great solemnity into the shrine where stood a bronze coloured face, like some Eastern Goddess who was destined to become the oracle of Bletchley.
Delilah—encrypting speech
Authors: Copeland Jack
Published: November 2020

Once Enigma was solved and the pioneering work on Tunny was done, Turing’s battering-ram mind was needed elsewhere. Routine codebreaking irked him and he was at his best when breaking new ground. In 1942 he travelled to America to explore cryptology’s next challenge, the encryption of speech. Turing left Bletchley Park for the United States in November 1942. He sailed for New York on a passenger liner, during what was one of the most dangerous periods for Atlantic shipping. It must have been a nerve-racking journey. That month alone, the U-boats sank more than a hundred Allied vessels. Turing was the only civilian aboard a floating barracks, packed to bursting point with military personnel. At times there were as many as 600 men crammed into the officers’ lounge—Turing said he nearly fainted. On the ship’s arrival in New York, it was decreed that his papers were inadequate, and this placed his entry to the United States in jeopardy. The immigration officials even debated interning him on Ellis Island. ‘That will teach my employers to furnish me with better credentials’ was Turing’s laconic comment. It was a private joke at the British government’s expense: since becoming a codebreaker in 1939, his employers were none other than His Majesty’s Foreign Office. America did not exactly welcome Turing with open arms. His principal reason for making the dangerous trip across the Atlantic was to spend time at Manhattan’s Bell Telephone Laboratories, where speech encryption work was going on, but the authorities declined to clear him to visit this hive of top-secret projects. General George Marshall, Chief of Staff of the US Army, declared that Bell Labs housed work ‘of so secret a nature that Dr. Turing cannot be given access’. While Winston Churchill’s personal representative in Washington, Sir John Dill, struggled to get General Marshall’s decision reversed, Turing spent his first two months in America advising Washington’s codebreakers—no doubt this was unknown to Marshall, who might otherwise have forbidden Turing’s involvement. During this time Turing also acted as consultant to the engineers who were designing an electronic version of his bombe for production in America.
The Turing test—from every angle
Authors: Proudfoot Diane
Published: November 2020

Can machines think? Turing’s famous test is one way of determining the answer. On the sixtieth anniversary of his death, the University of Reading announced that a ‘historic milestone in artificial intelligence’ had been reached at the Royal Society: a computer program had passed the ‘iconic’ Turing test. According to an organizer, this was ‘one of the most exciting’ advances in human understanding. In a frenzy of worldwide publicity, the news was described as a ‘breakthrough’ showing that ‘robot overlords creep closer to assuming control’ of human beings. Yet after only a single day it was claimed that ‘almost everything about the story is bogus’: it was ‘nonsense, complete nonsense’ to say that the Turing test had been passed. The program concerned ‘actually got an F’ on the test. The backlash spread to the test itself; critics said that the ‘whole concept of the Turing Test is kind of a joke . . . a needless distraction’. So, what is the Turing test—and why does it matter? In 1948, in a report entitled ‘Intelligent machinery’, Turing described a ‘little experiment’ that, he said, was ‘a rather idealized form of an experiment I have actually done’. It involved three subjects, all chess players. Player A plays chess as he/she normally would, while player B is proxy for a computer program, following a written set of rules and working out what to do using pencil and paper—this ‘paper machine’ was the only sort of programmable computer freely available in 1948 (see Ch. 31). Both of these players are hidden from the third player, C. Turing said, ‘Two rooms are used with some arrangement for communicating moves, and a game is played between C and either A or the paper machine’. How did the experiment fare? According to Turing, ‘C may find it quite difficult to tell which he is playing’. This is the first version of what has come to be known as ‘Turing’s imitation game’ or the ‘Turing test’.
Turing’s concept of intelligence
Authors: Proudfoot Diane
Published: November 2020

This chapter sets out a new interpretation of Turing’s concept of intelligence (or thinking) and of his famous test, based on his overlooked 1948 and 1952 versions of the imitation game. According to the traditional behaviourist interpretation, Turing held that thinking is nothing over and above (the capacity for or tendency to) ‘thinking’ behaviour. Yet his own words are inconsistent with behaviourism, as is the design of his test. So what was Turing’s view? He said that ‘the idea of “intelligence” is itself emotional rather than mathematical’ and his writings make it clear that whether or not a machine is intelligent (or thinks) depends in part on an observer’s reactions to the machine. This is what modern philosophers would call a response-dependence theory of the concept of intelligence. Turing’s remarks about a machine’s learning to make ‘choices’ and ‘decisions’ suggest that he took a similar approach to the concept of free will. According to the traditional view, Turing’s concept of intelligence is behaviourist—that is to say, intelligence or thinking is nothing more than (the capacity for or tendency to) what we call ‘intelligent’ or ‘thinking’ behaviour. For the philosophical behaviourist, the hypothesis of a hidden inner mind that guides and explains such behaviour is an illusion—the notorious ‘ghost in the machine’. From the 1950s onward Turing’s computer-imitates-human game was interpreted as providing a behaviourist criterion of intelligence or thinking. For example, in 1952 Wolfe Mays—a University of Manchester philosopher who had created a ‘logical machine’ with Dietrich Prinz, one of Turing’s collaborators on the Manchester computer—referred to Turing’s ‘behaviourist criterion’. Turing used a ‘definition of psychological phenomena in terms of behavioural patterns’ according to which a machine can think if and only if its behaviour is ‘indistinguishable from that of a human being’. Behaviourism was popular in the 1950s, but even then faced objections. A 1950s philosophical joke went like this: ‘One behaviourist meeting another on the street said “You feel fine! How do I feel?” ’. Surely, the joke implies, I do not learn how I feel only from third-person observations of my behaviour (Fig. 28.1).
Radiolaria: validating the Turing theory
Authors: Richards Bernard
Published: November 2020

In his 1952 paper ‘The chemical basis of morphogenesis’ Turing postulated his now famous Morphogenesis Equation. He claimed that his theory would explain why plants and animals took the shapes they did. When I joined him, Turing suggested that I might solve his equation in three dimensions, a new problem. After many manipulations using rather sophisticated mathematics and one of the first factory-produced computers in the UK, I derived a series of solutions to Turing’s equation. I showed that these solutions explained the shapes of specimens of the marine creatures known as Radiolaria, and that they corresponded very closely to the actual spiny shapes of real radiolarians. My work provided further evidence for Turing’s theory of morphogenesis, and in particular for his belief that the external shapes exhibited by Radiolaria can be explained by his reaction–diffusion mechanism. While working in the Computing Machine Laboratory at the University of Manchester in the early 1950s, Alan Turing reignited the interests he had had in both botany and biology from his early youth. During his school-days he was more interested in the structure of the flowers on the school sports field than in the games played there (see Fig. 1.3). It is known that during the Second World War he discussed the problem of phyllotaxis (the arrangement of leaves and florets in plants), and then at Manchester he had some conversations with Claude Wardlaw, the Professor of Botany in the University. Turing was keen to take forward the work that D’Arcy Thompson had published in On Growth and Form in 1917. In his now-famous paper of 1952 Turing solved his own ‘Equation of Morphogenesis’ in two dimensions, and demonstrated a solution that could explain the ‘dappling’—the black-and-white patterns—on cows. The next step was for me to solve Turing’s equation in three dimensions. The two-dimensional case concerns only surface features of organisms, such as dappling, spots, and stripes, whereas the three-dimensional version concerns the overall shape of an organism. In 1953 I joined Turing as a research student in the University of Manchester, and he set me the task of solving his equation in three dimensions. A remarkable journey of collaboration began. Turing chatted to me in a very friendly fashion.
Turing’s mentor, Max Newman
Authors: Grattan-Guinness Ivor
Published: November 2020

The interaction between mathematicians and mathematical logicians has always been much slighter than one might imagine. This chapter examines the case of Turing’s mentor, Maxwell Hermann Alexander Newman (1897–1984). The young Turing attended a course of lectures on logical matters that Newman gave at Cambridge University in 1935. After briefly discussing examples of the very limited contact between mathematicians and logicians in the period 1850–1930, I describe the rather surprising origins and development of Newman’s own interest in logic. One might expect that the importance to many mathematicians of means of proving theorems, and their desire in many contexts to improve the level of rigour of proofs, would motivate them to examine and refine the logic that they were using. However, inattention to logic has long been common among mathematicians. A very important source of the cleft between mathematics and logic during the 19th century was the founding, from the late 1810s onwards, of the ‘mathematical analysis’ of real variables, grounded on a theory of limits, by the French mathematician Augustin-Louis Cauchy. He and his followers extolled rigour—most especially, careful definitions of major concepts and detailed proofs of theorems. From the 1850s onwards, this project was enriched by the German mathematician Karl Weierstrass and his many followers, who introduced (for example) multiple limit theory, definitions of irrational numbers, and an increasing use of symbols, and then from the early 1870s by Georg Cantor with his set theory. However, absent from all these developments was explicit attention to any kind of logic. This silence continued among the many set theorists who participated in the inauguration of measure theory, functional analysis, and integral equations. The mathematicians Artur Schoenflies and Felix Hausdorff were particularly hostile to logic, targeting the famous 20th-century logician Bertrand Russell. (Even the extensive dispute over the axiom of choice focused mostly on its legitimacy as an assumption in set theory and its use of higher-order quantification: its ability to state an infinitude of independent choices within finitary logic constituted a special difficulty for ‘logicists’ such as Russell.) Russell, George Boole, and other creators of symbolic logics were exceptional among mathematicians in attending to logic, but they made little impact on their colleagues.
Networks in Archaeology: Between Scientific Method and Humanistic Metaphor
Authors: Knappett Carl
Published: November 2020

Running the full gamut of scholarship from physical science to philosophy, archaeology’s diversity can be a negative rather than a positive—when the same phenomena can attract such different approaches that archaeologists end up talking past one another. Take the example of archaeological landscape analysis: on the one hand, this has produced rich, expressive phenomenological studies, and on the other, detailed palaeoenvironmental reconstructions. These two perspectives are not commonly combined, although when they are archaeology emerges as a solid bridge between the humanities and the environmental sciences (van der Leeuw and Redman 2002; Smith et al. 2012). Take another example: artefact studies—on the one hand, poetic, philosophical musings on anything from fabulous artworks to mundane artefacts, and on the other, neutron activation analysis, X-ray diffraction and petrography employed in characterizing stone and ceramic technologies. There are calls (e.g. Jones 2004; Sillar and Tite 2000) to ‘humanise’ the science (and vice versa would also be fitting), and perhaps in artefact studies the integration of the sciences and humanities has had more success than in landscape studies. It is a difficult balancing act. But those archaeological studies that do find a way to combine both often create more convincing interpretations. Alongside landscape and artefact studies, network analysis is a third exemplar of this tension between scientific and humanistic understandings in archaeology. On the one hand, networks can be used quite formally and quantitatively to analyse interactions in space or, indeed, cultural evolution over time (Henrich and Broesch 2011). This use of networks is quite different from a more qualitative, figurative use, as seen recently in book-length treatments by Irad Malkin (2011) and Ian Hodder (2012). There is a danger of the gap between these different understandings of networks widening, just as the humanistic and scientific understandings of both landscapes and artefacts can sometimes seem incommensurate. I think one can see a certain reticence about being sucked into the ‘scientism’ of networks, what one might even dub ‘networkitis’, along the lines of ‘Darwinitis’ or the tendency for all manner of cultural phenomena to now find ‘explanation’ through evolutionary models, and recently the subject of a stinging critique by Raymond Tallis (2011).
Analytical Challenges for the Application of Social Network Analysis in Archaeology
Authors: Peeples Matthew A. , Mills Barbara J.
Published: November 2020

As the chapters and citations in this volume attest, applications of network analytical techniques using archaeological data have a great deal of potential for both addressing traditional archaeological questions and for providing new directions for archaeological research. Importantly, however, many of the network models and methods imported from other fields that are currently gaining popularity within archaeology (see Brughmans 2013) have not yet been fully assessed in relation to the unique strengths and constraints of archaeological data. We argue that archaeological applications of network analyses necessitate particularly careful consideration of the nature of the data included and the applicability of network metrics, many of which were designed with quite different time-scales and levels of certainty in mind. We further argue that, if archaeologists are able to overcome such challenges, the opportunities afforded by archaeological data (e.g. long-term perspectives, material perspectives) will allow us to contribute substantially to broader interdisciplinary discussions of network methodology, interpretation, and theory. In this chapter, we explore four general challenges facing archaeologists applying formal network methods: (1) the use of artefacts to construct network relations; (2) temporal variation among the units of analysis; (3) the definition of network boundaries; and (4) the impact of incomplete datasets. We have confronted each of these issues in our own archaeological network analyses focused on prehispanic settlements in the US Southwest. Some challenges are unique to archaeology while others have been extensively discussed in other disciplinary contexts. Following a brief overview of the data and methods that form the basis of our study, we summarize each of these major issues and offer suggestions for how they might be addressed based on our own experiences and analyses. We do not suggest that we cover all or even most of the challenges archaeological network analysts will face. We do, however, offer a framework for assessing other factors that may influence characterizations of archaeological networks and a general approach for tempering interpretations in relation to such factors.
A long and beyond the Nile
Authors: Mitchell Peter
Published: November 2020

If, as Herodotus stated, Egypt is the gift of the Nile, then it is a gift delivered largely by donkeys. Donkeys appear in the archaeological record of Egypt earlier than anywhere else. For over 6,000 years they have sustained some of the densest human populations on the planet, as well as supporting the development of one of the world’s first civilizations. Along the river, they have moved people, carried goods to market, threshed grain, and ploughed fields. They have been essential for extracting valuable metals and precious stones from the surrounding deserts and crucial for connecting Egypt with its neighbours. This chapter looks at all these themes. Additionally, it explores the symbolic significance that donkeys acquired in Egyptian thought, before considering their spread beyond the Nile into other parts of Africa. Faunal remains identified as donkey, rather than wild ass, are known from several sites of the Predynastic period that preceded Egypt’s development as a single state by about 3100 BC. During this period Egyptian society changed from being a series of small agricultural villages to a situation in which some of those settlements expanded into early towns, some of them seats of evermore competitive chieftains, others centres of craft production that were becoming heavily engaged in long-distance trade. This last point holds particularly true for several sites close to modern Cairo. It is from some of these, as we have seen, that the earliest donkey remains have been recovered: at El Omari c.4600–4400 BC and Maadi c.4000–3500 BC. A little later, one of the many carved slate ceremonial palettes produced during the later fourth millennium BC, the so- called Libyan (or Cities) Palette, shows a line of tame-looking donkeys between a row of cattle above and one of sheep below: though pictured with the dark shoulder stripe characteristic of wild asses, and without harness or loads, their context and demeanour suggest that they are domesticated. The kings of Egypt’s First and Second Dynasties (c.3085–2686 BC) reinforced their status by building monumental tomb complexes at Abydos in Upper Egypt and Saqqara outside Memphis, their new administrative and ceremonial centre just south of the apex of the Nile Delta.
Introduction: Mortuary Archaeology in Contemporary Society
Authors: Giles Melanie , Williams Howard
Published: November 2020

The 1980s and 1990s saw dramatic sea changes in the archaeological engagement with the dead in Australasia and North America, typified by the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) of 1990. However, it has only been far more recently that different, distinctive, but still fundamental challenges to the archaeological study, display, and curation of mortuary remains have affected the UK, Europe, and Scandinavia. While classic examples of disputes over the archaeological excavation of human remains have deep roots in the late twentieth century, the last decade has seen significant shifts and challenges for mortuary archaeology (see Sayer 2010a). In this regard, the UK situation is instructive, if not necessarily typical. At the turn of the millennium, the Working Group on Human Remains (whose final report was published in 2007) created a strong political climate which encouraged unconditional returns of ancestral remains acquired from elsewhere in the world and held in British museums. This was rejected by many institutions which had to balance such edicts against their acquisition policy (DCMS 2003), but its impact was to encourage a more open atmosphere of discussion. Slightly later, the impact of the 2005 DCMS ‘Guidance for the Care of Human Remains in Museums’ provided a strong (if not binding) steer in terms of aspects of curatorial acquisition, research protocols, and collections management advice, designed to systematize best practice. Importantly, it enshrined a three-fold conceptual principle that human remains are of ‘unique status, are often of high research value, and should be treated with dignity and respect’ (DCMS 2005: 16). This document provided an important mandate for archaeological excavation, research, and curation, at a time when calls for repatriation and reburial were on the rise. However, it was an ‘aspirant code of ethics’ which as Redfern and Clegg (2013: 2) argue, was not enforceable: relying on the professionalism of both individuals and institutions for its implementation. (In addition, the 2004 Human Tissue Act also impacted on those institutions holding human remains or fragments of them, less than 100 years old, though archaeological examples of this are rare.) Some UK museums began repatriating parts of their ethnographic collections much earlier than this: Besterman (2004: 3) reported that Manchester Museum had decided to return human remains acquired as recently as 1992.
Making an Exhibition of Ourselves: Using the Dead to Fight the Battles of the Living
Authors: Jenkins Tiffany
Published: November 2020

In October 2011, graphic images of a blood-stained and dead Muammar Gaddafi were sent around the internet. For some time after his death, his dead body was displayed at a house in Misrat, where masses of people queued to see it. His corpse provided a focus for the Libyan people, as proof that he really was dead and could finally be dominated. When Osama bin Laden was killed by the American military in May that same year, unlike Gaddafi, the body was absent, but the absence was significant. Shortly after he was killed a decision was taken not to show pictures of the dead body and it was buried at sea. The American military appear to have been concerned it would become a physical site for his supporters to congregate, and the photographs used by different sides in a propaganda war. Both cases reflect an aim to control the dead body and associated meanings with the person; that is not unusual: after the Nuremberg trials, the Allied authorities cremated Hermann Göring—who committed suicide prior to his scheduled hanging—so that his grave would not become a place of worship for Nazi sympathizers. These examples should remind us that dead bodies have longer lives than is at first obvious. They are central to rituals of mourning, but beyond this, throughout history, they have also played a role in political battles and provided a—sometimes contested—focus for reconciliation and remembrance. They have political and social capital and are objects with symbolic potential. In The Political Lives of Dead Bodies the anthropologist Katherine Verdery explores the way the dead body has been used in this way and why it is particularly effective. Firstly, she observes, human remains are effective symbolic objects because their meaning is ambiguous; that is whilst their associated meanings are contingent on a number of factors, including the individual and the cultural context, they are not fixed and are open to interpretation and manipulation: ‘Remains are concrete, yet protean; they do not have a single meaning but are open to many different readings’ (Verdery 1999: 28).
Conducting the assessment: setting it up and taking a history
Authors: McKnight Rebecca , Price Jonathan , Geddes John
Published: November 2020

Assessment prepares the way for management. The form and detail of an assessment depends therefore on the management that is likely to be needed, and this depends in turn on the nature of the problem. Although the basic structure will be the same, the length and focus of the assessment will differ in each case. For example:… ● After assessing a severely depressed patient, the GP may need to arrange for admission or arrange further focused support at the patient’s home. The assessment will therefore focus on the level of risk in the short term, and the resources available to support the patient in their home. ● After arriving to assess a disturbed patient in the emergency department, the doctor’s first action will be to attempt to calm the patient and ensure their own safety and the safety of others. Only then will they start to gather information about possible physical and psychological causes of disturbed behaviour, perhaps focusing on sources of information that do not rely on the patient’s cooperation— hospital records, GP records, or family informant, for example. ● After assessing an adolescent with the eating disorder bulimia nervosa who has been brought to the clinic by a parent, the psychiatrist needs to determine the patient’s insight into their problems, their motivation to change, and their ability to engage with a self- help cognitive behavioural programme…. Diagnosis begins as soon as the presenting problem is known— it does not wait until all the relevant data have been collected. From the start of the interview, the assessor begins to think what disorders could account for the presenting problem and what data will be required to decide. Assessment is not a fixed procedure, carried out in the same way with every pa­tient. It is a dynamic process in which healthcare pro­fessionals make, test, and modify hypotheses as they gather information.
Drugs and other physical treatments
Authors: McKnight Rebecca , Price Jonathan , Geddes John
Published: November 2020

This chapter is about the use of drugs and electroconvul­sive therapy (ECT). Stimulants for ADHD are covered in Chapter 32, and psychological treatments in Chapter 14. This is a convenient way of dividing the subject matter of a book, but in practice these physical treatments should always be combined with psychological treatment, unless the patient chooses not to undertake this. The account in this chapter is concerned with prac­tical therapeutics rather than basic pharmacology, and it will be assumed that the reader has studied the basic pharmacology of the principal types of drug used in psychiatric disorders (readers who do not have this knowledge should consult a textbook, see, for example, ‘Further reading’). Nevertheless, a few important points about the actions of psychotropic drugs will be con­sidered, before describing the specific groups of drugs (see Science box 13.1). To be effective, psychotropic drugs must reach the brain in adequate amounts. How far they do this depends on their absorption, metabolism, excretion, and passage across the blood– brain barrier. Most psychotropic drugs are absorbed readily from the gut, but absorption can be reduced by intestinal hurry or a malabsorption syndrome. Absorption can be slowed down by use of enteric coatings on capsules, should the clinician wish for a drug to be delivered over a longer period of time. Most psychotropic drugs are metabolized partially in the liver on their way from the intestine via the portal system to the systemic circulation. The amount of this so- called first- pass metabolism differs from one person to another, and it is altered by certain drugs, taken at the same time, which induce liver enzymes (e.g. carbamazepine) or inhibit them (e.g. MAOIs). Although first- pass metabolism reduces the amount of the original drug reaching the brain, the metabolites of some drugs have their own therapeutic effects. As many psychotropic drugs have active metabolites, the measurement of plasma concentrations of the parent drug is generally a poor guide to treatment.
Delirium, dementia, and other cognitive disorders
Authors: McKnight Rebecca , Price Jonathan , Geddes John
Published: November 2020

Organic psychiatric disorders result from brain dys­function caused by organic pathology inside or outside the brain. Dementia is the most common condition, with Alzheimer’s disease alone affecting 1 per cent of the population at 60 years, rising to 40 per cent over 80 years. Many of the rarer organic psychiatric dis­orders tend to affect a wider age range, but present in similar ways. Given the changing demographics of most developed countries, disorders producing cognitive im­pairment in older adults are becoming increasingly important for provision of healthcare services and in daily clinical practice. This chapter will cover the more common causes of cognitive impairment, and there is additional information in Chapters 18 and 20 on psych­iatry of older adults in psychiatry and medicine. There are three common clinical presentations of or­ganic psychiatric disorders: … 1 Delirium— an acute generalized impairment of brain function, in which the most important feature is impairment of consciousness. The disturbance of brain function is generalized, and the primary cause is often outside the brain; for example, sepsis due to a urinary tract infection. 2 Dementia— chronic generalized impairment, in which the main clinical feature is global intellectual impairment. There are also changes in mood and behaviour. The brain dysfunction is generalized, and the primary cause is within the brain; for example, a degenerative condition such as Alzheimer’s disease. 3 Specific syndromes— which include disorders with a predominant impairment of isolated areas; for example, memory (amnesic syndrome), thought, mood, or personality change. These include neurological disorders that frequently result in organic psychological complications; for example, epilepsy…. Table 26.1 lists the main categories of psychiatric disorder associated with organic brain disease. The following sections describe these syndromes and the psychiatric consequences of a number of neurological conditions. Organic causes of other core psychiatric conditions (e.g. anxiety and psychosis) are covered in the relevant specific chapters. Delirium is characterized by an acute impairment of consciousness producing a generalized cognitive impairment. The word delirium is derived from the Latin, ‘lira’, which means to wander from the furrow. Delirium is a common condition, affecting up to 30 per cent of patients in general medical or surgical wards, with the primary cause often being a sys­temic illness. The term ‘acute confusional state’ is a synonym for delirium.
Sleep disorders
Authors: McKnight Rebecca , Price Jonathan , Geddes John
Published: November 2020

The term sleep disorder (somnipathy) simply means a disturbance of an individual’s normal sleep pat­tern. Doctors typically see patients in whom the dis­turbance is having a negative effect upon physical, mental, or emotional functioning, but subclinical dis­turbances of sleep are common and something almost everyone will suffer at some point in their life. Sleep disorders are a heterogeneous group, ranging from the frequently experienced insomnia to the extremely rare hypersomnias such as Kleine– Levin syndrome. However, there are many shared characteristics and this chapter will concentrate mainly on providing a framework for assessment, diagnosis, and manage­ment in the generic sense, with some guidance on spe­cific disorders in the latter sections. A good working knowledge of basic sleep disorders is essential in all specialties of clinical medicine. As a general rule, sleep disorders within the general hos­pital environment tend to be poorly managed, with great detriment to the patient. There are a variety of reasons why it is important to be able to diagnose and treat sleep disorders: … ● Epidemiology: sleep disorders are very common and affect all ages. ● Co- morbidities: sleep disturbances may be a primary disorder or secondary to a mental or physical disorder. They are often prodromal symptoms of psychiatric conditions. ● Impact upon physical health: poor sleep is linked to increased mortality and morbidity from many pathologies (see ‘Consequences of inadequate sleep’, p. 405). ● Medications (not just psychotropics) often affect sleep. ● Sleep disturbance is an important part of many primary psychiatric conditions (e.g. mood disorders, psychosis, anxiety disorders); further information on these can be found in the chapter relating to each disorder. … Sleep is a natural state of bodily rest seen in humans and many animals and is essential for survival. It is different from wakefulness in that the organism has a decreased ability to react to stimuli, but this is more easily reversible than in hibernation or coma. Sleep is poorly understood, but it is likely that it has several functions relating to restoration of body equilibrium and energy stores. There are a variety of theories re­garding the function of sleep, which are outlined in Box 28.1.