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This article provides an overview of selected ongoing international efforts that have been inspired by Edward Zigler's vision to improve programs and policies for young children and families in the United States. The efforts presented are in close alignment with three strategies articulated by Edward Zigler: (a) conduct research that will inform policy advocacy; (b) design, implement, and revise quality early childhood development (ECD) programs; and (c) invest in building the next generation of scholars and advocates in child development. The intergenerational legacy left by Edward Zigler has had an impact on young children not only in the United States, but also across the globe. More needs to be done. We need to work together with a full commitment to ensure the optimal development of each child.
The problematic of this essay may strike some readers as odd. After all, phenylketonuria, or PKU as it is more commonly known, was understood to be inherited nearly from the time it was first identified as a disease entity by Norwegian physician and biochemist Asbjørn Følling in 1934. Indeed, by the mid-1940s its autosomal recessive pattern of inheritance had been well confirmed. But the genetic aetiology of PKU was not always a defining characteristic of the disease. Whether an inherited condition is characterized as ‘genetic’, and, if so, the meaning and importance attached to that designation, is context dependent, varying with place, time, the specific features of the disease that are of greatest salience to patients, researchers and clinicians, and the general visibility of genetics in the culture. Thus Jean-Paul Gaudillière has shown that for Lionel Penrose and his British peers, the characterization of Down syndrome as a genetic (chromosomal) abnormality had very different implications than it did for Jérôme Lejeune and many of his compatriots in France. And writing of cystic fibrosis, Keith Wailoo and Stephen Pemberton explain that in the 1960s and 1970s, ‘neither families nor experts emphasized the “genetic” features of the disease. To be sure, they understood it to be a “hereditary” disorder, but this way of thinking did not capture what they saw as its fundamental biological underpinnings’.
How does Darwin's Darwinism relate to social Darwinism and eugenics? Like many foes of Darwinism, past and present, the American populist and creationist William Jennings Bryan thought a straight line ran from Darwin's theory ('a dogma of darkness and death') to beliefs that it is right for the strong to crowd out the weak, and that the only hope for human improvement lay in selective breeding. Darwin's defenders, on the other hand, have typically viewed social Darwinism and eugenics as perversions of his theory. Daniel Dennett speaks for many biologists and philosophers of science when he characterises social Darwinism as 'an odious misapplication of Darwinian thinking'. That perspective is also reflected in the 2005-6 blockbuster Darwin show curated by the American Museum of Natural History, where the section on 'Social Darwinism', subtitled 'Misusing Darwin's Theory', claims that all uses of Darwin's theory to justify particular social, political, or economic principles 'have one fundamental flaw: they use a purely scientific theory for a completely unscientific purpose. In doing so they misrepresent and misappropriate Darwin's original ideas'. Few professional historians believe either that Darwin's theory leads directly to these doctrines or that they are entirely unrelated. But both the nature and significance of the link are passionately disputed.
How does Darwin's Darwinism relate to social Darwinism and eugenics? Like many foes of Darwinism, past and present, the American populist and creationist William Jennings Bryan thought a straight line ran from Darwin's theory ('a dogma of darkness and death') to beliefs that it is right for the strong to crowd out the weak, and that the only hope for human improvement lay in selective breeding. Darwin's defenders, on the other hand, have typically viewed social Darwinism and eugenics as perversions of his theory. Daniel Dennett speaks for many biologists and philosophers of science when he characterises social Darwinism as 'an odious misapplication of Darwinian thinking'. Few professional historians believe either that Darwin's theory leads directly to these doctrines or that they are entirely unrelated. But both the nature and significance of the link are disputed.
This chapter examines the views held by Darwin himself and by later Darwinians on the implications of his theory for social life, and it assesses the social impact made by these views. More specifically: section II discusses the debates about human evolution in the wake of Darwin’s Origin of Species (1859).3 Sections III and IV analyse Darwin’s ambiguous contribution to these debates. Sometimes celebrating competitive struggle, he also wished to moderate its effects, but thought restrictions on breeding impractical and immoral. Sections V and VI see how others interpreted both the science and social meaning of Darwinism. Darwin’s followers found in his ambiguities legitimation for whatever they favoured: laissez-faire capitalism, certainly, but also liberal reform, anarchism and socialism; colonial conquest, war and patriarchy, but also anti-imperialism, peace and feminism.
The transition from Palaeoindian to Archaic societies in North America is often viewed as a linear progression over a brief but time-transgressive period. New evidence from the Wilson-Leonard site in Texas suggests social experimentation by Palaeoindians over a 2500-year period eventually resulted in Archaic societies. The process was neither short nor linear, and the evidence shows that different but contemporaneous lifeways existed in a variety of locales in the south-central US in the Early Holocene.
Study of biology flourished under the swastika. Although we tend to dismiss Nazi science as pseudoscience and equate research in biology with racial hygiene, the history of biology during the Third Reich was in fact quite complex. Work supported by Heinrich Himmler's Das Ahnenerbe (“ancestral heritage”), the research and teaching arm of the Schute-Staffel (SS), was indeed racist nonsense (Deichmann 1996, pp. 251–76). But most of the science supported by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG), the major government funding agency, would have been considered mainstream science in the 1930s and 1940s. Its content and standards differed little from those of the science being pursued elsewhere in the western world.
Of course, research under the Third Reich was funded in the expectation that it would ultimately advance the aims of the regime. That fact prompts us to ask how we should think about the activities of scientists who did not engage in overtly criminal acts, but rather practiced “normal research.” We do not hesitate to condemn researchers who actively promoted and implemented the racial policies of the National Socialist state. We know what to think about those who produced anti-Semitic propaganda or reports on racial ancestry in connection with enforcement of the Nuremberg laws, helped formulate euthanasia policy, informed on colleagues who employed half-Jewish or politically suspect assistants, or conducted obscene experiments on human subjects. But more difficult, and more interesting, questions are raised by the behavior of scientists whose work was no more racist in either its intention or its assumptions than that of their non-German peers, but who in some way sought to profit from the National Socialist regime.
The bitterness and protracted character of the biometrician–Mendelian
debate has long
aroused the interest of historians of biology. In this paper, we focus
on another and much
less discussed facet of the controversy: competing interpretations of the
inheritance of
mental defect. Today, the views of the early Mendelians, such as Charles
B. Davenport and
Henry H. Goddard, are universally seen to be mistaken. Some historians
assume that the
Mendelians' errors were exposed by advances in the science of genetics.
Others believe that
their mistakes could have been identified by contemporaries. Neither interpretation
takes
account of the fact that the lapses for which the Mendelian eugenicists
are now notorious
were, in fact, mostly identified at the time by the biometricians David
Heron and Karl
Pearson. In this paper we ask why their objections had so little impact.
We think the answer
illustrates an important general point about the social prerequisites for
effective scientific
critique.
What are the aims of genetic services? Do any of these aims deserve to be labeled “eugenics”? Answers to these strenuously debated questions depend not just on the facts about genetic testing and screening but also on what is understood by “eugenics,” a term with multiple and contested meanings. This paper explores the impact of efforts to label genetic services “eugenics” and argues that attempts to protect against the charge have seriously distorted discussion about their purpose(s). Following Ruth Chadwick, I argue that the existence of genetic services presupposes that genetic disease is undesirable and that means should be offered to reduce it. I further argue that the economic cost of such disease is one reason why governments and health care providers deem such services worthwhile. The important question is not whether such cost considerations constitute “eugenics,” but whether they foster practices that are undesirable and, if so, what to do about them. The wielding of the term “eugenics” as a weapon in a war over the expansion of genetic services, conjoined with efforts to dissociate such services from the abortion controversy, has produced a rhetoric about the aims of these services that is increasingly divorced from reality. Candor about these aims is a sine qua non of any useful debate over the legitimacy of the methods used to advance them.
Newborn screening for the genetic disease phenylketonuria (PKU) is generally considered the greatest success story of applied human genetics. Paradoxically, it is invoked both by those who stress the value and those who emphasize the limitations of genetic medicine.
PKU screening is often cited as a model for genetic medicine and as a precedent for those who favor the expansion of genetic tests (Azen 1991, 35; Scriver 1991; Bishop and Waldholz 1990, 18-19). But even those skeptical of most screening programs tend to describe this program in sunny terms (Natowicz and Alper 1991, 387-89; Nelkin and Tancredi 1989, 160). The near-consensus on the success of PKU screening is explained by the variety of interests the example serves. Untreated phenylketonuria results in severe mental retardation and behavioral disorders. But if it is identified in the newborn, the disease is treatable through a special diet.