Like their forerunners, post-Hellenistic doctors also grappled with the unclear boundaries between healthy versus pathologic sleep, and consciousness-unconsciousness. Furthermore, they incorporated new diseases and redefined others - like lethargy - that were specifically associated with this process. Celsus considered sleep as all-or-nothing phenomenon, without recognising different depths. Regarding mental capacities, he subsumed most of them in his idea of mens/animus. Aretaeus, on the other hand did conceive different depths of sleep, and his eclectic method enabled him to find alternative pathophysiological explanations to characterise several of its main features. Similarly, although his organization of mental capacities varied according to what he was explaining, the opposition gnômê-aisthêsis was important in his idea of mind.

Some Hippocratic doctors regarded sleep as a healthy process, and some as a pathological one; some of them struggled to distinguish between hallucinations and nightmares, and some between deep dreamless sleep and total loss of consciousness. This chapter explores how different treatises from the Hippocratic corpus navigated these ambiguities, how they explained different depth of sleep (i.e. different levels of consciousness), and how such understanding relates to their views on mental capacities (which they subsumed in concepts such as phronesis, sunesis, gnômê, and nous).

In face of the difficulty of establishing clear biological boundaries between sleep and the other forms of impaired consciousness, the sociological and anthropological analyses can provide hints as to where those limits were set in real life. The terminological analysis suggested a common feature that persisted throughout the different authors and periods: different levels of consciousness (from drowsy to hyperactive, and from delirium to koma) where always related to the impairment of mental capacities, regardless of the way in which each medical writer grouped or understood them.

Galen conceived sleep and wakefulness as a continuum that depended on the mixture of qualities within the ruling part of the puschê (the hêgemonikon) located in the brain. Naturally, in his system whenever pathological sleep occurred the doctor needed to determine if the brain was affected directly or by sympathy (from another organ), and the precise imbalance of qualities that needed to be counteracted by their opposites. His idea of mind was very accurately and hierarchically structured: it resided in the logical part of the soul, located in the brain, and several diseases with impaired consciousness compromised its normal functioning.

In the first, introductory part of this chapter I explain the tension inherent in these dual beliefs by examining the rules that Leibniz set forth for the reform of the philosophical lexicon as well as the attempts to apply these rules made by two key figures prior to Kant, namely, Christian Wolff and Christian August Crusius. In the second part of the chapter, I show how this tension is explicitly discussed and presented as a central problem facing metaphysics in the writings of Johann Nicolaus Tetens, who exerted a profound influence on Kant’s intellectual development in the years leading up to the Critique of Pure Reason. In the last section of the chapter, I explain what I take to be Kant’s solution to this tension by examining hither-to ignored passages in the first and especially the second Critique. The key thesis I defend is that Kant proposes to overcome the above-mentioned tension regarding philosophical terminology using the same, revolutionary conception of systematicity that lies at the basis of his transcendental philosophy.

Chapter 1 sets the scene for the book. It provides a chapter breakdown and sets out the key claims which the book makes. It also addresses the problematic issue of terminology.

Terrorism, radicalization, and (violent) extremism are all contested concepts, referring to specific political labels, ideologies, and related actions. The oldest of the three is “terrorism,” which, as a term, has been around since the late eighteenth century. “Radicalization” is derived from “radicalism” which has its roots in the progressive programs of nineteenth-century political parties that fought, inter alia, for secularism and democracy. “Extremism” is a term first associated with totalitarian movements emerging in the twentieth century in the wake of the First World War. “Violent extremism” is a construct that surfaced only at the beginning of the twenty-first century, referring initially to Islamist ideologies but became subsequently extended to acts of violence by secular groups, especially those on the far right as well. The three concepts are sometimes used wrongly interchangeably, as quasi equivalents. In this chapter some of their characteristics and relationships are explained. Practical and policy implications on countering (violent) extremism, based on the opposite of extremism – moderation – are outlined at the end.

In this chapter, the history and development of the concept of connectivity in geomorphology is presented. It further provides an overview of connectivity terminology, the underlying concepts and identifies the benefits of connectivity thinking for geomorphological research and applications. We further pursue the question of whether connectivity can be considered as key concept in geomorphology and address general key challenges in using connectivity to understand complex geomorphic systems.

This chapter aims to prepare the reader for the models, applications, lab work, and mini case studies in the coming chapters. The focus is on sample selection, identification strategy, and hypothesis development. The chapter first covers some terminology and then discusses data types, units of analysis, data management, and different sampling methods. The sample-selection part explores the steps in a well-structured sample design. The identification strategy part covers the causal relationship of interest, ideal experiments, and statistical inference. This part is of particular significance because, in corporate finance research, it is important that the hypothesis is closely tied to economic theory and the previous literature. It is only then that we can draw meaningful conclusions from the studied relationships and deductions follow from hypotheses. The chapter ends with a hypothesis development section that details some decision/rejection rules. Stata codes are provided for the examples.

Scientific knowledge is abundant, but this abundance has created challenges. What can be synthesized from the research is limited because of the inconsistent use of terms and classification systems. For example in clinical research, literature reviews, such as meta-analyses, are critical in the development of clinical practice guidelines and recommendations. And the problem is especially acute in the behavioral sciences, where the lack of an agreed-upon classification system for research terms means this knowledge is less likely to be synthesized and interpreted in a manner that can affect clinical care and public policies. This chapter examines the gap between what is known and the capacity to act on that knowledge. We discuss strategies to make research more replicable, better organized, and more easily retrieved.

This chapter explores the experience of receiving a diagnosis (or reaching a point of self-diagnosis) and how this diagnosis impacted the participants and their self-identity. It examines the extent to which they have developed (or are developing) a positive autistic identity, and the terminology they use to describe themselves and their diagnosis.

The ‘linguistic turn’ in twentieth-century philosophy is reflected through Neurath’s writings of his British period. He responded to serious criticism that Bertrand Russell made in his book An Inquiry into Meaning and Truth, developing the physicalism of the Vienna Circle into a cautious approach to ‘terminology’. Neurath revealed details of his index verborum prohibitorum, a list of ‘dangerous’ words to be avoided due to their misleading and metaphysical connotations. However, Neurath was resistant to the formalist tendencies evident in the work of Vienna Circle associates, in particular Carnap’s development of semantics. Their disagreement on the matter is examined through their prolific correspondence of the 1940s. While Neurath is often portrayed as losing this battle, we discuss how his own approach to the philosophy of language (including his ‘terminology’ project) prefigured the later development of ‘ordinary language philosophy’ to a certain extent.

This introductory chapter, encyclopaedic in nature, covers the main aspects of catastrophe (CAT) risk from a qualitative perspective, offering an overview of what will be explored in quantitative terms in the subsequent chapters. It starts with the definition of the fundamental terms and concepts, such as peril, hazard, risk, uncertainty, probability, and CAT model. It then describes the historical development of catastrophe risk science, which was often influenced by the societal impact of some infamous catastrophes. The main periods are as follows: from ancient myths to medieval texts, mathematization (eighteenth and nineteenth centuries) and computerization (twentieth century). Finally, it provides an exhaustive list of perils categorized by their physical origin, including geophysical, hydrological, meteorological, climatological, biological, extraterrestrial, technological, and socio-economic perils. In total, 42 perils are covered, with historical examples and consequences for people and structures discussed for each one of them.

This chapter described the intended audience of the book, summarizes the content of each chapter, describes the use of the material in courses, describes how exercises are used in the book, provides explanations about notation and terminology, and includes acknowledgements.

The 7th of January 1839, the day on which Daguerre’s invention was announced to the public, is just one mark on photography’s long evolutionary calendar. Daguerre and Henry Talbot had succeeded in producing images years earlier using entirely different processes, although, for most of the 1830s, few people had seen them. Plenty, however, had heard about them: words inevitably preceded images. This chapter focusses on letters and other writings in which the concept of photography was taking shape in the decade before photography officially began, and it considers the wider public discourse in which such writing participated. It proposes that photography’s private pre-history reflects epistemological developments and anticipates literary and cultural shifts. While it focusses on English-language letters and draws primarily from Talbot’s correspondence, it also makes use of translated commentaries from periodicals and papers, departing from the tidy conventional narrative of invention and history to consider instead a messier ongoing conversation about something humans very much wanted: something that, throughout the 1830s, didn’t yet answer to the name of photography.

September 1830 saw the first purpose-built passenger railway open between Manchester and Liverpool, followed by a proliferation of local, national, and international lines. Yet the integration of railway infrastructures, perspectives, and plotlines into writing was slow. This chapter examines terminology, speculative journalism, and early engagement with railways in fiction to demonstrate how writing across genres extended the emergent ‘railway imaginary’ well beyond the scope of its built referent. Yet gaps in spatial and temporal perception opened up by the railways posed a challenge to those plotting long-form fiction that relied on a sense of momentum towards a definitive ending. While selected works, including the Mechanics’ Magazine, Railroadiana, and The Pickwick Papers, stop short of representing railways as an inhabited system closely entangled with the familiar rhythms of 1830s life, they do take seriously the task of establishing a dynamic relationship between railway and narrative form that matched technological and literary ambition alike.

The chapters in the handbook cover five main topics. Gesture types in terms of forms and functions; the focus is on manual gestures and their use as emblems, recurrent gestures, pointing gestures, and iconic representational gestures, but attention is also given to facial gestures. Different methods by which gestures have been annotated and analyzed, and different theoretical and methodological approaches, including semiotic analysis. The relation of gesture to language use covers language evolution as well as first and second language acquisition. Gestures in relation to cognition, including an overview of McNeill’s growth point theory. Gestures in interaction, considering variation in gesture use and intersubjectivity. Across the chapters, the meaning of the term ‘gesture’ is itself debated, as is the relation of gesture to language (as multimodal communication or in terms of different semiotic systems). Gesture use is studied based on data from speakers of various languages and cultures, but there is a bias toward European cultures, which remains to be addressed. The handbook provides overviews of the work of some scholars which was previously not widely available in English.

This chapter introduces the following corpus of texts from ancient Egypt, and outlines the differing meanings ascribed to slavery and dependence from antiquity to modern times. The terms used for dependents and slaves in the various languages of the texts translated here – Egyptian (Hieroglyphic, Hieratic, Demotic, and Coptic), Greek, and Arabic – are briefly presented, and defining features of the condition of those so labelled are discussed. How and from where such persons were acquired, their life experiences, and the different forms of exploitation in which they were involved are introduced, as are forms of slave resistance and limits to the archaeological and textual evidence available, and so to what we can learn from it.