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This chapter looks into the interrelationship between the Derivative Action and the Unfair Prejudice Remedy. Should the derivative action be dispensed with in favour of a single form of action, making identification of the type of wrong less significant? Alternatively, if both forms of action should be retained, should the derivative action be applicable to corporate wrongs and the unfairly prejudicial conduct action solely reserved for personal wrongs? Section 8.2 examines the history of s 994 of CA 2006. Subsequently, the arguments of assimilating the derivative and the unfair prejudice remedy into a single provision are assessed. Section 8.3 evaluates the merits of the demarcation of the two remedies. As will be seen, the assimilation of these two remedies should be resisted. Accordingly, section 8.4 explores the measures that can be introduced to clarify and simplify the interaction between the two remedies. Section 8.5 concludes.

Overview. Genesis of the work in attempt to solve Popper's Demarcation Problem, separation of sense from nonsense, by considering beliefs and verifications instead of propositions and verifiability. I go at this historically, showing what beliefs are and how they arise in animals in the course of coping with their environments, and how language makes possible unverified (“high”) beliefs, conflatable into grand theories. Thales of Miletus invented science with the first grand theory based on everyday (“low”) beliefs. I identify the main characteristics of science as monism, immanence, and rationalism and trace their vicissitudes until their displacement by the Christian world view of the old type. Philosophy, I contend, has still not recovered from being handmaiden to theology. Medieval notions hang on unnoticed in the notions of logical possibility, possible worlds, and, in ethics, commandments. I conclude with sketches of renaturalized ethical and political theories, and rather unhappy prognostications.

This chapter is a summary, emphasizing the principal themes of the book and their connections under the headings The Demarcation Problem, Milesian Science, Science and Philosophy, The Impact of Christianity, 'Logical Impossibility', Institutions, Morals and Ethics. Pervading notions are the high/low distinction, the Milesian requirements for science, and the alleged contingency of the world.

This chapter attempts to clarify the confusion between genuine demarcation (the science/pseudoscience boundaries) and the “territorial” demarcation between science and other epistemic fields (philosophy, mathematics). It argues that only the former is pressing and worth pursuing. The territorial problem has little epistemic import, suffers from additional categorization problems, and consequently neither calls nor allows for anything more than a pragmatic and rough-and-ready solution. The normative demarcation project, by contrast is eminently worthy of philosophical attention, not only because it carries real epistemic import and practical urgency, but also because it happens to be a tractable problem.

This afterword argues that the practices of mediation, classification, and demarcation elaborated by trans-imperial subjects in early modern Venice constituted important elements in the genealogy of Enlightenment anthropology and the nascent discipline of Orientalism. In particular, eighteenth-century Orientalists, who articulated taxonomies of Mediterranean peoples based on language, ritual, and custom, relied on the efforts of their trans-imperial forebears in the previous two centuries to institutionalize their specialized knowledge of things Ottoman in several European metropoles. The scientific study of Ottoman culture depended on the development of commercial and diplomatic institutions that facilitated the production and circulation of specific kinds of knowledge across linguistic and political boundaries. The concept of trans-imperial subjects raises important questions about prevailing notions of early modern coloniality, citizenship, and subjecthood.

Luminescence of disordered (amorphous) semiconductors is due to a different microscopic mechanism compared to those being active in the luminescence of crystalline counterparts with long-range order. Electron and hole tail states, originating from dangling bonds, play the decisive role. Features typical for the amorphous semiconductor luminescence are discussed, namely: peculiar temperature dependence driven by the demarcation energy and distribution of luminescence decay times. Two theoretical models describing spectral shape of the emission band are examined: the phonon broadening model and the disorder broadening model. Theoretical band shapes are compared with experimental spectra found in amorphous elemental semiconductors. The concept of geminate and non-geminate electron–hole pairs is briefly debated. Multiple nonradiative recombination paths are mentioned as well as luminescence of impurities and defects.

Sheehy’s place in the history of the midlife crisis is central; her book was more than popularized psychology and it garnered millions of readers. Passages was a great success—although Sheehy’s right to intellectual property was contested at first. The idea of midlife crisis filled the void left behind by linear postwar theories of the life course, which were ill equipped to account for the social transformations of the 1970s. Sheehy’s appeal crucially depended on her feminist agenda and social-scientific outlook. Looking at journalistic and professional reviews as well as excerpts, Chapter 4 negotiates the relationship between feminism and the media and examines the impact of “pop science” on academic research. It points to the role of the mass media—especially women’s magazines—as a platform for visions of women’s lives beyond domesticity. In a period of economic crisis and changing social norms, feminism, with its demands for careers for women and new roles for men, turned from an oppositional movement into a cultural tenet. Sheehy’s description of the midlife crisis offered readers of different generations advice for planning or changing their lives, respectively. Passages was also read by social scientists: “pop science” provided a starting point for new research.

A message of alarm arrives from your cousins: What do you know about the science of “fracking”? Fracking is a way to extract oil and gas. It could potentially generate lots of welcome income in their impoverished rural community—while supplying energy domestically. But possibly dangerous chemicals are injected into the earth and collect in waste ponds. Some residents are worrying about contaminated groundwater. It’s potentially quite frightening. But also confusing. Your cousins seek your perspective. Such a scenario seems to epitomize what “scientific literacy” is all about: being able to interpret scientific claims that inform personal and social decision-making (Figure 13.1). How would a typical citizen or consumer approach this case? Probably search online. Wikipedia. Google. Quick, informative, apparently authoritative answers. Maybe worth investing a half hour of effort, at most. Delving into the Internet, one can easily find many specialized websites describing how fracking works (energytomorrow.org; fracfocus.org; hydraulic­fracturing.com). They are apparently quite frank about safety issues, which they seem to address fully, including with an impressive quote from a former head of the Environmental Protection Agency. Yet from a more informed perspective, one may find that the genuine facts are also mixed with a lot of questionable claims and spurious “evidence.” A lot is left out. The incompleteness betrays bias. The take- home lesson? What the average citizen or consumer likely interprets as sound science, may not be. Ultimately, good science diverges from what counts as good science in the public realm. Here, the challenge is being able to distinguish trustworthy science from junk and industry propaganda. Ironically, knowledge of scientific concepts—the primary stuff one learns in school science classes—is of marginal value. One might thus doubt a pervasive principle (the sacred bovine on this occasion) that in fostering scientific literacy, one should focus primarily on the “raw” science itself, while remaining aloof to the cultural politics of science. Functional scientific literacy includes understanding the media contexts through which science is conveyed—and sometimes misconveyed.

It’s altogether too easy to reduce all method in science to a simple algorithm. Hypothesize, deduce (or predict), test, evaluate, conclude. It seems like a handy formula for authority. “The” Scientific Method (expressed in this way) haunts the introductions of textbooks, lab report guidelines, and science fair standards. Yet it is a poor model for learning about method in science. One might endorse instead teaching about the scientist’s toolbox. Science draws on a suite of methods, not just one. The methods also include model building, analogy, pattern recognition, induction, blind search and selection, raw data harvesting, computer simulation, experimental tinkering, chance, and (yes) play, among others. The toolbox concept remedies two major problems in the conventional view. First, it credits the substantial work—scientific work—in developing concepts or hypotheses. Science is creative. Even to pursue the popular strategy of falsification, one must first have imaginative conjectures. We need to foster such creative thinking skills among students. Second, the toolbox view supports many means for finding evidence—some direct, some indirect, some experimental, some observational, some statistical, some based on controls, some on similarity relationships, some on elaborate thought experiments, and so on. Again, students should be encouraged to think about evidence and argument broadly. Consider just a few historical examples. First, note Watson and Crick’s landmark model of DNA. It was just that: a model. They drew on data already available. They also played with cardboard templates of nucleotide bases. Yes, their hypothesis of semiconservative replication was eventually tested by Meselson and Stahl—later. But even that involved enormous experimental creativity (essay 4). Consider, too, Mendel’s discoveries in inheritance (essay 22). Mendel did not test just seven traits of pea plants, cleverly chosen in advance (as the story is often told). Rather, he seems to have followed twenty-two varieties exhibiting fifteen traits, hoping for patterns to emerge. He ultimately abandoned those varieties whose results he called confusing. Nobelist Thomas Hunt Morgan, in Mendel’s wake, did not discover sex linkage through any formal hypothesis about inheritance.

This chapter deals with a turbulent century in the history of Scotland, one that was significant in terms of the consolidation and development of the Incorporation and its organisation and functions. For the first two centuries of its existence – or at least the period from 1581, when the written records commence – the Incorporation was shaped and influenced by a number of interacting and, at times, conflicting factors. The period saw the final secularisation of medical training and the emergence of an organised medical orthodoxy. This was a lowland, urban phenomenon, centred on claims made by emergent groups of trained practitioners for ‘custody’ of medical and surgical knowledge, which was then defined as the orthodoxy. After 1680, the Incorporation would be much more heavily involved in dealing with external disputes and influences. By 1726 the early crises of numbers were over, though not entirely so, and the Incorporation participated more fully in outside matters. Quarrels about jurisdiction and demarcation were certainly not over, but by that time it was a strong force in Edinburgh society.

This chapter discusses the notion of boundary, which marks the limitations of State sovereignties accepted by the members of the international community. Boundaries are crucial as they demarcate State jurisdiction and create a great impact on the regime, nationality, and cultural milieu of the inhabitants of the area. Included as well in the chapter are the different boundary treaties which form and define the legal force of the boundary. The chapter also tackles the existence of other territorial regimes and the delimitation and demarcation of African boundaries.

This chapter considers geographical variations in the membership of hospital contributory schemes in Great Britain and the associated issue of variations in the resources generated by the schemes. It offers a geographical disaggregation of membership and finance, as well as a discussion of one of the key problems facing the schemes, namely the extent of cooperation and the demarcation of territory. The analysis reveals that the growth of the contributory schemes was uneven and the resources they generated varied substantially. This chapter suggests that the schemes therefore never attained comprehensive coverage, and a key factor in this was the question of attachments to individual hospitals. It also explains that the schemes played their part in regionalisation initiatives, and reciprocal arrangements were developed to facilitate the availability of services, but the process was not without dissension.

This chapter explains how reforms have contributed to a redefined partnership between commissioners, heads of cabinets, and the top civil servants at the helm of the EU Commission. The desire to improve the accountability of the EU Commission has resulted in a clearer demarcation of the political and the administrative parts in the Commission. A greater role clarity and differentiation between the political and bureaucratic level resulted in EU commissioners, heads of cabinets, and senior officials having different perspectives on their leadership. In recent years, the political side of the Commission has become a considerably different world from that of senior officials in the DGs.

Retinal detachment does not result from a single, specific disease; rather, numerous disease processes can result in the presence of subretinal fluid. The three general categories of retinal detachments are termed rhegmatogenous, exudative, and tractional. Rhegmatogenous detachments are sometimes referred to as primary detachments, while both exudative and tractional detachments are called secondary or nonrhegmatogenous detachments. The three types of retinal detachments are not mutually exclusive. For example, detachments associated with proliferative vitreoretinopathy or proliferative diabetic retinopathy may exhibit both rhegmatogenous and tractional features. However, excluding the section on differential diagnosis in Chapter 5, the scope of this book is limited to rhegmatogenous retinal detachments. Accordingly, throughout the book, the term retinal detachment refers to the rhegmatogenous type, unless another type is specifically mentioned. Rhegmatogenous detachments (from the Greek rhegma, meaning rent, rupture, or fissure) are the most common form of retinal detachment. They are caused by a break in the retina through which fluid passes from the vitreous cavity into the subretinal space. The responsible break(s) can be identified preoperatively in more than 90% of cases, but occasionally the presence of a minute, unseen break must be assumed. Exudative detachments, also called serous detachments, are due to an associated problem that produces subretinal fluid without a retinal break. This underlying problem usually involves the choroid as a tumor or an inflammatory disorder. Tractional detachments occur when pathologic vitreoretinal adhesions or membranes mechanically pull the retina away from the pigment epithelium without a retinal break. The most common causes include proliferative diabetic retinopathy, cicatricial retinopathy of prematurity, proliferative sickle retinopathy, and penetrating trauma. Retinal breaks may subsequently develop, resulting in a combined tractional and rhegmatogenous detachment. The essential requirements for a rhegmatogenous retinal detachment include a retinal break and low-viscosity vitreous liquids capable of passing through the break into the subretinal space. Vitreous changes usually precede development of important defects in the retina. The usual pathologic sequence causing retinal detachment is vitreous liquefaction followed by a posterior vitreous detachment (PVD) that causes traction at the site of significant vitreoretinal adhesion with a subsequent retinal tear. Fluids from the vitreous cavity then pass through the tear into the subretinal space (Figure 2–1), augmented by currents within the vitreous cavity caused by rotary eye movements. Although a total PVD is usually seen, many detachments occur with partial vitreous detachment, and evidence of posterior vitreous detachment may not be seen.

The differential diagnosis of rhegmatogenous retinal detachment includes secondary (nonrhegmatogenous) retinal detachment and other entities that may simulate a retinal detachment. Nonrhegmatogenous detachments are categorized as exudative (serous) and tractional detachments. Conditions that may be mistaken for retinal detachment include retinoschisis, choroidal detachment or tumors, and vitreous membranes. Sometimes benign findings in the peripheral retina are mistaken for retinal breaks. The most prominent feature of the fundus is the optic nerve head or disc, the only place in the human body that affords a direct view of a tract of the central nervous system. The foveola, the functional center of the fundus, is located in the center of the fovea, which has a diameter of about 5°. The macula is centered on the fovea and has a diameter of about 17°. The multiple branches of the central retinal artery are readily identifi ed by their bright red color and relatively narrow caliber. The multiple tributaries of the central retinal vein are recognized by their dark red color and relatively wider caliber. In a darkly pigmented fundus, the choroidal vessels in the posterior pole can be obscured from view, but in an eye with minimal pigment, they are readily visible. The venous tributaries of the choroid that make up the vortex veins are usually easily seen. The most prominent features of the choroidal venous system are the vortex ampullae, of which there are usually four (but sometimes more). They are located approximately in the 1-, 5-, 7-, and 11-o’clock meridians, just posterior to the equator. The horizontal meridians are usually identifiable by their radially oriented, long posterior ciliary nerves, and infrequently the long posterior ciliary artery can be seen adjacent to the nerve. The nerve is relatively broad and has a yellow color, and the artery is identifiable by its red color. The artery is usually inferior to the nerve temporally, and superior to it nasally (Figure 5–1).

This article takes a historical and cultural approach to pseudoscience, arguing that it can never be definitively demarcated from real science. It suggests that the persistence of pseudoscience throughout history, and particular in its recent American incarnations, can teach us a lot about why people place trust in the information sources that they do. Ultimately, the history of pseudoscience suggests that we place too much faith in science itself.