This chapter addresses the nexus between racism and return migration in the early 1980s, which marked the peak of anti-Turkish racism. As the call “Turks out!” (Türken raus!) grew louder, policymakers debated passing a law that would, in critics’ view, “kick out” the Turks and violate their human rights. During this “racial reckoning,” West Germans, Turkish migrants, and observers in Turkey grappled with the nature of racism itself. Although West Germans silenced the language of “race” (Rasse) and “racism” (Rassismus) after Hitler, there was an explosion of public discourse about those terms. Ordinary Germans, moreover, wrote to their president expressing their concerns about migration, revealing both biological and cultural racism. The simultaneous rise in Holocaust memory culture (Erinnerungskultur) is crucial for understanding this racial reckoning. While many Germans warned against the mistreatment of Turks as an unseemly continuity to Nazism, the emphasis on the singularity of the Holocaust offered Germans a way to dismiss anti-Turkish sentiment. Turkish migrants fought against this structural and everyday racism with various methods of activism. Turks at home, including the government and media following the 1980 military coup, viewed these debates with self-interest, lambasting German racism in the context of the 1983 remigration law.

Many young people report that anxiety in the face of climate change causes impairing levels of distress. Understanding their anxiety includes understanding neurochemical changes to their brains in the face of rising temperatures, natural disasters, disease pandemics, and other stressors. By learning about the ways in which the developing brain balances safety and exploration behaviors, we can encourage resilience and avoid climate-related despair, helping children and adolescents navigate this unprecedented crisis.

The first and most important step into the Peripatetic study of living beings is the observation that life takes many forms. In the sublunary world, it takes the form of plant and animal life (with human life as a special kind of animal life). When Aristotle and Theophrastus speak of animals and plants, they never assume that they are a single form of life. This is confirmed by what we read at the outset of the Meteorology, where Aristotle outlines an ambitious research program that ends with separate yet coordinated studies of “animals and plants.” Whether there is unity, and how much unity there is, in these two studies remains an open question at the outset of the Meteorology. But when we look at the two corpora of writings that Aristotle and Theophrastus have left on the topic of animals and plants, we see that the unity they are able secure is limited. Last but not least, this chapter shows that the study of the nutritive soul advanced in Aristotle’s De anima cannot secure unity within the study of animals and plants.

The Quaestiones de secretis mulierum of MS Erfurt-Gotha, Universitäts- und Forschungsbibliothek, Dep. Erf., CA 4º 299, ascribed to John Buridan and recently edited for the first time, are an incomplete set of questions on Pseudo-Albert the Great’s De secretis mulierum. The text contains an extensive treatment of the topic of human generation, with a particular focus on male and female roles in reproduction. This essay retraces Buridan’s view on the generative aspects of female physiology as it emerges in his commentary on Pseudo-Albert’s text. By analyzing this unexplored feature of Buridan’s thought, the essay aims to contribute to the growing research on the biological aspects of Buridan’s natural philosophy.

Chapter 2 explores the potential positive and negative characteristics of dyslexia in adulthood. It will discuss a framework for understanding dyslexia in terms of the impact of biology and cognition, as well as the environment. This is linked to the key elements discussed in chapter 1, providing a basis for understanding the impact that dyslexia can have on learning and performance both in education and the workplace, and how these can interact: poor qualifications restricting access to employment. The aim is to provide an explanation for challenges that many with dyslexia faces and how these may impact on employment, as well as on confidence and self-esteem. It will also highlight the potential strengths that a dyslexic individual can bring to work performance and daily life. As part of this discussion, a profile of skills/abilities is also presented. This includes many of the tests that comprise a typical dyslexia diagnosis, which can form the basis for understanding such assessments. The aim is that, by the end of this chapter, the reader will have a good foundation in understanding adult dyslexia, its potential consequences and some possible solutions to those challenges.

This chapter explores hybridity by exploring the figure of the Minotaur in the context of a number of similar ancient creatures, such as the centaurs and satyrs, and of the god of shepherds, flocks, and the wild: Pan. It illustrates that the peculiar hybridity of the Minotaur and the ancient story explaining his genesis raise questions about the scope and limits of human intervention into the realm of nature. It shows that, rather than exploring the limits of the human in positive ways, the figure of the Minotaur manifests the monstrous consequences of human transgression.

The chapter summarizes the ideas put forward in this book. It details how justice under the WTO Agreement is transformative as opposed to either purely distributive or corrective. At the same time, that justice must be understood on its own terms and is not for that reason entirely unjust. The chapter also examines the possibility of a communitarian theory serving as a general theory of law. It explains a considerable amount in a way that is naturally coherent and fruitful and offers several predictions and prescriptions about the future of WTO law. At the same time, the chapter acknowledges how a communitarian theory is itself incomplete. This is due to abduction, which stresses the tentative, open-ended nature of current knowledge. Presentism suggests there is a danger in thinking about obligations and rights of countries only in the current moment and not in the broader sense of obligations owed to future generations, and beyond that, the environment we live in.

General introduction contextualizes research presented in the project and presents the three main conversation partners that are taken into account. First, it explains crucial stages of the development of evolutionary theory – from Darwin’s proposal, through the neo-Darwinian contribution and the two stages of the twentieth century evolutionary synthesis, until the most recent expanded evolutionary synthesis. Second, it lists foundational categories in the Aristotelian-Thomistic metaphysics that become relevant in the context of contemporary evolutionary biology. Finally, it refers to the classical theology of creation as grounding a constructive model of the most up-to-date Thomistic version of theistic evolution that will be developed in the book. Introduction ends with a general plan of the project.

This chapter introduces approaches to materiality and biology within anthropological scholarship on sex and gender. It emphasizes how biological subfield of eco-evo-devo (which emerged in dialogue with feminist studies) can contribute to anthropological debates. The authors focus on hormones, signaling molecules that regulate many physiological processes in humans, animals, and plants. Hormones are a particularly productive site for considering how anthropologists interested in sex, gender, and bodies might benefit from additional attention to biological processes and biological knowledges, as they challenge prevailing concepts and categorical oppositions of self/world, nature/culture, and mind/matter. The authors first sketch out a history of the relationship between anthropology and biology and, within that history, how feminists have confronted biologism. They then introduce eco-evo-devo and explore how its insights about hormones and development can serve as a prompt to rethink the body within anthropology. Last, they review examples of social scientific engagement with hormones, arguing that a deeper engagement with the materiality of hormones rather than only with their popular representation can help anthropologists continue their ongoing efforts to reframe the social and apprehend gender and sexuality as entangled within complex ecologies of industrial capitalism.

John Gould’s father was a gardener. A very, very good one – good enough to be head of the Royal Gardens at Windsor. John apprenticed, too, becoming a gardener in his own right at Ripley Castle, Yorkshire, in 1825. As good as he was at flowers and trees, birds became young John Gould’s true passion early in life. Like John Edmonstone, John Gould (1804–1881) adopted Charles Waterton’s preservation techniques that kept taxidermied bird feathers crisp and vibrant for decades (some still exist in museums today), and he began to employ the technique to make extra cash. He sold preserved birds and their eggs to fancy Eton schoolboys near his father’s work. His collecting side-hustle soon landed him a professional post: curator and preserver of the new Zoological Society of London. They paid him £100 a year, a respectable sum for an uneducated son of a gardener, though not enough to make him Charles Darwin’s social equal (Darwin initially received a £400 annual allowance from his father plus £10,000 as a wedding present).

Darwin claimed that On the Origin of Species, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life was only an “abstract” of that much longer book he had begun to write in 1856, after his irreverent meeting with J. D. Hooker, T. H. Huxley, and T. V. Wollaston, and Lyell’s exasperated encouragement in May. But he never completed that larger book. Instead, he worked on plants and pigeons and collected information through surveys from other naturalists and professional specimen hunters like Alfred Russel Wallace for the better part of a decade.

For all their scientific prowess and public renown, there is no comparable Lyell-ism, Faraday-ism, Einstein-ism, Curie-ism, Hawking-ism, or deGrasse-Tyson-ism. So, there must be something even more powerful than scientific ideas alone caught in the net of this ism attached to Darwin. And whatever the term meant, it’s fair to say that Darwinism frightened Bryan.

Historian Everett Mendelsohn was intrigued. In the middle of writing a review of an annual survey of academic publications in the History of Science, he marveled that an article in that volume contained almost 40 pages’ worth of references to works on Darwin published in just the years between 1959 and 1963. Almost 200 works published in a handful of years – no single figure in the history of science commanded such an impressive academic following. Yet Mendelsohn noted that, paradoxically, no one had written a proper biography of Darwin by 1965. Oh sure, there was commentary. Lots of commentary. But so many of the authors were retired biologists who had a tendency toward hagiography or, the opposite, with axes to grind.

Meeting the “White Raja of Sarawak” in Singapore in 1853 had been a stroke of luck. Honestly, it could have been a major turning point in what had been an unlucky career so far for 30-year-old collector Alfred Russel Wallace (1823–1913) (Figure 4.1). But the steep, rocky, sweaty climb up Borneo’s Mt. Serembu (also known as Bung Moan or Bukit Peninjau) in the last week of December 1855 wasn’t exactly what Wallace expected. His eyeglasses fogged in the humidity. Bamboo taller than buildings crowded the narrow path. Near the top, the rainforest finally parted. But it revealed neither a temple nor some sort of massive colonial complex with all the trappings of empire worthy of a “raja.” Instead, there leaned a modest, very un-colonial-ruler-like white cabin. When he saw it, Wallace literally called it “rude.”