The right to freedom of thought is enshrined in Article 32(1) of Kenya’s 2010 Constitution. This right aims to facilitate democratic discourse, critical thinking, and societal progress. However, despite its constitutional protection, the right remains underdeveloped statutorily, in judicial decisions, and in academic literature. Ambiguity persists in defining and qualifying violations of this right, as no court has thus far engaged in a comprehensive analysis to establish its content and scope. Instead, it has been intertwined with discussions on the scope, application, and limitations of freedoms of expression, religion, belief, and opinion, being regarded as the essential inner element necessary for the exercise of these freedoms. This chapter examines the scope of the right to freedom of thought in Kenya and the importance of recognising it as an independent right, despite its interconnectedness with the aforementioned freedoms. Ensuring this recognition allows citizens to develop their own set of ideals and belief systems without facing coercion to disclose their thoughts, punishment for holding certain thoughts, impermissible alteration of their thoughts, or a lack of an enabling environment to hold and express their thoughts. To establish this, the chapter explores the historical and legal framework of the right to freedom of thought in Kenya and examines its interplay with related constitutional rights such as freedom of expression, belief, religion, and opinion. It addresses contemporary issues, including the impact of technology, surveillance, and cancel culture on freedom of thought. Recommendations are then made on its applicability and how courts and academics can navigate the complexities surrounding its scope, content, and limitations.

This chapter explores the actual reading event. It considers what kinds of pleasure readers seek from book reading and rereading (in different settings and at different times), and the ways in which an e-book does or does not deliver such satisfactions. Examining aspects such as tactile dimensions of embodied reading, the role of the material object, convenience and access, optimisation and customisation, and narrative immersion, it contextualises original findings with recent empirical research on screen reading and offers insights on how, where, and when intimacy, sense of achievement, and the feeling of being ‘lost in a book’ can be found in e-reading. Pleasures such as immersion and sense of achievement appear to be impeded by digital for some readers but facilitated for others. The chapter further examines how an e-book can be framed as an incomplete book (frequently as ‘content’ or ‘story’ and hence the ‘most important part’) without losing its power to satisfy.

Writing which informs, influences and impresses requires a series of key components. They include the start and end of a piece of content, its style (often known as the voice, or character, of the writing), the critical details of who, what, why, where, when and how, and also an appealing title.

Remarkably, the classification of science is only now being studied historically. The introduction specifies this book’s question: What made applied science seem such a potent economic, cultural, and political elixir in the United Kingdom for many decades and then saw it superseded? The book explores the meaning of the term that gave it such potency using five tools: institutions, narratives, sociotechnical imaginaries, concepts, and ideologies. The term has epistemic connotations; it has been promoted and blamed for its science policy implications, and cultural reality once weighed heavily. The book explores the relationship between ‘applied science’ and ‘technology’ with their different emphases to describe the space between pure science and the market. The argument has three parts: the nineteenth-century concern with pedagogy, the early twentieth century as attention shifted to research, and the period after World War Two in which the visibility of applied science first rose and then collapsed.

Language is paradigmatically a human activity, largely consisting of speakers saying things in order to inform, warn, misinform, threat, sell, and so on. Language is important because it is a system for doing things. This suggests that the philosophy of action should be a part – a very important part – of the philosophy of language. To a certain extent it is. And, in consequence, the focus has moved from sentences to utterances. It has moved, but not entirely. Not because philosophers and logicians are unaware of utterances, but because the working assumption is that semantics should focus on what all utterances of an expression or sentence have in common, due to meaning, and not on how they differ, due to the particular facts of the utterance. In this chapter we first consider how this assumption has been challenged and express some reservations about alternatives. Then we turn to our own theory, the reflexive-referential theory, which takes utterances as basic to the semantics and pragmatics of natural language.

This chapter begins by exploring the issue of Proverbs as wisdom literature and its context within that group of books, it looks at the distinctive forms and content of the book and at the various possible context(s) for different sections of the work. It also looks at the Solomonic attribution and at other attributions to different characters found in Proverbs and at questions of orality and literacy.

This chapter sets out a framework for interpreting the Charmides. It introduces two methodological principles, the ’principle of agnosticism’ and the ’principle of separation’, and defends their use as a tool for reading the dialogue. It then proceeds to analyse the structure of the work into ’horizontal’ and ’vertical’ elements and to explain how these map onto the way the Charmides is written and onto the two methodological principles. This framework is then utilised to address and resolve in outline a puzzle about the dialogue’s structure, namely the apparent lack of fit between its richly dramatic opening section with Charmides and the dense and technical discussion with Critias that follows.

If learners are required to better their consecutive learning, their engagement and their motivation, they must be informed about the procedures that lead to certain grades of their individual oral and written performance. First of all, they have to understand that grading does not only depend on their respective teacher, but that he or she has to follow the often-detailed requirements of the school authorities. Furthermore, they have to be informed about the reasons why the grading of written performance is considered as more important by the authorities

This chapter will argue that the ontological categories that we require for understanding meaning and meaning composition in natural language cannot be exclusively proxied by external objects in the world or judgments of truth. In other words, a set of metaphysically justified ontological objects is not what is required for natural language ontology, and the latter field should be considered a distinct philosophical and analytical exercise. The chapter takes as its central empirical ground the meaning of ’nonfinite’ verb forms in English. Paradoxes relating to the English progressive and passive constructions will be examined to show that lexical conceptual content needs to be defined more essentially, and that the integration of such essentialist content into forms which ultimately have extensionalist import requires the reification of the symbol qua symbol and the explicit representation of the utterance situation.

Given the problematic concept of ‘text’ in the context of technical content, and of what is ‘technical’, Chapter 16 focuses on practices in which technical content figures. Technical translation is closely connected to technical authoring, and the two activities share some of the materials that are used, the competences that are required, the motivations that drive them, and their ultimate purposes of producing technical content that will enable users to achieve their goals. Drawing on work in genre analysis, the chapter suggests that it would be useful for translation studies to research professional contexts in which translated technical content is focal, for example, software development and industrial manufacturing, in laboratories and research centres, and in diverse installation and operation settings.

The introduction explains the motivation behind the Handbook, and outlines its structure and chapters.

A subordinate clause is one embedded somewhere within another clause. The clause immediately containing it is called its matrix clause and may or may not be the main clause of the whole sentence. Subordinate clauses often differ in their internal structure from main clauses. There are three main types: relative, comparative, and content clauses, the last being the default type.

Relative clauses often include a relative word or a subordinator in marker function and have an anaphoric relation between an element in the clause and one in a containing clause. Often a missing phrase determines the anaphoric relationship. Comparative clauses mostly function as complements to the prepositions ‘than’ or ‘as’ and lack a phrase found in a main declarative clause.

Content clauses may be introduced by a subordinator, such as ‘that’ or ‘whether’, but otherwise differ less radically from main clauses, and indeed are often structurally identical with them. Content clauses function cheifly as complements within the larger construction. Like main clauses, they have declarative, interrogative, and exclamative subtypes. Sometimes, the structure of a subordinate clause is ambiguous between two types.

In the first half of the nineteenth century, changes in philosophy and aesthetics as well as the increasing prominence of ‘pure’ instrumental music brought to a head questions over the meaning and value of music. While the merit of most of the fine arts (literature, painting, sculpture) was beyond serious doubt, instrumental music’s supposed lack of content posed a peculiar problem to writers. This chapter presents four main Romantic strategies used to argue for music’s meaning, including the use of programmes as well as the rethinking of the relations between music and feeling, music and words, and between content and form. Covering the first half of the nineteenth century, it encompasses the view of philosophers and composers as well as writers and critics, from Schopenhauer, Hoffmann, and Tieck to Mendelssohn, Schumann, Wagner, Brendel, and Hanslick.

This chapter expands on the principles of planning for teaching introduced in Chapter 7. Chapters 7 and 8 link together to interrogate what needs to be considered in planning for effective teaching and learning. Within this chapter, you will consider the processes and preparation undertaken by Hannah (a secondary pre-service teacher) and Matthew (a primary pre-service teacher) as they consider the learning needs of their students, select a suitable lesson plan template to guide their thinking, enact their lessons and reflect on practice. Hannah and Matthew are passionate and inspired pre-service teachers focused on making a commitment to challenge themselves and their learners to achieve success (Hattie, 2011). Factors related to effective teaching and learning, such as sound curriculum, knowing your students, selecting a range of teaching strategies, differentiation and embedding assessment to inform practice, are all considered within this chapter.

We live in an era of increasing worry that internet platforms like Facebook or Twitter, which mediate our online speech, are also fomenting hatred, spreading misinformation, and distorting political outcomes. The 2016 US presidential election, in particular, unleashed a torrent of concern about platform-borne harms. Policymakers around the world have called for laws requiring platforms to do more to combat illegal and even merely “harmful” content. Reliable information about platforms’ content-removal systems was, for many years, hard to come by, but data and disclosures are steadily emerging as researchers focus on the topic and platforms ramp up their transparency efforts. This chapter reviews major sources of information released by platforms, as well as independent research concerning content-takedown operations.

There is a long history in Lucretian scholarship of finding conflict in the DRN between its philosophical content and its poetic form. Recent criticism has emphasized rather how the poem’s poetic form complements its Epicurean message. This chapter argues for important differences between literary and philosophical approaches to the poem, in particular with regard to its relationship with other texts, in order to identify some important differences in common modes of reading the poem. The chapter examines a ‘master-text’ model of reading, in which the DRN is related in strong fashion to another text on which it is dependent. The precise nature and identity of this ‘master-text’ can vary, according to the purpose or use to which the DRN is put. The approach of such ‘master-text’ readings is strikingly different from the dominant intertextual mode. In the examples of intertextual reading examined, the relationship to the other text is not one of subordination, but a tool used by the DRN to serve a particular function within the poem itself. The modes of reading explored in this chapter can lead to real differences in interpretation: e.g., on the end of the DRN, or on how uncompromising or sympathetic we should view certain parts of the poem. One important consequence is the need to acknowledge the differences in our reading practices and theoretical assumptions.

Knowing the content of a learning area as a teacher is a different kind of knowledge to knowing the content as a learner. This chapter’s fertile question asks you to consider not only what kinds and how much content you need to know in order to teach it, but how you need to know it.

This chapter concerns Coetzee’s encounter with philosophers and philosophy. After a brief description of Coetzee’s formation and institutional affiliations, it turns its focus to the ways in which Coetzee has probed both the capacity of literary works to confront philosophical questions and the innate capacities and limitations of philosophy’s own embedded disciplinary procedures and approved forms of discourse. It argues that Coetzee has done this by developing provocations: elaborating propositions – about the nature of human language, consciousness, and being; about the nature of truth, knowledge, and existence – that entice and frustrate philosophical readers, asking that they at least consider what their discipline takes for granted or leaves out of account in its framing of these issues.