2 the human potential movement = the social change during which people began to understand their power and control over their lives 3 "his and her" families = families with children from both partners' previous marriages
PLAGIARISM IN THE ACADEMIC COMMUNITY
Scholars, writers, and teachers in the modern academic community have strong feelings about acknowledging the use of another person's ideas. In the English-speaking world, the term plagiarism is used to label the practice of not giving credit for the source of one's ideas. Simply stated, plagiarism is "the wrongful appropriation or purloining, and publication as one's own, of the ideas, or the expression of ideas (literary, artistic, musical, mechanical, etc.) of another."1 From an ancient Latin word meaning to kidnap or steal the child or slave of another, plagiarism is universally condemned in the modern academic world. It is equivalent to stealing the livelihood or savings of a worker, for it robs the original writer or scholar of the ideas and words by which he makes a living.
The penalties for plagiarism vary from situation to situation. In many universities, the punishment may range from failure in a particular course to expulsion from the university. In the literary world, where writers are protected from plagiarism by international copyright laws, the penalty may range from a small fine to imprisonment and a ruined career. Protection of scholars and writers, through the copyright laws and through the social pressure of the academic and literary communities, is a relatively recent concept. Such social pressures and copyright laws require writers to give scrupulous attention to documentation of their sources2.
Students, as inexperienced scholars themselves, must avoid various types of plagiarism by giving appropriate credit for the source of borrowed ideas and words. There are at least three classifications of plagiarism as it is revealed in students' inexactness in identifying sources properly. These categories, which will be discussed in some detail in succeeding paragraphs, are plagiarism by accident, by ignorance, and by intention.
For nearly two decades technical and financial assistance to Third World population and family planning programs has been an important component of foreign aid programs. Support for these activities by the United States and other industrialized donors has been justified in part by the long-standing belief that rapid population growth in the developing world dilutes and in some cases impedes economic development.
But in the last several years this contention has been sharply challenged by a small group of Western economists who argue that population growth is often the driving force behind economic expansion and technological change. Citing historical precedents in Western countries and post-war economic successes in Japan, Taiwan, and South Korea and elsewhere, they make three general points: first, that population growth is the natural result of improvements in the human condition, especially improved health; second, that an expanding labor force, an expanding market, and other consequences of population spur economic growth; and third, that economic progress, in and of itself, will lead to population stabilization through changes in desired family size. Direct interventions to reduce birth-rates are unnecessary or even counterproductive.
In the United States this "anti-Malthusian" view, as it is called by its proponents, has recently gained support in some government circles and among political pressure groups (most prominently anti-abortion groups) who oppose assistance to population programs on other grounds. Their attack on U.S. population assistance peaked in the summer of 1984, during preparations for U.S. participation in the U.N. International Population Conference. It precipitated the first major public debate in the 20-year history of U.S. foreign aid for family planning. Although public and media attention declined after the Conference, the policy debate has continued.
THE WAY UP TO HEAVEN
All her life, Mrs. Foster had had an almost pathological fear of missing a train, a plane, a boat, or even a theatre curtain. In other respects, she was not a particularly nervous woman, but the mere thought of being late on occasions like these would throw her into such a state of nerves that she would begin to twitch. It was nothing much - just a tiny vellicating muscle in the corner of the left eye, like a secret wink - but the annoying thing was that it refused to disappear until an hour or so after the train or plane or whatever it was had been safely caught.
It was really extraordinary how in some people a simple apprehension about a thing like catching a train can grow into a serious obsession. At least half an hour before it was time to leave the house for the station, Mrs. Foster would step out of the elevator all ready to go, with hat and coat, gloves, and then, being quite unable to sit down, she would flutter and fidget about from room to room until her husband, who must have been well aware of her state, finally emerged from his privacy and suggested in a cool dry voice that perhaps they had better get going now, had they not?
Mr. Foster may possibly have had a right to be irritated by this foolishness of his wife's, but he could have had no excuse for increasing her misery by keeping her waiting unnecessarily. Mind you, it is by no means certain that this is what he did, yet whenever they were to go somewhere, his timing was so accurate - just a minute or two late, you understand - and his manner so bland that it was hard to believe he wasn't purposefully inflicting a nasty little torture of his own on the unhappy woman. And one thing he must have known - that she would never dare to call out and tell him to hurry. He had disciplined her too well for that. He must also have known that if he was prepared to wait even beyond the last moment of safety, he could drive her nearly into hysterics. On one or two special occasions in the later years of their married life, it seemed almost as though he had wanted to miss the train simply in order to intensify the poor woman's suffering.
Assuming (though one cannot be sure) that the husband was guilty, what made his attitude doubly unreasonable was the fact that, with the exception of this one small irrepressible foible, Mrs. Foster was and always had been a good and loving wife. For over thirty years, she had served him loyally and well. There was no doubt about this. Even she, a very modest woman, was aware of it, and although she had for years refused to let herself believe that Mr. foster would ever consciously torment her, there had been times recently when she had caught herself beginning to wonder.
Roald Dahl: Kiss Kiss
COMMON SENSE ABOUT SMOKING
It is often said, "I know all about the risk to my health, but I think the risk is worth it." When this statement is true it should be accepted. Everyone has the right to choose what risks they take, however great they may be. However, often the statement really means, "I have a nasty feeling that smoking is bad for my health, but I would rather not think about it." With some people the bluff can be called and they can be asked to explain what they think the risk to their health is. When this is done few get very far in personal terms. The bare fact that 23,000 people died of lung cancer last year in Great Britain often fails to impress an individual. When it is explained that this is the equivalent of one every twenty-five minutes or is four times as many as those killed on the roads, the significance is more apparent. The one-in-eight risk of dying of lung cancer for the man who smokes twenty-five or more cigarettes a day may be better appreciated if an analogy is used. If, when you boarded a plane, the girl at the top of the steps were to welcome you aboard with the greeting, "I am pleased that you are coming with us - only one in eight of our planes crashes," how many would think again, and make other arrangements ? Alternatively, the analogy of Russian roulette may appeal. The man smoking twenty-five or more a day runs the same risk between the ages of thirty and sixty as another who buys a revolver with 250 chambers and inserts a live bullet and on each of his birthdays spins the chamber, points the revolver at his head, and pulls the trigger. One of the difficulties in impressing these facts on people, is that, despite the current epidemic of lung cancer, because it is a disease which kills relatively quickly, there are many have as yet no experience of it among their family or friends.
That language is highly complex is shown by the fact that up to now it has not proved possible to translate mechanically from one language to another, with really satisfactory results. The best programmed computer still cannot consistently translate from, say, Russian into English. The fault lies not in the computer but in the failure to provide it with sufficiently accurate instructions, because we are still unable to handle this vastly complex system. It has been calculated that if the brain used any of the known methods of computing language, it would take several minutes to produce or to understand a single short sentence.
Secondly, language is productive. We can produce myriads of sentences that we have never heard or uttered before. Many of the sentences in this book have been produced for the first time, yet they are intelligible to the reader. It is clear that we have some kind of sentence-producing mechanism - that sentences are produced anew each time and not merely imitated. One task of grammatical theory is to explain this quite remarkable fact.
Thirdly, language is arbitrary. There is no one-to-one relation between sound and meaning. This accounts for the fact that languages differ, and they differ most of all in their grammatical structure. But how far are these differences only superficial, in the shape of words and their overt patterns? Some scholars would maintain that "deep down" there are strong similarities - even "universal" characteristics - disguised by the superficial features of sound (and perhaps of meaning). It is not clear how we can find the answer to this problem.
The Bible, while mainly a theological document written with the purpose of explaining the nature and moral imperatives of the Christian and Jewish God, is secondarily a book of history and geography. Selected historical materials were included in the text for the purpose of illustrating and underlining the religious teaching of the Bible. Historians and archaeologists have learned to rely upon the amazing accuracy of historical memory in the Bible. The smallest references to persons and places and events contained in the accounts of the Exodus, for instance, or the bibliographies of such Biblical heroes as Abraham and Moses and David, can lead, if properly considered and pursued, to extremely important historical discoveries. The archaeologists' efforts are not directed at "proving" the correctness of the Bible, which is neither necessary nor possible, any more than belief in God can be scientifically demonstrated. The historical clues in the Bible can lead the archaeologists to a knowledge of the civilisations of the ancient world in which the Bible developed and with whose religious concepts and practices the Bible so radically differed. It can be considered as an almost unfailing indicator, revealing to the experts the locations and characteristics of lost cities and civilisations.
There is no denying that in the last hundred years the condition of civilised man has changed more radically than at any previous time. Inventions and discoveries, from the steam engine to internal combustion engine, from electricity to atomic power, have led to the mechanisation of industry, which in turn has basically affected the social, economic and political structure of our society. A society of the masses has come into existence and is being buttressed by such mass means as the press, the cinema, radio and - latterly - television.
Art has always been a highly sensitive instrument for registering any changes in the social order or in the ideas, beliefs and activities of man. One might ask whether it is possible for the creative faculty to exist at all in a mass-society, whether our mechanised world is the proper place for the production and enjoyment of a work of art. If it is true that calm contemplation is vital to the artist, does it not also follow that his whole being will protest most violently against an epoch in which machine sets the pace, a pace which, in its ruthless precision, is the very opposite of that rhythm of life out of which art has hitherto grown?
The Picture encyclopedia of art, Thames and Hudson
IFS OF HISTORY
Speculating "what if ...?" is always enticing. What if Alexander Fleming's dishes of infected jelly had been tidied up and thrown out as they should have been - would we now be without penicillin? If James Watt had dropped off to sleep before his kettle boiled, would there never have been any trains ? When it comes to invention or discovery, the chances are that if scientist A is hit by a falling roof-tile, scientist B will get there pretty soon all the same; for both would have been building on the same state of previous knowledge. Stephenson also invented the Davy lamp; a chap called Reis very nearly invented the telephone just before Bell; there were several other maniacs attempting powered flight just as doggedly as the Wright brothers.
What's far more problematic is the follow-up. What happens after a discovery may indeed depend on the crucial presence of one man. If Darwin had died on the voyage [to Galapagos], then Wallace would have been the father of evolution - but without Darwin's brilliant tenacity in proving and presenting the thing, would the impact have been as great?
"What if ...?" in history is even more fun. In the eighth century the Moors in Spain sent out a reconnaissance party along the Roman road into France, got ambushed, and decided that France was no go. There's a theory that if they'd had stirrups , they could have ridden down the ambush (without stirrups, you can too readily be pushed off your horse by anyone with a pike). Then the Moors might have gone ahead and invaded France.
Of all the changes introduced by man into the household of nature, large-scale nuclear fission is undoubtedly the most dangerous and profound. As a result, ionising radiation has become the most serious agent of pollution of the environment and the greatest threat to man's survival on earth. The attention of the layman, not surprisingly, has been captured by the atom bomb, although there is at least a chance that it may never be used again. The danger to humanity created by the so-called peaceful uses of atomic energy may be much greater. There could indeed be no clearer example of the prevailing dictatorship of economics. Whether to build conventional power stations, based on coal or oil, or nuclear stations, is being decided on economic grounds, with perhaps a small element of regard for the "social consequences" that might arise from the over-speedy curtailment of the coal industry. But that nuclear fission represents an incredible, incomparable, and unique hazard for human life does not enter any calculation and is never mentioned. People whose business it is to judge hazards, the insurance companies, are reluctant to insure nuclear power stations anywhere in the world for third party risk, with the result that special legislation has had to be passed whereby the State accepts big liabilities. Yet, insured or not, the hazard remains, and such is the thralldom of the religion of economics that the only question that appears to interest either governments or the public is whether "it pays".
The train into London was 10 minutes late and as the fare had just gone up I was about to advance my theory concerning the immutable law of British Rail - viz., that the higher the fare, the worse the service - when the regular commuter beside me gave a long, low whistle of amazement.
"Either my watch has gone haywire," he said, "or this train is only 10 minutes late."
I knew he was a regular commuter because he was down to his shirt sleeves and was the only cool-looking fellow among us. The rest of us, the non-regulars, had fallen into the oldest trap in the history of railways - to wit, we had assumed that because there had been no heating in the carriages last week when there was snow and frost about and the temperatures were below zero, there never would be any heating in the carriages.
The flaw in this assumption, as the regular commuter would doubtlessly have pointed out had we consulted him, was that it was based on the expectation that the cold weather would continue. But in fact the morning of which I speak was rather mild for the time of year and consequently whoever ordains these things had turned the heating on full-blast and was chuckling happily away to himself as he thought of us sweltering there amid our greatcoats, blankets, and hot-water bottles.
Anyway, there was much consulting of watches as the regular commuter spoke and a great shaking of heads of disbelief as we assured him that his watch was accurate and that, incredibly, it was the train that was fast.
And then, of course, the travellers' tales began as people tried to remember the last time this particular train had only been 10 minutes late and the stories grew wilder and wilder until it reached the high absurdity with some ancient at the back who claimed that he'd been commuting daily for nearly twenty years, ever since he left school (and indeed he had the white hair, the palsied twitch and the hopeless gaze to prove it) and insisted that he could remember an age when, almost as often as not, some of the trains actually ran on time.
Well, naturally nobody believed the old fool and in any case some of the passengers were rather bitter about the morning's break with the tradition and one man said his entire day was constructed round the certain knowledge that the train would be at least half an hour late and now he was going to fetch up in London with 20 minutes to kill and if you could no longer rely on the total incompetence of British Rail, what could you rely on?
"Next thing you know," he said scathingly, as he shuffled his feet among the yellowing newspapers that warned of the danger of drought, "they'll be cleaning the carriages."
There was a collective gasp of horror at this prediction, far-fetched though it was, because railway commuters are creatures of habit who like to be surrounded by familiar things as they wait, forgotten, in some remote siding. There is, for instance, the smoker who inevitably knocks his out his pipe in the ashtray that's full of petrified orange peel, while I always try to stand beside the bloke who always sits beside the window on which someone had once scrawled in dust the cryptic message, "Bring back Washbrook."
I mention standing because, of course, few commuters are lucky enough to find a seat unless they happen to be travelling in holiday times, such as the week after Christmas, when with hardly any passenger to cater for, British Rail naturally adds extra coaches to each train.
However, I finally arrived in London ten minutes late having paid a fare which, in spite of allegations that the increases would range from 10 per cent to 17 per cent, was actually 23 per cent up on the previous week, to find the B.R. Spokesman had words to cheer us.
"If more people would travel more," he said with dazzling naively that illuminates all the doings of the British Rail, the customers might "get away" without any more fare increases this year! Gosh, fancy "getting away" with traveling in extreme discomfort on possibly the worst railway in the civilised world without having to pay more for the privilege.
I blew my nose loudly to hide the tears of gratitude - and then a certain weakness in the Spokesman's statement occurred to me. "If more people travelled more" would seem to me that if I, for example, travelled to London seven days a week instead of four, the fares would not be increased, right? Right. Even so, getting to and from London would cost me 75 per cent more than it did now, right? Right - but remember it would only be 75 per cent more at the present rate.
A continuous commentary of mirror of "real" life had been created on television. To switch on the set when the day's viewing started, with one's mind slightly turned down, or in a bit of a fever, or very tired, and to watch, steadily, through the hours, as little dressed figures, diminished people, dressed up like cowboys or like bus drivers or like Victorians, with this or that accent, in this or that setting, sometimes a hospital, sometimes an office or an aircraft, sometimes "real" or sometimes imaginary (that is to say, the product of somebody's, or some team's, imagination), it was exactly like what could be seen when one turned one's vision outwards again towards life: it was as if an extreme of variety had created a sameness, a nothingness, as if humanity had said yes to becoming a meaningless flicker of people dressed in varying kinds of clothes to kill each other ("real" or imaginary) or play various kinds of sport, or discuss art, love, sex, ethics (in "plays" or in "life") for after an hour or so, it was impossible to tell the difference between news, plays, reality, imagination, truth, falsehood. If someone - from a year's exile in a place withoutt television, let alone a visitor from Mars - had dropped in for an evening's "viewing", then he might well have believed that this steady stream of little pictures, all so consistent in tone or feel, were part of some continuous single programme written or at least "devised" by some boss director who had arranged, to break monotony, slight variations in costume, or setting (office, park, ballet, school, aircraft, war), and with a limited team of actors - for the same people had to play dozens of different roles.
It was all as bland and meaningless as steamed white bread; yet composed of the extremes of nastiness in a frenzy of dislocation, as if one stood on a street corner and watched half a dozen variations of human animal pass in a dozen different styles of dress and face.
Toplam 30 çeviri metninden sonra, bir tane de eğlence amacı ile alınmış metin! Bu metin Türkçeye elbette aktarılabilir, ama büyük özen gösterilmesi durumunda.
THE TWELVE BOTTLES OF WHISKY
I had twelve bottles of whisky in my cellar and my wife told me to empty the contents of every bottle down the sink - or else! So I said I would, and proceeded with the unpleasant task. I withdrew the cork from the first bottle and poured the contents down the sink, with the exception of one glass, which I drank. I extracted the cork from the second bottle and did likewise, with the exception of one glass, which I drank. I withdrew the cork from the third bottle and emptied the good old booze down the sink, except a glass which I drank. I pulled the cork from the fourth sink and poured the bottle down the glass, which I drank. I pulled the bottle from the cork of the next and drank one sink out of it and poured the rest down the glass. I pulled the sink out of the next glass and poured the cork down the bottle. I pulled the next cork out of my throat, poured the sink down the bottle and drank the glass, then I corked the sink in the glass, bottled the sink and drank the pour.
When I had emptied everything I steadied the house with one hand and counted the bottles and corks and glasses with the other, which were twenty-nine. To make sure I counted them again, when they came to seventy-four. And as the house came by, and finally I had all the bottles and corks and glasses counted, except one house and one cork, which I drank.