The universe, the standard model tells us, began with rapid inflation. The university as well, or at least, the modern exam-centered university.
With UK universities being upbraided by the Office for Students (OfS), the official regulator of the UK higher education sector, for handing out too many first-class degrees, I am reminded of this wonderful passage unearthed by Harry Lewis, former dean of Harvard College, from the report of Harvard’s 1894 Committee on Raising the Standard:
The Committee believes… that by defining anew the Grades A, B, C, D, and E, and by sending the definitions to every instructor, the Faculty may do something to keep up the standard of the higher grades. It believes that in the present practice Grades A and B are sometimes given too readily — Grade A for work of no very high merit, and Grade B for work not far above mediocrity.
Noting that letter grades were first introduced at Harvard in 1886, Lewis summarises the situation thus:
It took only eight years for the first official report that an A was no longer worth what it had been and that the grading system needed reform.
If I had been asked when it first came to be understood that skin cancer is caused by exposure to the sun, I would have said probably the 1970s, maybe 1960s among cognoscenti, before it was well enough established to become part of public health campaigns. But I was just reading this 1953 article by C. O. Nordling on mutations and cancer — proposing, interestingly enough, that cancers are caused by the accumulation of about seven mutations in a cell — which mentions, wholly incidentally, in a discussion of latency periods between the inception of a tumour cell and disease diagnosis
40 years for seaman’s cancer (caused by solar radiation).
So, apparently skin cancer was known to be frequent among sailors, and the link to sun exposure was sufficiently well accepted to be mentioned here parenthetically.
Well, one dream, to be precise. Flying dreams are famously pleasant experiences. It’s been a long time since I had one. In a recent dream I found myself in a location where people could fly off the top of a hill, coasting above the landscape down toward the valley. But I was curious, and I had to ask someone why this is possible. She explained to me that it had to do with the gentle slope of the hill, and that the rate of falling produced just enough impulse to keep you above the ground. Which seemed convincing at first, but then I started thinking about the acceleration that would entail, and it seemed we’d end up crashing toward the valley floor with a horrendous speed.
And after I’d thought that through the flying, which had been so effortless before, became impossible. At least for me.
Let no one say that scientific education can be had without costs…
Reading Dava Sobel’s book on the women astronomers of the Harvard Observatory in the early 20th century, The Glass Universe, I was surprised to discover that the first Association to Aid Scientific Research by Women was founded in the 19th century. It awarded grants and an Ellen Richards Research prize, named for the first woman admitted to MIT, who went on to become associate professor of chemistry at MIT, while remaining unpaid. The prize was last awarded in 1932. Why?
[After selecting the winners of the 1932 prize] the twelve members declared themselves satisfied with the progress they had seen, and they drafted a resolution to dissolve the organization. “Whereas,” it said, “the objects for which this association has worked for thirty-five years have been achieved, since women are given opportunities in Scientific Research on an equality with men, and to gain recognition for their achievements, be it Resolved, that this association cease to exist after the adjournment of this meeting.”