It's been a crazy busy couple of weeks, with the beginning of the Fall term here. All the while, though, I've continued to think of this blog, and what I can share, in the context of memory, trauma, PTSD, and history. I wonder sometimes why - or, really, how - I ended up interested in the aspects of trauma and PTSD in the historical context. I also wonder whether there is validity in even looking for trauma and PTSD in the distant past. After all, the field of Psychiatry itself didn't have acknowledged existence and status as a legitimate field of study until the 20th century, and PTSD was - and is still - a conglomeration of symptoms, behaviours, labels, interpretations and so on. I've mentioned previously a work by Allan Young, and the inventing of PTSD, in which he points to a long process of the construction of the label "Post-traumatic Stress Disorder", as individuals across several fields and disciplines wrestled with the assortment of symptoms, behaviours and illnesses which seemed to be connected together. Young points out that in the construction of this label, the process of construction was interwoven with the writing and editing of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (the DSM), in its revisions and publication. One very critical point he - and others - have made is that PTSD itself may be largely, if not only, and 'invention'; the result of a process of determining 1) whether various discrete symptoms were in fact neurologically/ mentally/ physiologically and definitely connected, and 2) if they were, was there in fact a single malady/ syndrome at work, which could be labelled in such a way as to acknowledge the reality of the syndrome and the multiplicity of symptoms/manifestations within it. It may well be, he and others have pointed out, that PTSD is really a label which is the product of invention, based on a perceived harmony throughout and between an assortment of symptoms. The symptoms range widely: hyper-alertness, anxiety, depression, flashbacks, intrusive memories, nightmares, heart palpitations, rapid breathing, isolation of oneself, feelings of detachment and 'numbing', inability to remember aspects of the traumatic events (s), sense of a limited future, hyper-irritability,difficulty concentrating. Taken each on their own, these symptoms may well appear in contexts completely apart from anything psycho-physiological, and may well not indicate any mental disorder or syndrome. An individual experiencing many or most of these symptoms concurrently, though, is considered a candidate for the diagnosis of PTSD. Each individual symptom may be purely a product of something solely physiological - a disease, for example, such as high blood pressure, or of straightforward (though by no means painless or 'simple') depression. When symptoms in this list manifest within the a single person, within a set period of time, are debilitating, impede 'normal' functioning, and are within a context of the experience of a traumatic event (whether recent or in the past), psychiatrists note the potential for a diagnosis of PTSD. Young argues for a reconsideration of the existence of this label, in light of the history of the label alone. There is no doubt that persons experiencing any of these symptoms - or many of them - is really experiencing these, Young points out. The essential question, then, is whether they belong altogether in a single diagnostic entity, such as PTSD. Is it the case that the medical and psychiatric professions applied a label because of the practical 'necessity' for acknowledging inter-connectedness between these various symptoms and behaviours? Was it the case that the impetus for categorization and defining, behind the construction of the DSM and its revised publication processes, drove experts to see connectedness where in fact there was little, none, or only very slight physiological similarity or connection? The forces behind the editing and revising, and republication of the DSM, in the 20th century, were very strong. Not least of these forces was the drive - in the context of the post-Korean and post-Vietnam periods - to provide for politicians, the military administration, and the Veterans Administration in the U.S. a readily accessible label to be applied diagnostically for veterans where there was a claim for financial compensations and medical benefits. When I began my own research, into British history (early modern period), my very first interests revolved around matters of conscience, and honour, among English males involved in the English Civil Wars. Actually, that's not quite true - my very first interest was in discovering why men did NOT fight in these wars (1642-1646, 1648). I wanted to really KNOW what men were thinking when they decided to remain neutral in the conflicts. This led me into efforts to understand the 17th century definitions of honour and conscience - since these were clearly critical aspects in the decision of neutrality. A tangential area of research emerged in this process, the understanding of the nature of 'fear' for these men, particularly fear in the face of brutalities of war, and death. Some fears were handled by men with the seeking out of evidence of providence, even predestination, at work. Some fears were dealt with in the context of apocalyptic perspectives: the Second Coming/ Apocalypse was clearly upon us --> I am a good Protestant ----> faith will save me ---> the Bible offers evidence of the terror of the Apocalyptic battles, but I am saved ---> therefore, even though my death be terrible, I will see paradise. There is no doubt among historians studying early modern Europe and England that there was a sense of a not-far-off Apocalypse. It was in my study of such perceptions that I began to consider the impact of fear, brutalities of war, and catastrophic events on European - really English - society. What did men actually, and really, THINK when they experienced in every immediate and personal sense the shocks, the brutalities, the violence of war and death? Was it true that they were secure from mental disorders that we see today, by virtue of, well, their 'virtue'? Was their security in faith, their perceptions of personal honour and a right conscience enough to guard them from what we today consider PTSD? I didn't - and still don't think so, at least not entirely. Perhaps I'm underestimating the significance and thoroughness of the role played by the type of personal religiosity and faith which appears to have prevailed throughout early modern society. Perhaps the faith, piety, belief, or whatever else we might call it, of men at that time - in England, in the 1600s - was truly of such a different kind that it really did protect most males from the malady of PTSD (should we still, after all, acknowledge the legitimacy of that label). The question remains - and it's a difficult one: is/was PTSD a real syndrome, in its entirety? Is/ was it ONLY a product of the pressures of the 20th century (political, medical, military, and editorial)? If I am searching for 'it' in the past, it would be helpful to know if PTSD is 'real'. A.