The detailed essays in this special issue of Medical History provide an opportunity for reflection on common themes as well as on differing medical and historical contexts, specifically examining the organization and practice of European social psychiatry, its various definitions, as well as the history of psychotherapy, in twentieth-century Germany, Holland and Great Britain. The chance has also arisen for one of the two guest editors to comment briefly on various other points that seem pertinent, by way of brief introduction. His fellow guest editor, Harry Oosterhuis, is the author of one essay and co-author of another.

This study focuses on ‘manufactured mentally ill’ (bei jingshenbing, 被精神病) individuals in post-socialist China. In Chinese society, bei jingshenbing is a neologistic catchphrase that refers to someone who has been misidentified as exhibiting symptoms of mental illness and has been admitted to a mental hospital. Specifically, it refers to those individuals who were subjected to unnecessary psychiatric treatment during the first decade of the twenty-first century. Based on archival analysis and ethnographic fieldwork, this study addresses the ways in which the voices of bei jingshenbing victims and those who support them reveal China’s experiences with psychiatric modernity. It also discusses the active role of these individuals in knowledge production, medical policymaking, and the implications for reforming the psychiatric and mental health systems in post-socialist China.

This paper examines the representations and emotions associated with disclosure and stigma in Pietermaritzburg, KwaZulu-Natal, seven years after the start of the South African government’s ARV roll-out programme on the basis of in-depth oral history interviews of HIV-positive support group members. It argues that the wider availability of ARV treatment, the ensuing reduced fatality rate and the increased number of people, including men, who receive counselling and testing, may mean that HIV/AIDS is less stigmatised and that disclosure has become easier. This does not mean that stigma has disappeared and that the confusion created by competing world-views and belief systems has dissipated. Yet the situation of extreme denial and ideological confusion observed, for example, by Deborah Posel and her colleagues in 2003 and 2004 in the Mpumalanga province seems to have lessened. The interviews hint at the possibility that people living with HIV may have, more than a decade before, a language to express the emotions and feelings associated with HIV/AIDS. They were also found to be more assertive in matters of gender relations. These new attitudes would make disclosure easier and stigma more likely to recede.

The texts by Paracelsus, Felix Platter and Thomas Willis under consideration here have two things in common, despite their separate historical and cultural settings. First, they describe people who seem to relate both to their own world and to the external world in problematical ways which the authors variously call stultitia, fatuitas or stupiditas: “foolishness”. My translation is intentionally imprecise and will, I hope, restrain the reader from jumping to the conclusion that it signifies any clinical concept recognizable in modern medicine; it is, rather, an algebraic x whose content needs further investigation. The second common factor is that these are precisely the texts which some commentators do indeed believe to contain “early” diagnoses of a modern concept of intellectual disability (“mental retardation”, “learning disability” etc.). This belief, of axiomatic status, presupposes that some such concept has existed across different historical periods in a more or less mutually recognizable form, and therefore that “foolishness”, in the medical writers discussed here, just is, if primitively, our “intellectual disability”. However “foolishness” needs closer examination, which I attempt to provide here.

The history of ‘electroshock therapy’ (now known as electroconvulsive therapy (ECT)) in Europe in the Third Reich is still a neglected chapter in medical history. Since Thomas Szasz’s ‘From the Slaughterhouse to the Madhouse’, prejudices have hindered a thorough historical analysis of the introduction and early application of electroshock therapy during the period of National Socialism and the Second World War. Contrary to the assumption of a ‘dialectics of healing and killing’, the introduction of electroshock therapy in the German Reich and occupied territories was neither especially swift nor radical. Electroshock therapy, much like the preceding ‘shock therapies’, insulin coma therapy and cardiazol convulsive therapy, contradicted the genetic dogma of schizophrenia, in which only one ‘treatment’ was permissible: primary prevention by sterilisation. However, industrial companies such as Siemens–Reiniger–Werke AG (SRW) embraced the new development in medical technology. Moreover, they knew how to use existing patents on the electrical anaesthesia used for slaughtering to maintain a leading position in the new electroshock therapy market. Only after the end of the official ‘euthanasia’ murder operation in August 1941, entitled T4, did the psychiatric elite begin to promote electroshock therapy as a modern ‘unspecific’ treatment in order to reframe psychiatry as an ‘honorable’ medical discipline. War-related shortages hindered even the then politically supported production of electroshock devices. Research into electroshock therapy remained minimal and was mainly concerned with internationally shared safety concerns regarding its clinical application. However, within the Third Reich, electroshock therapy was not only introduced in psychiatric hospitals, asylums, and in the Auschwitz concentration camp in order to get patients back to work, it was also modified for ‘euthanasia’ murder.