Dialectic Journal Summer 2021 Edition

The Undergraduate Journal of Philosophy at The University of York

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Graphics and Design

Editor

Thomasina Cass

Mihaela Sotirova

Reviewers and Copy Editors

Contributors Raphael Henry

Thomasina Cass

Katie Griffiths

Alice Letts

Rebecca Ivory

Alix Scorer

Maisie Jones

Chiara Bassini

John Forte

Sarah Quinn Ryan Winterbottom

Interviewee Lillian Wilde

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Contents Editor’s preface

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1. You Are, Therefore I Am: How isolation through trauma demonstrates that the self is fundamentally relational Raphael Henry

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2. What is the role of narratives in the recovery of trauma and how does the pornography industry prevent women from conveying their narratives?

Katie Griffiths

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3. Weighing up the merits and downsides of diagnosing trauma survivors with a psychological disorder such as PTSD, given they meet the diagnostic criteria.

Rebecca Ivory

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4. Trauma, self-narratives, and the relational self Maisie Jones

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5. Belatedness and the style of anticipation: does trauma have any essential features?

John Forte

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Editorial interview with Lillian Wilde on the phenomenology of post-traumatic experiences

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“This raises the age-old problem of mind-body reductionism […] I can take a pragmatic approach. Sometimes, it works to think of myself as a mechanical system. Sometimes, it works to think of myself as a perceiver and maker of meaning. Sometimes thinking of myself as an agent with free will helps and sometimes, especially when the scope of the will is exaggerated, it doesn’t.”

- Susan J. Brison1

For this edition of Dialectic, we are exploring the theme of Trauma and Philosophy. The essays we have compiled were written by students at the University of York who undertook the second-year module ‘Trauma & Philosophy’. Since this is an underdeveloped research field, this edition intends to distribute and publicise the fascinating discourse around this topic, as well as introduce some new and original ideas by the authors who contributed to this special instalment of our journal.

In the first paper, Raphael Henry explores the idea that our sense of self is fundamentally relational. The author aims to provide a thorough account of the connection between self and relationality, concluding that, whilst this connection is fundamental, it is by no means an exhaustive explanation of how one constructs their sense of self.

In the second paper, Katie Griffiths claims that the narratives we construct about our lives play a crucial part in the recovery from trauma by allowing an individual to regain their sense of control. The paper also discusses how narratives are reliant on others, as well as ways in which a victim’s recovery narrative can be undermined by external influences, such as the eroticisation of sexual violence in pornography.

In the third paper, Rebecca Ivory considers trauma survivors who have been diagnosed with psychological disorders such as PTSD, questioning whether this is helpful to the individual or whether it has the potential to cause more harm than good. The author evaluates both the positive and the

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Brison, S. J. (2002). Aftermath: Violence and the Remaking of a Self. Princeton University Press.

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negative aspects of having such diagnoses, ultimately concluding that diagnosing survivors of trauma with psychological disorders has significant drawbacks which outweigh the advantages.

In the fourth paper of the edition, Maisie Jones discusses Susan Brison’s idea that our sense of self is relational and tied to others, ultimately concluding that Brison was correct by highlighting the significant role that narratives play in our construction of a sense of self. According to the author, given that these narratives are reliant on external and empathetic listeners, this indicates that the self is inextricably relational.

In the final paper, John Forte looks at Seeburger’s idea of ‘belatedness’ and evaluates his claim that it is an essential feature of trauma. The author presents a significant criticism of this idea by referring to the work of Susan Brison, where she outlines how she was able to contextualise her trauma immediately rather than belatedly, subsequently proving that it is not an essential feature. Instead, the author presents a different aspect, a loss of trust in the world, that potentially sits at the centre of all other nonessential features of trauma.

Mihaela Sotirova Editor

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You Are, Therefore I Am: How isolation through trauma demonstrates that the self is fundamentally relational Raphael Henry is a third-year undergraduate student at the University of York studying Philosophy and German - rrh523@york.ac.uk

The view of the self as a partially social construct, whilst by no means a new invention, has been a core feature of recent feminist theories of selfhood built upon the study of trauma. Judith Herman considers the trauma victim’s disconnection from others to be a primary effect of trauma, and that regaining the social aspect of the self is essential for recovery (Herman, 1992: 51). Susan Brison takes this one step further in arguing that, without connection to others, one can no longer even be oneself to oneself (2003: 40). In designating the traumatized individual’s relationality as fundamental to the self, these theories attempt to explain this feeling of disconnection and loss of sense of self that can be prevalent amongst trauma victims. However, I would argue that neither goes far enough in explaining the nature of the connection between self and relationality beyond the effects of its severance and that a more thorough account is necessary. The theory I develop agrees that the self is built fundamentally upon relationality through the intermediary of self-knowledge, and evidences this position through examples of trauma, isolation, and schizophrenia. It is important to note, however, that this account is by no means an exhaustive explanation of the self – it is merely an aspect of it, intended to operate in tandem with many other facets. The intention is to prove that relationality and self-knowledge are necessary, but insufficient, for the existence of the self.

An approximate self and the argument for relationality Before any substantial account can be laid out, an adequate working definition of the self is required. There are various approximations, some conflicting, others co-dependent, from which to draw: the self has previously been defined as the centre of narrative gravity, the locus of autonomous agency, or even as nothing 8

more than a bundle of experiences bound together (Olson, 2002). Each of these views explains certain features of the self, stating this or that aspect to be the very core of identity. However, the chief failing of such accounts is in considering such a powerful and complex arrangement as the self to be reducible to a single factor.

An exhaustive definition of the self is not required for the purposes of this argument: it is sufficient to state that the self is a multi-faceted collection of attributes, ranging from self-awareness to self-narrative. Moreover, certain aspects are considered fundamental because they provide stability to the self. This means that an individual conspicuously lacking one or more of these fundamental aspects is not automatically discounted from selfhood – rather that their self becomes unstable and changeable, often leading to the feeling of being a different self (as, for example, in the case of schizophrenia).

With that in mind, the formal argument for fundamental relationality is as follows: 1. Relationality is fundamental to self-knowledge.

2. Self-knowledge is fundamental to the self.

By applying the principle of transitivity: 3. Relationality is fundamental to the self.

In essence, who we are is characterised by who we think we are, which in turn is characterised by how we relate to others. This is evident in the study of both infancy and trauma and occurs not only through others reflecting our own self back, but also through the tools gained in a social setting, that allow us to reflect upon ourselves. Placing self-knowledge in between self and others does not rule out other aspects of the self being socially constructed: merely that this argument focuses on relationality being fundamental in allowing one to know oneself.

Self-knowledge as fundamental to selfhood Self-knowledge is divided into two separate notions: introspection (the recognition of one’s own mental states and experiences), and self-awareness (the recognition that one’s own mental states and experiences are one’s own).

Introspection, or self-reflection, is pivotal to the view of the self as an autonomous agent, able to consider and act upon its own motivations. This familiarity with oneself, whereby one is uniquely privy to one’s own mental state, seems 9

intuitively fundamental to selfhood. After all, if knowledge of one’s own mental states is indeed uniquely accessible only to the self in question, then this would have to substantiate the view of the individuated self as existing in part due to that unique access. In other words, the very fact that a self has unique access to knowledge of itself guarantees the existence of said self, because for the access to be unique there must be some definite thing that possesses that access. Of course, this relies upon there being a special epistemic character to selfknowledge, some quality that necessarily restricts access by any other, which may not be a valid assumption (Gertler, 2003). A better proof of the central role of introspection may instead lie in the ease, rather than the uniqueness, of access to one’s own thoughts. To have immediate, intimate access to one’s own thoughts at any time grants one a perspective of oneself which no other, even one’s future self looking back, could hope to fully replicate as quickly and as often. For this reason, introspective self-knowledge may be considered to be fundamental to the self.

Whilst introspection considers one’s thoughts and experiences in a direct way, self-awareness instead considers the very fact that there is a self to exhibit introspection at all. In his 2009 article, Dan Zahavi places subjectivity, the (usually) unshakeable first-person perspective of consciousness, as fundamental to the self. This notion of being a subject provides a sense of ownership of one’s own actions and experiences, a familiarity by which an individual can recognise that they are the one acting. Many aspects of being a self appear to lend credence to this idea, since what is a self if not a way to differentiate a ‘you’ from an ‘I’?

Zahavi argues that, just as with introspection, subjectivity serves as evidence for the presence of an individual: self-awareness necessitates the presence of a self.

Furthermore, Zahavi aims to show that subjectivity is not just fundamental to the self, it is the very core of the self (Zahavi, 2009: 15).

This notion, known as the minimal self, is where Zahavi’s argument fails. In making this claim, he commits himself to the very same line of argument for which he widely criticises relational (‘intersubjective’) theories of the self: namely in believing that the self is reducible, even theoretically, to a central notion which underpins all others. This is a dangerously exclusionary principle, given afflictions such as dementia and schizophrenia. A schizophrenic patient’s psychosis may lead them to lose their sense of ‘first-personal givenness’, that pre10

reflective sense of ownership for their own actions (Fuchs, 2016: 308-310). Such a minimal notion of the self, as Zahavi argues for, would seem to act against the continued existence of such a patient’s identity, no matter if they are an individuated self in many other regards (for example, maintaining a selfnarrative). This represents at best an exception to the rule, and at worst the classification of these patients as non-selves – a deeply questionable line of reasoning, both morally and phenomenologically. It is therefore clear that there must be more to being a self than just self-awareness, despite both types of selfknowledge being fundamentally entangled with being a self. The stipulation required for their inclusion, overlooked by proponents of the experiential minimal self, is that having self-knowledge is fundamental, yet insufficient, for one’s being a stable self. The more accommodating notion of selfhood expressed earlier in this account allows for a schizophrenic patient’s lack of absolute subjectivity by stating that its absence instead destabilizes their self, leaving the self subject to uncontrolled change, rather than rendering the afflicted individual wholly selfless.

Relationality as fundamental to self-knowledge Having demonstrated that self-knowledge is fundamental to a stable self, it remains to show that relationality is in turn fundamental to self-knowledge. This fundamental relationality is made apparent not only through the initial development of the self but also through the destruction and subsequent redevelopment that traumatic events bring with them. The initial development of self-awareness during infancy, argues György Gergely, is mediated by the infant’s current internal states being externally ‘mirrored’ or ‘reflected’ back by the infant’s caregivers (cited in Zahavi, 2009). In other words, infants become aware of their being a self by being treated as being a self. This idea of gaining self-knowledge through one’s self being reflected back by others is not limited to the developing self in infancy: symbolic interactionism, a sociological theory often attributed to George Herbert Mead, posits that individuals are able to gain self-knowledge through their interactions with others. The reactions of others, or perhaps more importantly one’s perceptions of those reactions, are the primary mode of developing self-knowledge according to the symbolic interactionist (Carter and Fuller, 2016). Although this occupies an extreme position in terms of 11

how one primarily gains self-knowledge, there is good reason to agree that this ‘looking glass self’ is at least one of the ways in which self-knowledge is gained.

One final aspect of developing self-knowledge through relationality worth discussing is Festinger’s social comparison theory. In essence, this theory describes the process by which one compares oneself to others and infers from that comparison some self-knowledge (Talaifar and Swann, 2018). This comes in the form of comparing not only one’s mental states, but also one’s personality traits, abilities, and social standing, in both an upwards and downwards direction.

This process is considered essential for one’s self-worth, and for one’s capacity to correctly estimate one’s own abilities. All of these aspects show ways in which self-knowledge can be said to be relational since without them one’s complete self might develop very differently, or even not at all.

In objecting to Gergely’s account, there is the obvious but important point that this theory cannot be tested, since there can be no comparative study of infants in a social vacuum to determine if introspection still develops. More broadly, there is also debate as to whether one’s self-view is truly defined by how one perceives one’s interactions with others, as symbolic interactionism argues, or whether, on the contrary, one’s perception of interactions is defined by one’s self-view (2018: 13). Given this, more conclusive evidence is required if this account’s theoretical claims are to lend any credence to the fundamental relationality of the self. This evidence can be found in the study of trauma.

In many ways, trauma represents the antithesis of the developing self. Where the developing infant exists in a social space, constantly growing and adapting to environmental changes, the trauma victim is instead left in a state of isolation, often feeling as though their self is ‘shattered’ (Brison, 2003: 66). In arguing that this isolation is a primary effect of trauma, Judith Herman formed the beginnings of the trauma-based argument for a fundamentally relational self. Evidence of this relationality can be seen both in the way trauma strips down the victim’s self, and in the methods by which they can survive and recover. The immediate aftermath of trauma is a period of disempowerment and disconnection. In cases of rape and sexual assault, victims have had their subjectivity, their security, and even the sanctity of their own body ripped away from them, resulting in a state of isolating vulnerability. This state is symptomatic of such severe damage to the self that 12

some consider it a form of self-death, signalling the demise of the victim’s ‘old’ self. Herman argues that it is only with the help of others that the victim can escape from this state and begin the long process of recovery, a claim substantiated by considering both sexual assault and war trauma victims, who have often faced ostracism from society for ‘showing’ their trauma (2003: 23).

These individuals, who lack the social setting in which to recover, are left much more open to intrusive damage to their self.

It is therefore logical that, if the self is lost in disconnection, it must be found through reconnection. This healing is facilitated through various intensely relational activities, such as narrating one’s story to others (Brison, 2003: 71).

Self-narrative gives the trauma survivor the power to contextualise and incorporate their trauma into their life story, regaining subjectivity in the process.

This contextualisation is key to the trauma survivor retaking control, allowing them to diffuse or ‘remaster’ the trauma (2003: 56). Crucially, as Brison argues, this process of regaining narratorial control can only occur in a relational setting.

Survivors must be seen and believed in order to heal (2003: 51). By once again becoming a subject in this necessarily relational way, survivors are both empowered and reconnected with the world and themselves. At this stage of recovery, they have restabilized their self by reinstating the fundamental aspects that bear the weight of identity. They may no longer be the same self that they were, but a self they undoubtedly are.

It might be suggested that the disconnection and loss of sense of self felt by trauma victims are instead both merely symptoms, rather than cause and effect.

However, consideration of solitary confinement answers this objection and demonstrates that the causal relationship is real. As Lisa Guenther (2013) argues, solitary confinement shows the deep psychological impact on the self of prolonged isolation. Not only are those in solitary confinement subjected to isolation far more complete than that of the traumas I have discussed, but the punishment is also singular in its effect: the isolation is the totality of the punishment, as opposed to the myriad effects of trauma. Given this, many of the symptoms of solitary confinement are startlingly similar to those of sexual assault, showing that many aspects of trauma are indeed due primarily to its isolating effect.

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Conclusion It is a common opinion that human beings are inherently social and that we live in a public world. It is equally intuitive that our social environment plays an important role in our development, both as an infant and later in life. Given these widely uncontroversial claims, it seems impossible to deny the fundamental role that relationality plays in the creation and sustainment of the self. Partnering these theoretical claims with the evidence provided by the study of trauma, isolation, and psychosis reveals a complex self, irreducible and yet multi-faceted, able to change and yet still remain a self, even if not the same self. This allows the self to persist in some capacity even when one’s sense of self is shattered since that affects the stability rather than the existence of the self. By channelling relationality through self-knowledge, the role of others is brought to the forefront of the self, whilst highlighting the importance of the individual as agent and subject. This fundamental relationality does not mean that others build the self, but that it is only with others that one can build one’s own self. This shows that an account can exist which places both subjectivity and inter-subjectivity as fundamental aspects of the self, without resorting to the existence of a minimal self as a necessary precondition to the multi-faceted selves that we all are.

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Theory, Culture & Society, 25 (1): 23–47.

Brison, S.J. (2003). Aftermath: violence and the remaking of a self. Princeton, N.J. Woodstock: Princeton University Press.

Carter, M.J. and Fuller, C. (2016). Symbols, meaning, and action: The past, present, and future of symbolic interactionism. Current Sociology, 64 (6): 931– 14

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Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences, 16 (2): 291–315. Available at: https://link-springer-com.libproxy.york.ac.uk/article/10.1007/s11097-015-94494#citeas. Accessed 2 Apr. 2021.

Gertler, B. (2003). Self-Knowledge. E. N. Zalta ed. The Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy (Spring 2020 Edition).

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Guenther, L. (2013). Solitary Confinement: Social Death and Its Afterlives.

Minneapolis: University Of Minnesota Press.

Herman, J.L. (1992). Trauma and recovery. New York: New York Basic Books.

Keller, J. (1997). Autonomy, Relationality, and Feminist Ethics. Hypatia, 12 (2): 152–164. Available at: https://www.jstor.org/stable/3810475?seq=1. Accessed 2 Apr. 2021.

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What is the role of narratives in the recovery of trauma and how does the pornography industry prevent women from conveying their narratives?

Katie Griffiths is a post-graduate philosophy student from the University of York - melrose14@sky.com

This essay will support the claim that narratives are essential for trauma recovery.

It will argue that, in cases of sexual assault, the effectiveness of the narrative is undermined by pornography, preventing trauma recovery. Trauma is the emotional reaction to one or several distressing experiences. By expressing this experience through narratives, the victim regains the control that was removed from them by the traumatic event. The meaning of the victim’s narrative is dependent on its significance to others. Without the correct reception from others, its effects are futile. For victims of sexual violence, pornography warps the meaning of the narratives; it undermines the severity of the trauma inflicted by erotising the trauma. This renders narratives obsolete or harmful to recovery from trauma.

Control is a significant factor in both the traumatic event and the recovery from trauma. The loss of control experienced surpasses the traumatic event. Since the traumatic event often poses a threat to the person’s life, it causes an overwhelming sense of fear (Brison, 2011: 39). This leads the victim to undergo a complete loss of control. Herman argues that a traumatic event defiles the victim at a basic physical level. The body is violated and abused, subject to complete domination and has no control over the body and its functions (Herman, 2015: 38). This loss of control is prominent in trauma inflicted by another human, like sexual assault and rape (Brison, 2011: 40). This aspect of the trauma causes the victim to feel deep humiliation. This is because, during the traumatic event, the perspective of the victim is worthless. It is treated as valueless; it has no impact on the outcome of the event. When a person is raped, the perpetrator aims to disrespect and 16

neglect the victim’s dignity and autonomy (Herman, 2015: 38). The goal is to reduce the victim to a passive object. After the traumatic event has happened, the sense of control cannot be regained. The loss of control experienced persists in the form of invasive memories (Brison, 2011: 54). Brison states that the victim experiences these intrusive memories passively (2011: 54). They have no control over when or how these memories are experienced, reliving them as a spectator rather than an active participant. This is damaging for the victim as it forces them to become a passive observer of their own violation once again, compounding the feeling of worthlessness.

A trauma narrative is a method used by trauma victims to understand, contextualise, and bring to light their traumatic experience. It can be conveyed multiple times through verbal, written or artistic means. By using narratives, a victim can move from a passive witness to taking control of the traumatic memories (2011: 54). Saying something about the traumatic memory allows one to control an element of the narrative. We make clear decisions about how we convey these memories, deciding how to tell the story, who to tell the story to and how much we wish to tell (2011: 54). Repeatedly exercising this control will eventually allow the victim to control the memory itself, making it less invasive for the victim. Speaking about the trauma allows us to dominate these uncontrollable memories that reduce us to objects. When you control the narrative and the story, you reinstate the control that was removed in the traumatic event (2011: 54).

The effectiveness of the narrative depends on the ability to communicate it to a listener. Our narratives meaning is contingent on its significance to others (2011: 51). It is not enough to just say something about the trauma. The importance does not merely rely on the words we speak. We must have the understanding from others. Having the account affirmed by others allows the victim to heal (2011: 54). A wrong reception from the listener will contradict the control a narrative is regaining. If a survivor narrates their story to a listener who either does not believe them or changes the meaning of the narrative, further trauma could be inflicted on the victim. Rather than regaining control, they would suffer a further loss of control. It entrenches a sense of passivity within the victim. It is another instance of their viewpoint being silenced and disregarded by another person. The victim suffers the same disregard they experienced in the initial trauma. Hence 17

not being believed is not only counterproductive to recovery but also retraumatizing. Brison describes it as the final fateful blow (2011: 59).

The pornography industry prevents women from portraying their narratives. It undercuts the control that victims of sexual violence try to regain through narratives. It achieves this by severing the communication between the victim and the audience. Pornography warps the perception of rape by portraying it in a positive light; it depicts women as enjoying acts of sexual violence. This normalises violence within the context of sex, fuelling a societal belief that a normal response to extreme levels of violence is pleasure. It pushes a belief that women enjoy rape (Herman, 2015: 21). This translates into real-life scenarios of sexual assault. The feminist ordinance that was passed in Indianapolis compounds this: pornography presents women ‘dehumanized as sexual objects, things or commodities; enjoying pain or humiliation or rape; being tied up, cut up, mutilated, bruised, or physically hurt.’ (Langston, 1993, 293). Porn shows rape as sex (which connotes pleasure) rather than violence (which connotes pain.)

(Herman, 2015: 21). This trivialises the violence.

Pornography creates an audience that is familiar with rape as something that is normal. They stop associating an account of rape with trauma. When a victim undergoes sexual violence, they must use explicit and graphic language to convey their experience. The very nature of pornography means that it eroticises sexual violence, endangering the victim’s account of being turned into further erotica; it makes an account of rape seem like an account of sex to a listener. It stops the listener from empathising with the survivor. It is not seen as something that is harmful and the survivor is disregarded as a victim. Therefore, any testimony given would be ineffective at aiding their recovery.

Langston supports this argument. She claims that if a woman is using ‘sexually explicit speech’ to narrate the infliction of sexual assault, the words uttered merely counts as pornography (Langston, 1993: 326). She shows this in the testimonies given by women in court. Pornography disables these testimonies describing rape. The testimony merely achieves the understanding that it is just a normal account of sex (1993: 326). She states that ‘if pornography legitimates violence as sex, then it can silence the intended actions of those who want to testify about violence.’ (1993: 326). Rather than regaining control through 18

narratives, they compound the passivity undergone in the initial trauma. This can be seen in real accounts by women of sexual violence. Frances Andrade, who was testifying against her music teacher for rape, described her experience in court as being ‘raped all over again.’ (The Guardian, 2013). Not being believed in court felt like an attack and further assault. This added to her trauma, causing her suicide only days later (2013). This compounds Brison’s claim that having their testimony rejected is the final blow to the victim. It shows the disregard we place on testimonies of sexual violence which stems from a normalisation of this type of violence.

However, it is unclear if pornography does play a part in preventing trauma recovery. Although it is indisputable that porn does celebrate sexual violence, it does not follow that this carries into real life. It is fundamental that pornography distorts the communication between the survivor and the audience. It is this understanding that undermines the victim’s ability to recover through narratives.

However, pornography can only be harmful to rape testimonies if it is taken literally. If the listener does not view pornography as real, it is not responsible for the inability to recover. Pornography is just a form of creative expression like any other work of fiction. It logically follows that we can identify it as fantasy and not apply it to reality. This is compounded by other forms of fiction. Violent movies or tv series do not cause people to suddenly start shooting people. If I watched ‘Game of Thrones,’ I would not then believe that beheading was acceptable. The normalization of this violence would not detract from the severity of a person’s testimony of the same violence in reality. I can watch it as entertainment in the form of fiction whilst still being shocked and appalled by it in real life. Pornography is no different. There is a difference between normalising the stereotype of women enjoying non-consensual sex and a survivor of rape conveying their narrative. We understand this when dealing with testimonies of sexual violence such as Brison’s own story. It is obvious that her account of the assault was not eroticised by her audience. This is evident when Brison talks of giving her testimony publicly and having it confirmed by the police (Brison, 2011: 54). There is no evidence that her account was seen as anything other than a violent assault. This demonstrates that the depiction of sexual violence does not undermine reality; it does not have a negative effect on

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the listener (by stopping them from being empathetic). Therefore, it does not increase the risk of narratives being re-traumatising.

Moreover, the cause of re-traumatisation could be the narratives themselves rather than pornography. The successful retelling of trauma could inflict further trauma that would outweigh the victim’s recovery. This supports the claim that it is not pornography that harms trauma recovery. Brison’s account of postmemory and prememory reinforces this. A postmemory of rape occurs through the narratives of other rape victims. Women are culturally brought up with frightening stories (about other people’s rape). We ourselves then have the fear and certain memories of sexual violence even if we have not been personally assaulted (2011: 87). This gets converted into a prememory: the imagining of our own future rape which seems inevitable. (2011: 87). The socialisation with women and girls creates an early and frequent exposure to stories about rape (2011: 87). In successfully narrating a rape testimony, the survivor inflicts further fear amongst women. This adds to the extreme passivity and restriction among women who act as if they themselves had been assaulted (2011: 95). This makes narratives counterproductive as a method of recovery. By adding to an atmosphere of fear and paranoia over assault, it creates an environment where women act as if they have been assaulted. They will then act with the same passivity. If this way of acting is normalised, it reinforces to the victim the idea that control cannot be regained. If passivity becomes common amongst women, it will create an atmosphere where the survivor is more likely to succumb to these traumatic symptoms. This is because traumatic symptoms would no longer be confined to trauma. It would be a normal characteristic of women. If these trauma symptoms were to become universally common, there would be no reason for a trauma victim to recover. The narration of a traumatic experience would add to the survivor’s trauma rather than helping her regain control. The narratives through fear could subordinate and debilitate women more than pornography.

The objections to this argument fail. Pornography does blur the lines between fiction and reality. Consistent exposure to violence does cause emotional desensitisation. We can see this in violent video games and films that show explicit and graphic content. Like pornography, they are also fiction. There is evidence that viewers of violence through the media show a lessened emotional reaction to violent films after many views (Bartholow, 2005: 1574). Studies show 20

that ongoing exposure to violence results in a decreased amount of empathy towards the suffering of others along with an increased hostility towards the perceived enemy (2005: 1574). This shows that fiction does impact our emotional response. A person does not need to view pornography and immediately see it as reality to become numb to sexual violence. It is a gradual desensitisation to sexual violence through the universality of pornography. The accessibility of pornography depicting sexual violence means that exposure is inescapable.

Additionally, the production of pornography has become increasingly integrated with everyday normality. Much of it is produced in a home environment by ordinary people. This sets it apart from other fiction such as high budget films. It is less obviously a form of fantasy and escapism. By bringing pornography into an everyday setting with home filming, it becomes much more mundane. It makes high levels of sexual violence seem less taboo since it gives the appearance that it is carried out by ordinary people. Thus, it would take less exposure to sexual violence of this nature for it to feel normal.

Moreover, it is incorrect to blame further trauma caused by postmemory and prememory on the victim narrating their ordeal. The debilitating impact of postmemory and prememory for women is a result of society. Increased stories about rape will instil a greater sense of fear in women as it highlights our vulnerability (rape is indiscriminate, it can happen to anyone at any time.) Yet the source of increased narratives is due to the growing occurrences of sexual violence. This is because of the normalisation of violence within the context of sex. By making this violence acceptable through pornography there will inevitably be a spike in trauma narratives. Thus, the collective traumatisation through narratives directly stems from porn. It is entirely cyclical. This is compounded by Herman who claims that rape is a means of maintaining male power. She asserts that rape ‘is nothing more or less than a conscious process of intimidation by which all men keep all women in a state of fear.’ (Herman, 2015: 21). Therefore, the source of these memories is society. Memories of rape become entrenched within women through constant exposure to assault which is accessible through entertainment. We see this in sexual murder being made into entertainment such as snuff films depicting violent sex (Brison, 2011: 92). We witness scenes of rape and assault through mainstream tv, computer games and film (2011: 91). The trauma that attaches itself to this threat of assault is 21

inescapable and society provides us with a constant reminder of this. The objection that we would be retraumatized in recovery without pornography is void. It is pornography that fuels these memories by exposure, creating an atmosphere of fear amongst women.

Overall, pornography does impede recovery from sexual trauma. It desensitises the listener to the seriousness of assault through repeated exposure to the concept of rape as pleasure. This causes the victim’s narratives to be rejected as either fabrication or just an account of sex. It renders their perspective worthless. The most credible objection to this argument, that pornography, being fiction, cannot influence reality, only has limited credibility. It relies on the assumption that we can easily draw a line between fiction and reality. It is obvious that this is not the case. We can see that increased exposure to violence will inevitably result in desensitisation. Narratives allow a victim to regain control over their experience.

Pornography directly impedes this by trivialising any testimony of trauma which causes a further removal of autonomy.

Bibliography Bartholow, B.D. (2005). Correlates and Consequences of Exposure to Video Game Violence: Hostile Personality, Empathy, and Aggressive Behaviour.

Thousand Oaks. CA: Sage Publications.

Brison, S. (2011). Aftermath. Princeton University Press.

Gentleman, A. (2013). Prosecuting sexual assault: 'Raped all over again'. The Guardian, 13th April. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/society/2013/apr/13/rape-sexual-assault-francesandrade-court Herman, J. (2015). Trauma and recovery: aftermath of violence from domestic abuse to political terror. BasicBooks Langston, R. (1993). Speech Acts and Unspeakable Acts. Wiley Subscription Services

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Weighing up the merits and downsides of diagnosing trauma survivors with a psychological disorder such as PTSD, given they meet the diagnostic criteria.

Rebecca Ivory is a fourth-year post-graduate student that recently graduated from the University of York and is going onto LSE for MSc Philosophy of Science - r.ivory1@lse.ac.uk

Diagnosing a trauma survivor with a psychological disorder such as posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) raises unique issues, since the symptoms or long-lasting effects of trauma exposure are part of an understandable humancoping mechanism in response to an abnormal event. I describe the exposure to trauma as an abnormal event since the memories one has of it are intrusive, inflicted, vivid and often delayed (Brison 2011). I shall argue that even if a trauma survivor meets the criteria, the costs of diagnosing them with a psychological disorder outweigh the benefits. This is shown by the failures of trauma therapy and specific trauma-related barriers to mental health service use. I start by noting the difference between PTSD and trauma, in which the epistemic and pragmatic reasons for and against PTSD diagnoses are also addressed. I then consider the epistemic reasons for a diagnosis in greater detail, to which I will present my argument in response. There is a general consensus that a diagnosis is required so that an individual can access appropriate treatment. I aim to show that individuals often qualify for the wrong treatment. Treatment is resultingly ineffective, as reflected by PTSD diagnoses in military personnel. Hence, I investigate the idea that a diagnosis doesn’t necessarily facilitate access to successful therapy, largely because of the DSM-5 and its disregard of trauma and symptom complexity.

Nevertheless, I recognise that diagnoses often help trauma survivors recover.

The PTSD diagnosis: merits and downsides

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The fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental disorders (DSM-5) sets out diagnostic criteria for PTSD. It begins with criterion A, describing the traumatic event as ‘exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence’ (American Psychiatric Association 2013). Criterion A is the only criterion to describe a traumatic event (albeit, very briefly). The remainder of the criteria lists the symptoms in the aftermath of trauma. For example, intrusion symptoms associated with the traumatic event after its occurrence, such as recurrent, involuntary and intrusive distressing memories or dreams of the event, or dissociative reactions like flashbacks. The trauma survivor is also likely to persistently avoid stimuli associated with the traumatic event.

Then, finally, the symptoms are ‘prolonged’ if they persist for longer than just one month (American Psychiatric Association 2013). PTSD thus refers to the symptoms that affect the survivor after the traumatic event. Indeed, this is the difference between trauma and PTSD. Trauma might be more of an elusive concept and without any diagnostic category. Such difference highlights the complexity of the issue since trauma is so difficult to empathise with, describe and understand, on top of ongoing interdisciplinary debates as to what determines a mental disorder (i.e. it’s unsurprising that trauma survivors experience similar symptoms to that of mental illnesses – should these amount to a ‘disorder’?).

Arguably, even provided a trauma survivor meets the diagnostic criteria, a PTSD diagnosis undermines the significant impact trauma has on an individual anyway. Moreover, it might undermine the diversity of traumatic experiences as I argue later.

The epistemic and pragmatic reasons ‘for’ or ‘against’ a PTSD diagnosis indicate some of the merits and downsides of diagnosing survivors with psychological illnesses. They comprise a very long list. I briefly discuss a few of these reasons below - whilst the pragmatic reasons concern the negative or positive consequences of a diagnosis, epistemic reasons are regarding whether a diagnosis is genuinely suitable.

Firstly, the pragmatic reasons why PTSD shouldn’t be diagnosed are as follows: • Consequences of a stigma, which a clinical diagnosis and ‘label’ exacerbates;

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• Credibility of the individual (e.g. in court1); • Negative impacts of the treatment after the diagnosis (i.e. trauma specific therapy such as CBT often involves the individual re-experiencing the traumatic event). This is important since treatment is often unsuccessful and dropout rates are consistently high – more personalised or tailored treatment is a potential suggestion.

Then, the epistemic reasons going ‘against’ a PTSD diagnosis are: • The very nature of trauma making any response/reaction understandable (i.e. a human coping mechanism). The symptoms are somewhat unsurprising, and possibly do not call for a clinical diagnosis; • The DSM-5 ‘prolonged’ period of one month, which isn’t a significant amount of time given the emotional turmoil of a traumatic event(s). Whether a month qualifies as ‘prolonged’ is questionable; • The symptoms of PTSD that overlap with multiple other mental disorders (this will be discussed later – although I argue that the costs of a diagnosis outweigh the benefits, I do not endorse or support this reason).

On the other hand, the fact that trauma survivors can access help and treatment following a diagnosis capable of describing (at least some of) their symptoms is the main pragmatic advantage. The fact trauma survivors often meet the diagnostic criteria for PTSD is the main epistemic reason for the diagnosis.

The merits of diagnosing trauma survivors with PTSD Epistemic reasons are ‘truth related'. If a trauma survivor meets the diagnostic criteria for PTSD, then this diagnosis is not only appropriate and fitting, but also in the best interest of the survivor since they can receive help (i.e. because it is true that the diagnostic criteria explains and describes their symptoms adequately). Epistemic reasons therefore lead to pragmatic reasons for a diagnosis here.

1

For more on the credibility issues faced by trauma survivors, see Brison, 2011.

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Historically, identifying the long-term effects of a traumatic event has been a difficult task that previous diagnoses such as war neurosis or shell shock had not been up to. This was the case until the Vietnam War disaster and the introduction of PTSD into the DSM as a result (Crocq 2000). PTSD is largely associated with the war’s legacy, since it can characterise the long-lasting effects of trauma exposure – it filled an important nosological gap (Rachel Yehuda and Alexander C. Mcfarlane 2009). Initially, however, the introduction and existence of PTSD had been controversial, particularly because of its symptoms that overlap with multiple other mental disorders. This is where I disagree. Although I am not questioning the existence of PTSD, its controversy and ‘overlapping nature’ possibly contribute to the downsides of its diagnosis. According to Rachel Yehuda and Alexander C. Mcfarlane (2009), the argument that symptom overlap calls the PTSD diagnosis into question simply ‘reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of the purpose of diagnostic categories – which is to organise symptoms around a common cause to effectively provide the needed intervention’. Yehuda and Mcfarlane raise a crucial point here. Indeed, overlapping to some extent seems an inevitable feature of diagnostic categories.

Unlike the so-called ‘normal’ or ‘natural’ human responses to stressful events, Yehuda and Mcfarlane add that PTSD implies a failure of homeostatic mechanisms involved in stress recovery. This means that PTSD sufferers are unable to recover as they might be expected to from the traumatic event(s). The fact that the long-term illness develops in only some trauma survivors strengthens their case. It means that trauma survivors should not be (and are not) always diagnosed with PTSD. Trauma exposure doesn’t imply PTSD. Instead, the diagnosis is only necessary when an individual ‘ticks all the boxes’, which means they have access to treatment and help accordingly. This is a major benefit (if not, the benefit) of diagnosing a trauma survivor with PTSD. A diagnosis makes it easier for the survivor to acquire professional help, and as it stands, any diagnosis is generally the first step when seeking and accessing treatment. A diagnosis directs treatment, and every psychological illness has its own set of treatment protocols. For this reason, if a trauma survivor meets the diagnostic criteria of PTSD, a diagnosis is of utmost importance. One can only imagine the alternative – a useless diagnosis without any help to recover after. The access to treatment post-diagnosis (as mentioned) might be the best thing about a PTSD diagnosis.

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Nevertheless, although the existence of PTSD is uncontroversial, the question going into DSM-5 regarding whether we can restructure a more precise diagnosis – with better treatment – remains. Yehuda and Mcfarlane (2009) conclude by stating that ‘once we acknowledge that PTSD is a specific type of response to trauma, many of the conceptual ‘problems’ related to refining Criterion A [of the DSM-5], bracket creep, or symptom overlap dissipate’. The PTSD diagnosis is on-target for many trauma survivors.

Above are some of the major advantages of a PTSD diagnosis, given that the survivor meets the diagnostic criteria. Firstly, PTSD can describe the long-lasting effects of trauma exposure, which has long been an issue with previous diagnoses such as shell shock. This is not to suggest that all trauma survivors should be diagnosed with PTSD, but it does benefit many who then have access to treatment. It is a diagnosis with the medical context being implicit, which of course is the objective in the first place.

Implications of a diagnosis: the downsides outweigh the merits A PTSD diagnosis can facilitate many survivors’ recoveries. I, by and large, do not object to this or deny this. However, I argue that the downsides of a diagnosis outweigh the merits, as shown by the failures of trauma therapy. On this view, diagnoses facilitate access to treatment, but the wrong kind (I am therefore not listing the issues with PTSD treatment, but the issues a PTSD diagnosis imposes).

Hereafter, I will examine the unsatisfying ‘one size fits all’ (Cloitre 2015) approach in PTSD which has detrimental impacts. For example, the ineffectiveness of treatment for combat-related PTSD. Marylene Cloitre (2015) asserts that trauma survivors diagnosed with PTSD (based on DSM-5 criteria) are gaining access to treatment non-inclusive of their collaboration, thus disregarding any individual preferences about treatment structure, process, or outcome. The result is a ‘one size fits all’ attitude towards PTSD and its treatment. Improvements in outcomes will be supported by recognition of the heterogeneity of symptoms in patient needs. This absolutely appears to be the case with war veterans, as I will argue.

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Firstly, patient preferences are essential. Traumatic events are diverse, as are the many unique ways trauma survivors deal with trauma exposure. As mentioned, the DSM-5 diagnostic criteria describe criteria for PTSD, not the traumatic event(s). So, the heterogeneity of trauma is not addressed in either the DSM-5 categories or the treatment that follows. A PTSD diagnosis merely aims at explaining the symptoms and long-lasting effects of trauma exposure yet fails to recognise the diversity (and thus distinctness) of the actual ‘trauma’. This means that trauma heterogeneity is also ignored in treatment, as reflected by a lack of collaboration with patients and poor treatment outcomes, like high relapse rates for instance.

I must note that it is true that the types of trauma treatments are diverse (i.e. ranging from talking therapy, over to EMDR, to body-focused and group therapy). Also, the therapy that is suitable for a patient is determined by a trained clinician with the individual’s circumstances considered. This is important to bear in mind, but unfortunately still doesn’t take away the ‘one size fits all’ slant. To give an instance, patient collaboration is rarely included in any treatment. It appears clinicians are choosing which box to squeeze a patient into concerning therapy, without their actual preferences taken into account. Patients don’t get to decide much, and the heterogeneity of trauma is thus ignored. Ineffective treatment after the PTSD diagnosis thus tends to follow.

This is evident particularly with combat-related PTSD diagnoses and the number of dropouts from the treatment that is part of their diagnosis. For example, a study found that out of 2,230 soldiers who received a PTSD diagnosis within 90 days of return from Afghanistan, 22% had only 1 mental health care visit and 41% received minimally adequate care (8 or more encounters in 12 months) (Hoge et al, 2014). Moreover, the same study revealed that out of 229 surveyed soldiers who screened positive for PTSD, 48% reported receiving mental health treatment in the prior 6 months at any health care facility. Out of those receiving treatment, the median number of visits in 6 months was 4; 22% had only 1 visit, 52% received minimally adequate care (4 or more visits in 6 months), and 24% dropped out of care. Worryingly, reported reasons for dropout included insufficient time with the mental health professional, treatment ineffectiveness, confidentiality concerns, discomfort with how the professional interacted, stigma, or work interference (Hoge et al, 2014). Of course, these statistics are particularly 28

concerning, and war veterans are a particular example. However, when asking if trauma survivors (who meet the PTSD diagnosis) should be diagnosed with PTSD, the answer – as shown by such astonishing numbers – points to no. This is to say that the PTSD diagnosis is clearly going wrong somewhere if (i) it is true that 52% of 2,230 soldiers diagnosed with the disorder received minimally adequate care; (ii) it is true that of those receiving treatment, the median number of visits in 6 months was only 4, or (iii) it is the case that ex-military personnel have reported ineffective treatment as a cause for dropout. This absolutely does not point to a successful diagnosis. Nor does it suggest that the PTSD diagnosis is entirely suitable for trauma survivors who meet the diagnostic criteria. But why? A diagnosis, as noted, is meant to facilitate treatment accordingly after all.

To answer, I must come back to the DSM-5. Here, all of the symptoms included in the PTSD diagnostic criteria come under a very broad description of PTSD and the ‘trauma’ experienced, despite substantial evidence for an increasing number of different types of trauma (trauma complexity) and symptoms (symptom complexity – the types of symptoms beyond PTSD) (Cloitre 2015). Indeed, there is now overwhelming evidence for an increasing number of trauma and symptom complexity. In several research studies, this might typically include emotion regulation difficulties, interpersonal difficulties or substance abuse problems, to name a few (Cloitre 2015). So, trauma can point to very different types of events that individuals react to differently. Hence, they experience very different types of symptoms far beyond those named in the DSM-5. It is thus a serious issue that the DSM-5 formulation has subsequently been described as resulting in ‘an excessively large number of mathematically possible ways by which individuals can be diagnosed with PTSD’ (Galatzer-Levy & Bryant 2013) because of failure to recognise trauma/symptom complexity. The number of different symptom profiles that can emerge under PTSD diagnoses are ‘heterogeneous beyond clinical value’ (Cloitre 2015). It is perhaps no wonder that the dropout rates are so high among military personnel if the only available diagnosis is not really a complete fit. Clearly, as I will continue to argue, the costs of a PTSD diagnosis are outweighing the merits. Potentially, this ‘cost’ above and alone outweighs any advantages since it presents a fundamental and underlying issue with the DSM-5 diagnostic criteria for PTSD.

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I previously took into account Yehuda and McFarlane’s (2009) argument, that ‘once we acknowledge that PTSD is a specific type of response to trauma, many of the conceptual ‘problems’ related to refining Criterion A [of the DSM-5], bracket creep, or symptom overlap dissipate’. I’d like to address this point again, that PTSD is a very particular kind of response to trauma exposure. Indeed, such a claim seems very well until the same label of PTSD is applied to trauma survivors with very diverse symptom profiles. The multiple ways in which trauma survivors (mathematically) can be diagnosed with PTSD undermine any specificity of the diagnosis in the first place. The conceptual problems don’t ‘dissipate’ after all, especially since it is the only well-recognised post-traumaspecific psychological illness. The diagnosis thus massively reduces the usefulness of the label as a means of recovery or understanding of their suffering (an example is ineffective treatment for combat-related PTSD, rarely tailored to the individual despite trauma/symptom complexity). It is unacceptable to have a diagnosis that absolutely everybody mathematically after trauma can be diagnosed with. It is especially unacceptable when dropout and relapse rates are high, with ineffective treatment often as a cause.

Trauma survivors qualify for the wrong diagnosis and the wrong treatment – this is a pressing issue. The ‘one size fits all’ approach that Cloitre (2015) suggests is to say, ‘one diagnosis fits all’. The DSM-5 criteria for PTSD are often unhelpful, where trauma and symptom complexity (i.e. the different types of trauma and symptoms) are ignored. An interesting suggestion is therefore either optimal treatment or treatment and help without the diagnosis requirement. Treatment for trauma exposure and the long-lasting effects it imposes might not need a specific diagnosis as we assume. In other words, trauma survivors don’t need to be squeezed into a box they don’t completely fit into, just to make treatment ‘easier’ and technically accessible. Also, no fixed diagnosis could very feasibly involve patient preference and pay attention to the diversity (heterogeneity) of trauma. Unfortunately, such discussion is of course beyond the scope of my essay.

Conclusion I have argued that the drawbacks of diagnosing trauma survivors with a psychological illness, namely PTSD (where they meet the DSM-5 diagnostic 30

criteria), outweigh the advantages. Notably, the DSM-5 criteria places lots of emphasis on the long-lasting effects of trauma exposure but pays little attention to the description of ‘trauma’. Hence, the DSM-5 has a bizarre way of acknowledging the heterogeneity (diversity) of trauma by not describing it, yet still lists the symptoms of the stress disorder after trauma exposure. Whether trauma survivors should be diagnosed with PTSD is a complex issue – as shown by the multiple pragmatic and epistemic reasons for and against (which reveal some of the advantages and disadvantages of the diagnosis). One of the major benefits of PTSD, for instance, is that it filled a significant ‘nosological gap’ (Yehuda and Mcfarlane 2009). Further, any clinical diagnosis directs and allows access to treatment. A diagnosis of PTSD results in trauma-specific treatment.

However, such ‘merits’ (accessible and specific treatment) are also the biggest weaknesses of a PTSD diagnosis and treatment. The general ‘one size fits al’ approach with the PTSD diagnosis proves to be a serious issue. Such an approach is a consequence of the oversimplified DSM-5 diagnostic criteria, which completely underestimates the diversity of trauma and symptoms, but still attempts to outline all symptoms of trauma exposure under one title. Effective PTSD treatment thus rarely follows through. Treatment reach for combat-related PTSD after deployment remains low to moderate, with a high percentage of soldiers not accessing care or not receiving adequate treatment (Hoge et al, 2014), thus reflecting the issue at stake.

Diagnosing trauma survivors with PTSD (even if they do meet the DSM-5 diagnostic criteria) therefore means taking on the very dangerous risk that they qualify for the wrong treatment. These downsides are particularly weighty. This seems to be common since there are so many ways in which one can be diagnosed with PTSD under the DSM-5 criteria. This criteria simply disregards or misunderstands the different types of trauma and symptoms, all of which fall under the PTSD name. I have briefly mentioned the prospect of trauma survivors receiving treatment and help without a diagnosis. In summary, with the detrimental impacts of the diagnosis in mind, in weighing up the merits and downsides of diagnosing trauma survivors with PTSD, the downsides take precedence over any merits.

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Bibliography American Psychiatric Association (2013). Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th edn. Arlington: American Psychiatric Association.

Brison, S. (2011). Aftermath. Princeton: Princeton University Press, pp.1-124.

Child Welfare Information Gateway. (2018). Trauma-focused cognitive behavioral therapy: A primer for child welfare professionals. Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, Children’s Bureau.

Cloitre, M. (2015). The “one size fits all” approach to trauma treatment: should we be satisfied?. European Journal of Psychotraumatology, 6 (1): 27344.

Crocq, M. (2000). From shell shock and war neurosis to posttraumatic stress disorder: a history of psychotraumatology. Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, 2 (1): 47-55.

Galatzer-Levy, I. and Bryant, R. (2013). 636,120 Ways to Have Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 8 (6): 651-662.

Hoge, C., Grossman, S., Auchterlonie, J., Riviere, L., Milliken, C. and Wilk, J. (2014). PTSD Treatment for Soldiers After Combat Deployment: Low Utilization of Mental Health Care and Reasons for Dropout. Psychiatric Services, 65 (8): 997-1004.

Rachel Yehuda, P. and Alexander C. Mcfarlane, M. (2009). PTSD Is a Valid Diagnosis: Who Benefits From Challenging Its Existence?. Psychiatric Times, https://www.psychiatrictimes.com/view/ptsd-valid-diagnosis-who-benefitschallenging-its-existence. Accessed 6 April 2021.

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Trauma, self-narratives, and the relational self Maisie Jones is a third-year undergraduate student studying single honours philosophy at the University of York Maisie.jones@ymail.com

In this essay, I will argue that Brison is right that the self is essentially relational.

I will do so by supporting her view that narratives are an essential component of the self, subsequently arguing that narratives rely on empathetic listeners and thus that the self is essentially relational. In her book ‘Aftermath’ Brison discusses her views on what the self consists of, favouring more recent feminist accounts of the self. Feminist accounts of the self argue that the self is formed in relation to others and is sustained in a social context, unlike individualistic traditional accounts of the self, such as Locke’s, which argue that the self can exist by itself and thus that each self is individual without being reliant on the existence of other selves for meaning. Oppositely, a relational view of the self holds that the self only exists in relation to others, e.g. it requires the existence and perception of other selves.

Brison argues for a view of the self where the embodied self (the view that the self can be identified by our physical bodies), self-narratives (the stories we and others tell about our lives), and the autonomous self (the view that the self consists in our autonomous agency and free will) are all components of the self as a whole.

She points to the experiences of trauma survivors to support her argument.

Towards the end of this essay, I will consider Locke’s individualistic account of the self as an objection to Brison’s relational view. However, I will come to the conclusion that this objection fails due to the unacceptable implications that Locke’s account of the self has on personal identity for trauma survivors.

In ‘Aftermath’, Brison argues that experiencing interpersonal trauma “severs the sustaining connection between the self and the rest of humanity” (Brison 2002: 40). Brison, therefore, believes that by studying the experiences of those who have been victims of interpersonal trauma, we can learn vital information about what the self consists of since she claims that they can reveal the self’s relational 33

nature. She argues that if one no longer holds the belief that they can be oneself in relation to others, then “one can no longer be oneself even to oneself, since the self exists fundamentally in relation to others” (Brison 2002: 40). Brison argues this as she holds that trauma survivors’ experiences reveal the fundamental role that self-narratives have on the self, and that narratives are essentially relational.

I will begin by looking at what narratives are and how trauma survivors’ experiences and recovery reveal their important role as a component of the self. I will then go on to demonstrate how narratives rely on the existence of active listeners and how the psychological pressures on others of listening to narratives can affect trauma survivor’s recovery. Finally, I will discuss how cultural memory of trauma demonstrates the relational nature of narratives.

In order to argue that the self is essentially relational, we must first establish what the self consists of. One component that, according to Brison, contributes to the self is our life narratives. Narratives are ongoing and constantly developing stories about individuals’ lives, which can include memories of past events or significant decisions that one has experienced. These narratives allow our present self to identify with our past self as well as our imagined future self. Narratives are therefore integral to our ability to understand our lives and our identity since they allow us to see how our past decisions, events, and actions led to our current present and how our current selves’ decisions will lead us to our intended future.

For example, if I intend to be a doctor in the future, I may remember the past event that made me want to practice medicine and how this event led to my current reality of studying medicine at university. I am then able to envision the path I will take in the future to officially become a doctor. These narratives, it is argued, are what allow us to persist through time (i.e. what makes me in the present, me in September 2006 the same me in January 2022), and thus they are an essential component of the self.

It can therefore be argued that if our narratives are interrupted or can no longer continue, we then cease to have a sense of self or belonging in the world as we no longer associate with our past self and no longer have any vision for the future.

“According to Rawls the ‘possession of a rational plan of life’ is essential to personhood” (Brison 2002: 52), and it is our narratives that allow us to have an intended plan of life. Brison demonstrates the significance of the role that narratives have on the self by discussing the experiences of trauma survivors. By 34

looking at these experiences, we can see the impact that a lost narrative can have on the self and how re-constructing one’s narrative is essential to recovery as they allow survivors to re-establish a sense of self and a sense of belonging in the world.

Those who have experienced trauma, particularly interpersonal trauma such as sexual assault or torture, experience what is known as narrative foreclosure.

Narrative foreclosure is the experience of feeling as though one’s life has come to an end, as there can be no anticipation of anything meaningful occurring in the future. Brison describes this experience as feeling “as though I’d somehow outlived myself” (Brison 2002: 9). The survivors narrative ceases to exist as the traumatic experience undermines every fundamental belief the survivor once held about the world, making them question everything they took to be true. This means they can no longer relate to their past, pre-trauma self. Their behaviour, attitudes and beliefs have been radically changed by this experience. Not only this, when someone experiences such an event, they feel as though they’ve been reduced from being a human being to a mere object at the disposal of others. This not only reveals the relational nature of the self by demonstrating that it can be destroyed by others, but it also explains why survivors struggle to hold a life narrative. They may no longer feel that they are a human being in their own right, and so cannot possibly have a life narrative. On top of this, survivors may lack the motivation to re-build an ongoing narrative due to the fact that “one’s memories of an earlier life are lost, along with the ability to envision a future, one’s basic cognitive and emotional capacities are gone or altered” (Brison 2002: 49).

However, given that narratives are such an essential component of the self, it is vital that trauma survivors attempt to rebuild a narrative that integrates the traumatic memory into their life stories. By creating a narrative of what happened, the trauma survivor can piece together a clearer image of what happened to them, how it made them feel both physically and psychologically and what this means for them as individuals. This ultimately helps the survivor accept what has happened to them, which can then enable them to make attempts to move on from this event. Integrating the traumatic event into their narrative allows the survivors to see that there is a before and after, and that their lives can continue. However, trauma survivors rely heavily on others to rebuild this narrative and their sense of 35

self. In the next part of this essay, I will look at how trauma survivor’s recovery and the phenomenon of cultural memory demonstrate the relational nature of the narrative self.

The narrative self’s relational nature can be demonstrated by looking at why trauma survivors may struggle to form self-narratives. According to Brison, one reason that trauma survivors struggle to re-construct these narratives is due to other people being unwilling to listen to their stories of such events. “In order to construct self-narratives, we need not only the words with which to tell our stories but also an audience able and willing to hear us and to understand our stories as we intend them” (Brison 2002: 51). The reason that empathetic listeners are so vital in the telling of one’s narrative is because other individuals are what give our stories meaning and real existence in the world. By telling other human beings our stories, we validate and give meaning to our experiences. Therefore, if others deny the reality of what happened, or do not truly try to understand what the survivor has gone through, the traumatic events meaning and weight on the survivor is belittled. Consequently, the survivor may feel defeated. This is an issue that trauma survivors are frequently met with. Many people are unwilling to listen to the experiences and stories that trauma survivors wish to externalise due to the intense psychological pressures that these stories can have on listeners.

By listening to and accepting the experiences of survivors, people are accepting that such an event could happen to them or someone they love. Brison describes how after her own attack, many of her friends and family would be in denial when she told them the story of what happened, and she was met with “attempts to explain the assault in ways that leave the observers’ world unscathed” (Brison 2002: 9). While we are aware that horrific things happen to people around the world every day, we do not believe that we or someone we love will be a victim.

Listening to the narratives of trauma survivors forces us to face the reality that we are no safer from such trauma than the individual telling the story. In order to really accept what they are trying to say, we must abandon the psychological safety mechanism we have adopted that tells us, “but this could never happen to you”. However, this is something that many people are reluctant to do, consciously or unconsciously, making it difficult for trauma survivors to construct a narrative and integrate the traumatic event into their life story.

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This does not only occur on an individual basis; we can see that cultural repression of traumatic events, such as slavery in the United States, can result from fear of empathising with victims and acknowledging testimonies. This is due to the fact it forces us to accept the lack of control we have over our own fate.

As Brison states, “we live with the unbearable by pressuring those who have been traumatised to forget and by rejecting the testimonies of those who have been forced by fate to remember” (Brison 2002: 57). For example, we see how in America, the effects of slavery and the subsequent lack of social mobility on African Americans has been repeatedly belittled. This is due to the fact those unaffected by racial prejudice find it hard to listen to and empathise with such stories, as this requires acceptance and comprehension of the lasting impact that slavery maintains. Therefore, the reliance of narratives on empathetic listeners portrayed through such examples truly demonstrates the relational nature of the self.

Another way we can demonstrate the relational nature of the narrative self is by looking at cultural memory. Brison argues that “one’s cultural heritage, can determine to a large extent the way in which an event is remembered and retold, and may even lead one to respond as though one remembered what one did not in fact experience” (Brison 2002: 54). Large scale cultural trauma can influence future generations, ultimately impacting identity. One example of where we can see the effects of large-scale cultural trauma is by looking at current Israeli generations. Mass migration of displaced Jewish refugees to the new sovereign state of Israel post World War II has had a significant cultural effect on Israeli identity even to this day. Current Israeli generations were bought up on stories of how their ancestors were persecuted purely for their religious views; these same religious views that contribute to such a significant degree of their own identities.

This has resulted in such a profound effect on cultural identity that current generations integrate these stories into their own narratives so many decades later.

This demonstrates the impact that the stories we are told by others about ourselves and the groups we identify with have upon our own narratives and the way we view ourselves and our identities.

However, having argued that the self is relational, many traditional accounts of the self are individualistic views. Locke’s view of personal identity can be seen as an objection to Brison’s view that the self is essentially relational. In ‘An Essay 37

Concerning Human understanding’, Locke argues that what makes a person at one time the same person at another time is simply the same consciousness.

Therefore, he argues for a psychological continuity view of the self. This means that someone is the same person now as they were at a point in the past if they have the same thoughts and memories. While there are definitely some similarities between Locke’s view of the self and the narrative self, there is a key difference; the narrative self is inherently reliant on others as we need active listeners to our stories, meaning that the self cannot exist without others to be a witness to these narratives. Oppositely, Locke’s individualistic account of the self argues that the self can exist without the need of others. However, this view has some problematic implications. We see that in the aftermath of trauma, survivors can experience the loss of memory and cognitive abilities, which according to Locke, would mean that they experienced an end to their personal identity. If the self consists purely in consciousness and psychological continuity, then trauma survivors are no longer the same self in the aftermath of their trauma as the self they were before the traumatic event. While many trauma survivors report feeling as though they have outlived themselves, these feelings are significantly decreased when they begin to recover, especially through re-establishing narratives. Through re-establishing these narratives, survivors are able to work the traumatic event into a life story that has a before and after, looking to a meaningful future. While this narrative may be slightly different from the one that the individual had pre-trauma, there are many events in life that may cause us to alter our narratives, especially with regard to the future. I do not think that it is accurate for an account of the self to suggest that survivors of trauma are completely different selves from their pre-trauma selves. I, therefore, must argue that Locke’s individualistic view of personal identity is not a successful objection to Brison’s relational view of the self.

In conclusion, Brison is right that the self is essentially relational. This is due to the fact narratives are an essential component of the self, and narratives are inherently relational, only gaining meaning in relation to external listeners. As I have argued, Brison successfully uses the experiences of trauma survivors to demonstrate the fundamentally relational nature of the self, establishing how survivors can only recover and rebuild a sense of self with the help of empathetic listeners. Not only this, but we can reject Locke’s account of personal identity as 38

an objection to Brison’s relational view of the self due to its unacceptable implications for trauma survivors. For these reasons, Brison is right that the self is essentially relational.

Bibliography Brison, S.J. (2002). Aftermath: Violence and the remaking of a self. Princeton University Press.

Locke, J. (2004). ‘An Essay Concerning Human Understanding’, Book II Chapter 27, Early Modern Texts.

Olson, Eric T., (Spring 2021 Edition). "Personal Identity", The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Edward N. Zalta (ed.), URL = <https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2021/entries/identity-personal/>.

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Belatedness and the style of anticipation: does trauma have any essential features?

John Forte is a third-year undergraduate student at the University of York studying single subject philosophy - john.forte97@gmail.com In this essay, I will be analysing what Seeburger means by “belatedness” and arguing why it is not an essential feature of trauma. To do this, I will first reflect on the work of Seeburger in his paper ‘The Trauma of Philosophy’ and the philosophical implications of belatedness as an essential feature of trauma. After this, I will refer to the work of Susan Brison’s ‘Aftermath’ to first provide a criticism of belatedness as an essential feature of trauma. While belatedness can be part of a discussion about the effect of trauma on a sense of temporality, it is still not an essential feature of trauma. After I have shown how belatedness is not an essential feature of trauma, I will explore the work of Mathew Ratcliffe, who provides a theory of trauma whereby most, if not all, manifestations of trauma can be seen as a loss of trust in the world and a change in one’s style of anticipation. With an understanding of how trauma can be seen as a loss of trust in the world, one can see how there are no essential features of trauma.

Belatedness, like general paranoia, are different manifestations of a loss of trust caused by trauma but are not essential features of trauma.

What does Seeburger mean by ‘belatedness’?

To discuss the implications of belatedness in regard to trauma, one must understand the concept itself. I will give an overview of what Seeburger means by belatedness and how it relates to trauma, and how it relates to trauma's effect on one's sense of temporality. In this section of Seeburger's paper, he is not only providing a strict account of belatedness, but also gives a more general account of trauma's effect on temporality. To begin with, Seeburger gives a brief account of the etymology of the word "trauma". Before the 1890s, the term trauma was used to describe physical wounds. For example, there are trauma sections in most hospitals that are equipped with staff and machinery that will help specifically treat patients with serious physical trauma. However, with the development of 40

psychoanalysis and philosophical inquiry, the term trauma began to encapsulate both physical and psychological wounds. Seeburger gives the example of railroad workers in the 1890s who had been involved in accidents at work and, although not having experienced physical injuries, filed lawsuits against the company when they experienced psychological disturbances after the incident. This "belated manifestation" (Seeburger 2016: 166) of the psychological damage that the rail workers experienced is what Seeburger sees as evidence for the shift from trauma only denoting physical injuries to our modern understanding of the term to include both physical and psychological wounds.

The development of trauma with psychological wounds was, according to Seeburger, first seen in the work of Freud. Belatedness, as Seeburger uses the term, is taken from the Freudian term "nachträglichkeit", which refers to the English term "delayed action" or "deferred action". Thus, Seeburger has shown how modern writing on the term trauma has a connection with this notion of a delayed effect. After Seeburger has given a brief overview of how trauma became associated with belatedness, he goes a step further and defines trauma as only that which is registered belatedly. For example, Seeburger gives the example of an earthquake to capture the belated nature of trauma: "what sets trauma apart might be captured by saying that trauma is like an earthquake that does not 'register' at all when it first strikes, even on the most sensitive equipment, but that it registers only later. Trauma is just such a shock that manages to register only belatedly, in its aftershocks."

(Seeburger, 2016: 167) This example makes clear Seeburger's view that trauma is only that which follows a belated timeline. In other words, the recognition of the traumatic event can only come to the individual after the event. For instance, trauma would be like the solution to a challenging mathematics puzzle coming to one after they have spent time away from the puzzle.

After defining belatedness as only that which can be registered "in its aftershocks" (Seeburger 2016: 167), Seeburger goes on to give a more general account of how belatedness can challenge our traditional understanding of temporality. As it is traditionally understood, time is made up of three different components: past, present and future. When time passes, we can adequately contextualise the past 41

and understand what is happening to us. As a result, one can only move on after one has understood (contextualised) the event happening to them. However, Seeburger quotes Laplanche and Pontalis in his next section on excessiveness, stating that traumatic memory is "impossible in the first instance to incorporate fully into a meaningful context" (Laplanche & Pontalis 1973: 112). Thus, Seeburger argues that when one cannot assimilate this traumatic experience into a "meaningful context", the normal flow of time is broken down. The past is manipulated in a way whereby the past revisits the present, stopping the process of adequate contextualisation of the past, as seen in examples of flashbacks.

Seeburger notes how the "temporality proper to trauma" is one where the past is not finished because it is yet to be appropriately contextualised (Seeburger 2016: 167). For example, Brison comments on how traumatic memories change the standard conception of temporality, how "the past reaches into the present and throttles desire before it can become directed towards the future" (Brison 2002: 96). This quote, along with Seeburger's work, shows how belatedness can be seen as a common feature in some cases of trauma.

Is belatedness an essential feature of trauma?

I will now begin to address the second part of the question and answer whether belatedness is an essential feature of trauma. From the outset, I want to state that I do not believe there are any essential features of trauma because trauma is an elusive and subjective concept that cannot be pinned down to a set of necessary features. However, if I were to state there was anything close to an essential feature of trauma, it would be a loss of trust and what I will later refer to as erosion of one's "style of anticipation" or a sense of being in the world. Thus, belatedness and a general change in one’s sense of temporality can enter into trauma as a loss of trust, but it is not an essential feature of trauma.

The main problem I have with Seeburger's outline of belatedness is his example of the earthquake, which I quoted above. According to this example, trauma can only be registered belatedly and cannot be contextualised immediately. There are many examples of trauma victims only realising their trauma after the event.

Trauma can produce flashbacks, for example - “I experienced moments of reprieve from vivid and terrifying flashbacks” (Brison 2002: 54). However, to state that trauma is only what fits within a belated timeline drastically limits the 42

scope of trauma. If we grant that belatedness, as Seeburger defines it, as essential to trauma, then those who experience and understand their trauma immediately would not be counted as going through or having trauma.

In Brison's first-person account of her traumatic experience, there is evidence for trauma being contextualised immediately and not belatedly. She states: “After the first murder attempt, I experience the 'assault as torture – resulting in murder’… There was even a moment of relieved recognition when my assailant began sexually assaulting me. 'Okay, I see, this makes (some) sense’" (Brison 2002: 88) Here Brison is recounting her experience of rape and attempted murder. Brison talks about how during the event, she tries to fit the act within a “genre with which I was familiar” (2002: 88). Brison is still able to grasp the impact of her trauma as it is happening to her. Moreover, while Brison is able to contextualise her trauma immediately, she does have flashbacks (Brison 2002: 54) which shows that although she did not register the initial shock belatedly, she still experiences the belatedness of trauma, further putting into question Seeburger’s earthquake example. In short, Brison is experiencing the earthquake's tremors as they happen, not belatedly. The point here is that trauma does not have any essential features, and how trauma can present itself in the individual is varied. While some may experience a change in their ability to contextualise their sense of temporality, others may experience a loss of trust in their body but still not experience any features of belatedness mentioned.

Arguably, the initial incident and the emotions experienced at the time cannot be ruled out of a philosophical study of trauma. If one considers a stone being dropped into a pool of water, the initial incident is the splash of the stone breaking the surface, which could be considered the experience that triggered trauma. The ever-expanding circle of waves that radiate from the epicentre can be seen as the resulting belated trauma. For Seeburger to state that belatedness is essential in the definition of trauma is to take away from the impact itself. Although one may not be able to anticipate the reach of the disruption caused by the stone hitting the water, it does not mean that the trauma is only understood belatedly.

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However, it should be noted that Brison's work does not necessarily rule out belatedness as a feature of some accounts of trauma. For example, she explains how traumatic memories can be categorised as "delayed (occurring, or at any rate capable of occurring, long after the precipitating event" (Brison 2002: 69).

Furthermore, Brison states how "the primary effects of trauma emphasised the loss of control and disintegration of the (formerly coherent) self." (Brison 2002: 103). Here, Brison outlines the main product of trauma as a loss of control, a loss of one's previous feeling of integration in the world, and this loss of control can manifest itself belatedly or in a range of other ways. For example, Brison states how "the most serious harms of trauma is that loss of control" and how she dealt with this loss of control by cutting her hair short to hopefully be "mistaken for a man" (Brison 2002: 46, 74).

Trauma as a loss of trust As it has been shown, belatedness is not an essential feature of trauma. For instance, Brison can contextualise her trauma as it happened to her. Nevertheless, Brison still presents common features of trauma, especially how her "…most fundamental assumption about the world" (Brison 2002: 26) had been undermined. As I have stated above, I do not believe that belatedness is an essential feature of trauma; I believe that it is a common feature of trauma. Thus, if belatedness is not an essential feature of trauma, how can we understand it and other features of trauma? Ratcliffe's paper "What is a 'sense of a foreshortened future" explains how trauma can change one's perception of time, specifically a grasp of a meaningful future. I believe that Ratcliffe's paper offers a better philosophical understanding of how trauma is a loss of trust and that there are no essential features of this loss of trust. Instead, there are just different features that are manifestations of this loss.

As mentioned, Ratcliffe suggests that trauma can result in an "erosion" of one's style of anticipation (Ratcliffe 2014: 4, 7), an implicit and habitual trust in the world. This anticipatory style cannot be captured by a propositional attitude, such as "I am safe in this world"; instead, it exists prior to (pre-reflectively) the propositional – something I would call a sense of being. This erosion in one's style of anticipation changes the way one perceives and engages with the world,

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and in turn, one's sense of the possible. As a result, one’s grasp of temporality is radically altered.

Ratcliffe, like Seeburger, notes how a change in the sense of the possible (or trust in the world) can result in the traumatic event not being contextualised in a way that allows for the past to pass (Ratcliffe 2014: 8). Therefore, this inability to adequality contextualise the traumatic event can result in changes in the sense of temporality. Ratcliffe notes how the "kind of trust required to move on has been lost" (Ratcliffe 2014: 8), meaning that the normal sense of trust in the world is no longer there to help contextualise the world. Therefore, with this erosion of one's style of anticipation comes the inability to adequately contextualise the traumatic event in a way that will re-establish one’s habitual trust in the world and oneself.

This striving for habitual trust is what I believe is at the core of many common features in trauma. For example, paranoia, delusions and a change in temporality are attempts to find a sense of trust that was taken away by the traumatic event.

However, while these features of trauma can appear often, I do not believe that they are essential features. Instead, I will grant that trauma is a change in one's style of anticipation (or sense of being) and that all features of this change are just manifestations of a loss of trust.

Moreover, while I believe that a change in an anticipatory style, or more specifically, a loss of trust in the world, can represent certain features of trauma, this erosion of trust can manifest itself in several ways. For example, while someone like Brison did not experience the belated aftershocks of trauma as Seeburger outlined them, she does undoubtedly go through trauma and does experience a general loss of trust that goes beyond the propositional. For example, she states how "trauma shatters one's most fundamental assumptions about the world" (Brison 2002, xii). Therefore, Ratcliffe has provided an account of trauma that better represents the broad scope of traumatic experiences, and while this notion of trauma and its relation to trust can accommodate Seeburger's belatedness, it does not make it essential.

Conclusion As it has been shown, belatedness is not an essential feature of trauma but is instead a general feature of trauma that arises from a loss of trust in the world.

After outlining Seeburger’s account of belatedness, I provided a clear criticism 45

of it by referring to Brison’s first-person account of a traumatic experience. After highlighting this issue, I went on to show how belatedness and all features of trauma are more likely an expression of a loss of trust in the world. Belatedness is a feature of trauma whereby one loses the ability to contextualise the past events of trauma. This loss of confidence in one’s perception of events relates to the overall theme of trauma being a loss of habitual trust in the world. Nevertheless, belatedness does not need to be present for something to be regarded as traumatic.

Thus, trauma cannot be defined by a set of essential features; however, if it were to have any feature, it would be a loss of trust in the world, which can be represented by a myriad of non-essential features, including belatedness.

Bibliography Brison, S. (2002). Aftermath. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Laplanche, J. and Pontalis, J. (1973). Language of Psychoanalysis. New York: W. W. Norton & Company.

Ratcliffe, M., Ruddell, M. and Smith, B. (2014). ‘What is a "sense of foreshortened future?" A phenomenological study of trauma, trust, and time’. Frontiers in Psychology, 5.

Seeburger, F., Ataria, Y., Gurevitz, D., Pedaya, H. and Neira, Y. (2016). Interdisciplinary Handbook of Trauma and Culture. 1st ed. Springer: 163-179.

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Interview with Lillian Wilde Lillian Wilde is a PhD candidate at the University of York, working on a phenomenological account of post-traumatic experience with a focus on intersubjectivity. She is a Graduate Teaching Assistant in the Department of Philosophy at the University of York and has taught a second-year module on ‘Trauma & Philosophy’, which is the focus of this edition.

She holds an MA from the University of Copenhagen. Her publications explore different aspects of trauma, ranging from the lived experience of psychological trauma1 to discussions of how culture influences one’s experience of trauma2 to the ways in which empathy may be affected in individuals suffering from PTSD34.

Could you briefly discuss some of your main theories and ideas in order to introduce our readers to your work within this area of philosophy?

I am currently in the final stages of writing my Ph.D. dissertation on the phenomenology of post-traumatic experiences. Phenomenology is a philosophical tradition that engages with the structures of human experience, with the way in which people perceive and experience themselves, other people, and the world around them. I find it particularly interesting how these experiences can be impacted—and indeed, may be fundamentally changed—through trauma.

1

Wilde, L. (2021). “Trauma: Phenomenological Causality and Implication”. Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences. 10.1007/s11097-020-09725-8.

2 Wilde, L. (2020). Trauma Across Cultures: Cultural Dimensions of the Phenomenology of Post-Traumatic Experiences. 10.17454/pam-1816.

3 Wilde, L. (2019). “Trauma and intersubjectivity: the phenomenology of empathy in PTSD”. Medicine, Health Care and Philosophy. 22. 10.1007/s11019-018-9854-x.

4

Wilde, L. (2021). Commentary on "The Empathic Migrant".

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When we look at trauma literature more broadly speaking, we find that there is a tendency to focus on rather technical debates on the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and the neurochemical and hormonal imbalances underlying them. While these debates are fascinating and find application in the development of pharmacological treatment, I think they leave out two very important aspects of trauma and posttraumatic experience: first, not all traumatising events lead to a psychological disorder (of which PTSD is only one in any case—many people who experience a trauma suffer from depression or anxiety in its aftermath); and secondly, trauma does not affect the individual alone but often has very significant consequences for the way in which a person experiences their place in the social world. This can express itself in a variety of ways: Trauma can alter how others are experienced, e.g., whether an approaching stranger is seen as friendly or as threatening. This connects to some interesting philosophical questions: can we directly perceive another’s state of mind, and if so, how? Can we know what the other is experiencing? And does trauma make us more or less able to do so? (I have written about this in “Trauma and Intersubjectivity: the phenomenology of empathy in PTSD” which appeared in Medicine, Healthcare and Philosophy in 2019.)

Trauma also impacts on one’s relationships with others and the way these are experienced. Do I feel a sense of kinship with others? When do I feel that I belong to a social group? Why might I cease to feel understood, and can this explain why so many people suffer from a sense of alienation after experiencing a traumatising event? (Some of my thoughts on this are forthcoming in the journal Psychopathology under the title “Background Feelings of Belonging and Psychological Trauma” in November 2021.)

And finally, trauma can have an impact on the way in which we make sense of the world we live in. Trauma is often described as ‘not making any sense’. The philosophically interesting question here is: how do we make sense of things? Is there such a thing as ‘common sense’, and if so, why does it suddenly seem so important when we feel out of touch with it? These are the questions that currently keep me up at night.

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Trauma and Philosophy is a newly emerging topic in philosophical discourse.

What would you say regarding the significance and importance of this subject? Is there a particular goal to the philosophical study of trauma and, if so, what is that goal?

I don’t think there is a particular goal to the philosophical study of trauma. But I do think that there are two central motivations to engage with trauma from a philosophical point of view. One is to better understand trauma: why do certain experiences leave us so deeply disturbed, and how can we best support those who are suffering in the aftermath of trauma? Secondly, I think that traumatic experiences can teach us a lot about human experience in general: engaging with trauma brings to light our fundamental vulnerability to be impacted by life events; it highlights the importance of social relations and narratives for the individual; the role the body plays in our experience; the way in which we experience time; how we remember; etc. So, I think the question regarding the significance of a philosophical engagement with trauma cannot be answered without thinking about the importance of philosophy.

Do you think that philosophical analysis with relation to trauma will have an impact on other disciplines and areas of study that also deal with this subject matter, such as medicine and psychology? If so, what do you think that effect will be?

Psychologists researching post-traumatic experiences already rely on theories developed by philosophers. For example, studies evaluating the empathic skills of patients with PTSD draw on theories of empathy developed by, or in collaboration with, philosophers. A philosophical engagement specifically targeting experiences of trauma can inform psychological trauma research more explicitly and directly. It can, for example, highlight the importance of engaging with post-traumatic experiences that do not fall within the boundaries of PTSD. It can also offer explanations of structures of experience impacted by trauma that have remained, so to say, under the radar of psychological investigation. For example, the absence of background feelings of belonging might form part of an explanation of the feelings of alienation frequently reported in the aftermath of trauma. To understand how, we can investigate what ‘background feelings of belonging’ are, and in how far they are vulnerable to traumatic experiences.

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A philosophy of trauma can also add to debates in other disciplines, such as contemporary political discourse. Think of the refugee question, for example: having an in-depth understanding of the trauma of displacement can inform political practice by providing the grounds and arguments for, e.g., offering widespread mental health support for refugees. Of course, this is just one of many examples.

So, I think it is not only possible but also important for philosophical discourse to have an impact on other disciplines. Philosophy has the tools to develop and explain concepts, theories, and hypotheses; psychology and cognitive science can test these hypotheses in empirical studies. The results, in turn, need to be interpreted, again requiring the analytical methods and theories developed by philosophy, and can then be applied, for example in the development and improvement of treatment methods, therapeutic education, and even political discourse. In this way, philosophy provides both the foundation and even some of the building blocks for empirical health research as well as debates in other disciplines. A philosophy of trauma has the potential to do so in a more targeted way and thereby contribute to a better understanding not only of post-traumatic experiences but of “normal” (read: undisturbed) human experience, too.

How do you see Trauma and Philosophy evolve as a subject of philosophical discourse in the future?

Not only can philosophy inform trauma discourse in other disciplines; engaging with experiences of trauma can be just as informative for philosophy. You could call it a relationship of mutual enlightenment. Engaging with the ways in which trauma can impact on human experience teaches us something about life in general. I think that engaging with trauma can inspire debates in a wide variety of philosophical disciplines, not only in phenomenology and philosophy of mind, but also in political philosophy, ethics, and epistemology, just to name a few. The seminar discussions we had as part of the Trauma and Philosophy module at the University of York in Spring 2021 really demonstrated this, and the essays that are part of this Special Issue (which were all submitted as assignments for the module) are great examples of philosophical work inspired by an engagement with trauma. I hope that we will see this sub-discipline develop further in the

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future. I am convinced that it will result in a range of very interesting and relevant philosophical and interdisciplinary work.

Given the sensitive themes and topics that Trauma and Philosophy deals with, do you think that there is (or that there should be) a particular approach to the way philosophers study, discuss and present their theories about trauma?

Especially when philosophising about such sensitive topics as trauma, I think we should not forget that the subjects of our theorizing are real people with real experiences. Unfortunately, trauma is quite a common experience. So, when I present my research, I always try to remember that some of my readers or listeners will have experienced a trauma themselves. I do not want to pretend that I know more about their experience than they do! I hope that by pointing out certain tendencies and underlying structures of experience, I can perhaps contribute to making those with a history of trauma feel a little better understood.

Moreover, I think it is important to keep in mind that experiences of trauma differ widely: the same kind of event can be experienced in many different ways by different individuals, as traumatic for some but not for all. The same holds true for how the aftermath of trauma is experienced. This is something we should not forget when studying trauma and when discussing and presenting our philosophical thoughts on the topic. We need to take care not to overgeneralise.

So, while I try to identify common themes in the experience of trauma in my research, and I argue for ways in which structures of experience may be impacted by trauma, I always try to emphasise that these arguments are not meant as generalisations that apply equally to all experiences of trauma. They are common (but not universal) alterations of experience that may (but do not necessarily) follow from the experience of trauma.

Finally, given that the philosophical study of trauma is a relatively new topic of philosophical discussion, those interested in knowing more may not know where to start their reading. What do you suggest people read as a good introduction to Trauma and Philosophy?

This is a hard question that emphasises how much more work there is to be done in this discipline. We do not have an Oxford Handbook of Trauma and 51

Philosophy—yet! In the meantime, I think that Susan Brison’s work Aftermath can serve as a good starting point for those interested in Trauma and Philosophy.

It engages with trauma from a very personal perspective but, at the same time, highlights a variety of philosophically very interesting topics that trauma prompts us to engage with. It is also the work that we focused on in our module on Trauma and Philosophy and which resulted—besides many engaging conversations during our seminars and an impressive range of really fantastic final essays—in the five outstanding articles published in this special issue of Dialectic. I can wholeheartedly recommend reading all of them! Also, if you already have some experience reading philosophical texts, you might be interested in Robert D. Stolorow’s work, who takes a more existentialist perspective on the topic. And if you are interested in phenomenology, I can recommend Ratcliffe, Ruddell, and Smith’s paper “What is a ‘sense of foreshortened future?’ A phenomenological study of trauma, trust, and time,” which appeared in Frontiers in Philosophy in 2014.

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