Irina Sirotkina

The politics of etiology: shell shock in the Russian army, 1914-1918

Madness and the Mad in Russian Culture. Ed. by Angela Brintlinger & Ilya Vinitsky. Toronto: U. of Toronto Press, 2007. P. 117-129.
Recent work by Western historians has substantially expanded our knowledge of psychiatry in the First World War. Contrary to the previous view that the war did not alter psychiatric theories, these studies demonstrate that psychiatry came out of the war changed. Firstly, psychiatry firmly established itself as a specialty within war medicine. Secondly, post-war discussions around what had initially been diagnosed as “shell shock” facilitated the entrance into psychiatry of the category “psychoneurosis,” the idea that mental illness can have a psychological origin, and of psychotherapy.

Compared with studies of war psychiatry in Britain, France, and Germany, the Russian story remains untold. Although the first articles are appearing, nobody, to my knowledge, has undertaken a comparison of wartime psychiatry in Russia and in the West. It hardly needs mentioning that Russia’s psychiatry was part of world developments and never existed in isolation. And yet, differences between Russia and the West existed. This paper examines how Russia handled psychiatric casualties during the First World War, and it relates the differences from western experience to the specific characteristics of Russia’s military medicine, psychiatric community, and, finally, political conditions.

To take a telling example, the Russian discussion of “traumatic neurosis” was not unlike the western debates around shell shock. It was the way neurotic cases were handled that divided Russian psychiatrists from their western counterparts. On this point I disagree with the historian Catherine Merridale. Correctly observing that Russian psychiatrists were well acquainted with western discussions of shell shock, she claims that they imitated both the conceptions and the harsh ways of western military doctors in dealing with traumatic neurosis. In particular, Merridale believes that “the majority [of psychiatrists in Russia], and almost all non-specialist medical professionals, regarded new evidence about battle trauma as an indication of malingering, personal weakness, or moral turpitude.” My impression, however, is that the hard-liners were a distinct minority in discussions of shell shock. Russian psychiatrists, for various reasons, rejected the identification, widespread in the West, of traumatic neurosis with hysteria, which made shell shock a shameful disease and a sign of weak will bordering on cowardice and malingering. Unlike many of their western counterparts, Russian psychiatrists did not conspire with the government to send back as many soldiers as possible to the front. Both as a result of the conditions they worked in and as a sign of their opposition to the government, psychiatrists adopted their own line in dealing with war neurotics, and they kept to it until shortly after the end of the Civil War.
The birth of the diagnosis
If one believes an article in the Russian Gazette (Russkie vedomosti), during the war with Japan one of the causes of mental illness in the army was “Chinese vodka – khanshin, which makes those who are not used to it deaf; the symptoms reappear if the next morning one drinks water.”

The editor of the official newspaper of the Russian army in Manchuria confirmed that “alcohol was much to blame for our defeat in the Far East.” At the end of the Russo-Japanese War, the German Emperor Wilhelm II commented that, in a future conflict in Europe, victory would be on the side of the sober. Shortly after Russia had entered the First World War, Nicholas II prohibited the vodka trade. This decision was welcomed by educated society, and especially by physicians, who considered alcohol a real poison. The fact that in the first months of the war there were fewer cases of mental illness in the army than in 1904-5 was attributed to the beneficial influence of the dry law. Yet even at the very beginning of the war, Red Cross hospitals and reception stations received a significant number of casualties. The first psychiatric reports from the front recalled psychiatrists’ observations in the Russo-Japanese War. Like the liberal intelligentsia at large, psychiatrists disapproved of the war, and they reported a doubling of the number of cases of mental illness in the army compared with pre-war conditions. Moreover, they believed that the war had hit soldiers harder than officers. One observer reported that, in contrast to the officers, whose insanity developed because of alcoholism, progressive paralysis, neurasthenia, and degeneration (all morally charged diagnoses), the lower ranks suffered from genuine war psychoses in which war events determined the content of delusions and hallucinations. M. O. Shaikevich, a physician of the Moscow Military Hospital, believed that the majority of officers affected by illness “had either been ill earlier or were to some extent predisposed.” By contrast, the lower ranks suffered from a special disease, which Shaikevich termed “psychosis depressivo-stuporosa.” All the same, he doubted that this disease was caused solely by combat. In his view, “war only aggravates those specific conditions which the lower ranks have to endure in the Russian army.”. Following the lead of the radical intelligentsia, psychiatrists argued that these unprepared soldiers who were unwilling to fight ought to be considered the real victims of the war, or, to be more precise, of the government which had sent them to the front.

With the onset of the Great War, the discussion of “war psychosis” was reopened. The Moscow physician O. B. Feltsman reported that the cases which were coming to Moscow hospitals from the army exhibited mainly depressive and stupor-like symptoms, in agreement with the earlier diagnosis, psychosis depressivo-stuporosa. In tune with him, the Petrograd physician S. A. Sukhanov predicted that, in this war, “the depressive-melancholic syndrome” would frequently accompany psychotic cases. Yet, contradicting these expectations, the main subject of the war publications turned out to be a neurosis supposedly caused by shells and called “air contusion.”

This term had been in use since the Russo-Japanese War, the first in which both sides deployed modern artillery. The Japanese army had German machine guns; during the siege of Port Arthur alone, they fired 1.5 million times. The Russian army was equipped almost on a par with the Japanese, and artillery cannonades from both sides followed one another. The soldiers felt themselves to be cannon fodder. Besides those killed or wounded by shells, there were also the “contused,” some with brain injuries and concussions, some with strange symptoms of an undefined origin. The illness started with fainting; having regained consciousness, the person was affected with a heavy headache and spinning head, his hearing lessened, and speech became distorted. Violent movements, fits, paralysis, and memory losses followed; the person became frightened, anxious, and depressed.
The first published reports classified the symptoms under “neurasthenia” or “nerve exhaustion” related conditions of combat. There were also references to “traumatic neurosis,” a term coined in connection with railway and work accidents. Russia did not have a law of compulsory insurance against accidents at work like the one Germany adopted in 1884. Instead, the law of 1903 determined individual responsibility of factory owners for physical damage to workers. In 1909, when there were rumors that a project for an insurance law might materialize, physicians showed some interest in the issues of trauma. Although traumatic neurosis had not been an issue before the war as much as it had in the West, during the war with Japan the latter diagnosis was widely used. Initially, it was understood to result from “a brain injury caused by shells.” Yet already in the Russo-Japanese War it had become clear that mental illness could occur without obvious damage to the brain: for instance, in cases when the shell passed at a distance too far to cause physical injury, and even in soldiers who were not under shelling. In such cases, psychiatrists preferred to speak of a multiple etiology of the illness – of a combination of such factors as physical exhaustion, climate change, under-nourishment, lack of sleep, emotional shock, and constitutional predisposition. The folk name for the shell-shocked or contused soldiers was “confused” (skonfuzhennye); behind this name lurked the idea of the purely psychological origins of traumatic neurosis.

Psychiatrists were divided about the nature, causes, and treatment of war neuroses. Some continued to see their origins in the organic damage caused by shells; others chose a psychological explanation. There was no consensus about how to term, classify, and treat such cases. The figures for psychoneuroses, including “neurasthenia,” “hysteria,” and “psychasthenia,” varied, depending on the information source, from “very few” to nearly a quarter of all psychiatric casualties. As the question of “where psychasthenics belong” had not been resolved, neither psychiatric nor neurological hospitals accepted them. There were special facilities for those classified both as mentally ill and with an injury of the nervous system, but the so-called neurotics of war fell between categories and did not receive appropriate care.

It was not necessarily better when psychiatric hospitals did accept neurotics. Firstly, the conditions in psychiatric hospitals left much to be desired. Secondly, once labeled “mentally ill,” the patient received an indelible stigma and was stripped of a significant portion of his rights. Moreover, traditional psychiatric treatment did not always help neurotics, and at times it could cause harm. Thus, though patients with nervous diseases were traditionally given six-month leaves, physicians who treated neurotics discovered that short leaves, after which the patients had to continue service, were much more efficient. Besides, when on a leave, many soldiers simply had nowhere to go to and no pension to live on.

A meeting of psychiatrists and neurologists in June 1915 raised some of these issues. The participants stated that there was a need for special facilities for neurotics in proximity to the front line, where it would be easier to give neurotics prompt help and also to restore them to the army. Physicians also emphasized the necessity of altering both the classification of diseases and the pension statutes so that war neurotics would not remain unsupported. It was suggested that a neurologist with voting rights should be introduced into the commissions in hospitals and evacuation stations that examined soldiers and decided what to do with them. Despite the fact that there was no clarity about the nature of traumatic neurosis, practical necessities made physicians forget their theoretical disagreements and, de facto, recognize the new category.
Treating army neurotics, Russian style
Recent literature on shell shock and its treatment in different countries has revealed a sobering picture of psychiatrists’ tooth-and-claws struggle with what they believed was an “epidemic of war neuroses.” They considered this epidemic “a war-time parallel to the so-called pension neurosis among work-shy laborers,” which threatened to empty the state budget after the war. According to one historian, “most German psychiatrists and neurologists concluded that the ‘war neuroses’ had little to do with war; essentially identical to peace-time accident neuroses, they could be explained as psychological – or hysterical – reactions in terrified, weak-willed, or lazy men.” In the words of the same historian, military psychiatrists described pity and charity as effeminate and even pathogenic impulses. Hence their use of brutal methods of “shocking the patient back into health,” such as electric shock, as well as “persuasion” methods known in France as torpillage and méthode brusque and in Germany as “active therapy” and Überumpelungs-methode (surprise attack method). The “heroic treatment” of shell-shocked soldiers caused public resentment after the war.

By contrast, in Russia psychiatrists rarely used shock therapy, and it did not become an issue.
In the Russo-Japanese War treatment of psychiatric casualties was primarily limited to rest, better food, hot baths, and transport to Moscow. Ten years later physicians became more adventurous in the choice of treatment. Psychiatrists reported practicing the traditional treatment of neurotics: hydro- and electrotherapy, rational therapy, and exercises on muscle control before a mirror. One physician found that traumatic neurosis “is easily treated with compresses, warmth and gentle galvanization”; another reported on the efficiency of the irrigation of the ears in cases of shell-shock deafness, twenty-four-hour compresses on the eyes in the cases of blindness, and suggestion and electrotherapy for movement disorders. He explained the equally good results obtained from different techniques by suggestion and autosuggestion; massage, electrotherapy, “strong emotions, including religious ones,” and “a sophisticated apparatus for diathermy or a simple enema” are transformed into a magic wand in the hands of a skilful physician. The only method that he considered useless was “Freud’s psychoanalysis.”. Psychiatrists admitted using strong electric currents to paralyzed organs, in combination with massage, only in a few individual cases, in order to provoke involuntary movements. One of them gave electroshock only to “hysterics” while prescribing strengthening and calming therapies, such as baths, bromide and valerian, to two other categories of traumatic neuroses, “neurasthenics” and “psychasthenics”.

In contrast to the West, in Russia the occasional use of electrotherapy and other painful treatments, such as the just mentioned “apparatus for diathermy,” did not turn into a common practice pursuing half-medical, half-punitive purposes. Those rare hospitals which were sufficiently equipped to carry out electrotherapy on their patients did not report using strong currents with the intention of “shocking the patients back into health.” The Seventeenth Nervous Hospital in Voronezh can serve as an example: though it had all the machinery for electrotherapy and did use it, the doctors mainly relied on massage, “direct suggestion” (without hypnosis), and the “general moral atmosphere” of the hospital. In the photographs included in the report, soldiers pose in front of sophisticated apparatus together with young attractive nurses, looking well and relaxed. In the West, electrotherapy was firmly tied to a disciplinary discourse which justified the use of painful treatment by the good cause of sending patients back to the front line. In Russia such disciplinary rhetoric was not popular, nor was the identification of shell shock with hysteria and malingering.

According to the reports of some Dutch physicians, up to ninety per cent of the hospital patients were malingerers. In the words of one historian, in spotting malingerers a military doctor was not only a doctor but also a detective; it was one way in which he could prove himself of true military stock. In Britain, fearing the wrongful exposure of the innocent, doctors were somewhat more cautious in diagnosing malingering, but they were also under pressure from the military. By contrast with their western counterparts, Russian physicians seemed less anxious to expose malingerers in psychiatric wards. Indeed, quite the opposite: they expressed their concern about the careful examination of such cases and warned against overlooking a still ailing patient and mistakenly qualifying him fit for his duties. The veteran of the Russo-Japanese War, Shumkov, believed that an unjustified suspicion of simulation could seriously distort the real picture of mental illness in the war. Another physician claimed that such suspicion results from lack of experience and he warned psychiatrists to be wary of this “more than of malingering in its own right.”. L. O. Darkshevich, who studied with J.-M. Charcot at the Salpêtrière at the same time as Freud, was well prepared to recognize the reality of male hysteria. He therefore protested against the hunt for malingerers in army hospitals and required that the doctor to justify his suspicions rather than forcing the patient to prove his illness.
Hard-liners were the exception. Yet one of them, L. M. Pussep, while quoting high French figures for malingerers, nevertheless admitted that among his 1200 patients he personally had found none. Very few Russian psychiatrists shared the view of shell shock as a paradise diagnosis for malingerers, and even fewer believed that such patients needed strict discipline. Revealingly, those who did uphold such views were military physicians in top positions. Pussep was one, and V. F. Chizh, the chief psychiatrist of the Red Cross in the Kiev region, another. Convinced that traumatic neurosis is the result of “autosuggestion, aggravation, even malingering,” Chizh recommended sending patients with such symptoms, after a few weeks in the hospital, to special convalescent detachments with strict army discipline. But Chizh’s conservative views gained him a bad reputation, and his recommendations were never implemented. The number of soldiers who were sent to convalescent detachments was, in the words of a psychiatrist, “so insignificant that the question rises whether they should be sent there at all, and whether it would not be better to let them rest in one of the divisions in the rear.”

There could be several explanations for the relaxed attitude towards malingerers and mild treatment of war neurotic, which so divided Russian physicians from their western counterparts. Firstly, due to the absence of an insurance law, Russia did not have the same wave of “pension neuroses” that had hardened the hearts of western psychiatrists before the war and consequently made them deaf and blind to the complaints of war neurotics. For Russian physicians, minimizing the state’s expenses for war pensions was not an issue: pension regulations did not stretch far enough to embrace the category of “traumatic neurosis,” not to speak of such diagnoses as “psychasthenia” and “hysteria.” Secondly, even if physicians would have wished to use electrotherapy more widely, they could hardly have done so. Russian wartime facilities could not compete with well-equipped western, especially German, clinics and sanatoria; the majority of army hospitals had no baths and no machines for electrotherapy. Even in the capital there were very few institutions that satisfied all the medical criteria for treating neurotics; these included the Military-Medical Academy Clinic in town and the All Mourners Hospital and the Sivoritsy Clinic out of town. Thirdly, given Russia’s larger population, which allowed for several mobilizations, the task of returning soldiers to the front was arguably less urgent.

Another reason why Russian psychiatrists were much less anxious about shell shock was the lack of complete information about the frequency of the disease. As was widely acknowledged, there was no reliable statistical information about psychiatric casualties. The government failed to establish information and statistics centers for the army, and public bodies were limited by their lack of information sources. In addition, very few institutions involved in collecting medical statistics used the category “traumatic neurosis.” Though present in the classifications used by the Zemstvos and Towns Union Statistical Bureau, the category was absent from the regional (guberniia) statistics of the mentally ill. Physicians argued that neurasthenia escaped any statistics, but the majority of them agreed that the number of traumatic neuroses was relatively low. The Moscow General Hospital, for instance, reported ten per cent of its patients as nervously ill. Nevertheless, compared with the fact that the overwhelming majority of western psychiatric casualties were shell shock cases (in Germany, two-thirds), Russian figures were rather modest. Moreover, multiple mobilizations uncovered a mass of “genuine” mental illness that overwhelmed the hospitals in the rear, numbers caused, as psychiatrists sadly concluded, by an insufficient psychiatric service in times of peace. Among those examined and diagnosed as mentally ill, almost a third were cases of “innately underdeveloped intellect,” who were not up to military service requirements; over another third were psychoses, and up to a quarter were epileptic. The cases of traumatic neurosis drowned in the mass of newly uncovered illnesses.

Finally, one should consider that the patriotic mood might have contributed to downplaying the figures for traumatic neuroses. At the beginning of the war, General Hindenburg claimed that “the one whose nerves are stronger will win.” In May 1915, an influential Moscow neurologist, G. I. Rossolimo, responded with an article in the Russian Gazette, “On strong nerves and victory.” He believed that “ten months of the war have not persuaded us of the weakness of our nerves,” and he compared this state favorably with that of the German army, where the number of mentally ill soldiers had substantially increased.
Psychiatry in opposition
Yet, among these tentative explanations of why Russian psychiatrists adopted relaxed attitudes to the treatment of war neurotics, it probably was their political views that had the most weight. Historians have already shown that, unlike their western counterparts, the overwhelming majority of whom had private practices, most Russian physicians depended almost entirely on their main employer, the state. This dependency, as well as problems of public health of the impoverished population, the solution of which lay beyond medicine, made physicians one of the most radical groups of the intelligentsia. Having become critical of the government’s policy towards public health, many of them became critical of the regime as such. During the early twentieth-century revolutionary events, physicians publicly blamed the repressive regime for destroying the population’s health. These tensions increased during war which aggravated Russia’s problems and made criticisms more salient. In addition, many civilian physicians were recruited to the army and put under the command of military officials who lacked any medical training. (Russian military medical service was an oddity among western armies, a relic of an ancient “regimental system.” Absent in peace, the medical service emerged in time of war and was composed of a military medical personnel, military non-medical personnel, and civilian doctors and nurses.) The problems that doctors encountered in the army only widened the gulf between them and the non-medical authorities, and the way their army superiors treated them caused enmity against the higher ranks.

Psychiatrists were, perhaps, even more radicalized than their colleagues from other medical occupations. This related to the fact that psychiatry’s status was traditionally lower than that of other medical disciplines. Those in charge of the mentally ill were looked down on as madmen’s keepers; and it was not before the late nineteenth century that psychiatry changed into an academic discipline. But even then the position of psychiatrists was hardly enviable: on one hand, society expected them to take care of the mentally ill; on the other hand, it was unwilling to satisfy psychiatrists’ demands to enlarge facilities and improve conditions for both inmates and personnel. Even zemstvo and municipal sanitary bureaus were not responsive to psychiatrists’ suggestions. In the opinion of one historian, on the eve of the Great War a long-term conflict between psychiatrists, on one side, and the government and zemstvos, on the other, endangered the very existence of the occupation.

The war only exacerbated these problems. Psychiatric service in the army was in the hands of several organizations: the War Department, the Russian Red Cross, zemstvos, the Supreme Council’s Commission on the Invalids of War, and the Tatianin Committee which took care of refugees. The lack of co-ordination rendered the efforts of the medical personnel inefficient, and it finally resulted in the loss of lives. Physicians blamed the government for the organizational chaos; many of them welcomed the fall of the old regime and invested their hopes in the improvement of public health under the new government.

Further into the war, it became more and more unpopular. Peasants, who formed the basis of the Russian army, never volunteered to join up; forced to join, they experienced the rupture with their families and habitual way of life as a catastrophe. Contrary to the ideological declarations about the patriotism of the masses, mobilizations were accompanied by peasant riots. Even the intelligentsia was far from being as enthusiastic as was depicted in newspapers. Psychiatrists univocally described war conditions as hellish; one of them even recalled Pushkin: “And death and hell from every side” (“I smert’, i ad so vsekh storon”) – only he thought that modern wars are much tougher. Psychiatric accounts made it clear that combat conditions could affect anybody, that the brutality of war is the main cause of psychiatric casualties, and that psychic trauma deserves understanding rather than blame.

Clearly more in sympathy with their patients than with those who sent them to war, psychiatrists often portrayed ill soldiers with compassion. One of them described K., a soldier who collapsed in the battle of Brest-Litovsk, when several hundred men were blown up in a fortress. In the hospital, K. constantly hallucinated: “Fire, fire… My Lord, how many have perished… and Timokha has died…” (Timokha was his friend). Neither medicaments nor physiotherapy over six months had any impact on the patient, who remained disoriented. He regained his self-awareness only when his wife and brother came to visit him and the latter started telling him about their village life. Physicians often showed interest in soldiers’ personal stories and their feelings about war. Mikhail Kutanin composed and distributed a questionnaire about “personal experiences in the war,” and Lev Rozenshtein suggested that a non-military physician should systematically inquire into soldiers’ feelings and even psychoanalyze them; he recommended women-psychiatrists for this role. “Besides wounding the soldier’s body, shells distort his feelings and mutilate his soul,” and the psychiatrist’s role is to heal the latter.

It was not rare for psychiatrists to use their cases in order to criticize both the war and the political regime responsible for it. In one case, a peasant soldier was said to have first developed mental illness in his military service several years prior to the war. He was on duty guarding a prison when, in front of him, an inmate attempted to escape and was shot dead. Sent later to the front, the soldier apparently developed serious breathing problems. It was the reactionary nature of Russian life, the physician implied, that makes innocent people mad. In another case, a soldier went through a series of battles without showing any signs of illness. Yet in the last of these battles, which began early in the morning and was accompanied by the most violent artillery attacks against his battalion, he was affected. The soldier was neither wounded nor shell-shocked, but he started to throw himself at his comrades and cry: “It is hell here! It is homicide! The devil is here!” Physicians put their own thoughts in the mouths of their patients, who were “terrified by the idea that humanity which for millennia strove towards culture, could allow such mass self-destruction! … Some began to think that all of humanity had gone mad.” Soldiers’ mental illnesses mirrored the general madness of the war and of the world that rejected them after they suffered at the front. Darkshevich described a patient, “aged twenty-four, who, after being wounded and contused, could not think of his future without fear and depression.” He lost sleep and self-control, “especially in circumstances which he considers trying, such as waiting in government offices.” Queuing for hours in a pension office, this despondent man became irritable and behaved aggressively.

Between the lines of psychiatric records one can read their sentence on the war and their dissatisfaction with a government that had failed to set up an efficient medical service in the army and to help veterans in the rear. By the end of the war, these attitudes prompted psychiatrists to support first the Provisional Government and then the Bolsheviks. Physicians were attracted by the new government’s promises to set up a single agency, which had been lacking in the war, to centralize psychiatric services.

Like the Soviet health care system in general, the Soviet psychiatric service was created in response to the war. In 1920, the separate psychiatric organization of the War Department was abolished, and the mentally ill soldiers under its care, now termed “Red Army soldiers,” were shifted to a civil agency. By that time, a Ministry of Health Care had already been established, and psychiatric care became centralized in the Ministry’s neuro-psychiatric subsection. The subsection announced support for “the victims of war and revolution” to be an urgent task. War neurotics had finally been officially recognized, and the state formally assumed full responsibility for their treatment and support. Yet, as soon as they became a burden to the state, attitudes towards war neurotics became more severe. Once a highly emotive phrase, “victims of war and revolution” gradually lost its meaning and became part of bureaucratic jargon. Still common in reports in the 1920s, the term disappeared in the 1930s, when to speak of “victims of revolution” became ambiguous and even dangerous. Traumatic neurosis vanished from Soviet classifications for decades, to reappear only in the 1980s, in the Americanized version of “post-traumatic stress disorder”.

Doris Kaufman, “Science and cultural practice: Psychiatry in the First World War and Weimar Germany,” Journal of Contemporary History 34 (1999): 125-44; Paul F. Lerner, “Hysterical men: war, neurosis, and German mental medicine, 1914-1921,” Ph.D thesis (Columbia University, 1996); M. O. Roudebush, “A Battle of nerves: hysteria and its treatment in France during World War I,” Ph.D thesis (University of Columbia at Berkeley, 1995); Ben Shepard, A war of nerves: soldiers and psychiatrists, 1914-1994 (London: Jonathan Cape, 2000), and other

Jose Brunner, “Psychiatry, psychoanalysis, and politics during the First World War,” Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences 27 (1991): 352-65; Paul Lerner, “Rationalizing the therapeutic arsenal: German neuropsychiatry in World War I,” in Medicine and modernity: Public health and medical care in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Germany, ed. Manfred Berg and Geoffrey Cocks (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 121-48

Kim Friedlander, “Neskol’ko aspektov shellshock’a v Rossii 1914-1916,” in Rossiia i Pervaia mirovaia voina (Materialy mezhdunarodnogo nauchnogo kollokviuma) (Saint-Petersburg: Dmitrii Bulanin, 1999), 315-25; idem, “War, revolution, and trauma: Russian psychiatry, 1904-28,” Ph.D thesis (University of California in Berkeley, in progress); A. B. Astashov, “Voina kak kul’turnyi shok: analiz psikhologicheskogo sostoianiia russkoi armii v Pervuiu mirovuiu voinu,” in Voenno-istoricheskaia antologiia. Ezhegodnik (Moscow: Rosspen, 2002): 268-81

Catherine Merridale, “The collective mind: trauma and shell-shock in twentieth-century Russia,” Journal of Contemporary History 35: 1 (2000): 40

Zhurnal nevropatologii i psikhiatrii imeni Korsakova 4: 4 (1904): 771

Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 11 (1915): 177; Wilhelm II quoted in W. Arthur McKee, “Sukhoi zakon v gody Pervoi mirovoi voiny: prichiny, kontseptsiia i posledstviia vvedeniia sukhogo zakona v Rossii,” in Rossiia i Pervaia mirovaia voina, 152

According to some sources, by April 1915, there were 5,833 cases of war casualties in 48 psychiatric hospitals (about half of all Russian psychiatric hospitals). Other sources reported that between the beginning of the war and November 1915, 12,185 soldiers and officers had been treated in 68 hospitals; the latter figure did not include cases amongst refugees of war, prisoners of war, and other groups. V. I. Binshtok and G. S. Kaminskii, Narodnoe pitanie i narodnoe zdravie v voinu 1914-1918 godov (Leningrad, 1929), 61-62

Zhurnal nevropatologii i psikhiatrii imeni Korsakova 5: 6 (1905): 1214

M. O. Shaikevich, “O dushevnykh zabolevaniiakh v sviazi s Iaponskoi voinoi,” Zhurnal nevropatologii i psikhiatrii imeni Korsakova 5: 1 (1905): 18

O. B. Fel’tsman, “K voprosu o psikhozakh voennogo vremeni,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 11 (1915): 174; S. A. Sukhanov, “Materialy k voprosu o psikhozakh voennogo vremeni,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 13 (1915): 205

Bruce W. Menning, Bayonets before bullets: The Imperial Russian Army, 1861-1914 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992), 170-90

N. A. Vyrubov, Kontuzionnyi nevroz i psikhonevroz: klinicheskaia kartina, techenie i patogenez (Moscow: Shtab Moskovskogo voennogo okruga, 1915), 4-8

A. I. Ozeretskii, “’Nevrastenicheskii psikhoz’ na Russko-iaponskoi voine,” Obozrenie psikhiatrii 7 (1906): 524-5; P. M. Avtokratov, “Prizrenie, lechenie i evakuatsiia dushevnobol’nykh vo vremia Russko-iaponskoi voiny,” Obozrenie psikhiatrii 10 (1906): 665-8; 11 (1906): 721-41; P. M. Awtokratow, “Die Geisteskranken im Russischen Heere im Russisch-japanischen Kriege,” Allgemeine Zeitschrift für Psychiatrie 64 (1907): 286-319. The latter article was referred to in the western discussions of shell shock during the Great War. See Harold Merskey, “Post-traumatic stress disorder and shell shock,” in A History of clinical psychiatry, ed. German E. Berrios and Roy Porter (London: Athlone, 1995), 491

L. M. Stanilovskii, Travmaticheskie nevrozy. Nevrozy vsledstvie neschastnykh sluchaev: etiologiia, klinika, diagnoz, ekspertiza (Moscow: M. V. Baldin, 1910), 5

Shumkov, quoted in Iudin, 361

To be “contused by air” was dishonorable for the army officers. See L. O. Darkshevich, Kurs nervnykh boleznei, vol. 3 (Kazan’: Bashmachnikovy, 1917), 605

Allan Young, The harmony of illusions: inventing post-traumatic stress disorder (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), 50; 60

N. I. Bondarev, “Organizatsiia psikhiatricheskoi i psikhonevrologicheskoi pomoshchi v Krasnoi armii vo vremia voiny,” Psikhozy i psikhonevrozy voiny, ed. V. P. Osipov (Leningrad: OGIZ, 1934): 130; V. K. Khoroshko, “Psikhiatricheskie vpechatleniia i nabliudeniia v raione deistvuiushei armii,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 16 (1915): 381; A. V. Timofeev, “Gde zabolevaiut dushevnoi bolezn’iu voinskie chiny deistvuiushchei armii?” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 16 (1915): 261-2

Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 13 (1915): 215; 16 (1915): 278; 20 (1915): 337

“Soveshchanie po prizreniiu dushevno-bol’nykh i nervno-bol’nykh voinov,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 13 (1915): 209-12; 217

Paul Lerner, “From traumatic neurosis to male hysteria: the decline and fall of Hermann Oppenheim, 1889-1919,” in: Traumatic pasts: history, psychiatry, and trauma in the Modern Age, 1870-1930, ed. Marc Micale and Paul Lerner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 156; 162

Paul Lerner, “Psychiatry and casualties of war in Germany, 1914-1981,” Journal of Contemporary History 35: 1 (2000): 20

Peter Leese, Shell shock: traumatic neurosis and the British soldiers of the First World War (Basingstoke: Palgrave-Macmillan, 2002), 71-72

Paul Wanke, “Russian Military Psychiatry, 1904-1945,” Ph.D thesis (University of Kanzas, 2002), 55

V. V. Ianovskii, “Dva sluchaia torticollis spastica travmaticheskogo proiskhozhdeniia,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 2 (1915): 31-33; K. S. Arinshtein “Nevropatologicheskie nabliudeniia nad kontuzhennymi,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 6 (1915): 85-88; I. D. Rotshtein, “K kazuistike tak nazyvaemykh kontuzii voennogo vremeni i o ikh lechenii,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 23 (1915): 385

L. M. Pussep, Travmaticheskii nevroz voennogo vremeni (Klinicheskii ocherk na osnovanii sobstvennykh nabliudenii) (Moscow, 1916), 83-84

S. S. Sergievskii, ed. Gospital’ no. 17 dlia nervno-ranenykh i nervno-bol’nykh voinov: Godovoi otchet (Voronezh: Kravtsov, 1915)

Leo van Bergen, “’The malingerers are to blame’: The Dutch Military Health Service before and during the First World War,” in Medicine and modern warfare, ed. Roger Cooter, Mark Harrison and Steve Sturdy (Amsterdam-Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1999), 66; 73

Roger Cooter, “Malingering in modernity: psychological scripts and adversarial encounters during the First World War,” in War, medicine and modernity, ed. Roger Cooter, Marc Harrison and Steve Sturdy (Stroud: Sutton, 1998), 132

A. Panskii, “K voprosu o psikhonevroze, kak posledstvii kontuzii v boevoi obstanovke (po lichnym nabliudeniiam),” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 14 (1916): 288-89; Khoroshko, 380-81; G. E. Shumkov, “Po voprosu o ‘chisle’ dushevnobol’nykh na voine,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 22 (1915): 363-6

Darkshevich, 605; Pussep, 77

V. F. Chizh, “Otchet upolnomochennogo Krasnogo Kresta Kievskogo raiona po rasseivaniiu dushevnobol’nykkh voinov professora V. F. Chizha za 1916 god,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 4 (1917): 103-4

Bondarev, 129

The requirements included electro- and hydrotherapy; the countryside location was desirable. P. P. Kashchenko, “Ob organizatsii pomoshchi dushevnobol’nym voinam i o deiatel’nosti chetyrekh petrogradskikh gospitalei dlia dushevnobol’nykh voinov,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 13 (1915): 214

M. A. Zakharchenko, “Ob uchete nervno-bol’nykh i ranenykh voinov,” Sovremennaia psikhiatriia (July-December 1917): 204-9; N. A. Vyrubov, “K voprosu ob opredelenii chisla dushevnobol’nykh voinov, nuzhdaiushchikhsia v prizrenii,” Nevrologicheskii vestnik 23: 3-4 (1917): 304-13

Timofeev, 262

P. P. Kashchenko, “Nekotorye dannye iz probnoi razrabotki svedenii o dushevno-bol’nykh voinakh, proizvedennoi Ob”edinennym statistichesko-psikhiatricheskim biuro Zemskogo i Gorodskogo soiuzov,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 18 (1916): 379-81

Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 11 (1915): 178

Nancy Mandelker Frieden, Russian physicians in an era of reform and revolution, 1856-1905 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981)

See, for instance, Handbook of the medical services of foreign armies. Part IV – Russia (London: Macmillan, 1910), 31

Gabriel and Metz, 234

Julie Vail Brown, “Professionalization and radicalization: Russian psychiatrists respond to 1905,” in Russia’s missing middle class: the professions in Russian history, ed. Harley D. Balzer (Armonk: M. E. Sharpe, 1996), 143-67; idem, “Psychiatrists and the state in tsarist Russia,” in Social Control and the State, ed. Stanley Cohen and Andrew Scull (New York: M. Robertson, 1983), 267-87

John F. Hutchinson, Politics and public health in revolutionary Russia, 1890-1918 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, c1990), 132-5

Joshua Sanborn, “Besporiadki sredi prizyvnikov v 1914 g. i vopros o russkoi natsii: novyi vzgliad na problemu,” in Rossiia i Pervaiai mirovaia voina, 202-15; N. N. Smirnov, “Voina i rossiiskaia intelligentsiia,” in ibid., 257-70

S. Liass, “Travmaticheskie nevrozy voennogo vremeni,” Meditsinskoe obozrenie 14-15 (1916): 239

V. K. Khoroshko, “O dushevnykh rasstroistvakh vsledstvie fizicheskogo i psikhicheskogo potriaseniia na voine,” Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 1 (1916): 3-10

M. Kutanin, “Rezul’taty oprosa o dushevnykh perezhivaniiakh na voine,” Psikhonevrologicheskii vestnik 1 (1917): 119; L. Rozenshtein, “K poznaniiu i psikhopatologii kontuzhennykh,” Sovremennaia psikhiatriia 11-12 (1916): 522

Psikhiatricheskaia gazeta 1 (1916): 87

S. I. Vysotskii, “K kazuistike tikov dykhatel’nykh myshts u psikhastenikov,” Sovremennaia psikhiatriia (July-December 1917): 158

A. V. Gerver, “O dushevnykh rasstroistvakh na teatre voennykh deistvii,” Russkii vrach 14: 35 (1915): 796, 818; 14: 36 (1915): 841

Darkshevich, 582-3

GARF, fond 482, opis’ 1, delo 81, list 3-4

On the treatment of war neurotics after the Revolution see Merridale, 41-3

“Travmaticheskii nevroz,” Bol’shaia meditsinskaia entsiklopediia, vol. 32 (Moscow: OGIZ, 1935): 652-7