Felicity Callard

Interview: The Material Force of Categories

Interview with Sasha Bergstrom-Katz and Tomas Percival, co-editors of the April 2025 `Special Issue ‘The material force of categories’.

HHS: Could I just start by asking you to introduce the special issue – what interested you about the ‘material force’ of categories?

Sasha: The Special Issue emerged out of a common set of interests about how categories have the capacity to materially move people around. We were both working on projects related to this: I was working on a project on intelligence testing and Tomas was working on digital prison assessments and modes of categorization in prisons in England and Wales. And we wanted to think together about this issue, connecting stories of the production of forceful categories from different, yet interconnected fields and institutions. So we put together a symposium to bring some of our mutual interests together. There was a panel on intelligence testing, one on digital culture, and one on mental health diagnosis. This is where this idea for the Special Issue came from. Some of the interests shifted through the panels, as well as through the editorial process. We came to think a little bit more about how the categories themselves are made, and how plastic these categories can be, as we talk about in the introduction. The interest shifted from focusing just on materiality because we really saw how malleable these categories were in all the cases that we were pulling together.

Tomas: We were interested both in how categories emerged from formal and informal processes—such as modes of practices of assessment—and then how those categories enacted forms of institutional decision-making that, as Sasha said, move people. In the prison system, for example, categories of so-called risk can inform determinations of which kind of security level you are subject to. Additionally, it became interesting to ask not only how assessment processes categorize but also how those processes transform the category in the process of the making of the category. How do the different institutions in which one ends up moving through based on what category you’re assessed, change the category too? What forms of resistance, friction and feedback enacted in relationship to the ways in which categories place people in particular contexts?

HHS: In your Introduction you discuss the plasticity of categories – could you explain what you mean by ‘the productive power of plasticity’ and how this differs from accounts of categorization that emphasise things like restraint or reduction?

Tomas: This is one of the things that really emerged from the various conversations we had with the people during the symposium. When we heard people’s examples we noticed that in each case they were moving beyond the well-rehearsed discourse around categories as being reductive. In these examples, when we investigate how they’re actually operationalized with the decision-making processes, it’s inversely their capaciousness, their ability to capture a wide variety of things or to have fluid boundaries that allow for them to be institutionally productive. So for us, this plasticity of the categories became a useful site of critical analysis in order to understand how they operate in practice.

HHS: Would you be able to identify some common threads and themes that link the articles in the special issue?

Tomas: There’s a series of throughlines that connect variously with the different articles. One is clearly mental health and how a question of the diagnostic is mobilized in order to determine mental health, and that ranges from Alfie’s article in relationship to the difference between a UK and US diagnosis of schizophrenia to Eoin’s work on mental health Chatbots or Becka’s in terms of how personality disorder got transformed in the prison system. Across all of these is the question of the plasticity of the diagnostic category and how the diagnosis is constructed. A second theme might be something like digital culture, and how technical modes of recording, processing, storing and transmitting data affect determinations of categories. Thirdly, there is a theme of containment and how various practices of categorisation enact modes of containment and filtering across various institutions. It was interesting to try and write the Introduction because there were numerous ways we could categorize these categories. Instead, we tried to find more non-figurative accounts of them rather than grouping them by, say, mental health because we wanted to trace the material force of these categories across the different spheres.

HHS: Could you describe how Margarita Aragon’s article ‘Subjects to be dealt with’: Disability, class and carceral power in early 20th century Britain’ conceptualizes categorization?

Sasha: One of the things that drew me to Margarita Aragon’s work was that she concentrates on the Mental Deficiency Act and the determinations of ‘subjects to be dealt with’. This is a phrase that comes out of the handbook Mental Deficiency Practice (1932) and in the Mental Deficiency Act. But in a sense, it’s not a category that the handbook defines. It’s a phrase that, in some ways, points to what might otherwise be called deficiency, idiocy and so-called defectives, but she concentrates on this category of ‘subjects to be dealt with’ instead. This is a really useful way of actually getting a fundamental question of what the Mental Deficiency Act was meant to do. It was meant to identify the ‘subjects’ whom the state wants or feels it needs to ‘deal with’. Feeble-mindedness isn’t, for example, a category that can be collapsed into ‘subject to be dealt with’ because there are other conditions that need to be fulfilled to be a subject of the MDA. When Margarita provides examples from the Handbook, she describes people who might be similarly determined to be, in the language of the text, defectives or feeble-minded, but it’s actually some of their material conditions, personal histories, access to wealth, etc. – that determines their ‘subjectness’ under this act.

HHS: Julian Molina’s article ‘examines the entanglement of British criminology and undercover policing (‘Spycops’) in the UK government’s response to racism in 1981’ – how does it contribute to understandings of racial categories?

Tomas: Julian’s is an interesting article to think about categories with because he’s pushing back in some way against the categories of the human sciences. Instead, he conceptualizes it as a kind of category of action, to emphasize how these categories emerge from and interact with this law-and-order information infrastructure. His article addresses a moment in the early 1980s when there was public outrage and contestation over racist attacks and a lack of what’s perceived to be—and no doubt was—a lack of police response to those racist attacks. He examines how once this kind of public demand is placed upon the police and the Home Office a whole set of criminological knowledge is produced in its wake. But, and this is the key for us, in the process of the production of this knowledge the object of analysis and attention shifts. So it goes from being a narrow information-gathering practice around these racist attacks, and instead starts to also incorporate other things like anti-racist organizations. All these various other kinds of movements which have been campaigning against these racist attacks by the National Front, then become incorporated into the information infrastructure, such that they then can become the subject of police activity as much as the racist attacks themselves.

HHS: Becka Hudson’s article ‘Material pathologies’ examines the category of ‘personality disorder’ in the context of the British prison estate – she claims this category is ‘broad and malleable’ – what are the material effects of that? What does she mean when she argues that the diagnosis ‘did things’?

Sasha: Becka’s article focuses on how prisons have held on to the diagnostic category of personality disorder, which, outside the prison system is no longer a popular mental health diagnosis. I think one of the reasons that it does this is because it’s such a malleable category, so it is capacious, as Becka calls it, and thus opens up for very many people to be diagnosed with it. She describes that individuals often find identifying with this diagnosis useful, yet it is also used in the prison as a predictive category. There’s an institutional attachment to this category because of the slipperiness of it.

Tomas: Part of her research was looking at parole board decision-making in relationship to personality disorder. When someone’s case is in front of the parole board, they have to demonstrate how they have reduced the risk asked of them, essentially to demonstrate rehabilitation. One of the interesting things for me was how, in parole board decisions around personality disorder, someone could be understood to have fulfilled

the requirements set out for them too well. This can be read as disingenuous and is then pathologized as being part of their personality disorder. The idea that you might have self-reformed too well can then be seen as again reflecting back on this category. And importantly, it is unlikely that the people making these determinations are trained in mental health, so these are also non-professional judgments around personality disorder that are also having such effects.

HHS: In ‘How does a mental health chatbot work?’ Eoin Fullam examines the chatbot ReMind – what is the significance of including an article on this technological form of categorization as part of the Special Issue?

Tomas: We included Eoin’s project because it highlights a contemporary example of how mental health is categorized through technical practices. For us, what was most interesting about Eoin’s article is how categories that preexist the chatbot, drawn from the psy-disciplines, become formatted into a technical logic of tagging. An algorithm is used in a specifically demarcated and limited way within the app such that a conversation with the user becomes a set of tags, and then those tags are mobilized in a decision tree in which categories are parroted back to the user. It’s not a process of diagnosis, but one in which the user articulates a concern and the app provides a set of options back in the form of self-help, or Mindfulness or CBT courses it has on offer. There’s this interesting way in which it’s explicitly not diagnostic. Still, it mirrors diagnostic categories and forms of treatment in relationship to those diagnostic categories that it has available to it.

HHS: Alfred Freeborn (Max Planck Institute for the History of Science) was awarded the 2024 History of the Human Sciences Early Career Prize for his essay ‘Testing Psychiatrists to Diagnose Schizophrenia: Crisis, Consensus and Computers in post-war Psychiatry’. How does he understand diagnosis as a form of categorization?

Sasha: Alfred’s case study focuses on a particularly fascinating case in the history of schizophrenia research wherein a cross-continental project between the US and the UK attempts to pin down schizophrenia through its diagnostic methods. In this case study, his protagonists are not focused on defining schizophrenia, but instead on being able to ensure that diagnostic criteria can be agreed upon and shared. He makes clear that their project was not about validation or even regulation, per se, but being able to standardize the diagnosis processes. He also talks about the various forces that made such a project necessary—for example, insurance and other kinds of bodies which would require a more standardized approach to diagnosis. It is another rich example of shapeshifting of categories that, again, don’t necessarily reflect so much about what schizophrenia is but how the category is shaped and the external factors that shape it.

Additionally, related to some of the other articles in the Special Issue, the use of modern technologies is quite interesting here. These psychiatric professionals took up emerging technologies such as computational analysis and videotape as medical tools, which then brings us to question the professional knowledge of the psychiatrist and what is transformed through a more standardized, and even mechanized, procedure.

HHS: What do you hope that people take from this special issue that could help them to think through this ‘shapeshifting’ aspect of categorization?

Sasha: The example of schizophrenia is a useful one because instead of just thinking about the genealogy of a category we can think about how it’s constantly being made and remade. This shapeshifting and plasticity is not about the progression of the making of categories but about messiness and contingency.

Tomas: It’s an attempt to pay particular kinds of attention to how categories operate in practice. Meaning not how they’re expected to operate. Instead, once you get into the nitty-gritty of all of the examples we have in the Special Issue we start to see that categories do much stranger, more contingent, and often harmful things differently than what we might expect when we think of the category in the abstract. That’s what we have tried to emphasize with our Introduction and most of the authors have paid attention to that in their own work. Across the articles, there’s methodological attention paid to the question of what happens when categories operate.

Interview conducted by Hannah Proctor. The interview was edited for length and clarity.

History and trauma across the disciplines: psychoanalytic narratives in the mid twentieth century

In the new issue of History of the Human Sciences, Matt ffytche analyses the exclusion of traumatic histories from psychoanalytic accounts of the mid-twentieth century, through a detailed engagement with the figure of the father (and of family authority) in different forms of psychoanalytic theory. Focusing especially on the work of the German psychoanalyst, Alexander Mitscherlich, ffytche traces the filtering out of the historical experiences of Nazism and the war from psychoanalytic narratives of the social – but then their return in texts of the 1980s and 1990s, under the banner of a new interest in historical trauma. Here, HHS Editor in Chief, Felicity Callard, interviews Matt about his article.

Felicity Callard (FC): Maybe we can start off with the institutional context in which you work. You have recently transitioned from being the director of a Centre for Psychoanalytic Studies to becoming the head of a new Department of Psychosocial and Psychoanalytic Studies. Can you tell us more about this new department, and what its emergence tells us about the history and sociology of psychoanalysis in the present?

Matt ffytche (Mf): It’s a very exciting moment for us, and a fascinating, transitional moment for the discipline. In many UK institutions, programmes connected to psychoanalysis have been in long-term decline, I think mainly because of the way in which Centres or Units which were once set up in relationship with schools of psychology or health, have found the disciplinary ground being whittled away from under their feet as the institutions which housed them have gone more and more quantitative. In the humanities, I think interest in psychoanalysis has remained steady (usually in its Lacanian form) but just as part of the general critical mix – it has rarely dealt in full-scale psychoanalytic programmes. The University of Essex, along with Birkbeck and a few other institutions, have bucked this trend and found a real impetus to growth around such topics as psychoanalysis and the psychosocial – and this may have something to do with social science, which allows forms of research and enquiry connected to psychoanalytic viewpoints to stay in touch with mental health, without being limited by the specific positivist agendas of the natural science disciplines. At the same time, the social science platform does allow the critical dimensions of psychoanalysis, and the psychosocial, to be explored and extended, and paired up to contemporary feminist and postcolonial agendas, amongst other things. The Centre at Essex did originally emerge out of the Sociology department during the 1990s, I think out of a small research group interested in psychoanalysis and mental health. But it has grown so much, particularly over the last decade, that it was impossible to reabsorb it back into Sociology – so the change this year was really about recognising that we were a fully-functioning department of our own, with two BAs and a new BA Childhood Studies coming in, and various Masters programmes and a large body of PhD students. Where exactly this all goes remains to be seen – but credit has to go to Essex for recognising the potential of new kinds of disciplines in the current climate, or at least the need to respond flexibly to the kinds of topics school leavers are wanting to work on. And many of them do want topics connected to mental health, or a more narrative psychology, or one with critical dimensions. I think the future of psychoanalysis in the academy (which is different from its future as a clinical, professional practise) has a lot to do with whether it can continue to be rethought, in conjunction with the rethinking that has been going on in other disciplines for a while.

FC: Your article focuses on the father and on fatherhood. There has been, recently, a fair amount of writing in and around the history of the human sciences, on the mother and motherhood (two comprise Rebecca Plant’s Mom and Ann Harrington’s essay ‘Mother love and mental illness: an emotional history’).There has arguably been less on the father and fatherhood. Would you agree? And what are you hoping to encourage in terms of future research on the father?

Mf: That’s a difficult one for me to answer mainly because I was driven less by an involvement in the stakes of fathers per se, than ‘the father’ as this vanishing or dwindling moment in mid-century psychoanalytic social psychology, in which nearly all the authors are registering the same thing: fathers no longer have the status they once had; and people’s subjective formation, and social formation, is increasingly bypassing what for psychoanalysis had been thought of as a foundational ‘confrontation’ with the father. That was the perception. The issue for me was less about whether any of these approaches were accurately responding to the experience of families, and more to do with the way the family – and gender – had been inscribed in theories of socialisation, and how aspects of this seemed to be imploding in the 1960s. Which was surely a necessary thing, given the sweeping reassessment of patriarchy which (in the time frame of my article) was about to be made in the 1970s. So I’m less able to comment in relation to representations of motherhood and fatherhood now. What I can add as a side-note is the way in which, in psychoanalysis of the 1940s and 50s – especially in the UK – a shift had already been made, by figures such as Melanie Klein, Donald Winnicott, and John Bowlby, to accord far more status to the mother. They near enough reversed Freud’s emphasis on sons and fathers – which Freud had speculatively extended back through cultural time, beyond the epoch of Oedipus and into deep, Darwinian primeval history – into one of mothers and babies, as foundational for the future of emotional life. But this shift didn’t seem to make its way into the more mainstream social psychological authors inflected by psychoanalysis, who were still evidently reading the Freud of the 1920s into the social experience of the 1950s and 1960s.

FC: Your essay is one of a number of recent reconsiderations of how to think the (socio)political in relation to psychoanalysis. I’m thinking, for example, of Michal Shapira’s The War Inside, Dagmar Herzog’s Cold War Freud and Daniel Pick’s The Pursuit of the Nazi Mind. How would you account for the blossoming of such an interest, now, and how would you distinguish your own approach to this question?

Mf: It’s been an interesting development, and one I feel closely associated with – Dagmar Herzog has now joined me as Editor of Psychoanalysis and History, and Daniel Pick and I collaborated on an edited volume – Psychoanalysis in the Age of Totalitarianism (Routledge, 2016) – for which Dagmar and Michal Shapira both contributed chapters. One way of looking at it is that these are all attempts to move the history of psychoanalysis forwards from a concentration on the ‘Freud era’ to what came after. Some of this is simply about extending the history of psychoanalysis forward through the century, and responding to the opening up of more recent archives. But it was also a way of getting beyond the idea that the history of psychoanalysis necessarily has to do with the history of Freud. It’s in the 1920s to 40s in particular, that you start to get a much broader involvement of the second wave of psychoanalysts in other disciplinary fields (pedagogy, criminology, child psychology, sociology, etc). In the totalitarian book I was intrigued by the ways in which Frankfurt school sociologists had responded to the rise of fascism and anti-semitism with a wave of psychoanalytically-informed research and critical theory [. The article for HHS was in some ways an attempt to keep tracking that alliance onwards in subsequent history.

As to why this and similar initiatives amongst historians might be happening now? I think there’s also a recognition that there is a huge postwar history of psychoanalysis that remains to be told – too much for any single volume because of the degree to which psychoanalytic ideas implicated themselves so successfully in many different cultures in the middle decades of the twentieth century. And it’s always a fascinating history, because of the ways in which psychoanalysis delves into people’s fears and fantasies, or makes unusual social interventions, challenges existing assumptions, etc. It’s hard to characterise my own input here, but if anything I’d say that I pursue the history of psychoanalysis because of the complex ways in which it poses questions about the nature of identity and subjectivity that are relevant far beyond the practise of psychotherapy. For this reason, psychoanalysis is always renewing its engagements with philosophy, sociology and critical theory – an alliance very present within current psychosocial studies.

FC: Your were trained in literature as well as in history, and your article made clear to me how we much we need to move with agility between the social sciences and the humanities — including, in particular, literary studies — if we are properly to analyse the history of psychoanalysis. How would you describe your approach to interdisciplinarity in relation to the history of the human sciences?

Mf: I’ve never felt myself committed to any discipline exactly, and have generally simply pursued questions that I have felt to be crucial, about the way subjectivity is understood in the modern era, particularly in relation to individualism. And that’s true for thinkers that have influenced me as well – which REF panel would you submit Franz Fanon to, or Julia Kristeva, or Walter Benjamin, or Freud for that matter? It’s a huge problem at the moment – despite all the lip-service paid to interdisciplinarity, most elements of the way academic research and teaching are set up conspire to make liaison across fields difficult. My own tendency is to choose interdisciplinary ground not just in order to put fragments of a bigger social picture together, but in order to materialise entirely new domains. For instance, one of the areas that is intriguing me going forwards is the role of ‘fantasy’ in the social sciences. There’s obviously a psychoanalytic link here, because fantasy is an object of enquiry for psychoanalysis. But it goes wider than this. We tend to think of fantasy as something inaccessible, or illusory, or private, or without social agency. But how could you study the history of modern racism, for instance, without putting together materials from literature and culture, with other discourses circulating in the historical and social science archives, and further data from psychosocial work with the dreams and fantasies that regularly feature in relation to racial hatred? Ideally one needs to be housed in an institution that allows for that capacity, to bring these kinds of materials together across various disciplinary divides, because the logic of the material itself demands it. And one also has to work with others to find ways of arbitrating across different criteria of knowledge-formation, different theoretical frameworks.

FC: Whatever else your essay does, I read it as a fascinating contribution to the history of the emotions — in the way that you narrate a complex history whereby empathy and coolness are, variously, objects of analysis and epistemic virtues upheld by those doing the analysing. Can you say more about how this element of your argument reorients how we might think about the histories of disciplines?

Mf: Interestingly, that point about empathy was the one that occurred to me last of all, in this article that went through several iterations in the last couple of years. Or it’s the furthest point I reached in my thinking. What really struck me was the way in which psychoanalysts drawn to social science, in the 1950s and 1960s, ended up in some instances detaching themselves from the kind of empathic relation to their subjects that psychotherapy might foster. Instead, they became more abstract ‘diagnosticians’ of societies. With Alexander Mitscherlich and Margarete Mitscherlich in particular (the German psychoanalysts who are my focus in the latter half of the article) there was the added factor that this was postwar Germany, and – for them – empathy with their subjects was not an option; or they willingly exchanged empathy for moral critique. For them, Germans had been unable to acknowledge their emotions, and their past, and what had resulted was a kind of postwar social pathology, despite the apparent economic successes. This shift in the Mitscherlichs was something I could pull out by comparing certain texts, and in particular looking at the side effects of certain disciplinary lenses on the way human subjects were rendered. More recently I participated in a workshop on ‘Denial’ at the Pears Institute in London, which brought together historians, literary scholars social scientists, and psychoanalysts, and for me it raised related sets of questions about the ways in which historical subjects (in this case the agents of certain forms of violence and genocide) are rendered differently by different disciplines. One of the things that shifts is whether the observer is called upon to empathise with the object of enquiry, called to empathise by the discipline itself. What assumptions do disciplines build in about a common ‘human’ or moral viewpoint? To what extent do they use empathy to ‘flesh out’ the minds and motives of perpetrators; and by contrast, to what extent – by abandoning subjective levels of description – do other attitudes create ‘impersonal’ subjects, who then appear to act in incomprehensible, unjustifiable ways? It’s certainly an area for further work.

Matt ffytche is head of the Department of Psychosocial and Psychoanalytic Studies at the University of Essex, and the author of The Foundation of the Unconscious (Cambridge)

Felicity Callard is Editor-in-Chief of History of the Human Sciences and director of the Institute for Social Research at Birkbeck, University of London.

“Psychology and psychological facts operate in domains that extend far beyond the long revered space of the laboratory” – an interview with Jacy L. Young

We are delighted today to publish a new special issue, ‘Psychology and its Publics,’ edited by Michael Pettit and Jacy L. Young. HHS editor-in-chief, Felicity Callard, spoke to Jacy about the background to the issue, and how the question of publics, in particular, may push a heterogeneous collection of interdisciplinary voices to the fore within the history of psychology

Felicity Callard (FC): Jacy, maybe we should start with the genesis of this special issue. Did it start with you explicitly wanting to stage an encounter between research on the history of psychology and research on publics? How has this focus inflected your own research trajectories?

Jacy Young (JY): Both Michael Pettit and I have an abiding interest in the manifold ways in which the human sciences have interacted with the public across history. This special issue emerged in conversations in the wake of my doctoral dissertation, a project that was very much concerned with psychologists’ various engagements with the public, specifically in the context of the history of questionnaire research in American psychology. As we note in our introduction, too often conversations about psychology and the public presume a passive public simply receiving whatever messaging the discipline happens to disseminate. And, the public as an entity is often under-theorized in these discussions. The term is employed but never defined with respect to its parameters and characteristics, its ontology remaining un- or at least under-addressed. The contributions to this special issue speak to these concerns in a variety of ways, expanding the conversation about the public to encompass much more vibrant, active, and multifaceted notions of the public. This is especially so in Kieran O’Doherty’s piece on the construction of deliberative publics. The nature of the public, and the ways in which particular publics are brought into being in interaction with the human sciences continues to be a theme in much of my work, as is the public’s influence on the shape of scientific practice and the kinds of knowledge produced therein. Exploring the nexus of the human sciences and the public implicated in much of this work is a rich and wide-ranging landscape for the historian of the human sciences.

FC: Your special issue dislodges the obdurate assumption that, as you put it, the discipline of psychology took form ‘when a small cluster of philosophers got out of their armchairs, adapted the apparatus of experimental physiology to their needs and secluded themselves in the tightly controlled spaces of the laboratory’. The question remains: why has this vision of psychology’s beginnings had such staying power?

JY: Much of this is a consequence of psychology’s perennial concern with its status as a science. The replication ‘crisis’ that has received so much attention of late is only the most recent evidence of this ongoing fixation with the discipline’s scientific credentials or lack thereof. And this is by no means a new concern. The narrative of psychology as an experimental, laboratory-based science began at the field’s very inception, yet even from these earliest days much of psychology’s work took place outside of laboratory spaces. The laboratory is, and has only ever been, one of many spaces in which the discipline of psychology conducts itself. This is especially so in the United States, the national context of much of my own research. Here psychology was an expansive enterprise from the start, at work in clinics, classrooms, business enterprises, and other decidedly public contexts as it sought to ensure the discipline’s influence within American society. This meant not only a place in the national conversation, but also recognition of its expertise and authority when it came to addressing a host of social concerns. Psychology’s diverse forms of practice and pursuit of disciplinary authority have not left us today, though their exact configurations may have changed. And given psychology’s ever present concerns about its scientific standing the narrative of the field originating in the laboratory – that designate site of scientific undertakings – continues to have traction. This is especially so because the history of psychology has often been written by and for psychologists, just those individuals most concerned with the question of the field’s scientific identity. As a consequence, histories of psychology often speak to psychologists’ concerns and preoccupations, and continue to put forth the narrative of psychology’s history as one rooted in laboratory practice.

That being said, there has been a marked shift in the histories of psychology produced in recent years. Much of the scholarship emerging from younger scholars, in say the last ten to fifteen years, is less concerned with this traditional narrative, often sidestepping it entirely and instead producing more diverse and nuanced accounts of psychology’s history. Where the laboratory story remains, however, is in the history of psychology textbook, which continues to be what most psychologists encounter and take up during their training as the singular narrative of the field’s development.

FC: Your introduction establishes the special issue as a coming together of history of psychology, science and technology studies (including Public Understanding of Science [PUS] and Public Engagement with Science [PES]), and communication studies. I was also struck by how much the articles in the special issue think with, and have things to offer to, feminist, queer and affect studies. Can you say more about what you hope your special issue might do in terms of opening up new disciplinary and interdisciplinary approaches to the history of psychology?

JY: This coming together is really predicated upon the fact that despite the relevance of Science and Technology Studies (STS) – especially in this instance, the Public Understanding of Science and Public Engagement with Science – and related fields to the history of psychology these areas remain largely separate endeavours. Although there are some scholars in STS who work on the human sciences, often these scholars and their projects exist apart from what is taking place in the history of psychology. Similarly, those in the history of psychology working on projects that interrogate the role of the public, and other considerations that are at the core of STS, often do so without fully or meaningfully engaging with happenings in STS. This disciplinary segregation is unfortunate and one this special issue goes someway to address. As we hope the issue illustrates, there is much that can be gained on both sides when it comes to engaging with the history of psychology in ways that incorporate insights from STS.

Historians of the human sciences are well-positioned to think with and alongside feminist, queer, and affect studies as these are, topically at least, concerns very much within the purview of the human sciences. In history of psychology scholarship thus far, feminist perspectives have had the most readily apparent influence, but there still remains much that can be done here. Queer studies, in particular, continue to be an under-recognized and under-utilized reference point for the historian of psychology. Certainly psychology has had much to say about sexuality over its history, and its practitioners have lived diverse lives, but thinking about these engagements in terms of the frameworks provided by queer studies is a rarity. And here Katherine Hubbard and Peter Hegarty’s contribution queering the history of psychology in the context of the Rorschach test and the graphic novel Watchmen serves an important function. The articles in this special issue that engage with these lines of thought provide concrete illustrations of just what may result from these unions. But this is by no means the sum total of what these spheres offer the historian of psychology. Hopefully the invaluable provocations of these and other fields mean we can look forward to many more projects along these lines in the future.

FC: There is significant heterogeneity in the disciplinary backgrounds and expertise amongst your contributors. Was this intentional and, if so, how so?

JY: In many respects this heterogeneity is a feature of our own professional lives. In my case, I completed my doctorate in the rare history of psychology program situated within a psychology department. Despite its location within psychology, the program was thoroughly interdisciplinary. This meant many fruitful cross-conversations with STS scholars and others, including those working in the History and Philosophy of Science. The result of this is a broad and various network of colleagues, each working on aspects of the human sciences from different disciplinary perspectives. This kind of exposure to novel approaches to the history of psychology and related disciplines has been incredibly intellectually stimulating. Interdisciplinarity is also now second nature as I navigate a bit of a Venn diagram of colleagues spread across scholarly societies that range from the Forum for History of Human Science (a special interest group of the History of Science Society), Cheiron (the International Society for the History of Behavioral and Social Sciences), and the Society for the History of Psychology (Division 26 of the American Psychological Association), among other organizations. Bringing together scholars from diverse fields is both the norm and, to my mind, the ideal. The result is an amalgam of individuals with unique and productive takes on the history of psychology and its relation to the public.

FC: Your introduction makes it very clear why history of psychology needs to take on board the insights of STS and PUS/PES. You might say that STS has, similarly, not always been that attuned to the psy disciplines and the history of psychology. What might your special issue do for STS (and PUS/PES)?

JY: Attending to the history of psychology in the context of STS opens up a number of avenues for scholarship. This is perhaps especially so in the context of PUS/PES. It not only highlights the ways in which the public is an active participant in these conversations but also brings to the fore how the public, especially in the case of psychological knowledge, may be affected in potentially profound ways by such knowledge. Given its subject matter, psychological knowledge carries with it the possibility of altering, and itself being altered by, individuals’ self-understanding, à la Ian Hacking’s notion of looping effects. Thinking about the impact of the knowledge science produces on individuals lives in not only material and practical, but psychological, terms is something that is often only obliquely addressed. This is likewise the case with the role of psychology in helping craft the public and the public sphere that are central to work in PUS/PES. In terms of STS’s theorizing about the public, these psychological dimensions are challenging and productive realms for further work.

FC: You and your contributors challenge the usual temporal and spatial frameworks used to understand psychology’s histories and geographies. Where might this challenge take us in future research on the history of the human sciences?

JY: In the past several years there has been growing interest in tackling the history of recent social sciences (e.g., a recently founded Society for the History of Recent Social Science), a trend that is evident in some of the contributions to the special issue. Taking the history of psychology forward to the events of more recent years can at times be an intimidating and fraught process, especially when dealing with histories that involve living subjects with their own, sometimes very definite, narratives of what transpired. But moving history forward to the recent past is also an exciting endeavour that is opening up new lines of research, including work on evermore timely topics. Alexandra Rutherford’s piece on rape surveys is a prime example of just this kind of work.

Taking a long view of the history of psychology also means not only looking forward to more recent times, but further back in time before that long feted move of psychology into the laboratory. Thus, Edward Jones-Imhotep’s account of the French Revolution’s public psychology, sentimentalism, and its influence on the rationalized process of execution via guillotine. In fact, the laboratory and that era it is most often associated with – the nineteenth century – are themselves largely if not entirely absent from the special issue. This is clear evidence of the many non-laboratory spheres in which psychology operates, many of them not only public but popular, as in Hubbard and Hegarty’s examination of the Watchmen graphic novel and Luke Stark’s work on Albert Ellis’s rational therapy and its embeddedness in popular media forms of the day.

As the contributions to this special issue reinforce, psychology and psychological facts operate in domains that extend far beyond the long revered space of the laboratory. Psychology’s presence in such spaces, and its attendant relation to the public, continues to this day. Consideration of the intertwined histories of psychology and the public has much to tell us about how we understand both ourselves and the public we are positioned within.

Jacy L. Young is a psychologist and historian whose work explores the methods and practices of the human sciences. She recently completed a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada Postdoctoral Fellowship at the University of Surrey.

Felicity Callard is Editor-in-Chief of History of the Human Sciences. From September 2017, she is director of the Institute for Social Research at Birkbeck, University of London.