
Psychiatric News July 16, 2004
Volume 39 Number 14
© 2004 American Psychiatric Association
p. 41
Seeing Psychiatry's Future From An Unexpected Vantage Point
Herbert Peyser, M.D., APA Assembly representative
New York County District Branch and a former member of the APA Board of
Trustees.
For years I examined for
the oral boards. Then the team leader left, the team was put on hold, and I
ceased examining. A hiatus ensued until I was invited to join another team,
which I happily did. Examining is one of the most rewarding things you can do
for your professioncontributing something to psychiatry and upholding
its highest standards. And you can see where psychiatry is and where it is
going.
When you examine regularly year after year, embedded in the time and
situation, you cannot see clearly the small changes taking place
incrementally. But then, after a hiatus, the changes loom up and can be
striking. In Boston in early May, I saw how our candidates seemed, for the
most part, oriented away from looking for the narrative while examining
patientsthat is, the story the patient is telling in pursuing his or
her life, past, present, and future, and the role of the illness emerging in
that story. A famous writer said, "I had a life, then I had a problem,
then I took drugs, and the drugs became the problem," each phase
emerging, imposing its pattern on the previous, the treatment approaches
operating in a retrograde motion.
The candidates tended to be looking for signs and symptoms to be organized
neatly into patterns fitting DSM diagnoses, which would then lead
them to protocols of management and treatment. They did this well, being
intelligent and well educated. Is this not the education we are giving
them?
It does seem static though, this disease model, seeking causes rather than
reasons and purposesthe human "I" removed save as a
homunculus in the midst of neurons, synapses, and transmitters experiencing
all this. The model arises from the remarkable advances in neuroscience,
increasingly effective psychopharmacology, and the economic effects of managed
care, but it is also that the times have become decreasingly reflective and
contemplative. They seem more geared to the quarterly earnings
report.
The pendulum swings back and forth, a history of alternating naturalistic
disease models and more supernatural "spiritual" ones. The disease
model arose in the Hippocratic era in reaction to the earlier
spiritual-possession model. It had an admittedly primitive naturalistic
psychophysiology (the humors) but also had an unfolding narrative of an
inherent intentionality and motivational direction (entelechy), the thwarting
of which produced illness (the woman's uterus desired procreation and when
thwarted caused hysteria; the treatment was marriage).
This model disappeared with the triumph of the Judeo-Christian, more
supernatural model over the Grecian one. Witches and demons, incubi and
succubae from without replaced the uterus within.
The disease model returned in the 1500s with Vives, Agrippa, Weyer, and so
on and progressed with Pinel and then Hecker, Kahlbaum, Kraeppelin, and so on
in the 1800s. Freud espoused it but abandoned the reductionistic disease model
of his 1895 "Project" and picked up pioneering neurologist
Hughlings Jackson's Darwinian-based model that, biologically based,
nevertheless contained a narrative thrust, but a species-driven rather an
individual-oriented one.
Freud and his followers moved evermore in the direction of the individually
driven, although up to the end Freud spoke of biology as
"bedrock."
The advent of synapse physiology and psychopharmacology has returned us
increasingly to the disease model again, but this time it is more mechanistic
than ever. It progresses inexorably, removing the individual's "I"
from the illness and leaving only neurons, transmitters, and the like. Is
there no pathway of reconciliation that includes both world views?
One can only hope that when our experts meet to work out DSM-V
they will try to include both world views. One would prefer not to be sitting
in a theater seeing "Hamlet" and thinking, "Oh, a major
depressive disorder. Let's give him an SSRI, and then we won't have to sit
through all that iambic pentameter and see the stage all littered with corpses
at the end!" And then getting up and leaving, for any further listening
would be unnecessary: the problem was solved, the curtain lowered, and that
would be that.
Or Oedipus stepping out onto the apron of the stage saying, "You
can't blame me. I came from a dysfunctional family and, besides, I suffered
childhood abuse, so I have PTSD. Could you give me a
benzodiazepine?"
Isn't there something missing from this picture?
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