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I have long been a critic of reductionism. I mean, I get how it brings something to the table. Our ability to isolate a certain element from within the flux of phenomena and experience, to focus on that element closely, allows us to further our understanding of the world. I suspect it also does, what Iain McGilchrist describes as a left hemisphere trait….it allows us to grasp, to manipulate and control. Therein lies its power.

But it all goes wrong when we fail to integrate our new understanding of a part back into the reality of the whole.

In her novel, Elixir, Kapka Kassabova, writes –

Medicine emerged from alchemy’s noble attempt to marry the subjective and the objective, matter and mind, inner and outer, and in this way, to lift humanity out of superstition and senseless pain. 

But like magic, the bias of modern medicine went too far in the opposite direction. Like magic, it assumes too much and has many blind spots. 

These blind spots come from its many uncouplings, one of which is the uncoupling of psyche from soma, the soul-spirit from the body. Another is the uncoupling of one organ system from another, and another is the uncoupling of the human being from her environment. 

Both Folk Medicine and Western Medicine discourage you from taking ownership of your well-being through knowledge. Both of them keep you dumb and dependent. 

In this passage she critiques both Modern and Folk Medicine for taking power away from individuals. Too often Medicine, in all its forms, comes across as a body of secret knowledge, with an expectation that patients will have faith, and hand themselves over to the practitioner with the superior knowledge.

Personally, I think this is a terrible way to practice Medicine. Diagnosis, prognosis and potential treatment should be a joint process emerging out of a caring, open relationship between a practitioner and a patient. Ultimately, the goal should be to increase an understanding of the self, and to empower individuals towards greater knowledge and autonomy.

I love how Kapka describes Medicine as emerging “from alchemy’s noble attempt to marry the subjective and the objective, matter and mind, inner and outer, and in this way, to lift humanity out of superstition and senseless pain.” That’s exactly how it felt to me. Medicine, at its best improves the lives of others by “marrying the subjective and the objective, matter and mind, inner and outer.”

But in fact what really strikes me most in this passage is “These blind spots come from its many uncouplings, one of which is the uncoupling of psyche from soma, the soul-spirit from the body. Another is the uncoupling of one organ system from another, and another is the uncoupling of the human being from her environment. ” It’s that use of the word “uncoupling”.

I’ve never used “uncoupling” in this context before. But it resonates with me much more deeply than “reductionist”. This, surely, is the heart of the problem – when we “uncouple” one organ system from another, “uncouple” the mind from the body, “uncouple” ourselves from each other, and from the rest of the lived world with whom we share this one, finite, interconnected, little planet.

Here’s to undoing as much “uncoupling” as we can.

Isn’t that something to aspire to?

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We made a visit to a sequoia forest in Catalonia recently and this is one of the many photographs I took. When I look at it now a passage from C S Lewis comes to mind. It’s many, many years since I read his little essay, “Meditation in a Toolshed”, but I’ve never forgotten it. It’s pretty easy to find online if you search for it. It starts like this –

I was standing today in the dark toolshed. The
sun was shining outside and through the crack at
the top of the door there came a sunbeam. From
where I stood that beam of light, with the specks
of dust floating in it, was the most striking thing in
the place. Everything else was almost pitch-black.
I was seeing the beam, not seeing things by it.
Then I moved, so that the beam fell on my
eyes. Instantly the whole previous picture
vanished. I saw no toolshed, and (above all) no
beam. Instead I saw, framed in the irregular cranny
at the top of the door, green leaves moving on the
branches of a tree outside and beyond that, 90 odd
million miles away, the sun. Looking along the
beam, and looking at the beam are very different
experiences.

He goes on to describe several examples of the difference between “looking at” and “looking along”, where he juxtaposes the “objective” vs the “subjective” (although he doesn’t use those terms), the “quantitative” vs the “qualitative”….and issue which has been at the heart of my career and my life. He summarises his idea with this –

We must, on pain of idiocy, deny from
the very outset the idea that looking at is, by its
own nature, intrinsically truer or better than
looking along. One must look both along and at
everything. In particular cases we shall find reason
for regarding the one or the other vision as inferior.

Most of the essay is about how we seem to have developed a habit of favouring the objective over the subjective to the point where the latter is dismissed as irrelevant, or even, unreal. I’ve heard a junior doctor say that his mentor told him “You can never believe patients. They lie all the time. You can only believe the results (the laboratory findings)”, and time and again, in neuroscience, our inner thoughts, sensations and feelings are reduced to biochemical reactions and neural pathways….as if the MRI scans and biochemistry reveals “the truth”, whereas the patient’s reported experience is dismissed as “anecdote”, or, worse, “illusion”.

As I look at this photo I see my wife, Hilary, standing in a sunbeam in the middle of the forest. I am “looking at” her in the forest. She is “looking along” the sunbeam and photographing the illuminated trees. And I know in that moment that these are two different representations of reality. Both are true. But there’s more – because as I am “looking at” this scene in the forest, I recall, and re-create, the experience I had of standing in the forest surrounded by the massive trees. I feel again the awe which I felt as the sunbeams shone through to the forest floor. I feel again the wonder I had standing amidst this community of trees (which, by the way, were planted only about seven years before I was born!)

We can understand a lot by measuring, by being objective. But we fail to grasp reality if we dismiss both the inner experience of others, and our own subjective one.

That means we need to value personal stories. We need to be curious about them, to respect them and to listen with non-judgemental empathy. Otherwise, we are only scratching a surface. Worse than that, we are in danger of replacing an understanding of what it is to be human, with a distorted and demeaned mechanistic one.

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