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The Psychosomatic SecretThe unscientific allure of mind-body medicine.

The Cure Within by Anne Harrington.Big ideas about how the mind can make the body sick—or, better, can cure it of disease—have caught on throughout American history, spread by scores of best sellers, some medical writing, some magical thinking, and at least one Broadway song. In the 1940s and '50s, physician and psychoanalyst Franz Alexander argued that repressed emotions can cause specific disorders like ulcers, asthma, and hypertension. In 1950, the Broadway musical Guys and Dolls joked that matrimonial frustration is bad for the upper respiratory tract. In 1960, after Norman Mailer stabbed his wife with a penknife, he claimed that so much rage, if repressed, would have caused cancer.

Each decade has also brought fresh claims that laughter or self-knowledge or love or positive thinking can cure the body of particular ills. In the 1970s, writer Norman Cousins described how megadoses of the Marx Brothers and other comedies cured him of a severe form of arthritis. In the 1980s, physician Bernie Siegel set up a treatment program that counseled cancer patients to reassess their lives and become "exceptional" in order to survive the disease. In the 1990s, journalist Bill Moyers featured ancient Chinese remedies alongside home-grown ones in a PBS series that helped make mind-body medicine the publishing bonanza it remains. But as book has piled upon book, expert upon expert, guru upon gimmick, the whole messy realm has cried out for a rigorous, cultural cartographer.

It has found one, finally, in Anne Harrington. A Harvard historian, she has expertly mapped the transmission of mind-body ideas in The Cure Within, showing us where they come from and why exactly they seem to have nine lives. That mind-body medicine has provoked influential skeptics to speak out against it hasn't checked its growth. In the late 1970s, Susan Sontag famously attacked the belief that character causes disease. "Patients who are instructed that they have, unwittingly, caused their disease are also being made to feel that they have deserved it," she wrote in Illness As Metaphor. Marcia Angell, then an editor at the New England Journal of Medicine, echoed the fear that patients swept up in psychologizing would feel "the anguish of personal failure" if they couldn't cure themselves and might even "come to see medical care as largely irrelevant." Yet the mind-body message continues to thrive.

Harrington does not neglect the dangers it poses. In fact, she turns up the most alarming anecdote I have ever heard: a doctor who tells an anguished mother that "every child with cancer is an unloved child." (A close second is the feminist writer and physician who insists that miscarriages are related to inner conflicts about motherhood.) Still, Harrington is a surveyor, not a critic, and follows the slip and tumble of ideas with matter-of-factness. At the root of many mind-body notions she finds religious belief, "imperfectly secularized." The belief that priests could exorcise demons from the body set the stage for the idea that physicians could expunge disease through the power of suggestion. With psychoanalysis thrown into the mix (along with military medicine and a rash of cultural anxieties), patients' own power to purge the demons—through self-knowledge or will or positive thinking—gained traction in the 20th century.

This approach was fueled by disgust with medical arrogance and authority, especially in the 1970s. Today, in a more sophisticated synthesis of mind-body ideas, the belief that empathetic doctoring can heal—in part through the placebo effect of a medical presence—has gained ground. Perhaps it's the stringencies of managed care, Harrington suggests, that have renewed our appreciation for the psychological, not just medical, clout of white coats. "We still believe in positive thinking, but many of us also think it would be nice if our doctors were part of the formula." On Harrington's map of this fascinating landscape, you'll find the secrets of mesmerism and hypnotism, the resilience of Mary Baker Eddy, the can-doism of The Little Engine That Could, and other cultural signposts. Crucially, she shows that "in no instance" did ideas of mind-based healing emerge first as "self-contained bodies of expert knowledge." Rather, they sprang from religion or culture, and persisted partly by shape-shifting and slipping back and forth between medical and popular realms.

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Amanda Schaffer is a science and medical columnist for Slate. Read all of Schaffer's articles for Slate and Double X.
COMMENTS

Remarks from the Fray:

Kudos to Amanda Schaffer for exposing the unscientific basis for much that passes for mind-body medicine.

Neglected though are the vested interests among psychiatrists who believe that the key to obtaining grants is to make unsubstantiated claims about the benefits of their studies for extending human life.

My colleagues and I recently published a careful review of the available literature in which we concluded that there never had been any evidence that psychotherapy or support groups prolonged the survival of cancer patients, including flawed classic studies making claims to the contrary.

The reaction from some grant holders was swift. The president of my university was contacted twice to complain that I was demoralizing the young people in the field. Colleagues in my own and other departments at my university reported being contacted to pressure me.

Exaggerated claims about mind-body connections are associated with big $$$$.

--James Coyne

(To reply, click here.)

I have only this to say: through a number of surgeries and other procedures, I have always figured that if I was a happy camper, if I had a sense of humor and made my doctors and nurses laugh, they would want to come back and see me. That is, through my humor and my optimism, I might receive better treatment than the curmudgeon in the next room.

A personal and untested theory, I admit, but I'm sticking with it.

Hope and humor!

--SoccerFreak

(To reply, click here.)

On a loosely related note, when I was doing my residency a lot of us picked up the superstition that bad things seem to happen to good people; on the other hand, nasty people seemed to last forever.

Every resident seemed to have a story about a really nice patient with a really nice family who would end up getting diagnosed with some sort of horrible advanced cancer. For each of those stories, there was a some mean, belligerant patient who would get admitted for some problem related to drinking or drugs, get coded, spend a night in the ICU, and then go on to demand narcotics and yell at the nurses another day.

Anecdotal and unscientific, yes. But maybe someone needs to look into whether being nasty helps you live longer!

--Grungie

(To reply, click here.)

I think that people who emphasize attitude are blaming the patient for the disease. Some of them do this because they are afraid of getting sick themselves. They want a reliable cure, and they want to stay in control of events. They imagine that a smile and a good attitude will act as a talisman to keep them safe from disease.

--JedRothwell

(To reply, click here)

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