Complementary medicine and the patient

I refer to the latest offering from Vickers and Zollman on
complementary therapies, who seem to be distorting and oversimplifying an
otherwise interesting topic:

“Louise Hay "All disease comes from a state of unforgiveness"
Edward Bach "Rigidity of mind will give rise to those diseases which
produce rigidity and stiffness of the body"
Alexander Lowen "A weakness in the backbone must be reflected in serious
personality disturbance... the individual with sway back cannot have the
ego strength of a person whose back is straight"
[from Vickers and Zollman, BMJ current issue]

In discussing such books as those by Louise Hay and Edward Bach, the
writers are perhaps in serious danger of losing their audience completely.
In such a situation I think they should have strived much harder to follow
a middle path and to act as more neutral go-betweens, linking the audience
slightly more sympathetically or neutrally to the material they have
chosen to present, and striving to fill any gaps. The authors in this
article seem to have deliberately abandoned this journalistic ‘sacred
calling’, and have chosen to report material which is not placed into any
kind of meaningful context for the readers, who may be slightly baffled,
or possibly even angered, by the material being presented. What is
completely missing here is an explanation for the readers of where such
writers are ‘coming from’, and how their remarks can be translated into
some kind of meaningful therapeutic language.

When Louise Hay and Edward Bach say that all illness signifies a lack
of love or a lack of forgiveness in a person’s life, they are not saying
it to provoke, or to make patients feel guilty, but because it has a
meaning and purpose. A meaning and purpose, which is useful to a patient.
In this article, the writers have dismally failed to explain what that
context and purpose might be. In addition, by choosing to report such
matters without such a context they appear to be acting nefariously and,
wittingly or unwittingly, they are planting negative thoughts about this
type of material into the minds of their readers. Is that a valid function
of a writer? It borders on smear journalism and must thus be regarded as
deliberately pejorative. In my view, there is, in this article, a
monumental, and probably an unforgivable, failure by the writers to stay
neutral or to provide a meaningful narrative to carry the material; they
thus appear to be poking fun.

As everyone knows, there is a huge gulf between scientific medicine
and the field of psychology. There is a long history of friction between
them, and very little meaningful dialogue seems possible. Clinicians tend
to reside exclusively in one field or the other; the concepts, experiences
and beliefs within each field are often incompatible and often do not
transfer across that readily. This is well known. There is also within the
latter field a sizeable gulf between the various schools of thought. To
claim that physical illness has a hidden meaning and purpose on a deeper
psychological level, might not be as daft as it sounds. This should not be
dismissed so lightly, and is certainly a valid approach within psychology
generally. The work of Groddeck, Hillman and Jung, for example, testify to
the fertile ground which exists in this field. If illness can be seen as
having an underlying psychological pattern, then that can, for example, be
usefully presented to the patient within the context of the journey of
self-discovery that illness undoubtedly is. Are the authors trying to
denigrate phrases like ‘mentally constipated’ or ‘anally retentive’, which
have entered general vocabulary, for good or ill, in recent decades? Is it
not useful to know that skin disease has a parallel with lack of touch and
caresses? That asthma is very like the breathing difficulties associated
with blind terror or the birth process? Or that hayfever is very like
grief? Are clinicians to be barred from ever making such parallels and
drawing whatever conclusions they wish? The social discouragement of
derision and contempt is a powerful weapon which it is wise to wield with
greater caution.

There is a wonderful and deeply insightful book by Dr Ralph
Twentyman, late Editor of the British Homeopathic Journal, called ‘The
Science and Art of Healing’ [published in 1988], in which he makes some
very interesting parallels between the structures and cavities of the body
and building architecture, for example, as well as going on to comment
upon more abstruse matters relating to body organs like the heart and
liver. He draws heavily upon the work of Goethe and Steiner. I am sure
many open-minded physicians would find this type of material genuinely
interesting, rather than socially embarrassing.

Even into relatively modern times, for example, most illness have
been regarded within a spiritual context and seen almost universally, as a
punishment from God for our sinfulness. Inevitably, ‘redemption from sin’
was equated with ‘cure of disease’, and vice-versa; and all Churches
[indeed, all religions] still carry a healing mission. Thus to trample
over this field with large muddy boots, as these authors appear to have
done, is to display a regrettable form of ignorance of the deeper
subtleties of healing in its widest context. It also ignores any religious
beliefs that clinicians may hold. In addition, the authors should be more
careful in future not only of losing their audience but also fanning the
flames of bigotry, which are already alive within those trained in
science. The physician should stand between God and man, between knowledge
and suffering; that is their function. In addition, science should be
based upon a neutral evaluation of evidence, rather than reason to incite
derision.

We do, admittedly, live in more secular times, yet vestiges of belief
in supernatural powers, visits to shrines, the healing power of holy
relics, etc, these all live on in our society, whether we like it or not.
I therefore think there is a danger in this article of trampling over some
sensitive grounds and causing more harm than good.

In the same article, the authors consider the therapeutic effect of
touching. How can they explain that scientifically? There is also the
healing effect of talking over your problems with a friend or relative.
Are these also to be systematically denied and condemned? What is the
difference between the healing effect of physical touch and considering
how love or forgiveness, guilt and grief can be connected with one’s
physical illness? I fail to see the point that is being made. In addition,
I wonder, in fact, if the authors have any point to make at all. Likewise,
if the discussion with a patient of the underlying psychological slant on
their physical condition, has a material benefit on their health, their
suffering and their sense of well-being, then what possible harm has been
done in such a discussion? How is that a problem?

In the same article, they claim that cancer patients are reported to
enjoy complementary treatments, even if their cancer is no better after
it. Why do they tell us all this without trying to find a reason for such
observations, or placing them into some kind of wider therapeutic context?
Are they just presenting this material like a display window of some kind
of curio shop or “freak show”? Does not this whole series really border on
being a quite thinly disguised and voyeuristic form of “weird beast show”?
So we can all have a jolly good chuckle at all the strange nonsense such
therapists engage in? That is the overwhelmingly sad impression some of
these articles must have had on readers.

On the contrary, I think the authors should more carefully consider
the generally very sincere beliefs and motives of most complementary
practitioners, and try to acknowledge the very useful healing work they
do, rather than continually lambasting them as fools and knaves, who dwell
in some gloomy hinterland beyond all rational discourse. The question
simply is: do physicians genuinely wish to discuss this subject seriously,
or not? If not, then why continue with this silly freak show any longer?

Peter Morrell