Archive for the ‘Thinking about psychiatry’ Category

Models of mental illness

Thursday, November 3rd, 2011

(Picture credit – taken with a tilt shift lens – looks like a model…)

It’s widely accepted that individuals can be disturbed or troubled of mind.  What is controversial is how we should understand this. 

Asides psychiatrists, many professional disciplines work and research in the field of mental disorder.  Each discipline approaches the subject from their own viewpoint, using their own conceptual model to explain what they find before them. 

Alas there is no single model that has complete explanatory power.  To fully understand an individual’s difficulties it is often necessary to borrow from several.  This would be the favoured approach from an eclectic practitioner.  In practice it’s easy to favour a pet model which most closely fits one’s world view and defend this against those supported by others. 

The on-going debate about the merits of drug treatments versus talking therapy can be viewed as a clash of models: biological versus psychodynamic/cognitive.

The disease or biological model

This model holds that any dysfunction that effects mental functioning can be regarded as ‘disease’ in a similar way to dysfunction that affects other parts of the body.

In the disease model, a disorder affecting mental functioning is assumed to be a consequence of physical and chemical changes which take place primarily in the brain.  Just like any other disease a mental disease can be recognised by specific and consistent signs, symptoms and test results.  These distinguish it from other diseases. 

Psychiatrists who adhere to the disease model are often referred to as ‘biological psychiatrists’ (as in ‘he’s very biological’).
With a biological approach comes a preference for physical treatment methods, primarily drugs, but also ECT. 

This model best applies to schizophrenia

The psychodynamic model

The central tenet of the psychodynamic model is that a patient’s feelings have lead to problematic thinking and behaviour.  These feelings may be unknown to the patient and have formed during critical times in their life, due to interpersonal relationships. 

These unknown (or unconscious) feelings are uncovered during therapy.  Therapy can take place over a large number of sessions and over a time period of a year and beyond. 

During therapy a relationship builds up between therapist and patient.  The emotions that the patient attaches to the therapist are collectively known as ‘transference’, and those the therapist attaches to the patient collectively as ‘counter transference’.  By understanding these feelings a patient may gain an understanding that they can take with them to future relationships. 
This model is applied broadly, but has limited applicability to the most severe mental disorders. 

The behavioural model

The behavioural model understands mental dysfunction in terms theory emerging from experimental psychology.

Symptoms, as understood by the behavioural model, are a patient’s behaviour.  This behaviour has come about by a process of learning, or conditioning.  Most learning is useful as it helps us to adapt to our environment, for example by learning new skills.  However some learning is maladaptive and behaviour therapy aims to reverse this learning (counter conditioning). 

This model best applies to phobias.

The cognitive model

The cognitive model understands mental disorder as being a result of errors or biases in thinking.  Our view of the world is determined by our thinking, and dysfunctional thinking can lead to mental disorder.  Therefore to correct mental disorder, what is necessary is a change in thinking. 

This model will be familiar to anyone who has trained or undergone cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT).  CBT aims to identify and correct ‘errors’ in thinking.  In this way, unlike psychodynamic therapy, it takes little interest in a patient’s past. 
This model is widely used, but classically applies to depression and anxiety.

The social model.

The social model regards social forces as the most important determinants of mental disorder.  The social model takes a broader view of psychiatric disorder than any other model.  It regards a patient’s environment and their behaviour as being intrinsically linked. 

In some ways it is like the psychodynamic model, which also sees patients as moulded by external events.  However whereas the psychodynamic model sees mental disorder as highly personalized and its determinants not immediately recognizable, the social model sees mental disorder as based on general theories of groups and caused by observable environmental factors. 

Example

For someone who develops persistent depression following the death of a close relative :

“This can be perceived in several ways by psychiatrists.  One sees the depression as a pathological event that is directly due to the biochemical changes occurring in the brain of someone who is predisposed to pathological depression through an accident of illness.  Another sees the depression as a reactivation of unresolved childhood conflicts over an early loss.  Another regards the depression as part of the normal mourning process that has got out of control because the person’s thoughts become fixed in a negative set which sees everything in the most pessimistic light.  Yet others conclude that the mourning response has been exaggerated primarily by society or see it as an abnormal form of learning which is no longer appropriate for the situation but is receiving encouragement from some quarter (positive reinforcement)”

From Models for mental disorder

“Happiness” and psychiatrists

Thursday, June 30th, 2011

There has been growing interest amongst social scientists in recent years in the ‘science of happiness’.  This has also found favour with politicians, and from April – via a ‘happiness index’ – the National Audit Office will seek to establish the key areas that matter most to British people’s wellbeing.  Should this approach take hold it threatens to redefine the role of government, which has traditionally directed much of its efforts towards the aim of promoting economic growth.

Listen to enthusiasts (Lord Layard or the ‘Action for happiness’ movement for instance) and one could be convinced.  Happiness (or ‘well-being’, the two words are often used synonymously) can be measured, and inferences can be drawn about what makes us happy or unhappy.  Individuals and governments can then be directed towards behaviour and policies which produce the greatest happiness and the least unhappiness.  As a result, overall, people are more content. 

What should psychiatrists make of this happiness agenda?  Even if they are not depressed, many of our patients are unhappy.  If we are in the business of reducing mental suffering then we could choose to enthusiastically promote actions that increase happiness.  This would be in the same way that a hepatologist might wish to endorse sensible drinking.

Happiness has a subjective nature and is a notoriously difficult thing to pin down.  What makes one person happy does not make everyone happy; indeed what makes one person happy may make another person unhappy – think of a child’s glee at tormenting a sibling.  These conceptual difficulties with happiness are not in themselves a reason not to try to increase happiness, but should at least inform us to proceed with caution. 

Is promoting subjective well-being anything but a personal matter?  A top-down approach may struggle to address the complexities at play.  One notes for instance that some types of happiness are ‘better’ than others.  Campaigners for happiness often observe that the ways in which we ostensibly seek pleasure – wanton consumption and recreational drugs to name but two – do not bring ‘real’ happiness. But can such a distinction actually be made? 

I also have more practical concerns.  Serious steps towards promoting happiness would require our politicians to change their priorities away from promoting consumerism and toward a more equable society.  These are actions they are likely to be unwilling to take.  The Action for Happiness campaign does talk about ‘actions to create a better society’.  Many of its recommendations for behaviour are laudable, but they are also bland and do not challenge the status quo.  The revolution offered is meek.  As an organising principle the happiness agenda has no direction, no meaning, and no mention of duty or sacrifice. 

Psychiatrists do need to be aware of how ‘happiness’ is rising up the agenda.  With happiness as a focus we may find that our patients increasingly feel that if they are not ‘happy’ they are failing.  One of our roles can be to promote perspective and to remind them that even generally happy lives are still liable to humiliations, disappointments and tragedies.  In fact looking on the bright side, unhappiness can be useful as it can spur us on towards changing our lives. 

Action for happiness’ Ten keys to happier living

1.    Do things for others
2.    Connect with people
3.    Take care of your body
4.    Notice the world around you
5.    New learning new things
6.    Have goals to look forward to
7.    Find ways to bounce back
8.    Take a positive approach
9.    Be comfortable with who you are
10.  Be part of something bigger

This article will shortly be published in the June RCPsych London Division Newsletter

Risk

Wednesday, October 13th, 2010

A history of ‘risk’

Most commentators link the emergence of the word and concept of ‘risk’ with maritime activity during the pre-modern period.  The early meaning referred to the perils of the natural world that could befall a voyage and therefore excluded the idea of human fault and responsibility. 

This way of considering risk changed with modernity and was influenced by the notion, emerging from the Enlightenment, that the key to human progress and social order is an objective knowledge of the world through scientific exploration and rational thinking.  This assumes that the social and natural worlds follow laws that may be measured, calculated and therefore predicted. 

The development of the mathematics of probability further promoted the idea that rationalized counting and ordering could bring disorder under control.  In this way ill defined hazards that previously affected only the individual became well defined ‘risks’ that could be statistically described and, theoretically at least, prevented.

Today the sociologists Beck and Giddens talk about the ‘risk society’.  They refer to a society that is obsessed with risk and debates on how risk should be managed at both the institutional and personal levels.  They also refer to the way that society organises itself to deal with these hazards which are caused by modernity itself.

Risk and psychiatry

The Lunatic Asylums Act 1845 made it mandatory for each borough and county to provide, at public expense, adequate asylum accommodation for its pauper lunatic population.  This lead to an asylum building programme and to an increase in the psychiatric inpatient population.  The peak of the asylum population was in the mid-1950s, after which this time asylums began to be closed and the overall number of inpatient beds reduced. 

One of the factors behind asylum closures was the recognition of the potential harm caused by psychiatric hospitalization following a number of scandals that had uncovered mistreatment of patients.  The policy of community care for psychiatric patients slowly emerged but with this the focus of concern also shifted from the restrictive nature of institutional care towards the seeming lack of control over mentally disordered patients in the community. 

Initially disquiet was about the potential for subsequent homelessness in discharged patients.  Since there was (and remains) a high level of mental illness amongst homeless people it was concluded that patients were being discharged ‘onto the street’.  This was not substantiated by research and focus then shifted to public safety due to psychiatric patients.  The murder of Jonathan Zito by Christopher Clunis in 1992 was particularly pivotal as it lead to the formation of the Zito Trust, an influential organisation that campaigned to improve community care. 

Since 1994 health authorities have been obliged to hold an independent inquiry in cases of homicide committed by those who have been in contact with psychiatric services.  And although the overall number of psychiatric beds has reduced, the number of compulsory and overall admissions has increased.  The emergence of the concept of ‘dangerous and severe personality disorder’ was criticized as representing a sociopolitical rather than psychiatric rationale for justifying psychiatric detention. 

Consideration of the quantification and prediction of the risk posed by patients has become a dominant force in the practice of clinical psychiatry and a public expectation has developed that mental health services should exert some influence over the individuals under their care.  Whilst psychiatrists do perform a protective role both towards their patients and towards the public, there is a media and political expectation that serious incidents are totally preventable.  This focus on mental health services on the prevention of untoward events means that other contributing factors are excluded. 

Although firmly entrenched in practice, it is not a given that psychiatrists should be responsible for the behaviour of their patients.  This is a situation unique in medicine, and places unhelpful restrictions on the therapeutic relationship as doctors are obliged to be responsible for the involuntary detention of patients whom they treat. 

Defensive and over cautious practice carried its own risks and does not lead to creative thinking.  Our focus on ‘risk’ we run the risk of following procedures that are more for the purpose of protecting staff than helping patients.

Links:

Risk (Key ideas) by Deborah Lupton
Risk society on Wikipedia
Challenging risk: a critique of defensive practice
BBC Radio 4 Thinking Allowed: Managment of risk in everyday life
‘Dangerous and severe personality disorder’: a psychiatric manifestation of the risk society

Photo credit
 

The Rosenhan experiment examined

Wednesday, September 1st, 2010

The ‘Rosenhan experiment’ is a well known experiment examining the validity of psychiatric diagnosis.  It was published in 1975 by David Rosenhan in a paper entitled ‘On being sane in insane places’

The study consisted of two parts.  The first involved ‘pseudopatients’ – people who had never had symptoms of serious mental disorder – who, as part of the study, briefly reported auditory hallucinations in order to gain admission to psychiatric hospitals across the United States. 

After admission, the pseudopatients no longer reported hallucinations and behaved as they ‘normally’ would.  Despite this many were confined as inpatients for substantial periods of time and all were discharged with the diagnosis of a psychiatric disorder. 

For the second part of the experiment staff at a teaching hospital, whose staff had learned of Rosenhan’s above results, were informed that one or more pseudopatients would attempt to be admitted to their hospital over an ensuing three month period.  Many patients were subsequently identified as likely pseudopatients but in fact no pseudopatient had been sent. 

‘On being sane…’ also examines, though the experience of the pseudopatients, the patient experience of psychiatric inpatient wards.  This part of the paper is discussed often only in passing.

Rosenhan’s conclusion was stark:  A psychiatric diagnosis is more a function of the situation in which the observer finds a patient and reveals little about a patient themselves. 

“It is clear that we cannot distinguish the sane from the insane in psychiatric hospitals“

Despite being over thirty years old the Rosenhan experiment remains well known and is often cited.  Accounts of the experiment are widespread on the internet, but critiques are rarer and many people accept the study’s conclusions at face value. 

This was an audacious experiment and the subsequent paper had an extremely good title, but was Rosenhan justified in his conclusion?  Anthony Clare, amongst others, wrote that Rosenhan was ‘theorising in the absence of sufficient data’.  But if Rosenhan was correct then his experiment remains extremely important; as if diagnoses are in ‘the mind of the observer’ and do not reflect a quality inherent a patient, they are of little use. 

If you wish to read the original paper it can be found here.  Spitzer’s 1975 critique is available here (for a fee).  Davis’s critique here.  Clare’s ‘Psychiatry in dissent’ is available in preview here.

Circumstances of diagnosis and the detecting of sanity.

In the experiment eight pseudopatients presented at psychiatric hospitals complaining of hearing a voice.  Asked what the voices said, they replied that the voices were often unclear, but as far as they could tell, said “empty,” “hollow,” and “thud.”  Beyond alleging this symptom, and falsifying their names and vocations, no other falsehoods were told.  Upon admission to the ward the pseudopatients are reported to have ceased to claim symptoms and behaved as they ‘normally’ would. 

Length of hospitalization was an average of 19 days during which time no pseudopatients were identified as fraudulent. All pseudopatients except one (diagnosed with bipolar disorder) were discharged with a diagnosis of ‘schizophrenia in remission’.  In light of this Rosenhan regards there to have been ‘uniform failure to recognise sanity’.  Rosenhan refused to identify the hospitals used on the grounds of his concern for confidentiality.  This is laudable in some respects, but it makes it impossible for anyone at the hospitals in question to corroborate or refute this account of how the pseudopatients acted or were perceived. 

It is a difficulty that Rosenhan seeks to answer whether patients can be identified as ‘sane’ or ‘insane’, whilst psychiatrists, whose practice he wishes to scrutinize, do not make such distinctions in their practice but instead aim to identify and treat what they view as psychiatric disorders.  This objection aside, and working within this terminology, in his 1975 critique Spitzer identifies three possible meanings for ‘detecting of sanity’. 

  1. Recognition, when he is first seen, that the pseudopatient is feigning insanity as he attempts to gain admission to the hospital. This would be detecting sanity in a sane person simulating insanity.
  2. Recognition, after having observed him acting normally during his hospitalization, that the pseudopatient was initially feigning insanity. This would be detecting that the currently sane person never was insane.
  3. Recognition, during hospitalization, that the pseudopatient, though initially appearing to be ‘insane’ was no longer showing signs of psychiatric disturbance.

Only the first two involve identifying a pseudopatient as a fraud and Spitzer feels that it is these that Rosenhan implies are all that are relevant to the central research question.  He disagrees, writing that when the third definition of detecting of sanity is considered Rosenhan’s conclusions cannot be sustained. 

This assertion hinges on Rosenhan’s report that all the pseudopatients were diagnosed as being ‘in remission’, that is recognised as being, currently, without signs of mental disorder or ‘sane’.  By this view the data as reported by Rosenhan contradicts Rosenhan’s own conclusion.  Spitzer also writes that ‘schizophrenia in remission’ was a diagnosis rarely used by psychiatrists at the time of the experiment, and as such this indicates that the diagnoses given were a function of the patients’ behaviours and not simply of the environment in which they were made. 

Should a psychiatrist be able to able to detect that a patient is a fraud?  That is, should a psychiatrist be able to detect that, after observing a patient acting normally, that they were initially feigning insanity?  Rosenhan reports that this possibility was considered by the pseudopatients’ fellow patients but by no clinical staff:

“It was quite common for the patients to “detect” the pseudopatient’s sanity.  During the first three hospitalizations, when accurate counts were kept, 35 of a total of 118 patients on the admissions ward voiced their suspicions, some vigorously.  “You’re not crazy.  You’re a journalist, or a professor (referring to the continual note-taking).  You’re checking up on the hospital.” …. The fact that the patients often recognized normality when staff did not raises important questions.”

Rosenhan reports that the psychiatrists did not spend much time with the pseudopatients.  Other patients of course had ample time to formulate their own theories.  Whilst the medical staff’s lack of engagement with the pseudopatients is regrettable, it does point towards poor clinical skills rather than an indictment of psychiatric classification.  Clare again:

“Rosenhan and those many critics of psychiatry who have greeted his paper with enthusiasm seem in fact to be saying that, since the doctors did not appear to have the faintest idea as to what constitutes the operational concept of ’schizophrenia’ and yet applied it with haste to people showing virtually no signs or symptoms whatsoever, the whole diagnostic approach should be scrapped!”

Rosenhan later wrote that he considered the patients apparent insight over that of the psychiatrists as due to the ‘experimenter effect’ or ‘expectation bias’.  The professionals expected to see a patient with a mental illness, so they looked for reasons to believe it, and eventually they convinced themselves that the pseudopatients were actually suffering from schizophrenia.

People do sometimes simulate mental illness for their own ends and this is a genuine diagnostic problem.  It is a situation not unique to psychiatry and how easily a disorder psychiatric or otherwise can be feigned tells us little about the worth of the psychiatric classification system.  Kety has something to say on this. 

“If I were to drink a quart of blood and, concealing what I had done, come to the emergency room of any hospital vomiting blood, the behavior of the staff would be quite predictable. If they labeled and treated me as having a bleeding peptic ulcer, I doubt that I could argue convincingly that medical science does not know how to diagnose that condition”

Clare makes a similar point using the example that the signs and symptoms of diabetes exist independently of whether they are correctly elicited or not. 

Rosenhan does consider in his paper that that a mental illness is a life sentence:

“A broken leg is something one recovers from, but mental illness allegedly endures forever”

If a disorder was known to be always chronic and unremitting, it would illogical not to question the original diagnosis if the patient was later found to be asymptomatic and it is at this that Rosenhan is presumably driving.  If the pseudopatients ‘recovered’ from an incurable illness whilst under the gaze of their psychiatrists and this did not alter the diagnosis then this would be an example, just as Rosenhan says, of the hospital environment influencing diagnostic decision making.  But in stating that mental illness is something that endures forever Rosenhan is taking a very selective view of the wide range of presentations all of which come under the umbrella of ‘schizophrenia’.  Schizophrenia has acute subtypes from which full recovery is possible and can also relapse and remit. 

As for the non-existent impostor experiment it is surprising that it was agreed to by the teaching hospital in question.  The poor reliability of psychiatric diagnoses means that the design of the experiment could only produce an outcome where actual patients were incorrectly identified as pseudopatients. 

Conditions on the ward

All of the pseudopatients took extensive notes.  Rosenhan makes much of this writing being "seen as an aspect of their pathological behaviour” on the grounds of the nursing entry that read “engages in writing behaviour”.  Spitzer argues that was routine for nursing staff to frequently and intentionally comment on non-pathological activities in which a patient engages to enable other staff members to have knowledge of how the patient spends his time.  As such, a comment about note taking is therefore inevitable and unremarkable.  He is struck by what he sees as Rosenhan’s actual failure to provide data demonstrating where normal hospital experiences were categorized as pathological. 

Rosenhan’s account of the conditions on the psychiatric wards is, for me, the most interesting part of the paper.  The staff and patients were strictly segregated, the professional staff and especially the psychiatrists being rarely seen and having little patient contact. 

“Staff and patients are strictly segregated. Staff have their own living space, including their dining facilities, bathrooms, and assembly places. The glassed quarters that contain the professional staff, which the pseudopatients came to call “the cage,” sit out on every dayroom. The staff emerge primarily for care-taking purposes – to give medication, to conduct therapy or group meeting, to instruct or reprimand a patient. Otherwise, staff keep to themselves, almost as if the disorder that afflicts their charges is somehow catching.”

This description bears resemblance to modern UK psychiatric wards.  Psychiatrists spend little time with the patients in their care and nurses are occupied for a great deal of their time sitting in a locked room doing paperwork.  The healthcare staff members with the most patient contact are the least qualified.  This is far from ideal, and a target for improvement, but it should be noted that within healthcare this distance between staff and patients is not restricted to psychiatric wards and the pressures on staff due to the number of patients in their care means that a more desirable personal service is something with which the NHS struggles in all its domains.

Rosenhan’s description of the depersonalising effect of a long stay on the wards is also powerful.  Despite their commitment to the experiment in which they are taking part, their wish to resist the powerlessness they experience leads several of them to jeopardise the study. 

“The patient is deprived of many of his legal rights by dint of his psychiatric commitment. He is shorn of credibility by virtue of his psychiatric label. His freedom of movement is restricted. He cannot initiate contact with the staff, but may only respond to such overtures as they make. Personal privacy is minimal. Patient quarters and possessions can be entered and examined by any staff member, for whatever reason. His personal history and anguish is available to any staff member (often including the “grey lady” and “candy striper” volunteer) who chooses to read his folder, regardless of their therapeutic relationship to him. His personal hygiene and waste evacuation are often monitored. The water closets have no doors.”

Attendants were reported to deliver verbal and occasional physical abuse to patients, something that can in no way be justified.  Rosenhan’s report of this leads to an interesting inconsistency.  Despite initial descriptions of abusive staff behaviour, in his conclusion Rosenhan describes the staff as overwhelmingly ‘committed and … uncommonly intelligent’.  Spitzer considers that this is because of Rosenhan does not wish to direct attention toward shortcomings of the staff, rather wishing to concentrate on diagnostic labels. 

Validity of diagnosis.

There are two issues here.  Where the psychiatrists who met his pseudopatients wrong to make a diagnosis of schizophrenia within the DSM II diagnostic framework? And are psychiatric diagnoses of use or should they be replaced by an alternative?

The ease with which the pseudopatients gained admission on the basis of what are reported to be mild symptoms was remarked upon by Anthony Clare in Psychiatry in Dissent. 

“It is a matter of some interest that a solitary complaint of a hallucinatory voice in the absence of any other unusual experience or personal discomfort should actually persuade certain American hospitals to open their doors.  Such is the current demand for a psychiatric bed within the National Health Service and the prevailing emphasis on treating patients outside hospitals and in the community that the average admitting doctor in Britain is likely to find himself under strict instructions to avoid admitting any patient who can see, speak, and do all of these things without bothering himself or others to an significant extent.  On suspects that, in Britain, Professor Rosenhan might well be advised to go home like a good man, get a decent night’s rest and come back again in the morning.” 

And many people have been critical of the way the pseudopatients were diagnosed with schizophrenia on the basis of hallucinations – a single symptom and not even essential for the diagnosis.  Anthony Clare again:

“…the doctors did not appear to have the faintest idea as to what constitutes the operational concept of ’schizophrenia’ and yet applied it with haste to people showing virtually no signs or symptoms whatsoever…”

Spitzer remarks that the doctors should have been wary of making a diagnosis of schizophrenia in a previously unknown patient presenting without any history of insidious onset.  However he is more lenient toward the pseudopatients’ psychiatrists, writing that, given the information available, schizophrenia was the most reasonable diagnosis.  Davis and Weiner agree, respectively arguing from statistical and attribution theory standpoints that schizophrenia was the most likely diagnosis.  Rosenhan himself presents no differential diagnosis. 

Hunter takes exception to Rosenhan’s assertion that the pseudopatients acted ‘normally’ in the hospital:

“The pseudopatients did not behave normally in the hospital.  Had their behaviour been normal, they would have talked to the nurses’ station and said “Look, I am a normal person who tried to see if I could get into the hospital by behaving in a crazy way or saying crazy things.  It worked and I was admitted to the hospital but now I would like to be discharged from the hospital”.

We in fact learn very little about the diagnostic process beyond the initial presentations of the pseudopatients.  It should be noted that the pseudopatients would likely not have been, unlike Rosenhan’s assertion, admitted on the basis of their hallucinations solely.  Their presentation to hospital and request for admission may also have carried diagnostic weight as it suggested much greater distress.  However, whatever the fine detail, throughout their stay, the pseudopatients do not appear to have been assessed in detail.

The poor diagnostic skills and apparent lack of curiosity of the psychiatrists that the pseudopatients met is not an indictment of the classification per se, rather its application.   The Rosenhan paper offers no insight as to why psychiatric classification had developed into the shape that he found it in 1973. 

The purpose of a disease classification system is that it allows healthcare professionals to:

  • Communicate with each other about the subject of their concern
  • Avoid unacceptable variations in diagnostic practice
  • Predict their outcome disorders and suggest a treatment.
  • Conduct research

Amongst others Richard Bentall has made a career out of pointing out that psychiatric diagnosis is neither particularly valid nor reliable.  However in Spitzer’s view the historical precedent is that classification in medicine has always been preceded by clinicians using imperfect systems.  These have then improved on the basis of clinical and research experience.  The clinician is forced to do the best he/she can until something better comes along. 

In contrast to psychiatric disorders, the diagnosing of physical medical conditions is often portrayed as being solid and dependable.  This does not bear close inspection, as many medical conditions are at least as vaguely described as psychiatric disorders.  Although it is true that by-and-large a physical illnesses diagnosis rests on biological ‘facts’, the accompanying negative impact on person is the most important factor and this is highly subjective.  For instance we all have bacteria in the back of our throats, but do not consider ourselves to have an infection. 

In light of his experiment, rather than the syndromal classification system, Rosenhan would favour a classification system based on behaviours:

“It seems more useful … to limit our discussions to behaviours, the stimuli that provoke them, and their correlates”

Yet despite this early on in the paper he writes that “Anxiety and depression exist”, suggesting he favours an ad-hoc classification system at least. 

Conclusion

Rosenhan concludes:

“It is clear that we cannot distinguish the sane from the insane in psychiatric hospitals. The hospital itself imposes a special environment in which the meaning of behavior can easily be misunderstood. The consequences to patients hospitalized in such an environment – the powerlessness, depersonalization, segregation, mortification, and self-labeling – seem undoubtedly counter-therapeutic.”

There are sufficient objections to the design of Rosenhan’s experiment – not least that his study consisted of only eight subjects- to doubt whether he is justified in writing his initial sentence.  Rosenhan’s observational study of conditions on psychiatric wards – to which the rest of the above paragraph alludes – still has relevance today and remains a note of caution for anyone who works in mental health.   

Links:

Mind changers 27 July 2009 Radio 4: The pseudopatient study

Scribd: On Being Sane in Insane Places A Critical Review

“Who wants to be a psychiatrist?” London Division academic day May 20 2010

Tuesday, June 8th, 2010

“Who wants to be a psychiatrist?” a London Division academic day, was an interesting day of talks, workshops and discussion examining reasons and solutions for the current problems of UK psychiatric recruitment. 

Prof Robert Howard, Dean of the Royal College of Psychiatrists, perhaps summed the current situation the most baldly.  "The recruitment crisis is the biggest challenge psychiatry faces".  Concerning, he also said that this is leading to an "unacceptable variation in quality amongst trainees and consultants".  

The situation does indeed appear to be dire.  This year the London Deanery received 250 applications for core training posts, down from 400 in previous years.  In the country as a whole the competition ratio of applicants to psychiatric training to jobs available is 1:1.  The result, as Michael Maier, head of the London Specialty School of Psychiatry put it, is that “psychiatry is a recruiting, not a selecting specialty”.  

Yet despite this, a recent Royal Society of Medicine study found that, alongside general practice, it was doctors who worked in psychiatry who found their lives the most satisfying.  The popularity of the study of psychology suggests that, amongst school leavers, a general lack of interest in the mind and its problems is not a problem; however again and again, upon leaving foundation jobs, doctors in training choose other specialities for a career.

 How could this have come about?  Prof Ania Korszun from Barts and the London suggested three culprits: psychiatry is seen as not ‘medical’ or ‘scientific’ enough; psychiatry recruitment suffers by association with the widespread popular stigma surrounding mental disorder; and medical students are discouraged from psychiatric careers by the negative views held by doctors working in other specialities with whom they spend much of their training.  

This relentless disparagement directed towards the ears of impressionable medical students appears to be particularly potent.  Dr Gianetta Rands, who talked about psychiatry as a part of foundation training, told us that the longer medical students spend in non-psychiatric specialities the less likely they are to choose a career in psychiatry.  The split between acute trusts and mental health trusts also means that psychiatrists are rarely present – be it at grand rounds or in the canteen – to put forward an alternative viewpoint.  It has been recognised that more psychiatry foundation year placements are required, especially in year one.  There are currently 500 placements over both years, but 2000 are needed.

Psychiatry undoubtedly has an image problem and Dr Peter Byrne, chairman of the Royal College of Psychiatry’s public education committee, presented a fascinating talk about the profile that psychiatrists have in the media and also our role as ‘evidence based public educators’.  An interesting insight was that whilst newspaper stories about physical health most often concerned the stereotype of ‘bad patient’, those concerning mental health focus on that of the ‘bad doctor’.  The recent BBC programme Mental: A history of the madhouse is an example of this.  Dr Byrne encouraged media engagement by psychiatrists and this theme was further examined in a workshop run by Dr Mark Salter, the event’s organiser.  Other workshops tackled writing skills, running student psychiatric societies and making a psychiatric documentary.  

Given the current situation, it might have been possible to find some of the messages of the day dispiriting.  Fortunately there were many moments of levity and an overall note of optimism.  Dr Chris Manning, a GP with experience of mental health services from both sides, praised psychiatrists and delivered an enthusiastic panegyric: “Minding the brain – the best job in the world”.  Dr Kate Stein, a foundation doctor, was equally enthusiastic when she told us about her plans for a psychiatric career.  The active role of medical students present as delegates was also welcome and encouraging.  

Of course it is not simply enough to identify a problem and there is a plan of action, in which – amongst others – Prof Howard, Dean of the College, is taking a special interest.  He wishes to raise the profile of psychiatry, especially with medical students, and to make medicine in general ‘more psychiatric’.

The day closed with a rabble rousing talk from Prof Simon Wessely “Why psychiatrists still need to be doctors”.  Prof Wessely convincingly argued that patients both want and need their mental health disorders to be treated by psychiatrists who are also doctors.  He spoke of the value of our ability to make a diagnosis and in our use of the biomedical model.  Psychiatrists’ ability to distinguish physical from psychiatric disease makes us indispensible to our physical medicine colleagues.  

Psychiatry has in fact never recruited as many UK trained doctors as it needs to fill its posts and in seeking to reverse this phenomenon we seek to overturn a historical precedent.  Improving the situation requires action on many fronts.  It particularly concerns me that we may be recruiting the wrong mix of students to medical school, as current science focused selection criteria favours technical knowledge over a candidate’s potential to flourish into the practitioner of holistic medicine that psychiatric practice requires and may preclude those who will eventually wish to take the path required by psychiatric practice.  A central message of “Who wants to be a psychiatrist?” is that we can all become involved in this debate and every day should regard ourselves as “walking, talking adverts for psychiatry”.

 

Also published in the June newsletter of the RCPsych London Division

 

Image credit Wikipedia

Pre-modern and modern early environments

Wednesday, March 24th, 2010

happy_family4

There are few people working in mental health who would argue that early childhood experience does not have a significant effect on one’s functioning in later life.  It’s easy to think up reasons why this should be so;  the architecture of the brain is under development during this time and  appears to be sensitive to impoverished or adverse circumstances. In his book The impact of inequality sociologist Richard Wilkinson discusses this point.  In pre-modern times he argues the distinct delineation between family and wider society did not exist and as a result the rearing atmosphere much more closely resembled that of later life.

Here’s what Wilkinson has to say (pg 266)

“The relationship between early experience and later social behaviour has often been seen as a process by which people’s relationship to societal authority is modelled on their childhood relationship to parental authority. This comes close to the idea that the function of early sensitivity is to use early social experience as an indicator of the nature of the social relationships we will have to deal with later in life: preparing us to be more or less confident, secure, aggressive, friendly, dependent, independent, trusting, or suspicious.

In modern societies, where children grow up in a nuclear family environment in which the quality of social relations might be quite different from those in the wider society, the results of early sensitivity can often look counterproductive. Many children are brought up amid great conflict and end up lacking the social skills, such as the ability to trust and cooperate, that are helpful during adult life in modern societies. Others grow up in a very secure and caring emotional atmosphere that leaves them ill-prepared for a world in which personal ambition, competition wealth, and position count for so much. But in the small groups in which our pre-human and prehistoric human ancestors lived, there was rarely such a sharp distinction between the separate social worlds of the nuclear family and the wider society as there is in modern societies. In the small foraging bands of our prehistory there was less scope for a mismatch between the social environment of childhood and adulthood. Rather than being brought up in separate nuclear families providing self-contained emotional environments distinct from the rest of society, children would have had direct exposure to the kind of community they would have to live in as adults.”

I don’t know much about this sort of thing, so if anyone knows any pertinent further reading, please leave a comment.

Reconcile, Prozac for dogs

Thursday, January 14th, 2010

prozacfordogs

Fluoxetine hydrochloride (3-(p-trifluoromethylphenoxy)-N-methyl-3-phenylpropylamine HCl) was first described in a scientific journal in 1974 as a selective serotonin -uptake inhibitor.  It was licenced for use in the treatment of depression in Belgium in 1986 and the USA in 1987.  Before its launch, to introduce it to the public, its manufacturer Eli Lilly funded eight million brochures (“Depression: what you need to know”) and 200 000 posters.  It would become one of the best selling pharmaceuticals of its age; by 1992 annual sales had reached US$1bn and by 1995 they had doubled to US$2bn.  In 1999 ‘Prozac’ – the trade name of fluoxetine – was named on of the ‘Products of the century’ by Fortune magazine.

The impact of the drug is hard to overstate, both in terms of the culture of the treatment of mental health disorders and in Western society at large.  Prior to the introduction of fluoxetine antidepressants had a reputation of having side effects and were cautiously prescribed as they were toxic in overdose.  Fluoxetine, on the other hand, was relatively benign and its introduction practically created a market in drugs for mood problems that could be safely prescribed to anyone who wanted them.

Other SSRIs followed in fluoxetine’s wake and the result has been an explosion in the diagnosing of depression and the prescribing of antidepressants.  This is all the more incredible when one considers that the revenue from antidepressants sales in 1975 was US$200million and the market was considered to be saturated.  ‘Prozac’ has since entered the popular lexicon and spawned its own sub-genre of literature.  Of these perhaps the best known is Prozac Nation, a bestselling – but in my view rather tedious – memoir of mental illness written by Elizabeth Wurtzel.

There have been some hiccups along the way.  Fluoxetine doesn’t have as few side effects as originally thought and, amongst those who are prescribed it, anorgasmia is quite common.  Nausea is often experienced initially and it can sometimes increase rather than reduce anxiety.  There have been concerns about other SSRI drugs, notably paroxetine, increasing suicide risk in young adults and in 1989, Joseph Wesbecker shot and killed eight people and injured 12 others in Kentucky before killing himself.  More recently a meta-analysis of 35 clinical trials of four antidepressants including fluoxetine concluded that the action of the medications was not clinical significance for any patient who was not severely depressed.

In 2007 Eli Lilly began to market fluoxetine for dogs under the name Reconcile.  In this incarnation it’s chewable, tastes like beef and is intended to treat something called ‘canine separation anxiety’.  This disorder amounts to a set of behaviours displayed by a dog when being left alone for too long.  A dog so affected may urinate in inappropriate places or chew furniture.  At the time of launch Lilly said that their research showed the up to 17% of dogs suffered from this behavioural disturbance.  Reconcile comes in a once a day chewable beef flavoured capsule.

I don’t know much about dogs, but other people seem to really like them.  I’ve been trying to think about what antidepressants for dogs tells us about ourselves.  Many people see dogs as part of their families and as such project onto them human attributes.  In their advertising Lilly avoid suggesting that Reconcile is a treatment for ‘canine depression’ but other articles written at the time of Reconcile’s launch are not so careful, here in the Times:

In Britain, research among pet-owners carried out for Sainsbury’s Bank in 2003 indicated that 632,000 dogs and cats had suffered from depression in the previous year.

Nearly three times as many pets had suffered from behavioural problems that which could be linked to depression, often resulting in the animal damaging its home or becoming moody or aggressive, according to the research.

The experience of a human disease such as depression involves complex human attributes such as thoughts, emotions and language.  To suggest that we can extend the concept of a specific human mental illnesses such as depression to dogs is to stretch the paradigm almost to breaking point and shows at once how loosely lay people apply the concept and how engrained widespread mental illness it is in everyday thinking.

Not that this association will worry the pharmaceutical companies.  Marketing antidepressants to dogs tacitly encourages dog owners to consider that their dogs have mental health conditions previously described in humans and this can only be good for sales.  Many pharmaceuticals develop mission creep whereby manufacturers endeavor to win them licences to allow their use to treat disorders distinct from those for which they were initially licenced.  Initially cleared for depression only, Fluoxetine is now used for anorexia and bulimia nervosa, obsessive compulsive disorder, panic disorder, premenstrual dysphoria and generalized anxiety disorder.  Viewed in this light, the launch of Reconcile, and fluoxetine’s crossing of the species barrier, is just part of the drugs product lifecycle.

This is not to say of course that fluoxetine doesn’t have its uses for animals.  In similarity to human subjects it may have impressive effects in some, moderate for others and no effect for a substantial number.  The emphasis is on the problem being in the dog and nowhere else,  just like in humans.

Links:

Animals can model psychiatric symptoms – Psychiatric news 2003
Pooches Pop Prozac to Treat Behavioral Problems
Prozac for your dog – Technology Review 2007
Eternal Sunshine – Observer May 2007

Emotions in animals – Wikipedia

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Global Psychiatry

Thursday, October 1st, 2009

psychiatry-couch2

Writing generally, in its approach to the study and treatment of mental disorders, Western psychiatry has tended to ignore socio-cultural factors, preferring instead to conceptualize the illnesses with which it is concerned as having a biological basis and a single aetiology and presentation.  Mental disorders as seen by the West are universal and those elsewhere marginalized and considered culture bound.  All cultures do have recognised human behavioural breakdowns – sustained anomalous behaviours judged negatively and regarded as disruptive to organized social life – but this does not mean that there is a single ‘true’ psychiatry.

Whilst there are likely to be some universal – biological – processes involved in the aetiology of mental disorders, to conceive human behavioural disturbance simply in terms of chemical processes is simplistic.  Their causes are multi-determined, with socio-cultural factors playing a crucial role.  Human beings and their cultures are not separable but interdependent and reflective of one another.  The culture of individuals will interact with biological, psychological and environmental variables to determine the causes and manifestations of mental disorder.  The symptoms, meanings and appropriate treatments of mental disorders are then likely to vary across cultures.  That the dividing line between the sane and insane is culturally determined is clear, as it is being constantly readjusted even in Western medicine; homosexuality for instance crossed over from mental disorder to normal behaviour in 1974*.  A behavioural disturbance seen in another culture may resemble that identified by Western medicine, and a Western treatment may even be of assistance in its resolution, but to disregard a local viewpoint and impose a Western one risks medical imperialism.

Concepts of mental illness in non-Western cultures can be markedly different.  Non-western cultures for instance appear often to emphasize somatic symptoms when presenting with a depression-like illness, perhaps because of beliefs about the integration of body and mind.  Furthermore, emotional states that appear quite fundamental from the perspective of an English speaker are not always mirrored in the lives and languages of other cultures.  It is often very difficult to find words or phrases for ‘depression’ in the non-Western lexicon.  Such difference is even plainer when we consider that whilst the English language contains over 2000 emotional words, most languages contain fewer than 200.

Of course the reality is much more nuanced than this ‘West vs. the rest’ scenario and in any one place or culture explanatory models that are used to account for disease and illness often vary between different social groups occupying the same location at a point in time.  For example there may be differences in explanatory models between townsfolk, traditional healers and Western trained professional elites.  Western ideas, however have great influence not least in scientific inquiry where much cross-cultural psychiatric research has been undertaken by academic psychiatrists using Western psychiatric concepts to explain behaviour in non-Western people.  Such activity often uses definitions of mental illness as stated in DSM and ICD-10 manuals.  These are supposedly objective accounts, but are in fact in themselves culture bound documents, representing the attempts of one particular group of people to make sense of human behavioural breakdowns.  It is social anthropologists rather than psychiatrists who have been interested in exploring concepts of normality and abnormality in different cultures.

Ideas of the universality of the Western psychiatric model are extremely powerful, but we cannot assume that because Western mental phenomena can be identified in non-Western settings, they mean the same as they do in the Western world.  This is an important topic, as the WHO has said that, within a decade, depression will globally be second only to cardiovascular disease in terms of disease burden.  A more culturally relativistic approach would find this concerning, as ‘depression’ is merely a description syndrome and is highly heterogeneous and socially shaped.  It is therefore unsuitable to be regarded as a universally valid mental health disorder.  Framing people’s difficulties as being in the realm of mental health raises a familiar concern that to act in this way is to draw attention away from other causes of their distress, for instance poverty or lack of rights.

Consider then that despite its prominence, Western psychiatry is simply one of a number of ethno-psychiatries.  It possesses however one important difference: it is the only psychiatric paradigm with the power to project its conclusions onto the rest of the world.

* According to the American Psychiatric association who decided to remove homosexuality from the DSM following a vote

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Links:

There chapters in these two books touch on this subject
Madness Explained By Richard Bentall / Malignant Sadness Lewis Wolpert

Also:

Are mental disorders caused by universal processes that create recognisable symptoms regardless of the culture in which they occur?

How scientifically valid is the knowledge base of global mental health?

Individualism

Tuesday, September 8th, 2009

Individualism

The idea of ‘self’ is difficult to define but represents a set of ideas, representations and beliefs that are held about what it is to be a person.  As psychiatry is a subject concerned with thoughts, feelings, behaviours and relationships, how people view themselves and the accompanying attitudes of psychiatrists to this (our ‘gaze’) are central to its execution.  In Western cultures, we overwhelmingly choose to define ourselves in terms of our individual direction and achievements.  This orientation is often portrayed as an objective truth, but is in fact simply an extremely powerful cultural construction.

Construction or not, individualistic ideology has had a substantial influence on thinking about mental distress.  Psychiatrists have based much of their work on individualistic notions which as a consequence assume that emotional problems can be studied and understood separately from any other context.  When seeking to diagnose an individual as having a mental health disorder, current classification systems, when rigidly interpreted, require no consideration to be given to circumstances beyond a patient’s psychopathology.  Forms of emotional distress are then defined in terms of disordered individual experience and social and cultural factors are seen as secondary and may or may not be taken into account.

This approach sits ill at ease alongside patient experience.  The lives of people with mental health problems have often been very eventful, and normally not in a good way.  The message that life stories are largely irrelevant is then not always popular.  Gail A. Hornstein writes in OpenMind on this subject:

Many patients feel deeply wounded by the assumption that madness has no link to life experience. As Jacqui Dillon, Chair of the National Hearing Voices Network, England, said at a recent conference, “Pathologising the experience of people like me, who have suffered terrible trauma, only adds insult to injury and protects those who have abused us. Instead of asking, what’s wrong with you? people should ask, what’s happened to you?”

Our individualistic beliefs are understandable.  They are welcomed by some patients as they allow entry to the sick role and it can be comforting to regard suffering as something separable from the self and which for amelioration can be passed over to an expert.  It would also be strange if psychiatry had been immune to this central tenet of capitalist societies and the approach also proves expedient to research, where individual phenomena can be captured by way of surveys and rating scales.

However as a profession with regards to this, I would hope that we could, collectively, be more ‘self aware’.  This is not to suggest that mental health professionals are deliberately ignoring patients’ stories, that they are bad people, or even that mental health systems have been purposely set up in order to ignore the needs of vulnerable groups but it is interesting how dominant and rarely questioned ideas and discourses can work to render us blind to systemic inconsistencies and inadequacies.

The current paradigm allows the social and ideological origins of distress to be ignored and its implications side-stepped.  Our helpful – but not too helpful – approach makes possible the propagation of mental health services, who are actually supported by a fragmented and individualistic society.

In order to be truly transformative, mental health services would then need to be honest about the social, political and ideological conditions that often lead to mental distress.  Alas even if this were to magically happen, our message would be lost unless there was a corresponding move in greater society toward a value system where people seek satisfaction more from helping others rather than pursuing private advantage.

Proper leadership, that’s what we need.

Interesting link:

From antipsychiatry to critical psychology

Individualism – Wikipedia

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Addendum 10 September 2009

Here’s an interesting paragraph from Richard Bentall’s Madness Explained

When constructing the self, the child internalizes historically and culturally determined values.  It is therefore possible that the self as known to people of the past may have been quite different from the self as known to people living in the modern world.  Roy Baumeister has argued that for medieval Europeans, the self was relatively transparent, and was equated with visible manifestations and actions.  As life on earth was, at that time, believed to be a preamble to eternal bliss, there was no need to search for self fulfilment.  In modern Western societies, in contrast, the self is often viewed as a hidden territory that can only be known with difficulty, but which must be explored (perhaps with the technical assistance of a psychotherapist) if its special talents are to be fostered and self-actualization achieved.

Also from Psychiatric imperialism: The medicalisation of modern living by Joanna Moncrieff

The medical model of mental illness has facilitated the move towards greater restriction by cloaking it under the mantle of treatment. This process of medicalisation of deviant behaviour conceals complex political issues about the tolerance of diversity, the control of disruptive behaviour and the management of dependency. It enables a society that professes liberal values and individualism to impose and reinforce conformity. It disguises the economics of a system in which human labour is valued only for the profit it can generate, marginalising all those who are not fit or not willing to be so exploited.

(this one makes more sense if you read the entire article…)

The person in the patient BMJ personal view Alastair Santhouse 1 November 2008 (restricted access)

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Madness and Genius

Monday, July 6th, 2009

Well before the rise and fall of Michael Jackson, aka ‘Wacko Jacko’ the idea that the gift of exceptional creativity or ‘genius’ is all too often packaged with mental ill health, has long had cultural currency.  If someone mentions this within our earshot at a party, should we mercilessly expose their naivety, or is there substance to this?*

There’s an immediate problem with definition; ‘exceptional creativity’ or ‘genius’, ‘madness’ or ‘mental disorder’ are in themselves difficult to exactly define and a full examination of their meanings would amount to a weighty tome. All these terms are in fact more or less vague and at best we can try to offer them a degree of precision by anchoring them within a set of terms we hope are more exactly understood.  There is no agreed definition of mental ill health, and indeed the various ways to which psychiatric problems as a category are referred – mental ill health/disorder/disease are three – are not synonyms. Equally, the Oxford English Dictionary  offers eight meanings for ‘genius’, the most relevant of which for this purpose is ‘native intellectual power of an exalted type, such as is attributed to those who are esteemed greatest in any department of art, speculation, or practice; instinctive and extraordinary capacity for imaginative creation, original thought, invention, or discovery’.

With this difficulty noted, what can studies tell us?  Looking in the past the mood disorders of poets in Britain and Ireland born in the hundred years 1705 – 1805 have been investigated.  This time period includes esteemed figures such as Lord Byron, Samuel Johnson, William Blake and William Wordsworth. A high rate of mood disorders was found, with this group 30 times more likely to suffer bipolar disorder and five times as likely to commit suicide.  These results are striking, but problematic.  It can be difficult enough to determine whether someone whom you are directly interviewing is mentally disordered, so the reliability of a diagnosis made over the passage of centuries from biographical data is seriously in question.  Furthermore we have really no idea what minds were like in the past, and in diagnosing historical figures with mental disorders characterised well after their deaths, we must recognise that we project ourselves onto them.

Looking at living people avoids some of these difficulties and another study interviewed a group of 47 eminent British writers and artists and found that 38% had been treated for mood disorder.  The poets involved were particularly unfortunate and half had needed hospitalization.*  In line with speculation that bipolar patients are particularly creative, many of the subjects reported changes in mood, cognition and behaviour either preceding or coinciding with the creative process.  In a similar study on the other side of the Atlantic, a group of 30 creative writers living in Iowa was interviewed.  The researcher was actually expecting to find a correlation between creativity and schizophrenia but actually no such was seen.  There was however abnormally high levels of mood disorder in both the writers and their relatives;   eighty percent of the sample had experienced at least one episode of major depression, hypomania or mania compared with 30% in the control group.  The group was followed for the next 15 years and it was found that 43% had bipolar disorder compared to only 10% of the control group and 1% of the general population.

A further two ore studies seem to confirm these findings.  In Denmark bipolar patients and their relatives were interviewed about their lives and their responses were evaluated using a standard measure of lifetime creative achievement.  The patients and their relatives both scored higher than the control group.  A Stanford university study found that people with bipolar disorder and creative discipline controls scored significantly higher than healthy controls on a measure of creativity called the Barron-Welsh Art Scale.

As well as mood disorders at least one study has suggested that schizophrenia may also be implicated.  An investigation of the occupations of the relatives of Icelandic patients with schizophrenia found evidence of high levels of creativity.  Do then psychosis and creativity have common genetic roots?

I haven’t looked at these studies of living patients closely but they do suggest that the correlation between creativity and mental ill health cannot be dismissed as their findings are quite consistent.  It is interesting that the creative process does not appear to be restricted to a single category of mental ill health; this may either mean that the distinctions we make between different mental states are overconfident, or that it is the altered state that is important, but not its precise nature.   The studies are still relatively few however and the numbers of patients included appear limited.  Their definition of creativity is also narrow, being restricted to the arts and such a one dimensional view of creativity may reflect familiar prejudice against the merits scientific disciplines.  It seems unlikely that a person who is successful in science, business or politics will not have to show creative thinking.  There is also no discussion of the direction of causation; those with mental health problems may choose to work in creative areas as the discipline required for full time employment is not necessary.  Equally it is also possible that the isolation, rumination and mental effort required for the act of artistic creation will also have an effect on mental health.  Also note that if there is a connection between mental disorder and exceptional creativity, these may not necessarily both be in the same individual; it is possible that there could exist an excess of mental disorder within the family of the creative individual who is him/herself in fact largely unaffected.

Yet even if studies were uniformly unsupportive I think that the idea of the madness and genius being co-dependent would persist.  The creative process is generally romanticized, a phenomenon in itself unremarkable as this maintains privilege, impresses patrons, and recruits muses.  Perhaps there something mysterious and unexplainable about the creative process such that we feel it requires something equally mysterious and unexplained – mental illness – to account for it; or do we feel that dramatic works must necessarily have dramatic conceptions?  Or in order to soothe the doubts we have about our own achievements do we wish to see talented artists as in some way ‘other’.  Another advantage of mental ill health and creativity being in some way connected – and one that is more likely to mean that a possibly spurious correlation is paraded as fact – is that this allows something positive to come from mental illness.  Note also the idea of ‘genius’ is in itself culturally dependent, being as it is a Western individualistic notion that genius exists within a single person, a great man or woman without whom society would not move forward.  A discussion of the good fortune that lead to their recognition is not generally undertaken.  What constitutes either genius or madness is of course highly subjective and hostage to the gaze we bring and the assumptions and values that gaze has implicit.

Presumably, if the association is genuine, mental ill health must at some level help with the creative process.  A creative person may differ from others in that he or she is more open to experience, is more exploratory, shows increased risk taking, and is more tolerant of ambiguity.  A particularly creative person may experience the order and structure that others find comforting as inhibiting and may feel the need to confront norms and conventions.  Such traits may make him or her more perceptive but also more vulnerable to emotional turmoil.  It does seem likely that artistic creativity will benefit from a variety of experiences and perhaps the struggle to come to terms with personal emotional extremes supports the process as certain thoughts may only be accessible to us when in certain states of mind.  Times of mental health could draw on times of mental ill health for inspiration as Lewis Wolpert has commented.  Depression could help put into perspective thoughts and feelings that have been generated during a more manic phase and in this way it could take an editorial role.

Mental health is however also necessary for great work, as this requires concentration, discipline and great effort. Mental ill health is clearly neither necessary nor sufficient for genius given that not every creative person has a mental health problem.  There does seem to be something to ‘madness and genius’ but how strong a correlation is unclear and is likely to remain hostage to where we choose to draw our lines in the sand.

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* A recent debate at the Maudsley Hospital took this on and debated the motion ‘this house believes that madness is the price we pay for exceptional creativity’.

None of the speakers were particularly perceptive alas.  It’s available as a podcast, so no need to take my word for this.

** Comedians are classically seen as depressives.  Oliver James certainly thinks so.  In their book The Naked Jape, Jimmy Carr and Lucy Greeves discuss the ‘sad clown’ stereotype and basically disagree with it. They quote a 1992 study by psychologist James Rotton which found that comedians were actually no more prone to suicidal depression than any other group and there was no difference between the life expectancy of a comedian and any other sort of  entertainer.

Assuming that we buy the line that childhood trauma or hardship can, in some cases, spur individuals on to high-profile achievements, it’s not surprising that many successful and famous jokers have less than Walton-esque family backgrounds. But would you find any fewer damaged individuals if you were to look at rock musicians, or actors, or any other deeply competitive profession where the stakes are high, your personality is exposed to harsh public criticism and you have a bit too much time on your hands?

Lucy Greeves was kind enough to reply to my emails and said that she’s found from her own experience that the trait that most exemplifies comedians is competitiveness rather than melancholy.

I think the thing that strikes a lot of people as odd when they first realise it is how serious most professional comics are in “real life”. I’m not sure why this surprises us, though. We don’t expect opera singers to converse in arias. But because a really good comedian’s trick is to convince his audience that he’s not using a script, we buy into that illusion that he’s just a really hilarious guy who has agreed to be our mate for the evening. Imagine our disappointment when he doesn’t say funny stuff all the time – perhaps he’s depressed?

Interesting huh?

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These three books have sections on this subject:

Madness explained Richard Bentall
The meaning of madness Neel Burton
Malignant Sadness Lewis Wolpert