guardian | When the psychologist Peter Chadwick
explained that he was trying to research psychosis he was given short
shrift by one of his patients. "You're trying to climb rain, Peter, or
sweep sun off the pavement." The desire to build a science of disabling
mental states can sometimes seem like wishful thinking, especially to
those who have experienced the turmoil of an unquiet mind.
It is
therefore no accident that critics of psychiatry have always had a
particular dislike for the use of diagnosis. There are those on the
outer fringes who still argue that classifying anything as a "mental
illness" is fundamentally flawed, but most of the debate centres on the
possibility of distinguishing different forms of psychological
disability. One of the key issues is whether different diagnoses such as
schizophrenia, bipolar or depression
represent distinct disorders that have specific causes or whether these
are just convenient and perhaps improvised ways of dividing up human
distress for the purposes of treatment.
This is a hot and newly contentious topic. The fifth edition of the American Psychiatric Association's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5),
the book that lists psychiatric diagnoses, is due out in May. The
latest revision has emerged after a decade of unfriendly debates over
what should be included and where the boundaries should lie.
The most medical approach sees each diagnosis as a separate disease with specific causes. For example, the National Institute of Mental Health,
a US government research agency, describes schizophrenia as "a chronic,
severe, and disabling brain disorder", something akin to a distinct
condition linked to specific genetic risks and brain changes. But
diagnoses are not usually derived from scientific discovery but are
based on descriptions of experiences and behaviours, which are then
tested for their coherence in scientific studies. For those who see
mental illness as something best understood at the level of the brain
and genetics,
the discovery of specific biological differences associated with a
particular diagnosis is considered to be good evidence for its validity.
An
alternative approach is to see the definition of schizophrenia as a
makeshift way of classifying mental distress that clinicians happen to
agree on. From this point of view, rather than schizophrenia being a
scientific discovery, it's a tradition – varying in its usefulness
depending on your point of view. This difference of opinion turns out to
be remarkably politicised: the medical model traditionally favours
diagnosis, medication and biomedical science, while the social model is
linked to the championing of individual experience, psychotherapy and
social interventions.
But a growing body of evidence suggests that
this divide is both unhelpful and misleading because some of the best
evidence that diagnoses do not represent distinct disorders comes not
from social criticism but from medical genetics. Observers may note that
this is a deliciously uncomfortable situation for both parties. The
hardline biological psychiatrists have had diagnoses undermined by
exactly the techniques they use to support them and the social
constructionists may have to accept that the best evidence for their
"humane" conclusions are biological studies which they reject as
supposedly "alienating".
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