Psychiatrists, Pain Specialists, and the Physicalist Fallacy: Who Are the "Real" Doctors?

You know the drill, but in case you have repressed it, the antipsychiatry mantra goes something like this: “Real” disease is present only when we can point to a lump, bump, or lesion—or at least, to a specific physiochemical abnormality in association with a specific set of signs and symptoms. Anything else that we call “disease” is simply a label—a “social construct” akin to terms like “primitive” or “fanatic” without any scientific validity. By implication, “real doctors” are those who treat the corresponding “real diseases.” Since, for the major mental disorders, psychiatrists cannot point to causally implicated lumps, bumps, or lesions—or to specific pathophysiological defects—they are not treating “real” diseases; therefore, as the mantra goes, they are not “real doctors”! These arguments compose what I call the “Physicalist Fallacy” of psychiatric diagnosis, which is not to be confused with the concept of “physicalism” per se. The Physicalist Fallacy is a kind of philosophical mongrel with a lineage derived from logical positivism, Cartesian dualism, and a gene or two from “post-modernism.”

Rebuttals to these fallacious arguments have been given at length and I won’t risk inducing stupor and coma by rehashing them here. I won’t even belabor the point that when Eugen Bleuler wrote his classic text in 1911, he referred to “the schizophrenias” (plural); and that abnormal smooth pursuit eye movements (SPEMs) are one of several reasonably well-established biological findings in what is probably a related group of schizophreniform disorders (see "Beyond Reliability: Biomarkers and Validity in Psychiatry" and "How Clinical Neurophysiology May Contribute to the Understanding of a Psychiatric Disease Such as Schizophrenia" for further reading). Rather, to understand why psychiatry is in its present predicament—regarding the public’s jaundiced view of psychiatry and the raging debate over the DSM-V—it is helpful to examine the work of our colleagues in the field of chronic pain treatment. To escape our predicament, we need to examine the philosophers and psychiatrists (such as Karl Jaspers, 1883-1969) who have taken a phenomenological approach to the recognition of “disease”—a point my colleagues Michael A. Schwartz and Nassir Ghaemi have repeatedly stressed. To oversimplify greatly: phenomenology refers to the structure of the patient’s experience—how, for example, self and world are perceived during a bout of psychotic depression.

Based mainly on animal models, there have been major advances in understanding the pathophysiology of chronic neuropathic pain—yet there is a great deal we still do not know. Moreover, diagnosis and treatment of chronic, idiopathic pain (of unknown etiology) remains essentially grounded in the patient’s subjective complaints combined with objective findings in the doctor’s office or bedside examination. This is analogous to the psychiatrist’s initial history-taking and mental status examination. Pain specialists dealing with chronic, idiopathic pain cannot, by definition, point to a specific lump or lesion that explains the patient’s suffering. Yet—with the exception of those thought to be “malingerers”—we do not delegitimize the patient’s complaints. We do not regard individuals with chronic pain as having a “metaphorical” illness. We do not brand doctors who treat these patients as charlatans. On a societal level, we do not find a robust “Anti-Analgesia” movement, bristling with vicious blogs and insulting placards. Why, then, the animus toward psychiatric practice?

The answers are far too complex to cover in this space, but, in my view, relate to at least two factors:

1. Individuals with chronic pain are ordinarily self-identified and voluntarily seek treatment for their condition; in contrast, many individuals with serious psychiatric impairments do not. Indeed, it is the very nature of their illness that they often deny its presence or significance.
2. Legislatures, courts, and common-law tradition have not sought to impose mandatory or involuntary treatment upon those with chronic, idiopathic pain disorders; this is clearly not the case for some individuals with severe psychiatric conditions that represent “an immediate danger to self or others”. (For more on the public’s misunderstanding of the psychiatrist’s role in “commitment” procedures, see "In the US, Psychiatrists Do Not 'Commit" the Mentally Ill").

Arguably, these forensic aspects of psychiatry may call for legislative and societal remedies—but by themselves, do not impugn the legitimacy of psychiatric diagnosis and treatment.

That said, we should strive to be as parsimonious and “objective” in our diagnostic categories as possible. To paraphrase Ockham’s Razor, we must not “multiply entities unnecessarily” in creating our disease categories. We should certainly avoid creating new categories that are not grounded in careful empirical and phenomenological investigations. But whereas our long-term goals should include pinning our DSM categories to specific biochemical and genetic markers, we should reject the positivist “lumps and labs” model of disease. Our focus, rather, must remain on relieving suffering and incapacity in its infinite experiential presentations. In this, we need to learn from our colleagues in the chronic pain field.

Note: I wish to thank Michael A. Schwartz MD and S. N. Ghaemi MD for their helpful comments on this piece; however, I alone am responsible for the views expressed.

Ronald Pies, MD
Editor-in-Chief, Psychiatric Times