CHALLENGING a multibillion-dollar global industry is bound to be an uncomfortable mission, all the more so if you risk being accused of promoting suffering, being a denialist, or even of culpable ignorance. Few writers who take on the mental health industry can be doing it for the money or in the hopes of sales matching ās 1990s hit Listening to Prozac.
It was Kramer who coined the phrase ācosmetic psychopharmacologyā to describe a not-too-distant utopia in which drugs such as the selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor Prozac, normally used to treat depression, would be used to enhance or change personality. Kramer did warn of the drugās downsides (tremors, loss of libido, suicidal ideation), but the prospect of exchanging shyness, timidity and other social dysfunctions for self-assurance, gregariousness and success ensured the bookās popularity.
Fast-forward to 2010 and optimism about biochemical aids in the endless pursuit of happiness or as fixes for misery seems to be vanishing like the morning mist. Writers continue to take the mental health industry apart, big genetics still fails to nail āgenes forā mental illness in any important sense, and the deadline for a new edition of the American Psychiatric Associationās Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders has slipped a year amid ugly rows and claims that tens of millions of dollars could be spent on unnecessary drugs should new diseases with no clear scientific foundation be included in the DSM.
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Gary Greenbergās contribution to this melee is thoughtful and well written, though quite different from the scholarly, understated work of Allan Horwitz and Jerome Wakefield, whose (Oxford University Press, 2007) threw down such a powerful marker a few years ago. Greenberg is a psychotherapist and himself suffers from depression. He takes us with him on a journey that starts with the reminder that āeveryone is against depression, just as everyone is against war and child abuse and global warmingā. The issue is that we need to work out what doctors mean when they diagnose depression, and where that meaning came from.
Depression, says Greenberg, is not the result of any dark conspiracy but of the transmutation of unhappiness into a treatable illness. The disease is as much a āmatter of history as it is of scienceā, he argues. And history we certainly get in a chapter amusingly entitled āJob versus his therapistsā. But unlike poor old Job, who was sorely tried as a test of his faith, those who look to science for revelation expect suffering to be cured in a very different way from Godās restoration of Jobās wealth. As Greenberg warns, we would do well to recognise that the ādepression doctorsā and drug company sponsors ādonāt know any better than you or I what life is for or how we are supposed to feel about itā.
āThat depression is treated as a disease is as much a matter of history as it is of scienceā
Manufacturing Depression is full of fascinating stories, such as the time Greenberg, curious to get close to the āmachineryā of depression, enrolled himself in a drug trial. Expecting a label of minor depression, his comeuppance for trying to exploit the system was a label of major depressive disorder.
Greenbergās greatest contribution, though, is insisting on few certainties, and in offering himself to us in messy detail. With Greenberg, you are free to call your sorrow a disease, or not, to take drugs or not ā to see a therapist, or not. All he asks is that you ādonāt settle for being sick in the head⦠you can tell your own story about your discontentsā.
Manufacturing Depression: The secret history of modern disease
Simon & Schuster