_I was reading something on the BBC today, regarding the “decoding” by science of people’s “internal voices”. The article was about a new technique, whereby researchers are said to be able to reconstruct words, based on the brain waves of patients thinking of those words. I was reminded of an anecdote about Lacan, one of the most important post-Freudian psychoanalysts.

In 1975, during a lecture tour in the United States, Jacques Lacan spoke at MIT before an audience of mathematicians, linguists, and philosophers. Noam Chomsky, the already famous by then American linguist philosopher and activist, attending the lecture, asked Lacan a question on thought.

Lacan's reply was possibly not what Chomsky expected:

“We think we think with our brains”, Lacan said. “Personally, I think with my feet. That's the only way I really come into contact with anything, solid. I do occasionally think with my forehead, when I bang into something. But I've seen enough electroencephalograms to know there's not the slightest trace of a thought in the brain.”
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Reality checks 27/07/2011
 
Last week I wrote about a scientific paper that claimed that “most published research findings are false”. I identified the three slightly different conceptions of truth that the abstract of that paper was alluding to, and suggested, as a work hypothesis, that we differentiate between “real truth” and “scientific truth”.

I ended that post rather abruptly and at a somewhat provocative point. I claimed that science does not have anything to do with reality.

I acknowledged, however, that this would need to be clarified.

This is what I shall attempt to do today: to clarify.

So science “does not have anything to do with reality”.

How did we get to this conclusion? What does it mean?
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Home truths 21/07/2011
 
The other day I came across a very intriguing research paper, bearing a very provocative title: “Why Most Published Research Findings are False”. Published in 2005, this paper was written by John P.A. Ioannidis, a medical professor specializing in epidemiology. His claim is simple (I quote from the abstract of the paper):

The probability that a research claim is true may depend on study power and bias, the number of other studies on the same question, and, importantly, the ratio of true to no relationships among the relationships probed in each scientific field. In this framework, a research finding is less likely to be true when the studies conducted in a field are smaller; when effect sizes are smaller; when there is a greater number and lesser preselection of tested relationships; where there is greater flexibility in designs, definitions, outcomes, and analytical modes; when there is greater financial and other interest and prejudice; and when more teams are involved in a scientific field in chase of statistical significance.

Now, as you might imagine, a scientific paper with such a subject matter would be sure to attract a lot of attention, both positive and negative, and that was indeed the case. But I do not intend to participate in the debate, and this is not the reason I am bringing up this paper here.

I am more interested in the concept of truth, especially in the way it is employed in papers such as Ioannidis’, i.e. in current scientific research.
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In my previous post I commented upon two experiments that attempted to address the question of free will from the point of view of modern neuroscience. I ended my post by suggesting a thought experiment to the reader. If a scientist informed you that he or she knows with scientific certainty the numbers you are going to play in the lottery, what would you do?

My guess was that very possibly you would avoid playing those numbers, if for no other reason, just to prove this arrogant scientist wrong!

The point of this thought experiment was to show that, at the level that our actual decisions are being taken, we are the sole masters in the house, and, crucially, that discussions about our “free will” and about all what science can, or cannot, claim in regards to it are a bit confused.

 
 
In a famous experiment of the 80s, neuroscientists claimed that they managed to show that what we, humans, call “free will” simply does not exist. The setting of their experiment was rather simple. A number of volunteers were wired with electrodes and their brain activity was monitored. Then they were asked to choose whether they would flex their fingers or their wrists. They were instructed to first report when they had made their choice and then actually flex their fingers or their wrists.

The neuroscientists running the experiment identified a consistent pattern in the recorded brain activity. Signals were appearing a split second before the volunteers were able to report that they had made their choice. A split second is not much, you would think, but when a scientist is able to show that a result in an experiment cannot be attributed to chance, then this scientist might want to interpret it.

This those scientists did. They explained this pattern of brain activity, observed just before an actual choice was made, as evidence that “unconscious neural processes” determined the volunteers’ actions before they were ever aware of making a decision. They gave it the name “readiness potential”.

 
 
I was reflecting, leaving the cinema the other day, on the very clear similarity between the film I had just watched, “Source Code” (2011), by Duncan Jones, and “Groundhog Day” (1993), by Harold Ramis. In the latter, Bill Murray’s character, a stroppy and cynical weatherman finds himself “trapped” inside this Groundhog Day, as it is called, by finding himself forced to relive every single moment of it, from morning till night.

In “Source Code”, Jake Gyllenhaal’s character, an American helicopter pilot, finds himself on a commuter train, “trapped” inside someone else’s body, during the same 8 minutes before the explosion of a bomb that will kill him and everyone else in the train. And then he lives these minutes again, and again, because, it turns out, he is on a mission.

 
 
It has been a long time since I last wrote about the plans to regulate "talking therapies" through the HPC. The new Government had indicated from the beginning that they were sceptical about those plans, and had made it clear that the issue was not very high up in their agenda of priorities.

Now, finally, we have got some very good news. The Government has decided to abandon any plans to further extend statutory regulation to any further professions --and this includes psychotherapy, psychoanalysis and so on.
 
 
When I decided to begin this blog, I was very optimistic. I envisaged one or two posts every week or so, or, at least one post every month. I thought that this was feasible, as well as useful.
 
 
Compliments of Ace Clip Art
This is a question I often get from people when they first meet me. "You are a psychoanalyst", they say. "Right..." And then, after a moment of hesitation: "Excuse my ignorance, but I am always confused. A psychoanalyst. What does it mean? You are a doctor, aren't you? Are you a psychiatrist? A psychologist? No? So, what are you? What's the difference?"

You see, all those Greek words, made up by people who were not Greeks at a time when creating "new" Greek words was fashionable, are more or less opaque for whomever does not have much familiarity with the so called Psi world. They are compound terms, sharing the first bit, "psych-" (which comes from Psyche, i.e. Soul.)

So, we have:

  • Psychiatrist < Psychiatry < psyche + iatreia, ‘cure’.
  • Psychologist < Psychology < psyche + logos, 'discourse, study'
  • Psychotherapist < Psychotherapy < psyche + therapeia, 'nursing, cure'
  • Psychoanalyst < Psychoanalysis < psyche + analysis, 'separation into components, close examination'

All this is very interesting, but did not answer the question. What's the difference?
 
 
The female voice on the phone sounded very distressed. A wife, who was very worried that her husband, very depressed since having been made redundant six months ago, was getting worse and going to do something "crazy". I tried to calm her down, and asked for some more information.

This happens, from time to time. I get contacted by people who act on behalf of someone else. They are very worried about a relative, friend or significant other, and try to find some help. Sometimes they just ask me if I can prescribe medication, or want specific medical advice. If this is the case, I refer them to the person's GP.

More often, however, the call is a call of concern. Like this distressed wife, they call because they are worried that someone close to them is feeling down, is neglecting themselves, is depressed or just very unhappy.