There is a moment in the Oscar-nominated film A Beautiful Mind that illustrates the basis of an interesting new school of thought. In the movie, which is based on a true story, John Nash, the brilliant, schizophrenic mathematician, has recently returned from a mental institution, where insulin-induced convulsions were used to eradicate his paranoid delusions. He sits at home, his vitality drained, sapped of the ability to "see" solutions to complex mathematical formulae -- a gift joined to his schizophrenia. He absent-mindedly plays with his son's baby toy while his wife makes dinner. He looks up at her.

"What do people do?" he asks.

It's a profound question. Schizophrenics and manic-depressives report that life, when their illnesses are untreated, is a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, rapid-fire thoughts, boundless energy, dizzying highs, and crushing lows. Not surprisingly, such neurobiological disorders (the new buzzword for mental illness) are closely linked to genius and high creativity. They are also linked to suicide. Some studies indicate that highly creative people are two to three times more likely to have mood disorders than the general population. When on medication, they say, the highs and lows are flattened into something that feels like a beige limbo of sameness, and they lose access to creative impulses. There are those who argue that such medication may deprive the world of the next van Gogh, Sylvia Plath, or Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Welcome to the "cult" of the broken.

The cult argues that every disability offers its own gifts, and therefore should be accepted as part of the beautiful mosaic that is our society. And I completely agree.

But when the cult suggests that treating disabilities is somehow wrong, they lose my support. Let us not romanticize disabilities. Neurobiological disorders are devastating diseases that can ruin lives. Many creative types have mental disorders, but only a small minority are highly creative. That illness may also confer some creativity is a fortunate side effect, but not one that justifies the havoc an untreated schizophrenic or manic-depressive can wreak on family, society, and self. Generally, the reasons people choose not to seek drug treatment have more to do with the drugs' physical side effects than with loss of creativity. Yet the cult of the broken makes the ludicrous claim that we should reconsider treating these disorders because of the "harm" that doing so would bring to the arts.

The cult also opposes cochlear implants for the deaf, which may partially or completely restore hearing in some people. Success isn't guaranteed with this new technology, which may also harm a person's ability to use a hearing aid in the future. But with further development, this device could put an end to many forms of deafness. You would think that deaf people would be overjoyed by this. But members of the cult view these advances as an assault on the deaf community. Many deaf and hearing-disabled people fear that this technology will reinforce society's view of the deaf as defective or broken, and in need of being fixed. They fear it will erode the strong cultural bonds the deaf have developed in response to living in a soundless world.

But people with these and other disabilities are broken. Why are we so afraid to say that out loud? Has political correctness blinded us to the reality that if you can't hear or see, or if your legs don't work or your brain sends you into destructive furies, that a part of your body or mind isn't working as it should? That's not to say that people with disabilities can't function successfully. And certainly, they should always be able to decide whether to take advantage of any corrective technology or medication (unless people are a danger to themselves or others, in which case the choice should be made for them). But the cult's argument implies that no one with a disability -- mental or otherwise -- should ever seek to correct it because to do so implies that he or she is broken, and broken is a "judgment" word, and no one should "judge" anyone else, and why do we feel the need for everyone to be perfect, anyway?

We feel that need because our parts are supposed to work in a certain way -- and when they fail to do so, we call it an illness or disability. One of my best friends was disabled by cancer. He doesn't want to be part of the disabled culture, but he doesn't have much choice, and he's glad it's there. The culture is filled with strong, brave people who are going on with their lives the best they can. There isn't one of them who would pass up the chance to fix what is broken . . . not because being disabled diminishes their humanity, but because frankly -- and my friend is the first to admit this -- being disabled just plain sucks compared to having two working legs.

My niece has profound hearing loss. Her mother and father would do anything to prevent her from having to join the culture of the deaf. It's not because being deaf is "bad." It's not because her parents can't deal with having an "imperfect" child. It is because she has ears on her head, and they want them to work the way they're supposed to work. This is not an unreasonable or selfish desire. But the cult thinks it is.

Fixing broken humans is medicine's mission. The gifts that people with mental and physical disabilities bring to our society are real, but those gifts should not stand in the way of, nor be held more sacred than, curing the illness or reversing the disability. Unfortunately, the cult of the broken doesn't view curing as a miracle; it views it as an insult.

Kris Frieswick can be reached at krisf1@gte.net.

Issue Date: March 1 - 7, 2002