Bernardo Kastrup on Cancer

It’s not that Bernardo Kastrup thinks that an individual is responsible for getting cancer. But from his perspective as an idealist, (the notion that all of reality is in consciousness), he invites a reevaluation of our relationship to it. Instead of being viewed as an external enemy to be conquered, Bernardo suggests that cancer may be viewed as a confused dissociation, perhaps even deserving of compassion. If you're intrigued, you might enjoy this excerpt from our last 5-week series:

This inverts our normal understanding of disease. Instead of being the result of a breakdown in a mechanical process in the body, disease can be understood as a representation of dis-ease in the psyche. It may represent a lack of harmony amongst the competing drives, desires and identities that are struggling to peacefully coexist. Or perhaps a lack of harmony with the culture and environment in which we live. 

To say that disease is in the mind does not diminish its importance, or imply that it is a choice to be judged. Many movements in the mind come uninvited and unexplained. Dreams, emotions and thoughts can come as a complete surprise: If I ask you to think of your childhood, can you always explain why one particular memory comes to mind instead of countless other options?

But in the same way that a dream may represent something deep in our inner life, we can see the body in sickness or in health as full of meaning waiting to be revealed. 

Whilst unfamiliar to most modern minds, this would make complete sense from more ancient perspectives. Without refusing ‘objective’ medicine, Badimaya Native Australian Julie Dowling would speak with her ancestors each night seeking help and advice for her spinal injury. For the Badimaya, back pain indicates a lack of direction in one’s life. She eventually discovered the ‘cure’ in her new role as an artist and painter. 

Julie Dowling, Black Madonna: Omega, 2004, synthetic polymer paint, red ochre, glitter and metallic paint on canvas, 120 x 100cm. State Art Collection, Art Gallery of Western Australia. Gift of Brigitte Braun, 2017 © Julie Dowling/Copyright Agency, 2018. Courtesy the artist and Art Gallery of Western Australia, Perth

The famous Whitehall Study gives weight to this perspective. Several long term studies tracking over 37,000 people working for the UK Civil Service found that longevity was tightly correlated with status - the higher your civil service rank, the longer you live. Blood pressure, weight and other standard measures had some affect, but not much. 

There have been several explanations for this, but my favourite is from Nortin Hadler. He proposes that it has less to do with status, and more to do with your answer to this simple question:

‘Do you like your job?’ 

If you say yes, this is likely to account for 4 to 5 years in life expectancy. The implication is that a job and a life with meaning, means a longer, healthier life. 

M

Meaning in metaphor

And again, I’ll emphasise: to understand the body and its biochemistry as ‘representations’ this does not render them meaningless.  If you write a masterpiece on Word, then move the icon which represents it to the icon that represents the Trash, the consequences are real.
Even though all you did was move an icon, a representation, your life’s work is now erased. 

Similarly, if you get hit by a bus, although both the bus and your body may be understood as ‘representations’ of movements in the mind, being hit by a bus really does represent a radical change in subjective experience. And probably for the worse. 

So what's a practical example of this kind of thinking? 

In my case, I don’t always digest my food very well. I can see this as a random breakdown in the body’s biochemistry. Merely a mechanical process with no more meaning than having not eaten the more expensive yoghurt with fancy gut bacteria from Greece.

Or, without ignoring the best medical advice I can obtain, I can also enquire, what might this represent? What meaning would this have if it were a dream? I reflect - the stomach represents the ability to take things in from the outside, digest them, absorb what is useful and discard what isn’t. It’s a process of distinction, discrimination, of making decisions about what should be in my life and what shouldn’t. I might see parallels between what happens in my body and what happens in my life, and I might come to a fuller understanding of both, and a reduced sense of separation between them. 

When claiming disease may represent deeper challenges in the psyche, it's important to return to the very first point: The ego, that part of us that feels a degree of control over our experience, is only a tiny fragment of who we are. As such, it cannot be blamed for disease nor praised for its cure. 

But to understand the body as a metaphor I can find meaning in the midst of challenge. It might reduce subjective suffering. And it might perhaps, as a very tentative proposition, improve the chances of true recovery, as in the body, so in the mind.

If you’re not convinced, however, you don’t need the non-dual perspective to adopt a compassionate dialogue with illness. In this article for the NY Times, Roland Griffiths, describes describes a dialogue with his cancer during a high dose LSD experience 6 months after his diagnosis:

“I asked a question directly of the cancer. I’m hesitant to talk about it because it’s reifying the cancer as “other,” and I don’t hold that the cancer is some “other” with which I can have a dialogue. But as a metaphor, it’s an interesting way to probe that question. So I asked the cancer: “What are you doing here? What can you tell me about what’s going on?” I got nothing back. Then I wanted to humanize it, and I said: “I really respect you. I talk about you as a blessing. I have had this astonishing sense of well-being and gratitude, despite everything that’s happening, and so I want to thank you. This process, is it going to kill me?” The answer was, “Yes, you will die, but everything is absolutely perfect; there’s meaning and purpose to this that goes beyond your understanding, but how you’re managing that is exactly how you should manage it.” So then I said: “OK, there’s purpose and meaning. I’m not ungrateful for the opportunity, but how about giving me more time?” [Laughs.] I got no response to that. But that’s OK.”

Roland Griffiths, Founding Director of the Johns Hopkins Center on Psychedelic and Consciousness Research, Professor in the Departments of Psychiatry and Neurosciences at the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine.

He dialogues on this with Sam Harris at around 1:18:00 of this video.

Roland passed away from this diagnosis this week, Monday 16th Oct. I’m so grateful to have had a brief exchange with him during this panel here.

Your reflections are welcome. You can email me, or perhaps join the Adventures Telegram chat here. 

And, if you want to delve into similar contemplations with others, there are a range of courses and retreats coming up you might like!

Bernardo is back this coming November, with Michael Levin as guest. I’m joining Richard Lang in a weekend retreat and there is space for one more female!