"Some of the episodes Harrington recounts are familiar, such as Egas Moniz’s invention of the lobotomy, which garnered him a Nobel Prize in 1949, at just about the same time that the psychiatrist Walter Freeman was traveling the United States using a surgical tool modeled on an ice pick to perform the operation on hapless asylum inmates. She has retrieved others from history’s dustbin. In the 1930s, for example, insulin was used to render mental patients comatose in hopes that they would wake up relieved of their psychoses. And in at least one case—the deinstitutionalization of mental patients in the 1960s and ’70s—she has given an old story a new twist. That movement, she argues convincingly, was spearheaded not by pill-happy psychiatrists convinced that a bit of Thorazine would restore their patients to full functioning, but by Freudians. They saw the antipsychotic drugs invented in the 1950s as a way to render patients suitable for the outpatient treatment that psychoanalysts were equipped to provide.
From ice baths to Prozac, each development Harrington describes was touted by its originators and adherents as the next great thing—and not without reason. Some people really did emerge from an insulin coma without their delusions; some people really are roused from profound and disabling depressions by a round of electroconvulsive therapy or by antidepressant drugs. But in every case, the treatment came first, often by accident, and the explanation never came at all. The pathological basis of almost all mental disorders remains as unknown today as it was in 1886—unsurprising, given that the brain turns out to be one of the most complex objects in the universe. Even as psychiatrists prescribe a widening variety of treatments, none of them can say exactly why any of these biological therapies work."
