Part I
Psychiatric epidemiology and general practice: the development of a research field
The science of epidemiology
Empirical data gathering, public-health action, or both?
Leon Eisenberg
The application of the methods of psychiatric epidemiology to the study of mental health problems in primary health care is a relatively recent development (Shepherd 1990). That short history made it possible for the founder of this field of investigation, Professor Michael Shepherd, to be a participant in the World Psychiatric Association Symposium reported in this volume, a symposium convened just thirty years after the publication of his first report on the topic (Shepherd et al. 1959). Few recognized its importance at the time; fewer still took it up. For the next several decades, psychiatric epidemiology in primary care was broadened and deepened primarily by Michael Shepherd and the Maudsley psychiatrists he helped to train and equip to explore this terrain: David Goldberg, John Cooper, Anthony Clare and Anthony Mann in Britain, Brian Cooper in Germany, Robin Eastwood in Canada, Michele Tansella in Italy, Assen Jablensky in Bulgaria and Norman Sartorius at the World Health Organization.
Despite some missionary work in the States by David Goldberg, recognition of the size of the mental health burden in general medical practice did not begin to take hold in North America until the paper by Regier and co-workers (1978) on what they called the de facto US mental health services system. Their account made it evident that, in the USA, just as in the UK and in the developing world (Harding et al. 1980), primary-care physicians are the principal, and often the only, resource for patients who are psychologically disturbed. I use the phrase âdid not begin to take holdâ advisedly. Psychiatric educators and mental health policy makers in the USA continue to pay lip-service to the implications of the epidemiologic data for modifications in the organization of service delivery and in the education of generalists. The record in the UK, if still far short of the mark, is considerably better in this regard, much of that progress being due to systematic data produced by psychiatrists trained at the Maudsley.
How bizarre, now that Professor Shepherd has become Emeritus, for his General Practice Unit to have been phased out as part of the savage Thatcher retrenchment on research expenditures! In the UK, as in the USA, Tory governments have learned that epidemiologic surveillance, because it reveals gaps in service delivery, generates public pressure for additional care and, hence, additional costs (Eisenberg 1989a). With âpreventionâ the new password in health policy, it is no small irony that governments are opting to prevent research; that is, the systematic gathering and release of information on the operation of the health services. The operative principle seems to be that what the public doesnât know wonât hurt it (âitâ, in this instance, being the government!).
What makes the study of psychiatric disorders in primary care so crucial is that it asks questions which matter for patients, for front-line doctors and for health policy makers. How great is the burden of psychological ill health in the case load of primary care physicians? To what extent is that burden recognized by either patients or doctors? Does its identification lead to useful interventions? Can the diagnostic and therapeutic performance of generalists be improved? Are psychological treatments feasible within the economic and personnel constraints of primary health care? Because the answers are responsive to practical issues in health-care delivery, epidemiologic research designed to probe such matters remains grounded in clinical reality (Williams et al. 1989; Sartorius et al. 1990).
That service orientation distinguishes research on primary care from epidemiologic studies which use symptom counts and cut-off scores to tote up âcasesâ without reference to disability or to care-seeking behaviour. Preoccupation with internalist criteria and with methodologic precision transmutes the means of research into its ends. Epidemiologists of the latter persuasion will take their cue from Sir William Thomson (1889), later Lord Kelvin, who wrote:
When you can measure what you are speaking about, and express it in numbers, you know something about it, but when you cannot measure it, when you cannot express it in numbers, your knowledge is of a meagre and unsatisfactory kind; it may be the beginning of knowledge, but you have scarcely, in your thoughts, advanced to the stage of science, whatever the matter may be.
(Thomson 1889)
Sir Williamâs statement epitomizes the positivism (and the arrogance) of modern reductionistic science. For too many, I fear, it will suffice for a description of epidemiology, a science whose findings are, after all, âexpressed in numbersâ. Indeed, as the methods of epidemiology become more precise and its mathematics more elegant, its practitioners harbour the hope that the ârealâ scientists on the medical faculty (the âbasicâ scientists) will accept epidemiology as a legitimate intellectual enterprise.*
* That such a day is not quite upon us is evident from a conversation with a distinguished biochemist (and an altogether remarkable human being). He had no objection, my colleague told me, to the first US Surgeon Generalâs warning printed on cigarette packages to the effect that âSmoking may be Dangerous to Your Healthâ. That fair enough. But he (though a non-smoker) was indignant at the new message which has replaced it: âCigarettes Cause Cancerâ. He insisted that because the precise mechanism of carcinogenesis has not yet been deciphered, public health authorities have no right to say âcauseâ, whatever the strength of the epidemiologic evidence.
But epidemiology (like all science) is far more than measurements and numbers. Recall the rejoinder by Jacob Viner, late Professor of Economics at Princeton, to Kelvinâs dictum: âWhen you can measure it, when you can express it in numbers, your knowledge is still of a meager and unsatisfactory kind!â His remark was not intended as a clever and cynical riposte. He went on to explain: âIt is a mistake to measure for measurementâs sake and to let the possibilities of measurement be decisive as to the range of problems to be investigated.â I recount this interchange (Merton et al. 1984) because there is a not inconsiderable danger that the remarkable progress in the methods of psychiatric epidemiology in recent decades may lead to so narrow a preoccupation with methodologic elegance as to obscure the fundamental social purposes of the endeavour.
Some years ago I encountered a graduate student who had passed his orals but was in a quandary about choosing a suitable thesis problem. Referred to me by a colleague, he asked if I could identify a topic for him in child psychiatry. The one stricture he placed on my advice was that the study be framed in such fashion that the data collected would be suitable for analysis of variance, the only statistical technique he had mastered! ANOVA seemed quite elegant to him; he wasnât up to more advanced methods; and he hated the thought of wasting the effort he had put into learning ANOVA by not using it for his thesis!
My account is not invented; the student and his request were real. If his having so far lost the purpose of the research thesis required for his doctorate seems bizarre to you, do not condemn the hapless lad too hastily. Recall the faculty colleagues responsible for the legion of clinical studies that follow upon the availability of a new (preferably automated) method for measuring a presumptively important metabolite in blood, urine or cerebrospinal fluid. Has not psychiatric epidemiology seen its share of studies in which structured interviews and diagnostic algorithms have been pressed into use to obtain âanswersâ to unasked questions? Some such investigations compute rates of âcasenessâ that defy clinical judgement, unless, of course, one has as keen a diagnostic eye as the first year surgical registrar who commented, as he scanned a crowd of pedestrians: âLook at them; theyâre all pre-op!â
Wade Hampton Frost (1936), in his introduction to a reprint of John Snowâs work on cholera, reminded the reader:
Epidemiology at any given time is something more than the total of its established facts. It includes their orderly arrangement into chains of inference which extend more or less beyond the bounds of direct observation. Such of these chains as are well and truly laid guide investigation to the facts of the future; those that are ill-made fetter progress.
(1936: ix)
In addition to its utility in testing hypotheses about the causes of diseases, J.N. Morris (1975) highlights among the uses of epidemiology its roles as âthe intelligence service of public healthâ and as âa main method of studying the social aspects of health and diseaseâ. During the nineteenth century, epidemiologic data fuelled the social reform movement; in turn, the passion of social reformers spurred the extension of the epidemiologic paradigm into new areas of inquiry. When Rudolf Virchow inaugurated the journal Die Medizinische Reform in 1847, he announced that âmedical statistics will be our standard of measurement: we will weigh life for life and see where the dead lie thicker, among the workers or among the privilegedâ (Virchow, cited in Rosen 1947). Virchow and his friends emphasized the scientific (that is, epidemiologic) study of the social and economic conditions that influence health. The epidemiologic data base provided the rationale for social measures designed to promote health and prevent disease (Eisenberg 1984).
In London, Edwin Chadwickâs 1842 Report on the Sanitary Conditions of the Labouring Population documented the disproportionate concentration of disease among the working classes; just eight years earlier, Chadwick had been a principal architect of the Poor Law Amendment Act (Webster 1990). He then argued that the âprofligacyâ of poor relief was demoralizing to its recipients; on further study, the facts led him to conclude that it was filthy living conditions that spawned âmoral turpitudeâ rather than the other way round (Acheson 1990). For his data, he was largely dependent upon William Farr, the Registrar General. Just how committed Farr himself was to the movement for reform is evident from what he wrote in 1843:
Over the supply of water â the sewerage â the burial places â the width of streets â the removal of public nuisances â the poor can have no command ⌠and it is precisely upon these points that the Government can interfere with most advantage. The Legislature would enact the removal of known sources of disease, and, if necessary, trench upon the liberty of the subject and the privilege of property, upon the same principle that it arrests and removes murderers, who, if left unmolested, would probably only destroy lives by hundreds, while the physical causes which have been averted to in this paper, destroy thousands â hundreds of thousands of lives.
(Farr, cited in Wohl 1983)
Similar notes sounded in America. John C. Griscom, City Inspector of the New York Board of Health, was inspired by Chadwick, as is evident from the title of his 1848 book: The Sanitary Condition of the Laboring Population of New York. He noted first, âthat there is an immense amount of sickness, physical disability, and premature mortality, among the poorer classesâ; second, âthat these are, to a large extent, unnecessary, being in a great degree the results of causes which are removableâ; third, âthat these physical evils are productive of moral evils of great magnitude and number, and which, if considered only in a pecuniary point of view should arouse the government and individuals to the consideration of the best means for their relief and preventionâ; and fourth, that it was the responsibility of health officers âto suggest the means of alleviating these evils and preventing their recurrence to so great an extentâ. By analysing the associations between living conditions and expectations of survival, notable successes in achieving sanitary reforms were won, well before the germ theory of disease was established (Rosen 1958).
Then as now, public-health policy decisions reflect value judgements -informed by science but value judgements none the less; thus they are, in the final analysis, political decisions. Virchow (1848) put the matter succinctly: âMedicine is a social science, and politics is nothing more than medicine on a large scale.â The role of political constituencies in health-policy debates is most evident in an historical instance in which neither the âliberalsâ nor the âconservativesâ grasped the cause or mode of tra...