Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. The history of lawyers' letters used to remove material from the internet never go in favour of the lawyers' clients. This is called the Streisand effect.

The Society of Homepaths are one group who have utterly failed to learn this lesson. David Colquhuon (himself no stranger to receiving legal letters) reports on the Society of Homeopaths attempt at bullying:

Many people now have written about the disgraceful and dangerous claims by homeopaths to be able to prevent and cure malaria. My contribution was “Homeopathic 'cures' for malaria: a wicked scam”

One of the best contributions was on the Quackometer blog, The Gentle Art of Homeopathic Killing.

But the post has vanished! Quackometer’s ISP has received threatening letters sent by lawyers on behalf of the Society of Homeopaths, who claim that the truth i.e. [sic] defamatory, while being unwilling to say which statements are wrong. These threats have forced the removal of the post (for the moment), though you can still read it from the Google cache. And a lot of other places too.

You can read the original article here: The Gentle Art of Homeopathic Killing.

On Professor David Colquhuon’s blog, there was a discussion about the closing of the Tunbridge Wells Homeopathy Hospital (I use that last word advisedly). This comment from Le Canard Noir struck some bells:

The real menace comes not from medical homeopaths, but from lay homeopaths, represented by the Society of Homeopaths, who are often dangerously deluded and a threat to peoples’ well being.

This seems remarkably like the view that moderate religious believers act as enablers for the extremists. They dare not criticise the extremists, no matter how distasteful they find their actions, because any criticism they use will necessarily be just as effective against them.

It’s the fact that these moderates still believe in physics and germ theory—rather than the ability of homeopathy to cure malaria, for example—which dampens their zealotry. The “lay” homeopaths who come into it without much in the way of scientific training are just believers, through and through. They have all the assurance of the creationists who blithely state that evolution breaks the second law of thermodynamics.

And the matter then becomes, as it is with religion—is a comforting belief useful to have around, or is it just too dangerous for a society to harbour any “official untruths”?

I urge everyone to have a look at Mark Chu-Carroll’s discussion of the perceived differences between physical and mental illness. Read the comments too, because there’s some interesting discussion there.

When you’ve got your fill have a look at John Searle’s Chinese room argument, which I find to be a most satisfying discussion of mental processes, even if — taken to its only logical conclusion — it actually shows the opposite of what Searle wanted to prove. But hey, no-one’s perfect, eh?

So is anyone else with me in attempting, from now on, to deprecate the term mental illness? Brain condition sounds satisfyingly real and tangible, and correspondingly less mystical.

I have a physical mental illness… which is to say that I have what used to be a mental illness, many hundreds of years ago, but nowadays is considered not more interesting than a rash. Epilepsy may happen for a myriad of unknown reasons, but we know exactly what happens when it strikes (and we can even watch it on a graph in realtime). The subtler skewings of perception afforded by depression, schizophrenia or the like still seem to be unknowns for most people.

And because they affect people’s emotional states and behaviour they can be hard — impossible, even — to diagnose without prolonged observation. Like the Chinese room example: is there a difference between having a 5-minute conversation with someone who is manic, or with someone who just took several tabs of ecstacy? Is there a difference at all?

As you can guess I’m pretty much out of my depth here but I’m keen and interested to hear folks opinions on the matter.

Tomorrow night I’ll be tuning in to watch Stephen Fry’s show about (his) manic depression. Maybe you’re interested too: BBC2, 9pm, Stephen Fry: The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive.

Bookdrunk mentions homeopathy in that inimitable but blunt style, to hilarious effect:

Doctors and scientists have warned holidaymakers not to use homeopathic remedies for malaria and other serious tropical diseases or their lives could be put at risk.

Because homeopathy doesn’t work.

However, sometimes no amount of arguing can do as much damage to a cause as hearing it from the horses’ mouths — Ben Goldacre has a magnificent video from Newsnight featuring Melanie Oxley, speaking on behalf of the Society of Homeopaths. And it’s hilarious.

Her stoicism in the face of absurdity is really being wasted on something so trivial as fraud medicine: she apparently studied with the master of denial, Saddam Hussein’s Information Minister. My favourite bit comes when the interviewer recounts a quote on how homeopathy fights malaria (by making sure your energy doesn’t have a “malaria-shaped hole” in it, apparently) — then asks Ms Oxley, straight out, What planet are these people on?. Ooh, watch her squirm!

My friends think I’m ugly
I’ve got a masculine face

— Tom Waits, Goin’ Out West

I have, in the past, suffered quite extensively from acne. It’s not an exciting or sexy subject, and I feel it gets further trivialised by Clearasil adverts which perpetuate the feeling (especially among teenagers) that spots are a result of inadequate personal hygiene.

My face and shoulders have considerable scarring from my acne, which will stay with me for the rest of my life. I’m not going to win any beauty contests any time soon.

The appliance of science

The treatments available for acne are pretty straightforward — antibiotics or retinoids. The former are supposed to (combined with a rigorous personal hygiene regime) clear your face of bacteria. I understand that it’s fairly effective for mild acne.

The latter, more hard-core treatment, such as isotretinoin — most commonly known by the trade name Roaccutane — is a completely different ball game. It reduces the oil production of your skin as well as shrinking the sebaceous glands, amongst other things.

It can be devastatingly effective, but it’s also fiercely dangerous. The side-effects, such as hair loss, nose bleeds, skin peeling and photosensitivity are an exciting bunch. The drug requires that your blood be checked out regularly because it has adverse effects on your liver. I can also confirm (and I’m sure h2_the_foodie will testify) that severe mood swings come with the package.

Stepping out with the woo-woo crowd?

But it does work, very well. So it’s with some skepticism that I read (The Herald 10/07/06, Under the spotlight in Section 2) about an acne treatment costing fifty-five pounds a session to shine a blue light in your face.

A quick search of PubMed revealed that there was some science behind it. Rather disturbing, then, that the article was written to highlight anecdotal evidence over clinical trials. Apparently you can provide all the evidence you like, but if 17-year old Gillian from Busby doesn’t say “it works for me!” then it can’t be really effective.

This comment comes from one of the ‘beauty therapists’ offering the treatment:

[She] remains convinced it is the best treatment for acne currently available. “It’s non-invasive and it’s not drugs or pills. It is natural and effective.”

So there you have it. It’s got those magic words — ‘natural’, ‘not drugs’ — so it must be good. Despite not being a qualified dermatologist, this lady is convinced that blue lights are the “best treatment” we’ve got.

I don’t mean to sound overly skeptical, but it’s my natural reaction to articles like this. I’m not qualified to understand the papers which discuss this treatment, and I don’t think the journalist was either. So why should we listen to someone who doesn’t realise their own ignorance, rather than getting an actual expert to explain the details?

The light being used is actually blue, ie in the visible spectrum. So you could always just take a wander outside. I know that one of the few things that helped my acne — other than the drugs, man — was long walks in the sunshine with someone I love. But that may just have been the love.