An Herbal Philosophy

by Meg McGowan

Widespread acceptance of herbalism and other alternative healing practices has been paralleled by a resurgence of spiritual exploration in this country -- not strictly a return to religion, but the impulse to define personal spirituality. We are moving to once again embrace what we don't know or cannot explain rather than dismissing it as irrelevant or unimportant. Speaking at Herbfest 2001, microbiologist and holistic healer Kevin Spelman said that in scientific studies data that falls off the charts at either end of the spectrum is routinely discarded. "And how scientific is that?" he asked.

Perhaps we have lived too long in the wasteland created by denying our personal experiences and our collective experiences passed through generations in favor of information documented in clinical trials, a wasteland created by division as we esteem what we think in our heads over what we feel in our hearts, as we prize what we can prove over what we can imagine might be -- as if the left-brain processes we revere can be elevated to genius without the right-brain reverie. A part of ourselves knows that the world is more than what we can see, touch, and quantify. It is also what we feel. It is what touches us that we cannot name nor explain.

Allopathic medicine is necessarily limited. It is a system based solely on what we know and understand. Its miracles are self-generated -- we refer to the miracles of modern science and the miracles of modern medicine as if the power to create miracles comes from us rather than through us. Herbalism comes to us with a mystical, mythical history clinging to its roots. Left intact, these roots connect us to truly holistic healing and to a tradition of magic more valuable than the active ingredients of any particular plant. If we accept the idea of healing beyond our understanding, then we allow for the possibility of healing beyond our beliefs. But where and how will we allow herbalism to grow in our culture?

Cloaked in the rhetoric of the rational, we refer to the scientific method as if it were the definition of objective rationality, and therefore, in an amazing leap of logic, the definition of reality and truth. As if that reasoning would stand up to proofs by its own methods. As if money and self-interest do not influence what is studied, which questions are asked, and whether or not the results receive a blaze of media attention.

Science is really just another method of storytelling, yet another perspective in our ongoing attempt to make sense of life, to fit what we know and what we don't know about our world into some sort of framework, in our quest for understanding, for meaning. It is not our best attempt. It is one-dimensional and flat compared to the richness of mythology or fiction. (Though the value of the genre is more fully realized if we read scientific studies like literature, examining the subtext for what truths lie beneath the surface story.)

Scientific study is not life; it is simulated life. It is a reductionist model of life, like life but not of life. While science has provided and continues to provide much information that is valuable, it is valuable only within the context that we use the knowledge wisely. It tells us that we always keep in mind that we have discovered yet another piece, not unveiled the whole mystery of creation, that what we don't know or understand is at least as vast and certainly as valid as the new insight we have suddenly gleaned.

Mythology and classic fiction are not life, but they are of life in a way that science is not. They too are open to interpretation, yet they embrace many interpretations, and all contain an element of truth. Mythology and fiction are of life as dreams are of life, made of the same stuff, essential truths softened by layers of gauze wrappings, to be unwound bit by bit, each layer revealing a new depth of understanding.

In my mind, mythology is to the business of science as sugarcane is to aspartame. In The Women of Brewster Place (Viking, 1982), Gloria Naylor's character Butch Fuller says, "Eating cane is like living life. You gotta know when to stop chewing -- when to stop trying to wrench every last bit of sweetness out of a wedge -- or you find yourself with a jawful of straw that irritates your gums and the roof of your mouth." (Butch's interpretation of sugar cane serves his own agenda, but that is typically the case.) Much has been written about aspartame; however, I haven't read anything comparing it to life -- poison perhaps, but not life. It represents isolation rather than connection, simulating sugar, refined white sugar, in a few controlled respects, deemed an improvement until scientifically proven otherwise.

Where then will we invite herbalism to stay? Will we force it into the procrustean bed of science and modern medicine? Or will we allow it to flow beyond boundaries and definitions, to evade the linear constraints of Aristotelian definition, to keep its wild roots that we may reclaim the open spaces in our minds? If we hand our plants over to science, anxiously awaiting a nod of approval, we hand over our power as well. We affirm the existing structure rather than acknowledging and validating many ways of knowing. By way of comparison, was James Joyce a writer while he was writing Ulysses, but before it was published? Did he attain his status of being a writer when he received acceptance for publication rather than rejection? Can we accept what exists, with or without the validation of current established systems? Instead of discarding the magical roots of herbalism so that science will accept it, why not insist that if science wants in it must shift to accept our magic? It is possible. In fact, it is happening.

There is the possibility that science will attempt to usurp our magic, to claim it for its own: "This much is true; we can prove it; we can explain it. Now we will show you how to use it -- how to improve it, control it, domesticate it." And worse: "You were right. This is powerful stuff. We must protect you from it."

The media, as outer manifestations of our own inner watchdogs, cry "Danger, danger, danger," and we are in danger of trading our power, freedom, and personal responsibility for that outdated illusion of safety. Once we may have believed in the illusion, once it may have been necessary, but once we recognize it as an illusion, it becomes more and more difficult to make the trade.

Within our personal psyches, growth occurs when we are able to interpret and process experiences in new ways, ways that challenge the belief systems that were formed in childhood. As long as we try to force new experiences to fit into our existing belief system, we remain stuck, unable to evolve. In both our private and public lives, the temptation is great to revert to what is familiar and therefore comfortable, our illusions of safety.

Like dysfunctional parenting, government regulation always charges forth with seemingly inappropriate action under a banner proclaiming it is for your own good. As if there were no other motivation. We can choose, however, whether we want our government to parent us (as our feudalist infant self seems to yearn for) or if we want to parent ourselves and enter into an equal partnership with our government -- a true democracy -- in which we say, "As a conscious adult I will choose what is best for myself, and I will communicate that to you."

The media continue to reflect our own fears back at us. "You could die!" they wail. We will die; that is certain. "Your spouse, your lover, your sister, your children could die," they shriek in desperation. They will die too, that is certain. There is no protection against death. Individually or collectively we cannot stand in fear and protect anyone from death. In my experience, choices made in fear are not in anyone's best interest, and actions taken or not taken based on fear are those we most regret. What we can do is stand together to nurture and protect the elements that nourish life. We can choose to protect access to clean air, clean water, clean food, open land, and healing plants. We are not in danger of dying; we are in danger of not knowing what it is to be fully alive.

DISCLAIMER:  Choosing a holistic approach to medicine means choosing personal responsibility for your health care. "Herbs for Health" offers a doorway through which to enter the realm of herbal healing, an invitation to further investigation on the part of the reader. It is in no way intended as a substitute for advice from a health care practitioner.