As a statement about the American character (to whatever extent such a thing truly exists), this is brilliant: Bloom connects our persistent obsession with, and reverence for, health and medicine with our national, self-preservation-oriented identity.
For the individual striking out on his own, the pioneer, the American archetype, self-preservation is almost the sole imperative; indeed, taking care of one’s interests, and those of one’s family, is the primary drive in our democracy and our capitalist economy (both of which work very well).
That we are neurotically transfixed by health is best seen not in our endless efforts to recover youth and prolong life, but in the aura of sacredness medicine confers on human experience. I know this firsthand as my bipolar disorder is afforded all manner of accommodation by my employer and my friends, whereas no one would give a damn if we described me in extra-medical terms: Mills is an erratic, irrational, emotionally deranged jerk.
As soon as medicine bestows a title on something -pain, despair, obesity, abusiveness- it is instantly removed from the realm of judgment in America, and becomes a sacred experience beyond interrogation, worthy of infinite deference. Hence (1) the competition among the hysterical and the young to legitimize their sorrows and sufferings by getting them ‘named,’ and (2) the increasing incidence of hard-to-test problems, like mental illness.
If it is sacred and rewarded, why not call your slight sadness ‘depression,’ or your cruelty to animals a ‘psychotic break’? Indeed, how often does one encounter the self-diagnosed manic-depressive, or the person who calls their headaches migraines, or the person who calls their indigestion acid reflux, simply to wrap their quotidian problems and reckless behavior in the aura of the medical, to eliminate their culpability and engender sympathy?
