Last week I was at the Community Liver Alliance gathering in Pittsburgh, PA. The room held survivors of liver disease, members of the transplant community, doctors, pharmaceutical representatives, researchers, advocates, and anyone with a story about liver disease and liver health. I came as a person with a story. I represented The Liver Circle, but mostly I tried to share my story of hope and to encourage others who are somewhere along their own journey of health.
One of the highlights was a talk by Dr. Michael Babich on why medicine and its practitioners need to engage more deeply with the arts and humanities. I smiled as he described them as tools that help doctors treat human beings, because they make doctors more human, too. I delighted in his musing that art can fuel medical creativity. And I agreed when he suggested that we are more than rational heads floating around in machines (my summary, not his words).
Afterward, I told someone, “This is how the world used to work.” Theological studies has known this for centuries. There was a time when fields of thought were not so neatly siloed from one another. (Yes, theology was once called the queen of the sciences, but that’s not my point here.) From a Christian perspective, the whole world is one. We live in a cosmos, after all. If the world is a gift from God, then any intellectual pursuit, any inquiry into any field, is in some sense a search for part of ultimate meaning. Naturally, our pursuits speak to one another, and we must not surrender entirely to siloed specialization.
Yes, yes, yes: we need specialists. We need people who master a topic or a narrow field. But we must also strive to be well-rounded. If our specialized knowledge is too narrow to see how our little piece of the pie connects to another, we have traded knowledge for a new form of ignorance.
The other day I was talking with a handful of Georgia Tech students, and I kidded them that I wish every one of them had to double major in an arts or humanities degree. “If you’re designing and engineering our world, you’d better understand its heart,” I said. They laughed politely. They’re kind. But I wasn’t entirely kidding. What good is engineering without beauty in mind? What help is innovation without a sense of truth? Is it right to build a society without a notion of justice undergirding the work? We speak of “the arts and sciences” as if they belong together, but all too often we act as if they have little to teach each other.
Throughout the rest of the conference, I was struck by how many people said doctors need to know how to speak with people different from themselves. I was encouraged by how many clinicians were working to understand the psychology of trauma. I was moved by appeals to basic human needs, like the delight of taste. Yes, I was at a medical conference, but what I experienced was human beings trying to make sense of their world. I met caregivers and advocates working to humanize systems for their loved ones. I met people telling stories and listening to others’ stories. I watched doctors and researchers cry with gratitude as several of their patients showed improvement. I saw humanity at work in science, helping humanity.
I’m glad there was recognition that the sciences need the humanities. (Those of us in the theological world could have told you that. ;) But it’s right. If you’re reading this, let me encourage you to widen your scope. Grow a little in an area of inquiry that you’re not used to. It’s okay to try, and it’s okay if it’s hard. In the end, you might just become a little more human.
It is unfortunate that we have de-emphasized the importance of the liberal arts degrees. As I understand it, you don't need a pre-med degree to get into Med school. You will take all that biology and chemistry in med school, so why not get the basic foundations in what makes us human first?