One of the insights that came flooding over me watching HBO’s new movie about Temple Grandin is how my day-to-day experience of the world is so perfectly arranged – and limited – by my particular brain and conditioning. What I think I see, what I affix shape and meaning and language to – the particular way I make sense of the world – is also a kind of blindness to anything else.
Grandin, a doctor of animal science and noted autism advocate whose rare ability to explain the condition’s effects changed the way both science and society perceive it, tells us right from the start, “I’m not like other people. I think in pictures. And I connect them.”
An early scene makes the point. Grandin and her aunt drive up to the gated entrance of a sprawling Arizona cattle ranch, and what might appear as nothing more than a pass-through (the gated entrance) suddenly becomes a complex interplay of angles and trajectories, of geometry and relationships, through Grandin’s unique consciousness (and some rather stunning visual effects).
Clearly, there’s a lot more going on than we perceive. For most of us, it’s the gated entrance we see, the instantaneously configured end product of our perception. We lock in on the world-as-objects so that we can move through it in expedient ways.
Grandin sees the configuration process itself – the interplay of past experiences, physical stimuli and their perceptual effects. Just as the gate is more than a gate, Grandin’s mind, her science teacher explains, is like a door that opens up on a whole new world.
Seeing our seeing, and the limitations of our seeing, is useful and important. You might say it is the only way we ever perceive anything “new.”
That’s one of the reasons I found today’s blog post by Altarum Institute’s Stanley Chin so refreshing (“Just How Do We Define a ‘Culture of Health’?”). Rather than provide pat answers and superficial solutions, researcher Chin poses some big questions that challenge long-held and mostly unexamined assumptions about health, health behaviors and health “determinants,” a word he says is itself problematic: “Health is surely not ‘determined’ or cast in stone but is the result of interacting risk factors, environment, genetics, chance, and individual choices.”
The challenge is furthered when we build assumptions on our assumptions. For example, notes Chin, while education is correlated with health, the precise “pathways from educational attainment to improved health status are not clear,” which of course leaves interventions to guesswork. Chin observes:
That the health policy research community does not know much about such pathways, despite decades of work, says something about the data available, the methods used, and the very nature of the problem. Communities and their health are more than just complicated and full of surprises. Formally, they may be examples of ‘complex adaptive systems’ – ecologies with a complex web of feedback loops over time and spatial dimensions. These loops mean that direct causation may be difficult or impossible to demonstrate, that history can be as important as current levels or capacities, and that what we normally think of as the background (context and details of implementation) may actually be the key success factor.
Chin hasn’t cracked it all the way open (yet) – How about deconstructing what we mean by “health”? – but it’s a start in the right direction. A shift in perception might be our best and only hope to get to “the very nature of the problem.”







