Manual Magic
Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
Arthur C. Clarke
I sit alone quietly for a few moments after every workshop and ask myself the same question: What do therapists want? I learned long ago not to expect my words and demonstrations to have any significant impact upon those who just spent a day watching the changes emerge from them and the people within reach. I explain all of it and I know it’s quite impressive – but I know it makes no impression. Nothing that lasts anyway.
I listened to a podcast from Science & the City this week featuring an interview with James Kakalios, a physics professor at The University of Minnesota. He teaches a course about “the physics of superheroes” that has had me thinking about it since. Kakalios says, “The super powers themselves are impossible, but we grant each character a one time miracle exemption from the laws of nature. In other words, ‘If you could (insert super power here) then what consequences would be consistent with physics?’”
The enduring popularity of comic book heroes is probably due to this combination of the unbelievable and the merely unlikely. Somewhere in there a bit of esoteric knowledge derived from careful study would reduce the mystery, but, in my experience, many aren’t especially interested in doing the study. Some are happy just letting others know. Others prefer the mystery.
This week I’ve also watched the movie The Illusionist starring Edward Norton as a stage magician in Vienna circa 1900. Though his popularity as a performer has everything to do with his showmanship, the method behind his illusions is entirely dependent upon his skill as a craftsman. He’s the son of a cabinet maker and throughout the movie short scenes make this skill with various materials obvious. The word “craft” itself holds a certain fascination for me, and, as you’ll see, it’s loaded. In Old English “craeft” meant strength and courage, expertness and skill. Eventually, craft connoted trickery or deceitfulness. A true craftsman might possess all of this and choose which qualities he’d like to combine or emphasize.
Manual care, especially the gentler sort, can appear mysterious. The therapist seems to “do” very little and certainly doesn’t introduce enough force to alter connective tissue in any enduring way. Still, dramatic changes in sensation and range of motion may rapidly follow the application of a hand upon the skin’s surface. That such things happen isn’t in dispute; how it happens is the primary purpose of neuroscience research as it relates to touch, sensation, stimulation, perception and efferent flow. Rational explanations have grown exponentially within this realm. It takes a little reading and thinking to gather it all in, I admit.
Let’s return to the super hero for a moment. The suspension of natural law necessary to actually possess a super power is one thing, but Professor Kakalios’ lecture makes it clear that beyond the application of the power itself there are physical consequences that can be predicted and measured. Super powers are fine for a comic book, or, perhaps, a session of “energetic” therapy, but, in the clinic, the method shouldn’t require any deferment of physics as it’s been understood for several centuries. Because of this, it’s not appropriate to equate gentle manual care with super powers, unless of course you feel you can get away with it. Obviously some therapists have done this.
What do therapists want? I think they want magic. But by this I mean magic in the way that a true craftsman might present it. Though subtleties in the method may be virtually invisible to anyone witnessing gently applied touch, these alterations in pressure have a purpose and a theory with construct validity. They can be explained and defended, and, in my opinion, they should be.
More about this in Part II of Manual Magic.
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