Seventeenth-century French philosopher René Descartes famously defended the notion that the mind and the body are two separate and distinct entities. In his view, the mind (our thoughts and consciousness) was immaterial and non-physical, fundamentally different from the body. Although twenty-first-century thinking has shifted toward physicalism, the idea that our mental states arise from ‘material/physical’ neurochemical processes (as reflected in the common claim that falling in love is ‘just a chemical reaction’), the legacy of Cartesian dualism still persists. For example, there still remains the common habit of separating ‘mental health’ from ‘physical health’. 

However, reducing the human experience to a tug-of-war between dualism and physicalism ignores a much deeper complexity. Although it is clear that mental distress can result in physical ailments and vice versa, as well as of course all the research around the gut-brain axis and other neuroscientific observations, we should also be careful not to fall into the trap of biological determinism (the idea that our biology alone determines how we think and feel). This view would strip our experiences from the social and cultural contexts that shape them. Human behaviour and emotions are inextricable from the world we live in and the relationships that surround us. Therefore, when I think about the body, I find it more helpful to consider meaning rather than simple cause and effects. What does it truly mean to inhabit the bodies we live in? How does it inform our experiences of the world and the ways in which we connect with it?  In what ways is my body connected to my sense of self?

Asking these questions makes for far more interesting explorations which value our embodied lived experiences as a way of knowing. Modern trauma research for instance, increasingly recognises the embodied nature of psychological trauma.  While somatic interventions like trauma-informed yoga or dance movement therapy are praised for regulating sympathetic responses, their true power may in fact lie in the creation of new meanings. As neuroscientist and psychiatrist Van der Kolk aptly describes in his book The Body Keeps the Score (a highly recommended read for understanding the embodied nature of trauma from a neuroscientific perspective), through these practices a person may not only simply feel calmer, but, more importantly, learn how to feel safe again in a body that may have once felt like a site of perpetual danger. In this way, movement-based practices become opportunities for discovery: Whether through play, enactment (drama), expression (dance), or a mindful Pilates class, they invite a deeper awareness of the body you inhabit and what it means to live within it, both consciously and unconsciously. 

Our bodies are not just neutral vessels nor are our minds purely driven by chemical reactions. I invite you to contemplate the following: How has your race, gender, sexuality, size, ability or disability shaped how you navigate this world and how this world navigates you? How has this shaped your sense of self? How can you begin to reclaim your body as a place of knowledge, safety, possibility, and a source of new meaning?

By Lwandile Nkosi