The philosopher's prescription

Mental health has quietly become one of the defining issues of our time. According to the World Health Organization (WHO), more than 1 billion people worldwide live with mental health conditions, and mental disorders are among the leading causes of disability globally.

Korea is no exception. Depression, anxiety, burnout and loneliness are discussed more openly today than ever before. This alone is progress. For generations, mental health was often shrouded in stigma and silence. Seeking help was considered a sign of weakness rather than strength.

Today, many Koreans are finally acknowledging that emotional suffering deserves attention and treatment. Walk around Gangnam Station in southern Seoul, and you will find plenty of mental health clinics promoting their services, alongside the area’s many plastic surgery clinics. Yet as awareness grows, I sometimes wonder whether we risk becoming too eager to label every form of distress as a medical condition.

To be clear, medication saves countless lives worldwide. Psychiatrists, psychologists and mental health professionals provide essential support for people suffering from many serious conditions. This opinion piece is not an argument against medicine.

It’s an argument for asking another question as well.

Before reaching for a pill or diagnosis, could there be a less invasive, more social, cultural or even philosophical prescription to ease the stress and mental load?

Korean society has achieved extraordinary things within a remarkably short period of time, transforming itself from a war-torn nation into one of the world’s leading economies and cultural powerhouses. But success comes with a price. Koreans grow up under constant evaluation, competition and comparison. Now with social media, it seems someone else always appears to be more successful, more attractive, wealthier or happier. We risk beginning to see ourselves not as human beings who sometimes fail and feel pain, but as projects in need of constant improvement.

The Korean German philosopher Han Byung-chul has written extensively about the pressure of modern achievement-oriented society and the way individuals can internalize demands for constant performance, rather than relying on external oppression like previous times.

And when we experience such sadness, anxiety or a sense of emptiness, the first instinct is to search for a diagnosis, an answer to the overwhelming question of “What's wrong with me?”

Whether because Koreans need to get “fixed” and return to school or work, or simply because uncertainty is uncomfortable, we want a clear explanation and even a quicker solution. But not every painful emotion is necessarily an illness.

Pain can be a signal that something in our lives, our relationships or even society needs attention. Sometimes what we need is not yet a diagnosis, but a different way of approaching pain.

Other countries are experimenting with precisely this idea.

In Britain, the National Health Service has developed “social prescribing,” including nature-based programs that connect people with walking groups, gardening projects and outdoor art activities. These are intended to complement health care by addressing well-being, isolation and social connection.

In Shanghai, an even more literal cultural prescription has emerged. China’s first Museum Healing Alliance was launched this year, bringing together museums, hospitals, universities, botanical gardens and cultural institutions to explore museum-based mental health support alongside conventional treatment.

Health care professionals in Vancouver, Canada, can now prescribe patients a visit to the Vancouver Art Gallery through Canada’s PaRx program. The prescribed visitor receives free admission and may bring a guest, a small but meaningful recognition that well-being can involve not just medicine but art, nature and human connection.

Call it a prescription for something medicine alone cannot provide these days.

The idea is simple but, I find, quite profound. Instead of asking “what is the diagnosis and what medication does this person need,” we might also ask, “what connection, purpose or environment is this person missing and how can we fulfill that?”

Italy offers another interesting perspective. Philosophy remains very visible in its public cultural life. Italian public broadcasting has programs devoted specifically to philosophy, bringing questions about truth, identity, care, freedom and the meaning of contemporary life beyond universities and into public discussion. I remember how surprised I was when I was watching a morning talk show about mental health and there was more than one philosopher invited as part of the panel, alongside medical doctors. They were invited into the discussion, because they both mattered. Both the philosophy and medicine.

Perhaps Korea could also use a little more of that. Here, when mental health is discussed publicly, the instinct is understandably to turn toward medical expertise. We certainly need doctors. But perhaps we could add another chair to the table.

Doctors ask how the mind and body function. Philosophers ask how life should be lived. We need both. A prescription can reduce anxiety but think how great it would be if philosophy could tell us what kind of life is worth running for and sometimes when to stop running altogether. We need the yin and yang. We need both the prescription and philosophy to flourish.

Mental health not only belongs in hospitals, but also to families, schools, communities, workplaces, museums and culture itself. Perhaps a tired soul needs not only a pill but a good book. Before a diagnosis, perhaps a good conversation can sometimes help show the way. Not every troubled mind is a broken one. Sometimes it’s simply a human mind responding honestly to the busy, competitive and often chaotic world around it.

Perhaps the wiser, albeit slower, approach requires both the psychiatrist and the occasional philosopher.

Han Sang-hee is a former staff reporter at The Korea Times and former editor at CNN Travel. She is based in Stuttgart, Germany but now lives in Seoul with her Italian husband and two daughters and shares stories on her instagram @rachelsanghee.