purpose to follow these speculations, or to give an account of the
doctrines of the mechanical physicians, who believed that every
operation of the animal economy was explained by comparing it to a
system of ropes, levers, and pulleys, united with a number of rigid
tubes of different lengths and diameters, containing fluids which, from
variations in their impelling causes, moved with different degrees of
velocity: or of the chemical physicians, whose manner of theorizing and
investigating would have qualified them better for the occupation of the
brewer or of the distiller, than for that of the physician. All these
speculations are idle fancies, without any evidence whatever to support
them; and it has been argued that, for this very reason, they must have
been without any practical result, and that, therefore, if they were
productive of no benefit, they were, at least, innoxious. No opinion can
be more false or pernicious. These wretched theories not only pre
occupied the mind, prevented it from observing the real phenomena of
health and of disease, and the actual effect of the remedies which were
employed, and thus put an effectual stop to the progress of the
science: but they were productive of the most direct and serious evils.
It is no less true in medicine than in philosophy and morals, that there
is no such thing as innoxious error; that men's opinions invariably
influence their conduct; and that physicians, like other men, act as
they think. Asclepiades, whose mind was full of corpuscles and
interstices, was intent on finding suitable remedies, which he
discovered in gestation, friction, and the use of wine. By various
exercises, he proposed to render the pores more open, and to make the
juices and corpuscles, the retention of which causes disease, to pass
more freely. Hence he used gestation from the very beginning of the most
burning fevers. He laid it down as a maxim, that one fever was to be
cured by another; that the strength of the patient was to be exhausted
by making him watch and endure thirst to such a degree, that for the
first two days of the disorder he would not allow them to cool their
mouths with a drop of water. Abernethy's regulated diet is luxurious
compared to his plan of abstinence. For the three first days he allowed
his patients no aliment whatever; on the fourth, he so far relented as
to give to some of them a small portion of food; but from others he
absolutely withheld all nourishment till the seventh day. And this is
the gentleman who laid it down as a maxim, that all diseases are to be
cured "_Tuto, celeriter et jucunde_." To be sure he was a believer in
the doctrine of compensation; and in the latter stage of their diseases
endeavored to recompense his patients for the privations he caused them
to endure in the beginning of their illness. Celsus observes, that
though he treated his patients like a butcher during the first days of
the disorder, he afterwards indulged them so far as to give directions
for making their beds in the softest manner. He allowed them abundance
of wine, which he gave freely in all fevers; he did not forbid it even
to those afflicted with phrenzy: nay, he ordered them to drink it till
they were intoxicated; for, said he, it is absolutely necessary that
persons who labor under phrenzy should sleep, and wine has a narcotic
quality. To lethargic patients, he prescribed it with great freedom, but
with the opposite purpose of rousing them from their stupor. His great
remedy in dropsy was friction, which, of course, he employed to open the
pores. With the same view, he enjoined active exercise to the sick; but
what is a little extraordinary, he denied it to those in health.
Eristratus, who was a great speculator, and whose theories had the most
important influence on his practice, banished blood-letting altogether
from medicine, for the following notable reasons: because, he says, we
cannot always see the vein we intend to open; because we are not sure
we may not open an artery instead of a vein; because we cannot
ascertain the true quantity to be taken; because, if we take too little,
the intention is not answered; if too much, we may destroy the patient;
and because the evacuation of the venous blood is succeeded by that of
the spirits, which thus pass from the arteries into the veins;
wherefore, blood-letting ought never to be used as a remedy in disease.
Yet, though he was thus cautious in abstracting blood, it must not be
supposed that he was not a sufficiently bold practitioner. In tumor of
the liver, he hesitated not to cut open the abdomen, and to apply his
medicines immediately to the diseased organ; but though he took such
liberties with the liver, he regarded with the greatest apprehension the
operation of tapping in dropsy of the abdomen: because, said he, the
waters being evacuated, the liver which is inflamed and become hard like
a stone, is more pressed by the adjacent parts, which the waters kept at
a distance from it, whence the patient dies.
One physician conceived that gout originated from an effervescence of
the synovia of the joints with the vitriolated blood: whence he
recommended alcohol for its cure: a remedy for which the court of
aldermen ought to have voted him a medal. A more ancient practitioner,
who believed that the finger of St. Blasius was very efficacious "for
removing a bone which sticks in the throat," maintained that gout was
the "grand drier," and prescribed a remedy for it, which the patient was
to use for a whole year, and to observe the following diet each month.
In September, he must eat and drink milk; in October, he must eat
garlic; in November, he is to abstain from bathing; in December, he must
eat no cabbage; in January, he is to take a glass of pure wine in the
morning; in February, to eat no beef; in March, to mix several things
both in eatables and drinkables; in April, not to eat horse-radish; nor
in May, the fish called Polypus; in June, he is to drink cold water in a
morning; in July, to avoid venery; and lastly, in August, to eat no
mallows.
A third physician deduced all diseases from inspissation of the fluids;
hence he attached the highest importance to diluent drinks, and believed
that tea, especially, is a sovereign remedy in almost every disease to
which the human frame is subject; "tea," says Bentekoe, who is loudest
in his praises of this panacea, and who, as Blumenbach observes,
'deserved to have been pensioned by the East India Company for his
services,' "tea is the best, nay, the only remedy for correcting
viscidity of the blood, the source of all diseases, and for dissipating
the acid of the stomach, as it contains a fine oleaginous volatile salt,
and certain subtle spirits which are analogous in their nature to the
animal spirits. Tea fortifies the memory and all the intellectual
faculties: it will therefore furnish the most effectual means of
improving physical education. Against fever there is no better remedy
than forty or fifty cups of tea, swallowed immediately after one
another, the slime of the pancreas is thus carried off."
Another physician derived all his diseases from a redundancy or
deficiency of fire and water. He maintained that where the water
predominated, the fluids became viscid, and that hence arose
intermittent fevers and arthritic complaints. His remedies are in strict
conformity to his theory. These diseases are to be cured by volatile
salts, which abound with fiery particles; venesection in any case is
highly pernicious; these fiery medicines are the only efficacious
remedies, and are to be employed even in diseases of the most
inflammatory nature. "Life," says Dr. Brown, "is a forced state;" it is
a flame kept alive by excitement; every thing stimulates; some
substances too violently; others not sufficiently; there are thus two
kinds of debility, indirect and direct, and to one or other of these
causes must be referred the origin of all diseases. According to this
doctrine, the mode of cure is simple: we have nothing to do but to
supply, to moderate or to abstract stimuli. Typhus fever, in this
system, is a disease of extreme debility; we must therefore give the
strongest stimulants. Consumption and apoplexy, also, are diseases of
debility; of course, the remedies are active stimulants. Humanity
shudders, and with reason, at the application of such doctrines to
practice. And not less destitute of reason, and not less dangerous in
practice, is the great doctrine of debility promulgated by Cullen. This
celebrated professor taught, that the circumstance which invariably
characterised fever, that which constituted its essence, was debility.
The inference was obvious, that, above all things, the strength must be
supported. The consequence was, that blood-letting was neglected, and
that bark and wine were given in immense quantities, in cases in which
intense inflammation existed. The practice was in the highest degree
mortal; the number of persons who have perished in consequence of this
doctrine is incalculable. So far then is it from being true, that
medical theories are of no practical importance, there is the closest
possible connection between the speculations of the physician in his
closet, and the measures which he adopts at the bed side of his patient.
Truth to him is a benignant power, which stops the progress of disease,
protracts the duration of life, and mitigates the suffering it may be
unable to remove: error is a fearfully active and tremendously potent
principle. There is not a medical prejudice which has not slain its
thousands, nor a false theory which has not immolated its tens of
thousands. The system of medicine and surgery which is established in
any country, has a greater influence over the lives of its inhabitants
than the epidemic diseases produced by its climate, or the decisions of
its government concerning peace and war. The devastations of the yellow
fever will bear no comparison with the ravages committed by the
Brunonian system; and the slaughter of the field of Waterloo counts not
of victims, a tithe of the number of which the Cullenian doctrine of
debility can justly boast. Anatomy alone will not teach a physician to
think, much less to think justly; but it will give him the elements of
thinking; it will furnish him with the means of correcting his errors;
it will certainly save him from some delusions, and will afford to the
public the best shield against his ignorance, which may be fatal, and
against his presumption, which may be devastating.
We have entered into this minute detail at the hazard, we are aware, of
tiring the reader; but in the hope of leaving on his mind a more
distinct impression of the importance of anatomical knowledge, than
could possibly be produced by a mere allusion to the circumstances which
have been explained. In all ages, formidable obstacles have opposed the
prosecution of anatomical investigations. Among these, without doubt,
the most powerful has its source in a feeling which is natural to the
heart of man. The sweetest, the most sacred associations are
indissolubly connected with the person of those we love. It is with the
corporeal frame that our senses have been familiar: it is that on which
we have gazed with rapture; it is that which has so often been the
medium of conveying to our hearts the thrill of exstacy. We cannot
separate the idea of the peculiarities and actions of a friend from the
idea of his person. It is for this reason that "every thing which has
been associated with him acquires a value from that consideration; his
ring, his watch, his books, and his habitation. The value of these as
having been his, is not merely fictitious; they have an empire over my
mind; they can make me happy or unhappy; they can torture and they can
tranquilize; they can purify my sentiments, and make me similar to the
man I love; they possess the virtue which the Indian is said to
attribute to the spoils of him he kills, and inspire me with the power,
the feelings, and the heart of their preceding master." It is nothing,
says the survivor, to tell me, when disease completed its work and death
has seized its prey, that that body, with which are connected so many
delightful sensations, is a senseless mass of matter: that it is no
longer my friend; that the spirit which animated it, and rendered it
lovely to my sight and dear to my affections, is gone. I know that it is
gone, I know that I never more shall see the light of intelligence
brighten that countenance, nor benevolence beam in that eye, nor the
voice of affection sound from those lips: that which I loved, and which
loved me, is not here: but here are still the features of my friend:
this is his form, and the very particles of matter which compose this
dull mass, a few hours ago were a real part of him, and I cannot
separate them, in my imagination, from him. And I approach them with the
profounder reverence; I gaze upon them with the deeper affection,
because they are all that remain to me. I would give all that I possess
to purchase the art of preserving the wholesome character and rosy hue
of this form, that it might be my companion still: but this is
impossible: I cannot detain it from the tomb: but when I have "cast a
heap of mould upon the person of my friend, and taken the cold earth for
its keeper," I visit the spot in which it is deposited with awe: it is
sacred to my imagination: it is dear to my heart. There is a real and
deep foundation for these feelings in human nature: they arise
spontaneously in the bosom of man, and we see their expression and their
power in the customs of all nations, savage as well as civilized, and in
the conduct of all men, the most ignorant and uncultivated no less than
the most intelligent and refined. It has been the policy of society to
foster these sentiments. If has been conceived that the sanctity which
attaches to the dead, is reflected back in a profounder feeling of
respect for the living; that the solemnity with which death is regarded,
elevates, in the general estimation, the value of life; and that he who
cannot approach the mortal remains of a fellow creature without an
emotion of awe, must regard with horror every thing which places in
danger the life of a human being. Religion has contributed indirectly,
but powerfully, to the strength and perpetuity of these impressions; and
superstition has availed herself of them to play her antics, and to
accomplish her base and malignant purposes. It is not the eradication of
these feelings that can be desired, but their control: it is not the
extinction of these natural and useful emotions that is pleaded for, but
they should give way to higher considerations when these exist.
Veneration for the dead is connected with the noblest and sweetest
sympathies of our nature: but the promotion of the happiness of the
living is a duty from which we can never be exonerated.
In antient times the voice of reason could not be heard. Superstition,
and customs founded on superstition, excited an influence which was
neither to be resisted nor evaded. Dissection was then regarded with
horror. In the warm countries of the east, the pursuit must have been
highly offensive and even dangerous, and it was absolutely incompatible
with the notions and ceremonies universally prevalent in those days.
The Jewish tenet of pollution must have formed an insuperable obstacle
to the cultivation of anatomy amongst that people. By the Egyptians,
every one who cut open a dead body was regarded with inexpressible
horror. The Grecian philosophers so far overcame the prejudice, as
occasionally to engage in the pursuit, and the first dissection on
record was one made by Democritus of Abdera, the friend of Hippocrates,
in order to discover the course of the bile. The Romans contributed
nothing to the progress of the art: they were content with propitiating
the Deities who presided over health and disease. They erected on the
Palatine Mount a temple to the goddess Febris, whom they worshipped from
a dread of her power. They also sacrificed to the goddess Ossipaga, who,
it seems, presided over the growth of the bones, and to another styled
Carna, who took care of the viscera, and to whom they offered bean broth
and bacon, because these were the most nutritious articles of diet. The
Arabians adopted the Jewish notion of pollution, and were thus
prohibited by the tenets of their religion from practising dissection.
Abdollaliph, who flourished about the year 1200, a man of learning and a
teacher of anatomy, never saw and never thought of a human dissection.
In order to examine and demonstrate the bones, he took his students to
burying grounds, and earnestly recommended them, instead of reading
books, to adopt that method of study: yet he seemed to have no
conception that the dissection of a recent subject might be a still
better method of learning. Christians were equally hostile to
dissection. Pope Boniface the 8th issued a bull prohibiting even the
maceration and preparation of skeletons. The priests were the only
physicians, and so greatly did they abuse the office they assumed, that
the evil at length became too intolerable to be borne. The church itself
was obliged to prohibit the priesthood from interfering with the
practice of medicine. All monks and canons who applied themselves to
physic, were threatened with severe penalties, and all bishops, abbots,
and priors who connived at their misconduct, were ordered to be
suspended from their ecclesiastical functions. But it was not till three
hundred years after this interdiction, that by a special bull which
permitted physicians to marry, their complete separation from the clergy
was effected.