SO, there have been two theories about the cause and cure of disease.
One is the theological, the other the scientific.
According to the theological idea, diseases were produced by evil
spirits, by devils who entered into the bodies of people.
These devils could be cast out by prophets, inspired men and priests.
While Christ was upon earth his principal business was to cast out evil
spirits.
For many centuries the priests followed his example, and during the
Middle Ages millions of devils were driven from the bodies of men.
Diseases were cured with little images of consecrated pewter, with
pieces of paper, with crosses worn about the neck--by having plaster of
Paris Virgins and clay Christs at the head of the bed, by touching the
bones of dead saints, or pieces of the true cross, or one of the nails
that was driven through the flesh of Christ, or a garment that had been
worn by the Virgin Mary, or by sprinkling the breast with holy water, or
saying prayers, or counting beads, or making the stations of the cross,
or by going without meat, or wearing haircloth, or in some way torturing
the body. All diseases were supposed to be of supernatural origin
and all cures were of the same nature. Pestilences were stopped by
processions, led by priests carrying the Host.
Nothing was known of natural causes and effects. Everything was
miraculous and mysterious. The priests were cunning and the people
credulous.
Slowly another theory as to the cause and cure of disease took
possession of the mind. A few discarded the idea of devils, and took
the ground that diseases were naturally produced, and that many of them
could be cured by natural means.
At first the physician was exceedingly ignorant, but he knew more than
the priest. Slowly but surely he pushed the priest from the bedside.
Some people finally became intelligent enough to trust their bodies to
the doctors, and remained ignorant enough to leave the care of their
souls with the priests. Among civilized people the theological theory
has been cast aside, and the miraculous, the supernatural, no longer has
a place in medicine. In Catholic countries the peasants are still cured
by images, prayers, holy water and the bones of saints, but when the
priests are sick they send for a physician, and now even the Pope, God's
agent, gives his sacred body to the care of a doctor.
The scientific has triumphed to a great extent over the theological.
No intelligent person now believes that devils inhabit the bodies
of men. No intelligent person now believes that devils are trying to
control the actions of men. No intelligent person now believes that
devils exist.
And yet, at the present time, in the city of New York, Catholic priests
are exhibiting a piece of one of the bones of Saint Anne, the supposed
mother of the Virgin Mary. Some of these priests may be credulous
imbeciles and some may be pious rogues. If they have any real
intelligence they must know that there is no possible way of proving
that the piece of bone ever belonged to Saint Anne. And if they have any
real intelligence they must know that even the bones of Saint Anne were
substantially like the bones of other people, made of substantially
the same material, and that the medical and miraculous qualities of all
human bones must be substantially the same. And yet these priests are
obtaining from their credulous dupes thousands and thousands of dollars
for the privilege of seeing this bone and kissing the box that contains
the "sacred relic."
Archbishop Corrigan knows that no one knows who the mother of the Virgin
Mary was, that no one knows about any of the bones of this unknown
mother, knows that the whole thing is a theological fraud, knows that
his priests, or priests under his jurisdiction, are obtaining money
under false pretences. Cardinal Gibbons knows the same, but neither of
these pious gentlemen has one word to say against this shameless crime.
They are willing that priests for the benefit of the church should make
merchandise of the hopes and fears of ignorant believers; willing that
fraud that produces revenue should live and thrive.
This is the honesty of the theologian. If these gentlemen should
be taken sick they would not touch the relic. They would send for a
physician.
Let me tell you a Japanese story that is exactly in point:
An old monk was in charge of a monastery that had been built above the
bones of a saint. These bones had the power to cure diseases and they
were so placed that by thrusting the arm through an orifice they could
be touched by the hand of the pilgrim. Many people, afflicted in many
ways, came and touched these bones. Many thought they had been benefited
or cured, and many in gratitude left large sums of money with the monk.
One day the old monk addressed his assistant as follows: "My dear son,
business has fallen off, and I can easily attend to all who come. You
will have to find another place. I will give you the white donkey, a
little money, and my blessing."
So the young man mounted upon the beast and went his way. In a few days
his money was gone and the white donkey died. An idea took possession of
the young man's mind. By the side of the road he buried the donkey, and
then to every passer-by held out his hands and said in solemn tones: "I
pray thee give me a little money to build a temple above the bones of
the sinless one."
Such was his success that he built the temple, and then thousands came
to touch the bones of the sinless one. The young man became rich, gave
employment to many assistants and lived in the greatest luxury.
One day he made up his mind to visit his old master. Taking with him a
large retinue of servants he started for the old home. When he
reached the place the old monk was seated by the doorway. With great
astonishment he looked at the young man and his retinue. The young man
dismounted and made himself known, and the old monk cried: "Where hast
thou been? Tell me, I pray thee, the story of thy success."
"Ah," the young man replied, "old age is stupid, but youth has thoughts.
Wait until we are alone and I will tell you all."
So that night the young man told his story, told about the death and
burial of the donkey, the begging of money to build a temple over the
bones of the sinless one, and of the sums of money he had received for
the cures the bones had wrought.
When he finished a satisfied smile crept over his pious face as he
added: "Old age is stupid, but youth has thoughts."
"Be not so fast," said the old monk, as he placed his trembling hand on
the head of his visitor, "Young man, this monastery in which your youth
was passed, in which you have seen so many miracles performed, so many
diseases cured, was built above the sacred bones of the mother of your
little jackass."