“We have multiplied diseases—we have done more, we have increased
their mortality.”
The celebrated Dr. Bailie, who enjoyed, it appears, a long and
lucrative practice, declared at the termination of his career, “that he
had no faith in physic;” and on his death-bed frequently exclaimed, “I
wish I could be sure that I have not killed more than I have cured.”
Abernethy observes sarcastically,
“There has been a great increase of medical men of late years, but
upon my life, diseases have increased in proportion.”
The British and Foreign Quarterly Journal—the leading advocate of drug
medication—thus writes:—
“This mode of treating disease (Hydropathy) is unquestionably far
from inert, and most opposed to the cure of diseases, by the
undisturbed processes of nature. It in fact perhaps affords the
very best evidence we possess of the curative power of art, and is
unquestionably when rationally regulated a most effective mode of
treatment in many diseases. Still it puts in a striking light, if
not exactly the curative powers of nature, at least the
possibility—nay, facility—with which all the ordinary instruments
of medical cure, drugs, may be dispensed with. If so many and such
various diseases get well entirely without drugs, under one special
mode of treatment, is it not more than probable, that a treatment
consisting almost exclusively of drugs may be often of
non-effect—sometimes of injurious effect?”
Dr. Headland, in his prize essay on the action of medicines on the
system, thus writes:—
“On no question perhaps have scientific men differed more than on
the theory of the action of medicines. Either facts, essentially
opposed and incompatible, have been adduced by the disagreeing
parties, or which is nearly as common, the same fact has received
two distinct and opposite interpretations.”
Such quotations as the above, which might be multiplied ad infinitum,
by any student of medical lore, show that enquiry is abroad amongst the
medical profession, and that some at least of its members are
dissatisfied with the truth of the system which would consider drug
medication as an essential instrument in the cure of disease.
The following remarks by Dr. Maclæoud, contained in a letter written by
him to Professor Simpson of Edinburgh, show at least, that if the lay
public place confidence in allopathic drugging, they place their faith
in a system which does not command the confidence of physicians
themselves.
“Formerly there were several wards in the Edinburgh Royal
Infirmary, of which three Fellows of the Royal College of
Physicians had the charge. One physician had the top ward, another
the middle ward, and a third the low ward. It happened that on the
same day, three young persons of nearly the same age, ill of typhus
fever, were admitted into the hospital. The disease was of equal
severity in each, and the stage of complaint the same in all. What
was the treatment pursued in those three cases, by the three
Fellows of the College? Of course, it should have been the same, at
least, if the system be correct; for the physicians in question
would choose the best. But, sir, it was not the same. He in the top
ward bled his patient with lancet and leeches. He in the middle
ward treated his patient with drastic purgatives. He in the low
ward, again, gave whiskey, wine, and opiates. What was the result
of such deplorable freaks? I refer you to the statistic book; I
have no doubt you will find it there!”
“In the University formerly, two professors used to lecture, on
alternate days, on clinical medicine. It happened once that each
had, at the same time, under his care an acute case of
pericarditis. The professor who lectured on his case on Monday
night, said in substance, as follows:—
“Gentlemen.—As to the treatment of this disease, it has been the
practice to give large doses of mercury, so as to bring the
constitution under its action, and to effect this as rapidly as
possible, small quantities of opium are usually combined with it.
The practice I, however, believe to be erroneous; for I have
observed the progress of the disease unchecked, even during profuse
salivation. The most efficient remedy—in fact our sheet-anchor—in
this disease is tartar emetic. You will have noticed the large
doses I have given of this remedy, and yet the patient seems not to
suffer from it. In fact, the constitution in this disease, as in
some others, has a remarkable tolerance for tartar emetic.”
“When the lecture was finished, I left the hall fancying I had
heard some great truth, and knew better than an hour before how to
save life. On Wednesday evening, during the same week, in the same
hall, and to the same students, the other professor lectured. The
lecture was devoted to the acute case of pericarditis under his
care in the hospital. After describing the case, and giving a
sketch of the character and progress of the disease, he spoke in
substance, as follows:—
“Gentlemen.—It is a remarkable thing that there should be any
difference in regard to the mode of treatment to be pursued in a
disease such as this, I believe it is the Italian and French
schools which advocate so very strongly the employment of tartar
emetic; but I would strongly urge you to put no confidence in this
remedy, for if you do so, you will lean on a broken reed. Our
sheet-anchor in this disease is mercury; under the action of which
you must bring the patient as soon and as freely as you possibly
can—even bleeding is of little importance in comparison with the
use of mercury. The two combined, i.e., mercury and blood-letting
is, of course, best; but at all events use mercury, and never trust
to tartar emetic.
“Thus doctors differ and the patient dies.”
As in the theatrical world a peep behind the scenes destroys the
illusion of the piece, so in the real world such revelations as the
foregoing, are well calculated to stagger thoughtful minds, and to
shake to the centre a blind and unreasoning faith in the allopathic
system.
Does not the reflection suggest itself on reading such a revelation as
the above—since it is impossible that the practice of both these
learned professors can be right, is it not possible that the practice
of both may be wrong?
That eminent physician, the late Sir Philip Crampton, was in the habit
of warning all his gouty and rheumatic patients to avoid the use of
colchicum, terming it a “desperate remedy,” and affirming that it was
better to bear any amount of pain than have recourse to it. This was
the deliberate opinion of one of the most able men in his profession,
who must have been fully impressed with a conviction of its injurious
effects; yet this remedy is continued to be prescribed to thousands,
with what result let those who have experienced it testify. Here then
again is a serious disagreement in practice between members of the
medical profession, in which one party must again be wrong. If those
who use colchicum are to be ranged amongst the latter, where our own
sufferings under it would place them, their victims may well be pitied.
If colchicum be not a poisonous drug, why did Sir Philip Crampton so
strongly inveigh against it? If it be, can that system be right which
prescribes it as a remedy? Such is the system termed orthodox, styling
all who presume to differ from it quacks.
Before we proceed to inquire whether any escape is open to us from this
unsatisfactory state of affairs—whether any system has been discovered
more intelligible in its principles and more certain in its action,
whose professors are found to agree in their practice, instead of
maintaining opinions directly opposed to each other—we would
respectfully address a few words to those whom we have often heard
exclaiming, “I cannot believe that a system which has existed so long
as the allopathic can be wrong; if it were, it would long since have
been exposed and its errors refuted. No; when I reflect how long it has
existed, I cannot but believe it is right.” To such we will merely say
that we charitably hope they do not call this exclamation an argument,
and that if they reflected for a moment they ought to remember
numberless instances where error has existed for centuries unrefuted,
and acquiesced in by all mankind; that on their principle error ought
to prevail in exact proportion to its greatness, since the oldest
errors are the earliest, and the earliest are, generally speaking, the
greatest, the infancy of every science being its most imperfect stage.
According to them, we should at present believe that the sun moves
round the earth, because this doctrine prevailed for upwards of 5,000
years, and “if it had been wrong it could not have existed so long.” If
such persons studied human nature better, they would acknowledge the
truth of Horace’s lines, especially when applied to the medical
profession, who, with some honourable exceptions, have on every
occasion opposed all innovation on their system with the most
uncompromising hostility—
“Vel quia nil rectum, nisi quod placuit sibi, ducunt,
Vel quia turpe putant parere minoribus et. quæ
Imberbes didicere, senes perdenda fateri;” [2]
an hostility which can only be ascribed to the effects of professional
habit and prejudice. In such a profession reform must be brought about
by the action of an enlightened public opinion, which, unwarped by
prejudice and unfettered by professional trammels, is free to perceive
truth, and hold to it when discovered. When the public take the lead,
the medical profession will “move on,” but not before. We are sorry to
be forced to make these observations, but we appeal to the history of
the medical profession past and present, and to the observation of our
readers, in confirmation of their truth.