pupil and friend of the venerable Plato, whose doctrines he adopted and
developed, lectured at Athens 370 years before Christ. As a physician
and naturalist he was far in advance of his contemporaries, and as a
mathematician and moral philosopher, his transcendent learning was, for
ages, the theme of every scholar; and his “System of the Universe”
adopted by the whole of the civilized world. These great qualities
attracted the attention of Philip of Macedonia, who chose him as the
tutor of his son Alexander (the Great). Ignorance and superstition were,
however, omnipotent, and for having enunciated the doctrine of one God,
and a supreme first cause, the priests of the various temples seeing
their craft in danger, excited the populace, who threatened his life.
Warned by the fate of Socrates, he retired to Chalcis to wear away a
life embittered by personal suffering, and sorrow for the folly and
ingratitude of his countrymen.
The heart’s deepest feelings are roused at the remembrance of the deeds
of violence perpetrated against every benefactor of mankind who has had
the courage to promulgate truths beyond the comprehension of the vulgar
on the one hand, and opposed to the vested interest of established
errors on the other. The fate of Aristotle is a common result, not
confined to the dark ages, nor without examples amongst ourselves.
The learned Philo of Alexandria, who lived A.D. 40, has given us an
interesting account of the very remarkable sect living in Egypt in his
day, known as the “Theraputæ,” or “healers.” He describes them as a
confraternity who, after having received a special training in the
University of Alexandria, devoted themselves to the healing art; they
led a secluded, contemplative life, and laid the foundation of the
monastic system. Eusebius calls them Christians, but this is not
confirmed by Philo, who was a member of the sect; they were, probably,
Platonists, or philosophical pagans. They ascribed their cures to
prayers, fastings, and incantations, eschewed all material remedies, and
medicaments, but made free use of magical rites of both forms—the
leucomancy, or white magic, used in invoking the gods, and necromancy
when the demons were to be propitiated or coerced. St. Luke, before his
conversion, is supposed to have been a Therapeut; and St. Paul denounces
some of their errors. Of their faults we cannot judge, but we may admire
the benevolence with which they devoted themselves alike to the physical
and moral welfare of their fellow men—in this respect, no unworthy
forerunners of Him who commanded his disciples, not only to “instruct
the ignorant,” but to “heal the sick.”
We pass over three centuries to come to the time of Celsus, who, in the
reign of Tiberius and the first century of our Lord, was established at
Rome; where he acquired great honour and renown. To these he was fairly
entitled by the extent of his learning and the especial attention he
paid to surgery and medicine. His principles governed the medical world
without a rival until the time of Galen, who divided the empire with him
for centuries.
Celsus was the first native Roman physician whose name has been
transmitted to us: the practice of medicine and surgery being, prior to
his time, in the hands of eminent Greeks and Asiatics, excepting that
there existed in Rome (at that period) a race of native practitioners,
who belonged to the class of slaves[9] or persons of low degree; and to
whom were entrusted only the subordinate branches of the healing art.
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Footnote 9:
See Notes and Letters of Pliny.
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The great proficiency of Celsus on the subjects of rhetoric, philosophy,
military tactics, and rural economy, as mentioned by Quintilian, has
induced many of our older writers to doubt whether he ever really
practised medicine and surgery, or, whether, like the elder Cato, he
simply studied them as a branch of general knowledge; and this
scepticism has been favoured by the fact of his name being omitted by
Pliny, in his “Treatise on the History of Medicine.”
On the other hand, no one, I think, can rise from the perusal of his
celebrated work, “De Medicina,” without being thoroughly convinced that
his intimate acquaintance with the theory and practice of medicine,
surgery, and pharmacy, could only have resulted from close bedside
observation.
Galen was born at Pergamos, in Asia, in the second century; his learning
was great, and his literary labours enormous. Having traversed Egypt and
Greece, and acquired a knowledge of every science taught in the schools
there, he settled in Rome. His works have been estimated at over 300
volumes—medical, physical, and metaphysical. He practised bleeding more
frequently than his predecessors, but he gave very careful directions as
to the conditions under which venesection should be resorted to, as well
as to the quantity of blood to be taken.
Averroes, Avicenna, and other Arabian physicians held him in great
veneration; and Dr. Alison says:— “For centuries after his death his
doctrines and tenets were regarded in the light of oracles, which few
persons had the courage to oppose; and the authority of Galen alone was
estimated at a much higher rate than that of all the medical writers
combined, who flourished during a period of more than twelve centuries.”
Rome, in its decadence, was too much occupied with the intrigues and
villainies of the factions by which it was ultimately destroyed, to
spare any time for the culture of science. It was not until after the
total disappearance of the Eastern Empire, and the hollow tranquillity
which succeeded the triumphs of Mahomet, and the subsequent subjugation
of Spain by the Moors, that learning reared its head in Alexandria, and
the Arabian physicians came into view.
Although Greece had disappeared, even in the noonday of its glory, its
literature never possessed more devoted admirers, nor more faithful
exponents than are to be found among the Arabian philosophers, and yet
what a striking contrast is exhibited in the characters of the two
people. Whilst making the philosophy of Greece their own, they by no
means lost their distinctiveness and individuality. The Greeks delighted
in all that was brilliant and fascinating, like the beautiful scenery of
Attica and Asia Minor. The Arabs were thoughtful and grave, monotonous
and arid, like the deserts they inhabited. The genius of poetry
illumined all the meditations of the former, and their thoughts were
graceful, even in their errors; whilst the reflections of the latter
were dull and melancholy, albeit they were based on truths.
A dreary night now ensues—we have no name of note until Paulus Ægineta
in 640—but what a series of historically grand events interpose: The
invasion of Europe by the Huns—Division of the Roman Empire—Taking of
Rome by Alaric—Visigoths established in Spain—Saxon heptarchy
begun—Conquest of Italy by Totila—Birth of Mahomet, down to the taking
of Alexandria by the Arabs—Greece and Rome having virtually disappeared;
and our next author (Paulus) probably present at the burning of the
great library of the Ptolemies.
Paulus Ægineta is entitled to our homage, as the author of an abridgment
of the works of Galen, and many excellent treatises on medical subjects,
especially on those incident to childbed, and the diseases of women; he
was the first writer upon _small-pox_ and _measles_, and the originator
of the theory of _zymosis_, which has received so much attention of
late. Paulus died about the middle of the seventh century, and with him
expired the last of the Greek writers upon medicine. His labours have
been thought worthy of being translated by the Sydenham Society.
Avicenna, who lived in the year 980, deserves a fuller notice than we
can afford him; his works are said to present great clearness and
acuteness. At the early age of eighteen he was chosen Physician to the
Court of the Caliph of Bagdad, where for some offence he was imprisoned,
and ultimately died. He has been called the “Hippocrates of the Arabs.”
Rhazes was contemporary with Avicenna, and has attracted the respectful
attention of the lovers of ancient medicine. His most esteemed work is a
treatise on small-pox, which was translated by Dr. Mead in 1548.
I will conclude these sketches of the Arabian schoolmen with a brief
notice of Averroes, the most eminent of them:—
This profound scholar was born at Cordova, in Spain, of which city his
father was the alcade, about the year 1120. He was educated in Morocco,
then in its glory, and in the celebrated schools there studied law,
philosophy, and medicine. His admiration for Aristotle was unbounded,
and his unwearied application to the examination of that great man’s
works, secured for him the reputation of being the ablest commentator on
the Aristotelian philosophy. He rose to the dignity of a judge in
Morocco, but the freedom of his opinions being in advance of the age, he
was imprisoned for some years, and only released on recanting his
errors; he died 1206, during the Caliphate of Almanzer.
The glories of the Moorish power now began to wane, and after repeated
discomfitures in 1516, that intelligent and highly civilized people were
finally expelled by Ferdinand the Catholic: the cross triumphs—the
crescent retires, and takes with it all that is admirable in arts, or
humanizing in science; the Spaniard has chased away Mahomet, and
receives the Inquisition as the first-fruits of his conquest.
The war against opinion was carried on so vigorously that Copernicus,
whose acute perception had discovered the errors of Aristotle’s theory
of heavenly bodies, was fiercely denounced. Copernicus was born in
Westphalia in 1473, he studied at Cracow, where he received the degree
of Doctor of Medicine; at Bologna his piercing genius discovered that
the sun was the centre of the planetary system, that the earth was a
planet and revolved round the sun like other planets, and thus was first
made known the true system of the universe. These discoveries being
distasteful to the church, the Pope issued a sentence of
excommunication; and the great astronomer died with a heart oppressed by
such unmerited persecution.
These discoveries were further pursued by another learned physician,
Galileo, who was born at Pisa in 1564. He entered the university there
in 1581, and prosecuted his studies with such zeal and success, that in
a very few years he became Professor of Mathematics. He now began his
career as a teacher of the philosophy of Copernicus, and soon received
unpleasant evidences that the disciple of truth must be ready to suffer.
A congregation of cardinals, monks, and mathematicians of the old
school, determined that his works were heretical and dangerous, and the
holy inquisition sentenced him to prison. After remaining incarcerated
some months he was taken before his judges, and required to renounce his
errors, and with his hand upon the Gospel, to swear that they were
sinful and detestable. Having performed this horrid penance, his
conscience upbraided him, and as he rose from his knees, he exclaimed,
“yet it does move,” for which relapse he was further sentenced to
perpetual imprisonment. He continued thus secluded for many years,
during which time blindness, deafness, and pains in his limbs embittered
his existence, and death at length, more merciful than the Holy See,
released him from his trials. Newton was born in the year in which this
noble martyr died.
For the edification of the worshippers of the “good old times,” a few
more instances of the loving kindness which prevailed may be acceptable.
The clerical sages of the University of Salamanca pronounced that the
assertion of Christopher Columbus, that a continent existed beyond the
seas, was blasphemous and feloniously wicked. A bishop of Salsburg
expressing his belief in the existence of the antipodes was denounced by
the bishop of Mentz as a dangerous heretic, and committed to the flames.
Bigotry, however, is not confined to any one creed, since we know that
Calvin the reformer, a man who had suffered persecution without learning
mercy, no sooner found himself invested with the power to punish the
freedom of thought in which he had himself indulged, than he persecuted
to death the learned physician, Michael Servetus, not for any immoral
proclivity, but because he believed him to be unsound on the doctrine of
the Trinity. Servetus took the degree of Doctor of Medicine at the
University of Paris about the year 1535. He is the author of some
medical treatises on the circulation of the blood, and also translated
Ptolemy’s geography; he was for some time in constant correspondence
with Calvin, but as the “Odium theologicum” is the bitterest, Calvin
shewed his christian charity by causing his antagonist to be consigned
to the flames.
But I must hasten forward, Fallopius looms in the distance, and with him
our medical celebrities come fast and numerous. Gabriel Fallopius was
born at Modena about the year 1523, and was one of the great triad of
anatomists in Italy who, at the close of the 16th century, laid the
foundation of the modern science of anatomy. Fallopius succeeded
Vesalius in the chair of anatomy and surgery at Padua in 1557. His
career was brilliant but short, and he died in 1562. It should be
mentioned that Fallopius shared the usual fate of great discoverers; his
originality was disputed, and his learning questioned; but it has been
always so, and in appreciating the works of our predecessors, we must
keep in view the enormous difficulties by which every onward step,
whether in art or science, is beset:
“Envy doth merit, as its shade pursue.”
truth does indeed ultimately prevail, but too frequently the heart of
the discoverer is broken before the obtuseness of the mediocrities in
power, by whom it is obstructed, can be overcome.
Although a little diverging from the strict chronological order, I must
here introduce to you our old acquaintance, Paracelsus; this eccentric
genius had too little virtue to be admired, and too much talent to be
despised. He was born at Zurich, in Switzerland, in 1493, and was
consequently contemporary with many more learned, but less celebrated
men; an unblushing and presumptuous egotist, he presents himself, in a
moral point of view, as the exact antithesis of the amiable and virtuous
Hippocrates. That he made some very useful discoveries must be granted
to him; he introduced the use of opium into Germany, and was the first
practitioner who employed preparations of mercury, antimony, sulphur,
iron, and other remedies.
Van Helmont is the most indulgent of his biographers, and Lord Bacon the
most severe; but perhaps the description given by Zimmerman comes
nearest the truth—“Paracelsus burnt publicly at _Bàle_ the works of
Galen, Avicenna, and other eminent predecessors, because, he said, ‘they
knew nothing of the cabballa and magic,’ which lay at the root of all
medical and natural laws. He undertook to cure all diseases by the use
of certain words and charms. He enjoined secresy on his disciples, and
certainly was the first _great quack_ from whom the numerous band of
Charlatans have proceeded.”
He has left his mantle behind him, and his descendants, with none of his
brains, have largely inherited his presumption. On the occasion of his
inauguration in the Chair of Medicine, he thus expresses himself:—
“Know,” says he, “that my _cap_ has more learning than all your
professors, and my beard more experience than all your academies! I
speak to you Greeks, Latins, Frenchmen, Italians, &c. &c. _You_ will
follow _me_, _I_ shall not follow _you_. You, I say, doctors of Paris,
Montpellier, Dalmatia, of Athens; you Jews, Arabs, Spaniards, English, I
tell you all that nature obeys me; and if God does not deign to assist,
I have yet the devil to resort to. I am king of all science, and command
all the hosts of hell.”
We have in this impostor the very embodiment of the true quacks of
to-day; their language is indeed a little subdued, but their pretensions
are as large; and, let me add, that whereas Paracelsus, in his days, had
the countenance and support of many persons of rank, so in ours, there
does not exist an ignorant pretender without the patronage of the great,
and this patronage, too often, in the exact ratio of his presumption and
falsehood.
It must not be overlooked that this arch imposter died miserably, in
poverty, induced by dissipation, and the possessor of the “elixir of
immortality” breathed out his drunken soul at the age of fifty.
We have a lively picture of the state of things begotten of this man in
the pages of Burton, an example in himself of the power of credulity,
and a proof that great scholastic learning was by no means at variance
with the wild vagaries of the times. He appears not unconscious of his
peculiarities, and offers the following apology for his frequent
reference to callings other than his own:—
“If any physician shall infer ‘ne sutor ultra crepidam,’ and be grieved
that I have intruded into his profession, I tell him, in brief, he does
the same by us:—I know many of his sect who have taken Orders in hope of
a Benefice—’tis a common transaction; and why may not a melancholy
divine, who can get nothing but by _Simony_, profess _Physic_? Marsilius
Ficinus was ‘semel et simul,’ a priest and physician, at once ‘sacerdos
et medicus;’ and also divers Jesuits are at this time ‘permissu
superiorem,’ chirurgeons, panders, bawds and midwives. Many poor vicars,
for want of other means, are driven to turn mountebanks, quacksalvers
and empirics; and in every village have we not wizards, alchymists,
barbers, goodwives, Paracelsians (as they call themselves), possessing
great skill, and in such numbers that I marvel how they shall all find
employment?”
Burton lived about 1576, and was consequently of the same age as our own
great Harvey, of whom we shall speak presently.
Let me offer you one specimen on the subject of demoniacal possession,
first introducing you to a new character, Cornelius Gemma, who was born
at Louvain in 1535, and was one of the greatest scholars of his age, a
professor of medicine in his native town (the chair having been
conferred upon him by the great Duke of Alva, who governed the low
countries), and whose writings embrace the subjects of medicine,
mathematics, magic, and spiritual possession. Like Cardan, he was
thought a little extreme in some views, but this one example suffices to
demonstrate the evil influences of Paracelsus. Gemma, in his second book
on natural miracles, says:—“A young maid, called Katherine Gualter, a
cooper’s daughter, in the year 1571, had such strange passions that
three men could not hold her. She purged a live eel—I myself saw and
touched—a foot and a half long; she vomited twenty-four pounds of
fulsome stuff of all colours twice a day for fourteen days, and after
that great _balls of hair_, _pieces of wood_, _pigeons’ dung_, _coals_,
and after them _two pounds_ of pure blood, and then again coals and
stones (_of which some had inscriptions_) bigger than a walnut. All this
I saw with horror. Physic could do no good, so she was handed over to
the clergy.”
Marcellus Donatus relates a story of a country fellow who had four
knives in his belly, every one a span long, and indented like a saw;
also a wreath of hair, and much other baggage. How they “came into his
guts” he knew not.
This personal testimony of Gemma is a melancholy proof that the light of
christianity, during fifteen centuries, had done but little towards the
emancipation of the human mind from the trammels of superstition, for,
we find Josephus, who lived A.D. 30, also favoring us with his
_personal_ testimony to facts quite as marvellous, and no doubt as
veracious, as those recorded by our Dutch philosopher. Yet although
common sense rejects such “materials of history” where shall we look for
better evidence of authenticity than is thus furnished by two men of
unimpeachable integrity. The pride of enlightenment is indeed checked by
the reflection that A.D. 1867 we hear of believers in “Spiritual
Manifestation” not only among the vulgar but in classes of society where
the yearning after the mysterious sets both reason and philosophy at
defiance.
The universality of belief in the existence of demons, and their
occasional possession of the bodies of men, pervades the whole course of
sacred and profane history, and Josephus, in enumerating the great
qualities of King Solomon, bears testimony to the power of the Jewish
Monarch as an “_Exorcist_:”—After informing us that Solomon exceeded all
men in knowledge of natural things, that he was familiar with every sort
of tree, from the cedar to the hyssop on the wall; that he knew the
habits of every living creature, whether upon the earth, or in the seas,
or in the air, and described their several attributes like a
philosopher, and demonstrated his exquisite knowledge of them; he goes
on to say:—“God also gave him understanding to attain to skill against
demons for the benefit of mankind; for having composed incantations,
whereby diseases are removed, he also left behind him certain kinds of
exorcisms whereby demons may be expelled so as never to return, and this
method of cure is effectual or prevails much among us to this day: for
_I saw_ one Eleazar, my countryman, in the presence of Vespasian and his
sons, and many tribunes and other soldiers, deliver men who were seized
by these demons. The cure was in this manner:—Applying to the nostrils
of the demoniacs a ring, having under the seal one of those roots of
which Solomon taught the virtues, he drew out the demon from the
nostrils of the man who smelled to it:—The man presently falling down,
the Exorcist mentioned the name of _Solomon_, and reciting the charms
composed by _him_, adjured the demon never to return:—Moreover Eleazar,
to satisfy all the company of his power, placed a small vessel full of
water, in which feet are washed, and commanded the demon as he went out
of the man to overthrow it, that all present might be sensible that he
had left the man: this being done the wisdom of Solomon was manifest.”
In the seventh book of his “Wars of the Jews,” he gives us the following
account of one of the roots employed by Exorcists:—“On the north side of
the City of Machœrus there is a valley, in which is a place called
Baaras, in which is found a plant bearing the same name: it is of a
flaming colour and towards evening shines very bright: it is not easy to
be gathered for it withdraws itself and does not stay unless one pours
upon it the urine of a woman, or menstruous blood, and even then it is
certain death to him who takes it unless he carries the root hanging
down upon the hand—There is another way of getting it without
danger:—They dig all round it, so that a very little bit of the root is
left in the ground, then they tie a dog to it, and the dog attempting to
follow him who tied it, the root is easily pulled up, but the dog dies
presently, as it were, instead of the man who would get the plant,
afterwards there is no danger to those who touch it. With all these
dangers the root is desirable, for demons, as they are called, who are
the spirits of wicked men entering into the living, and killing those
who have no help, this root presently expels; if it be only brought near
to them who are diseased.”
We have already shewn how it took the devils by the nose.
Before we proceed, it may not be out of place to notice the general
belief in astrology, and especially lunar influences, which prevailed at
this period. Herbs and roots had their several patrons, and it was only
when gathered and preserved under certain prescribed circumstances that
their specific virtues were assured.
Similar superstitions are not yet extinct; even in this year of grace,
1867, we are not quite emancipated from the ignorance of the middle
ages, and it is not a very unusual thing to see an advertisement in the
_Times_ announcing a “child’s caul” for sale. These and such like
absurdities,
“Though it make the unskilful laugh,
Cannot but make the judicious grieve.”
Nor is this credulity confined to the illiterate classes. The dupes of
St. John Long, as many of us may remember, included “potent, grave, and
reverend signiors,” and on his memorable trial, a certain noble lord[10]
gave evidence that Mr. Long had extracted a piece of lead from his head.
Some scoffers think it a pity that the quack, having succeeded to some
extent, left so much behind.
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Footnote 10:
The Earl of Shrewsbury.
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