Psychotherapy / Including the History of the Use of Mental Influence, Directly and Indirectly, in Healing and the Principles for the Application of Energies Derived from the Mind to the Treatment of Disease

by James J. Walsh

SUGGESTION AND PSEUDO-SCIENCE

These applications of science, or rather of supposed science, illustrate the influence of suggestion. The succession of events in each case is about as follows: The definite attitude of mental expectancy is created in the popular mind. As a consequence, with the application of the new scientific principle, patients cease inhibiting the recovery that would have come spontaneously before, only that they were self-centered and had their nervous energies short-circuited. Some are benefited by the habits of life that are established as a consequence of the belief that they are about to be cured, while before this they had been largely confining themselves to their houses, and had been refusing to take recreation or get diversion because of the conviction that they were ill. Finally, many of them had no real physical ills, but were suffering from mental ailments brought on by dreads and by a concentration [{46}] of attention on certain portions of the body which interfered with the normal physiologic action of those parts. Whenever strong mental impressions are produced, from any cause, results will surely follow, some of them marvelous. The supposed causes of these results will seem quite absurd to those who study them afterwards, but they were living realities to the sufferers. Nothing is more calculated to produce a strong mental impression than a newly discovered scientific fact with some supposedly wonderful application to humanity. The subsequent history of the application of scientific discoveries to medicine has been as invariably the same as the primary enthusiasm over each new therapeutic agent. After a time some people were not benefited. Physicians lost confidence in the power of the new remedial measure, whatever it might be. Patients were no longer impressed by the assurance that they would be benefited, and then the new application has either completely disappeared from our list of remedies, or has remained only to be used by a few, who still report good results from it. In spite of the constancy of this succession of events, we are still quite ready to take up with enthusiasm new discoveries in science and their applications to medicine. We have not yet lost the feeling, common in earlier centuries, that all science was meant for man and that every new scientific development must have some special reference to him.

CHAPTER VI
QUACKERY AND MIND CURES

Not less interesting than the therapeutic results obtained by men who in good faith were using inert remedies that they thought effective, are the cures obtained by men who had good reason to know that the therapeutic methods they were using were quite inefficient. Their good results, often loudly proclaimed by healed patients, are obtained entirely through the patients' minds. Usually these men are supposed to possess some wonderful therapeutic secret, which they have obtained by a fortunate discovery, or by long years of study, though usually their discovery is a myth and their long years of study a fable. So long as people can be brought to believe in their powers many cures are sure to follow their ministrations. The real secret is their knowledge of human nature. They induce people to tap new sources of vital energy in themselves, and somehow they succeed in bringing to their aid this law of reserve energy. Besides, in many cases the real reasons why patients continue to have certain symptoms once they have been initiated, is that their worry about themselves inhibits their natural curative power. This inhibition is prevented or obliterated by the change of mind produced by the quack, and then the vis medicatrix naturae brings about a cure.

Probably the oldest story that we have of a quack in our modern sense of the word is found in the Arabian Nights, some of the stories of which were old even in the time of Herodotus. One day Galen, famous for his work at Rome in the second century after Christ, found a wandering healer pursuing his avocation in his front yard. He found also that this man succeeded in relieving certain patients for whom he had been unable to do anything. He [{47}] found that the medicines prescribed were likely to do harm rather than good, yet many of the patients were benefited.

Galen succeeded in winning the man's confidence, who told him his story. He had been a weaver, but his wife thought he was not making money enough to support her properly, so she had advised him to become a leech. After taking lessons from a wandering quack, he set up for himself. When Galen inquired as to his method of making a diagnosis, he found that he did it entirely by his knowledge of human nature. He was even able to tell what was the matter with patients at a distance when friends came to demand medicine for them.

We think that such ready deception was possible only in earlier times, when education was not widely diffused and when belief in superstitions was fostered. Any such idea completely ignores the modern status of the quack and the success that he meets among even the more intelligent members of the community. Indeed, with the diffusion of information in modern times the quack has secured a wider audience. Superficial ideas of science are disseminated by the newspapers and by the magazines, people think that they understand all about it, and then these ideas are turned to their own advantage by the irregular practitioners of medicine. We have quacks by the score in all the centers of population, making a livelihood by exploiting the ailing, and serving to no small extent to create a feeling of popular discontent towards the physician, because that serves the purpose of quackery. Indeed, it is during the past century or a little more that some of the most striking examples of quackery have occurred.

Cagliostro.—Cagliostro, whose story is told in Dumas' "Memoirs of a Physician," and an excellent account of whose life may be found in Carlyle's "Miscellanies," is one of the great quacks and humbugs of history. He began his supposed medical work at Strasburg by the modest claim that during his travels in the East he had found a series of remedies which made old people young. In proof of his power to do this he exhibited his wife. She was a handsome young woman of very shady reputation whom he had married on his travels. She professed to be sixty years of age, though she was really under thirty and looked it, but she claimed that she had a son who had served for many years in the Dutch army. This imposition was so effective that in Strasburg, and subsequently in Paris, the charming pair collected large sums from wealthy old persons, especially from women on whom the marks of time had begun to show, and who expected, as the result of the treatment, to be shortly as young and as handsome-looking as Madame Cagliostro herself.

We might think that it is quite impossible for any such a deception as this supposed renewal of youth to be practiced in our more enlightened day when popular education is so widely diffused. We must not forget, however, that the newspapers bring us evidence every month of some old person who is quite sure that something that was being done for him was, if not renewing his youth, at least giving him back much of his pristine vigor, healing his aches and pains, and enabling him to take up his work once more. In treating the ravages of old age, which would seem to be altogether beyond any influence of psychotherapy, some of the most striking results are obtained. New therapeutic methods for the old come into vogue every year. As they grow older, [{48}] people become discouraged and so do not exert even the natural energy that they have for the maintenance of health and the keeping up of strength. Their discouragement keeps them from exercising enough, and this decreases appetite and sleep, and as a consequence there are many disturbances of function. All of this disappears as soon as they feel encouraged. Brown Sequard and his extract of testicular tissues is a typical example of how strong suggestion may influence the old and make them think that they are renewing their vigor and strength, and even their youth.

Perkins, Prince of Quacks.—Shortly after Cagliostro an American succeeded in using a very simple idea to gain world fame and at the same time to make an immense amount of money. He was a Connecticut Yankee with the typical name, Elisha Perkins. Dr. Perkins must have been born under a lucky star; at least he lived in fortunate circumstances for his purposes. Galvani's discovery of the twitchings that occur in the frog's legs when a nerve-muscle preparation or its equivalent was touched by metals in contact, had aroused world-wide discussion as to the place of electricity and magnetism in biology. Volta's brilliant experiments, which led to the invention of the Voltaic Pile, still further increased men's interest in this subject. It was then that Dr. Perkins came to exploit these electrical and magnetic ideas in medicine by means of a very simple invention. It was indeed the simplicity of his apparatus that made its appeal even more wide than would otherwise have been the case, and, be it said, left a larger measure of profit for the inventor.

Oliver Wendell Holmes in his "Medical Essays" [Footnote 4] has told the story of what may be called the rise and fall of tractoration. Any physician who wants to appreciate the real significance of cured cases should read Holmes' essay. We quote:

[Footnote 4: Houghton, Mifflin Co., Boston.]

Dr. Elisha Perkins was born at Norwich, Connecticut, in the year 1740. He had practiced his profession with a good local reputation for many years, when he fell upon a course of experiments, as it is related, which led to his great discovery. He conceived the idea that metallic substances might have the effect of removing diseases, if applied in a certain manner; a notion probably suggested by the then recent experiments of Galvani, in which muscular contractions were found to be produced by the contact of two metals with the living fiber. It was in 1796 that Perkins' discovery was promulgated in the shape of the Metallic Tractors, two pieces of metal, one apparently iron and the other brass, about three inches long, blunt at one end and pointed at the other. These instruments were applied for the cure of different complaints, such as rheumatism, local pains, inflammations, and even tumors, by drawing them over the affected parts very lightly for about twenty minutes. Dr. Perkins took out a patent for his discovery, and traveled about the country to diffuse the new practice.

[Footnote 5: (Transcriber: This footnote is not numbered in the text but appears to refer to the preceding paragraph.): In one of Plautus' plays there is a curiously interesting expression that is recalled by this subject. The dramatist described one of his characters, Sosia, as thrown into a sleep by the manipulations of Mercury. These manipulations are described as tractim tangere—that is, to touch strokingly. It would remind one very much of Perkins' Tractors, and in this regard the fact that Mercury was to the Romans, besides being the messenger of the gods, the divinity of thieves, seems not without interest.]

Just what the tractors were composed of may be found in the description of them filed with an application for a patent in the Rolls Chapel Office in London. They were not simply two different metals, but a combination of many metals, with even a little of the precious metals in them, partly because [{49}] of the appeal that this would make to the multitude, as chloride of gold did to our own generation, but doubtless mainly because the claim of precious metals entering into the composition enabled the inventor to sell his tractors at a better price.

Dr. Holmes continues:

Perkins soon found numerous advocates of his discovery, many of them of high standing and influence. In 1798 the tractors had crossed the Atlantic, and were publicly employed in the Royal Hospital at Copenhagen. About the same time the son of the inventor, Mr. Benjamin Douglass Perkins, carried them to London where they soon attracted attention. The Danish physicians published an account of their cases in a respectable octavo volume, containing numerous instances of alleged success. In 1804 an establishment, honored with the name of the Perkinean Institution, was founded in London. The transactions of this institution were published in pamphlets, the Perkinean Society had public dinners at the Crown and Anchor, and a poet celebrated their medical triumphs. [Footnote 6]

[Footnote 6:
"See pointed metals, blest with power t' appease
The ruthless rage of merciless disease,
O'er the frail part a subtle fluid pour,
Drenched with the invisible galvanic shower,
Till the arthritic staff and crutch forego
And leap exulting like the bounding roe!">[

Miss Watterson [Footnote 7] tells how he attracted attention. Like all successful quacks, he had an inborn genius for advertising.

[Footnote 7: "Mesmer and Perkins's Tractors,"
International Clinics, Vol. III, Series 19. 1909.]

He lived in the house once occupied by John Hunter [how characteristic this is—the first quack we mentioned in this chapter, took up his work in Galen's front yard], and in 1804 the Perkinean Institute was opened, but by the end of 1802, 5,000 cases had already been treated. Lord Rivers was president. Sir William Barker, Vice-President [Prominent legislators, lawyers, bankers always lend their names.] Twenty-one physicians, nineteen surgeons, and the leading veterinaries succumbed to the influence of the magic tractors. One "eminent physician" who had had 30 guineas from a country patient and had done him no good was very angry when the sick man took to Perkinism.
"Why, I could have cured you in the same way with my old brick-bat or tobacco pipe, or even my fingers."
"Then why, sir," answered the patient in a stern voice (Perkins quotes this), "did you dishonorably pick my pocket when you had the means of restoring me to health?"
In some 176 pages young Perkins gives us the pick of 2,000 cases who had, of course, been foolish enough at first to put faith in the ordinary physician and his drugs.
In Bath, particularly, where aristocratic London went, as they do to-day, to repair the damage wrought by a season in town, the Tractor Cure was the talk of the place. But an enemy dwelt there, a Dr. Haygarth, an unbeliever. He, with a certain Dr. Falconer, fabricated a pair of false tractors. Five cases of gout and rheumatism were operated on by the conspirators, who discussed in a light tone the wonders of magnetism as they described circles, squares and triangles with the sham tractors. "We were almost afraid to look each other in the face lest an involuntary smile should remove the mask from our faces," says Haygarth, but the two assistant doctors, unaware of what was being done, were almost converted to Perkinism when they saw the five patients slowly mending under the treatment. One man experienced such burning pain that he begged to wait till the next day. [Footnote 8]

[Footnote 8: Compare the first effects of the Leyden Jar, related in the chapter on Pseudo-Science.]

So rapid, and so many were the hospital cures wrought by these two doctors, that patients crowded to them and they could hardly spare five minutes to eat. They amused themselves inventing other instruments made of common nails and sealing wax, and effected with them cures, while they sent a pair of false tractors [{50}] to Sir William Watson in London and Dr. Moncriffe in Bristol, who operated with them with wonderful results.

It must not, however, be thought that the uneducated, or the unskilled, or even merely unoccupied, were the only ones taken in by the supposed power of Perkins' Tractors. As we have seen, many physicians did not hesitate to avow themselves publicly as believers in this new and marvelous application of magnetism to human healing. It is true that the only thing we know about the men who became advocates of this new instrumental therapeusis, is their connection with it. The attention of the scientific world was rather cleverly managed. Dr. Perkins presented a pair of his tractors and the book that he had written about their use to the Royal Society. The custom of that learned body was to accept such presentations by a formal letter of thanks and place the objects and books on their shelves. No formal investigation of the claims to scientific consideration of such presentations was made. All possible advantage was taken of the fact that the Royal Society had accepted the new invention and had publicly thanked the discoverer for it.

How characteristically recent this old story is; it is renewed on every possible occasion and wears all the familiar aspect of modern devices for securing recognition and obtaining the apparent approbation or recommendation of some scientific society or institution. We had an example of it a few years ago when a nostrum exploiter signed the register of an International Congress immediately after a great medical investigator and then used a photograph of the names for advertising purposes.

How did the tractors secure the vogue they enjoyed? Those who believed in them did so not because of the scientific theory that animal magnetism or magnetic influence was behind them, nor because of the plausible ways of the Connecticut Yankee, but because of the unquestioned and unquestionable facts of actual healing that they saw in connection with the use of the tractors. Every one of these applications of science to medicine that has proved to be pseudo-scientific after enthusiasm subsides has made its appeal through the cures effected by it. Cures are what Eddyism advances to support its claims, cured patients are presented as their most effective argument by the osteopaths, cured symptoms are the proofs for Hahnemannism, but none of these systems of treatment ever cured as many cases in a corresponding time as did Perkins' tractors. They cured all sorts of physical ills, but their only effect was exerted through the mind.

Holmes wrote:

Let us now look at the general tenor of the arguments addressed by believers to sceptics and opponents. Foremost of all, blazoned at the head of every column, loudest shouted by every triumphant disputant, held up as paramount to all other considerations, stretched like an impenetrable shield to protect the weakest advocate of the great cause against the weapons of the adversary, was that omnipotent monosyllable which has been the patrimony of cheats and the currency of dupes from time Immemorial—Facts! Facts! FACTS! First came the published cases of the American clergymen, brigadier-generals, almshouse governors, representatives, attorneys and esquires. Then came the published cases of the surgeons of Copenhagen. Then followed reports of about one hundred and fifty cases, published in England, "demonstrating the efficacy of the metallic practice" in a variety of complaints, both upon the human body and on horses, etc. But the progress of facts in Great Britain did not stop here. Let those who rely upon the numbers [{51}] of their testimonials, as being alone sufficient to prove the soundness and stability of a medical novelty digest the following from the report of the Perkinistic Committee. "The cases published (in Great Britain) amounted, in March last, the date of Mr. Perkins' last publication, to about five thousand. Supposing that not more than one cure in three hundred, which the tractors have performed, has been published, and the proportion is probably much greater, it will be seen that the number, to March last, will have exceeded one million five hundred thousand!"

It is not surprising that with such "facts" behind them the tractors attracted deep and wide attention. A contemporary tells of it and the fate of the inventor:

A gentleman in Virginia sold a plantation and took the pay for it in tractors. Nothing was more common than to sell horses and carriages to buy them. But the worst (or the best) of it was, yellow fever was raging in New York, and Perkins thought he could cure the fever with the tractors and fell a victim to the fever himself.

Success of Quackery.—Always in the history of quackery and, indeed, in the history of all therapeutics, the appeal is to the cures that have been effected. This is the only evidence, of course, that can be adduced for the development of therapeutics, and yet the history of medicine makes it clear how carefully supposed cures must be analyzed if they are really to mean anything. Mesmer could adduce thousands of cured cases. Perkins could do the same. Every quack in history, from Galen's weaver, who became a leech, down to the last street corner nostrum vendor, does the same thing. When on the strength of supposed cures, then, a new system of therapeutics is introduced, it is much more likely than not that there is no foundation for the claims made. We have had ever so many more experiences of disappointment after the introduction of remedies which cured at the beginning of their history, than we have had of remedies that maintain themselves after prolonged experience. It is the attitude of scepticism and suspended judgment until after a remedy or method of treatment has been tried on many different kinds of cases in varying circumstances that constitutes the only efficient safeguard against repeating the unfortunate errors of old times in the matter of drugs and remedial measures. If the public could be made to realize this, they would be much less easily taken in.

What the quacks cure are not always imaginary ills, but often ills that are very real, at least to the patients, and the symptoms of which are relieved by the confidence aroused in the new remedy and the representations of the supposed discoverer, who, in spite of the exaggerated claims which he makes, somehow succeeds in catching the trust of patients. Very often this process initiated by the quack is really only the beginning of the cure.

In most people a vicious circle of pathological subsidiary causes is formed when anything becomes the matter. Patients are persuaded that a serious illness is ahead of them. This keeps them from exercising as much as before. Becoming overcareful of their diet, they reduce it below the normal limit for healthy activity. This causes them to have less energy for work and disturbs their sleep. Then a host of minor symptoms, supposed to be due to the disease, whatever it is or they think it is, but really consequent upon the unhealthy habits that have formed, begin to develop. Just as soon as confidence in their power to regain health is restored to these people, a virtuous circle, [{52}] to use the Latin word virtue in its etymological sense, of strength and courage, is formed. Everything conspires to stimulate the patients; they live more naturally, the subsidiary symptoms consequent upon their bad habits disappear and the disappearance of each one of them means for the patients a new assurance of triumph over disease. They attribute every improvement to the remedy they happen to be taking, though most of them are due to the changes in their habits, their diversion of mind, and the new energy released by their sense of encouragement.

An excellent example of how some of these mental persuasions in quackery act, and of how the cure is often really due to the physician who previously treated the case, though it is credited to the quack, may be found in the story that Hilton tells in his "Rest and Pain":

When this patient was first seen by a surgeon, he was thought to be laboring under some disease of the bladder and kidneys, for he had severe lumbago, pain over the bladder, and offensive urine. There had been no suspicion of anything wrong as regards the spine. He was a master painter and a house decorator, and was monstrously conceited, thinking himself right and everybody else wrong. When I explained to him, after careful examination, that the spine was the cause of the symptoms, he was not satisfied with my opinion and without my knowledge consulted Sir Benjamin Brodie, who also assured him that his spine was diseased and told him that he must rest it by lying down. To this he then assented. As he could not be controlled in his own house, I persuaded him to go to Guy's Hospital, where he had got nearly well; but he was very impatient, and would not remain long enough under my care to be quite cured. He returned home, gradually improved, and was getting quite well when some pseudo friend advised hydropathy and homeopathy—it did not matter which of the two—as "the thing" to cure him. After a few months he was perfectly restored, not by either hydropathy or homeopathy, but, no doubt, by nature. The man, however, feels convinced that hydropathy and homeopathy cured him. It so happens, gentlemen, that sometimes we do not get the degree of credit which perhaps belongs to us.

To Mr. Hilton's reflections one is tempted to add that many of these patients, after having been seriously ill, cannot bring themselves to think that they will gradually get well by the forces of nature. Even after they have improved very much they are still inclined to think that that improvement is illusory or will relapse because they have not been "cured," that is, actively treated, in some way so that a "cure" should result. When they are nearly well, because of properly directed rest and nursing, someone recommends some irregular form of treatment. They take it up and this gives them confidence that they are being cured. This state of mind makes the ultimate steps of their recovery more rapid than it otherwise would be. As a consequence, the irregular gets the credit. Immediately after this case Mr. Hilton tells the story of another case in which a "rubber" got all the credit for the cure. It is evident that the modern osteopath has only somewhat systematized what had been in existence generations ago.

All this tendency of human nature to respond to anything that is done for it, provided the promise of cure goes with it, is taken advantage of by the quack, sometimes unconsciously, for his own purposes. Results, as a rule, are secured, in spite of the remedies that he suggests, which in most cases do harm rather than good. Of the thousands of remedies that have been introduced by quacks, not one now remains, though every one of them produced [{53}] wonderful cures on a great many patients at some time or other. It is the duty of the physician to secure just as good results honestly. He must influence the patient's mind favorably so as to bring about a modification of habits and a hopeful outlook on life, in spite of whatever ailment there may be. If he can do so he will have in his hands the best therapeutic measure that has been employed in all the history of medicine. It is the most universally applicable. It will cure, that is help, all forms of disease. It will relieve many of the symptoms of even incurable diseases. It will occasionally arouse the resistive vitality of the patient to such an extent that even apparently incurable diseases will be overcome. This is the lesson that the modern student of medicine must draw from the history of quackery.

CHAPTER VII
NOSTRUMS AND THE HEALING POWER OF SUGGESTION

A striking illustration of the power of the mind to bring about the cure of ailments and symptoms of every sort is found in the history of the many nostrums and remedies that have worked wonders for a time and later proved to be inert or even harmful. The ordinary definition of a nostrum includes the idea of secrecy. At all times in the world's history fortunes have been made out of such remedies. They appeal not only to the uneducated, but also to those who are supposed to be well informed, and this in spite of the fact that generally the remedies are claimed to do good for nearly every form of disease, and it must be evident to anyone, after a moment's serious thought, that the one idea of their inventor is not to benefit patients, but to make money.

With the multiplication of newspapers and magazines, there has been a great increase in these secret remedies and of their users. Apparently all that is needed for many people who are ailing, or think they are ailing, is to be told in a more or less impressive way that some remedy will cure, and then it proceeds to do them good. There is a general impression abroad that some of these remedies represent great discoveries in medicine, and the feeling of most of those who take them is that the inventor has found a new and wonderful remedy. During all the centuries such secret remedies have come and gone, and not one of them has proved to be of lasting value. Just as soon as its composition is no longer a secret it begins to fail. It is, therefore, evident that its effect was entirely due to influence on the mind and not at all to any influence on the body.

The stories of the origin of these remedies bear a striking similarity. There are two variants on the theme: either the inventor is supposed to be an earnest student of science, devoting himself to profound research for many years and finally finding some wonderful secret of nature hitherto hidden from men; or else the remedy has been discovered by happy accident, and some chronic sufferer pronounced by the most eminent physicians to be hopelessly incurable has in despair turned to the now method, caring little really, so discouraged is he, whether it does good or ill, and wakes up to find that he is on the high road to recovery, apparently having been directed by Providence in the use of the remedy in question. Overflowing with gratitude, he [{54}] wants to share the heaven-sent blessing with all mankind—for a valuable consideration.

The Weapon Ointment.—Among the most famous nostrums, and a striking example of the great rôle played in therapeutics by mental influence and coincidence, is the Unguentum Armariam or Weapon Ointment. This famous remedy would cure any wound made by a weapon, if it could only be employed before the fatal effects were absolutely manifest. There was an abundance of evidence that it stopped the pain, checked the bleeding and initiated the restoration of the patient to health. We know the remedy not from traditions of its use among the uneducated, but from descriptions that we have by men who were among the best educated of their time, and that by no means an era of dullards. The story of this infallible remedy is all the more surprising because it was not applied to the wound itself, nor indeed to the sufferer at all, but to the weapon which inflicted the wound. Nay, it was well authenticated that, where the weapon could not be secured for inunction, if the ointment were applied to a wooden model of the weapon, the cure followed with almost, though, it was confessed by some, not quite so much assurance as in the fortunate case of the weapon being available.

The story has been so well told by Oliver Wendell Holmes in his "Medical Essays" [Footnote 9] that it seems best to retell it in abstracts from his "Homeopathy and Its Kindred Delusions." He says:

[Footnote 9: Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston.]

Fabricius Hildanus, whose name is familiar to every surgical scholar, and Lord Bacon, who frequently dipped a little into medicine, are my principal authorities for the few circumstances I shall mention regarding it. The Weapon Ointment was a preparation used for the healing of wounds, but instead of its being applied to them, the injured part was washed and bandaged, and the weapon with which the wound was inflicted was carefully anointed with the unguent. Empirics, ignorant barbers, and men of that sort are said to have especially employed it. Still there was not wanting some among the more respectable members of the medical profession who supported its claims. [Italics ours.] The composition of this ointment was complicated, in the different formulas given by different authorities; but some substances addressed to the imagination, rather than the wound or weapon, entered into all. Such were portions of mummy, of human blood and of moss from the skull of a thief hung in chains.
Hildanus was a wise and learned man, one of the best surgeons of his time. He was fully aware that a part of the real secret of the Unguentum Armarium consisted in the washing and bandaging the wound and then letting it alone. But he could not resist the solemn assertions respecting its efficacy; he gave way before the outcry of facts (!), and therefore, instead of denying all their pretensions, he admitted and tried to account for them upon supernatural grounds.

Holmes says further:

Lord Bacon speaks of the weapon ointment, in his Natural History, as having in its favor the testimony of men of credit, though, in his own language, he himself "as yet is not fully inclined to believe it." His remarks upon the asserted facts respecting it show a mixture of wise suspicion and partial belief. He does not like the precise directions given as to the circumstances under which the animals from which some of the materials were obtained were to be killed, for he thought it looked like a provision for an excuse in case of failure, by laying the fault to the omission of some of these circumstances. But he likes well that "they do not observe the confecting of the Ointment under any certain constellation; which is commonly the excuse of magical medicines, when they fail, that they [{55}] were not made under a fit figure of heaven." It was pretended that if the offending weapon should not he had, it would serve the purpose to anoint a wooden one made like it. "This," says Lord Bacon, "I should doubt to be a device to keep this strange form of cure in request and use, because many times you cannot come by the weapon itself." And in closing his remarks on the statements of the advocates of the ointment, he says, "Lastly, it will cure a beast as well as a man, which I like best of all the rest, because it subjecteth the matter to an easy trial." It is worth remembering that more than 200 years ago, when an absurd and fantastic remedy was asserted to possess wonderful power, and when sensible persons ascribe its pretended influence to imagination, it was boldly answered that the cure took place when the wounded party did not know of the application made to the weapon, and even when the brute animal was the subject of the experiment, and that this assertion, lie as we all know it was, came in such a shape as to shake the incredulity of the keenest thinker of his time.

It is interesting to follow up some of the controversies among scientific men with regard to the weapon ointment, for they serve to show how the remedy came to maintain its prominence for so long. Podmore, in his "Mesmerism and Christian Science" (London, 1909), tells the story of the controversy between Goclenius, a professor of medicine at the University of Marburg, who published as the Inaugural Thesis for his professorship, a treatise on the "Weapon Salve," and Father Roberti, a Jesuit scientist and philosopher, whose final treatise in the controversy was entitled after the lengthy fashion of titles in that day, "Goclenius Corrected Out of His Own Mouth; or, The Downfall of the Magnetic Cure and the Weapon Salve." The decision of the controversy was eventually referred to the great physician of the time. Van Helmont, who decided that both disputants were partly wrong, the Jesuit erring most, but that above all Goclenius should distinguish between the cases when the weapon had blood on it and when it had not. When there is blood on the weapon, he held, then the salve is always effective; when there is not, then much stronger remedies were required. In both cases, of course, the salve or ointment was applied to the weapon.

In the midst of this discussion of the points at issue, it is interesting to note Van Helmont's opinion with regard to many curious things used in medicine at that time. He insists that Goclenius makes a mistake in attributing therapeutic power alone to the moss taken from the skull of a condemned criminal who had been hung in chains. This material, under the name of usnea, was apparently quite popular in prescriptions for various chronic ills, and especially those that we now recognize as prolonged neurotic affections. Van Helmont emphasizes the fact that the experience of all physicians shows that material taken from the heads of condemned criminals executed in other ways, as, for instance, those broken on the wheel, may be just as effective. Van Helmont conceived of the magnetic and sympathetic feeling as a natural process. All the force of the stars might be concentrated in objects that had been beneath their beams for a long time, and this might be communicated in some wonderful way to patients so as to supply defects of vitality. Such defects of vitality Van Helmont's prescriptions actually were compensating, but the source was in the patients themselves—that reservoir of surplus energy which remains unused unless some strong suggestion brings it out.

Sympathetic Powder.—After the weapon ointment, the best known of the nostrums of older times is probably Sir Kenelm Digby's famous Sympathetic [{56}] Powder, which Dr. Holmes talks of as even better known than its great therapeutic predecessor. This, too, was a wonderworker. Unlike the Unguentum Armarium, however, its composition was simple. It was nothing else than copper sulphate which had been allowed to deliquesce to a white powder. This powder would cure any injury as infallibly as the weapon ointment. It, too, was not applied to the wound, but to the bloodstained garments (Van Helmont's distinctions between the bloody and the bright weapon should be recalled) of the wounded person. The patient did not need to be present at the time the application was made. He might be far away and yet its efficacy was, according to many very intelligent and highly educated persons, quite assured.

For the sympathetic powder we have one of the stories of far-fetched discovery that have since become so familiar. A missionary, traveling in the East, was said to have brought the recipe to Europe about the middle of the seventeenth century. The Grand Duke of Tuscany, in whose dominions the missionary took up his residence, heard of the cures performed by him and tried by offers of money and favor to obtain the missionary's secret, but without success. Sir Kenelm Digby, however, who was traveling in Italy, happened by good fortune to do a favor for the missionary, and put him under such deep obligations that he felt the only way he could properly repay his benefactor was to confide to him the composition of this wonderful remedy. Sir Kenelm Digby was at this time one of the best known of English scholars. After having reached distinction in the English navy, he had devoted himself to literature, to philosophy, and to politics. He had devoted much time to the old books of alchemy. Therefore, the offer of this precious piece of information especially appealed to him. On his return to England he proceeded to use it for the benefit of his friends, and it created a sensation. The French dictionary of the Medical Sciences tells the story of the application of the powder for the first time in England and of the subsequent use of it, especially on the nobility of England:

An opportunity soon presented itself to try the powers of the famous powder. A certain Mr. Howell, having been wounded in endeavoring to part two of his friends who were fighting a duel, submitted himself to a trial of the sympathetic powder. Four days after he received his wounds, Sir Kenelm dipped one of Mr. Howell's garters in a solution of the powder, and immediately, it is said, the wounds, which were very painful, grew easy, although the patient, who was conversing in a corner of the chamber, had not the least idea of what was doing with his garter. He then returned home leaving his garter in the hands of Sir Kenelm, who had hung it up to dry, when Mr. Howell sent his servant in a great hurry to tell him that his wounds were paining him horribly; the garter was therefore replaced in the solution of the Powder, and the patient got well after five or six days of its continued immersion.
King James I, his son, afterwards Charles I, the Duke of Buckingham, then Prime Minister, and all the principal personages of the time were cognizant of this fact; and James himself, being curious to know the secret of this remedy, asked it of Sir Kenelm, who revealed it to him, and his majesty had the opportunity of making several trials of its efficacy, which all succeeded in a surprising manner.

Tar Water and Therapeutic Faith.—One further story of an old nostrum deserves to be told because of the distinction of its chief promoter, who did not, however, as do most of the nostrum promoters, make a fortune by it. [{57}] This is the incident of Bishop Berkeley and his tar water. Berkeley was one of the leaders of thought of the eighteenth century. At one time he came to America with the idea of enlightening the ignorance of the colonists and of founding a school of philosophy. Besides being one of the most learned men of his time, he was one of the best. He was known for his gentleness, his unselfishness, and his lack of pretension. Yet all of these virtues were unable to save him from falling a victim to a medical delusion. One of his essays is on the value of tar water in medicine, and is entitled "Siris, a Chain of Philosophical Reflections and Inquiries Concerning the Virtues of Tar Water," etc.

Tar water was prepared by stirring a gallon of water with a quart of tar, letting it stand for several days, and then pouring off the clear water. It, in fact, retained scarcely more of the tar than the odor. According to the great philosopher, this not only cured, but prevented diseases. The list is, indeed, so long that it is hard to understand how the claims for it could have received any credence. They did, however, and Berkeley himself, and many of his friends, were cured of many and various ills, and were protected from many more by its frequent use. The odor was the factor that proved of suggestive value and set free the springs of vital energy.

Sarsaparilla.—It might be thought that such deception of self and others as has been illustrated in the weapon salve and sympathetic powder would be impossible in our enlightened day. Anyone who thinks so forgets certain incidents of recent times. The story of sarsaparilla is a striking illustration. Few drugs have been more popular in the last half century, and it is even yet popularly supposed to be a wonderful tonic, a cure for many diseases. During the first half of the nineteenth century, when the humoral theory of the causation of diseases was generally accepted, certain German physicians thought they observed that a decoction of sarsaparilla was a sovereign remedy for various ailments having their origin in the blood. The blood was at that time supposed to become impure for many reasons, and the possibility of neutralizing such impurity by medical measures was seriously attempted. As Virchow used to insist, the humoral pathology still holds its ground in popular estimation, and so blood purifiers are favorite remedies, and will doubtless continue to be for at least another generation, until cellular pathology secures a hold on the popular mind.

Sarsaparilla came in, then, as a great blood purifier, and was used for ten years by many of the physicians of the world, confident that they were obtaining excellent results from its use. After a time, however, further study of the drug showed that it was inert. Gradually the employment of sarsaparilla as a remedial agent ceased, though it continued to be used as an elegant vehicle in the prescription of nauseating remedies.

Only after it had been thus abandoned by the regular profession, was it taken up extensively by others who advertised its virtues widely and secured a great clientele for it. Probably more money has been spent on sarsaparilla during the last fifty years than on any other single drug. Many millions were every year appropriated by rival concerns to advertise its virtues. It has been possible at any time during the last half century to secure any number of people who were willing and ready to declare—and most of them convinced of the truth of what they said—that various preparations of [{58}] sarsaparilla had cured them of long-standing ills, and that they considered it a life-saving remedy.

The efficient ingredient in the sarsaparilla, so far as any of its various preparations have seemed to do good, has not been anything that was in the bottle, but the printer's ink that was absorbed from the outside of it. People were persuaded that they would get better, and, as far as most of them were concerned, this was of itself quite sufficient to turn the scale in favor of improvement that led to the obliteration of symptoms. So long as these symptoms were a source of worry and trouble to them, they continued to be quite incurable. Just as soon as the inhibition of nervous energy, due to worry and over-attention to their sensations, stopped, then the natural force of the body was sufficient to remove the sources of complaint.

Psychology, Old and New, of Remedies.—Men have always known how to take advantage of the possibility of influencing patients' minds by wondrous claims for remedies. Anyone is sadly deceived who thinks that it is only in recent times that men have learned to make their advertisements of nostrums suggestive by the promises made or that we have developed the psychology of advertising to such a degree as to appeal to the ailing more forcibly and surely than was done in the past. Here is the announcement that went with a remedy in old Irish medicine more than 1,000 years ago. It was, according to its inventor, "a preservative from death, a restorative for the want of sinews (strength), for the tongue-tied, a cure for swelling in the head, and of wounds from iron and of burning by fire, and of the bite of the hound; it preventeth the lassitude of old age, cures the decline, the rupture of the blood vessels, takes away the virulence of the festering sore, the fever of the blood, the poignancy of grief—he to whom it shall be applied shall be made whole." The announcement ended up with the panegyric "extolled be the elixir of life bequeathed by Diancecht to his people; by which everything to which it is applied is made whole." When it is noted that, besides death and loss of muscle power and aphasia and wounds and burns and bites, it also cures old age and consumption (for that is what is meant by decline) and hemorrhages, and probably aneurysms, and fevers and also grief, there are not many modern panaceas that exceed it in power.

Always, as in this Irish announcement of the olden time, the climax of the advertisement is a note of exultant praise for the inventor who has brought such a magnificent blessing to mankind. The ways of the nostrum vender are ever the same.

Roman Nostrums.—How old are all these methods, and how little human nature has changed through all the centuries! The patent medicine men of Rome in the early Christian eras made use of just the same methods that are employed to-day. Friedländer, in his "Roman Life and Manners Under the Early Roman Empire," tells the story well. Many remedies were known by special arbitrary names, instead of descriptive names recalling the ingredients. Sometimes they were named after famous physicians who had used them, or were said to have done so; again, the preparations were named after persons of distinction who actually, or supposedly, were cured thereby, much as, in our own day, cigars are named after poets, statesmen and pugilists. The titles of some of these preparations, for instance, were "Ointment for Gout, Made for Patroculus, Imperial Freedman—Safe Cure"; "Ointment for [{59}] Aburnius Valens" (probably the famous jurist) called the "Expensive Ointment"; "Eye Salve with Which Florus Cured Antonia, the Wife of Drusus (the Emperor's son) After the Other Doctors had Nearly Blinded Her." Many of these remedies were labeled "instantaneous," "safe," "sure cure," "Harmless remedy," and the like. Frequently euphonious names, sometimes from the Greek, were chosen: Ambrosia, Anicetum, Nectarium, for the promoters evidently knew the satisfying effect, on both patient and physician, of a mystifying foreign name.

Proprietary Remedies.—A corresponding abuse very like that of our own time was with reference to proprietary medicines. Physicians, instead of compounding their own, accepted those made by others with the exaggerated claims for them, used them on patients, transferring their own confidence in them to the patients, thus producing cures which, after a time, proved to be due entirely to the influence on the patient's mind. Pliny, the elder, complains that physicians of his time (the first century after Christ) often bought their remedies so as to avoid the trouble of preparation. He evidently refers to compounds supposed to be curative for various affections; for Friedländer says that "often the physicians did not know the exact ingredients of the compounds that they used and should they desire to make up written prescriptions, would be cheated by the salesmen." Both Galen and Pliny complain that physicians used ready-made medicines, instead of original prescriptions carefully prepared by or under the supervision of the physicians themselves. It is evident that the proprietary remedy had come into existence thus early, and that various drug manufacturers made specialties which physicians, following the line of least resistance, found it easy to prescribe, though men like Pliny and Galen realized that this was an abdication of one of the most important functions of their profession, which was bound to work harm in the end both to themselves and to their patients.

How curious it is to find exactly the same state of affairs recurring in our time, with absolutely similar results. Simple remedies that are well known combinations of ordinary drugs receive high-sounding names, usually derivatives from the Greek or the like, and are claimed to work just as many wonders as the old-fashioned nostrums. Even imitations of the old-fashioned poultices, when thus exploited, give a new lease of life to the exploded idea of the drawing-out power of external applications.

Common Ailments and Nostrums.—Certain ailments are particularly the subject of exploitation by the manufacturers of remedies. Rheumatism is one of these, neuralgia is another, catarrh is a third, and headache a fourth. Then there are various forms of indigestion and all the pains and aches associated with it. All of these ailments are rather vague and are in some cases at least, due to the insistent dwelling of the patient's mind on some symptom of very little significance. Others are real pains and aches, relieved by some simple anodyne drugs, doubly efficient when taken with the suggestion that they represent a wonderful discovery, which came only after long years of study and investigation, and are said to represent a new departure in medicine. Another favorite field for the nostrum vender is the series of pains and aches associated with the menstrual condition. Many of these nostrums are used by hundreds of thousands, and yet an analysis shows that probably the only active substance in them is the alcohol in which certain of the drug [{60}] principles are dissolved. This makes the patient feel better by the exaltation that comes from the dose of alcohol and the rest is merely suggestion, though there is no doubt that symptoms which have failed to be cured by physicians are sometimes relieved by these remedies. It is a cure by faith, not by medicine.

Cured Cases as Evidence.—As all of the nostrums, and indeed all the therapeutic movements supposedly medical or physical or religious, secure their vogue on the strength of reported cures, this would seem to be the best possible evidence for the efficacy of a remedy. But unless the cases supposed to be cured are critically examined and analyzed, and above all, followed for some time afterwards, such evidence is open to all sorts of errors. Is it any wonder, then, that the physician, familiar with the history of medicine in this regard, asks for the careful study and analysis of these cases. We know that it was on the strength of cures effected by it, that the weapon ointment became possible throughout Europe. We know that portions of the body of executed criminals and the touch of the hanged cured as many cases as, let us say, osteopathy or Eddyism. The sympathetic powder and its advocates appealed to the many cures that followed its use. Every other nostrum from the beginning of time has made this same appeal.

CHAPTER VIII
AMULETS, TALISMANS, CHARMS

Amulets, talismans, charms—these words are commonly used with something of the same significance, and for our purpose all three may be treated in common.

Prophylactic Objects.—From the earliest ages men have worn amulets, that is, objects often resembling jewelry, though sometimes the remains of animals or even of men, [Footnote 10] with the idea that they would ward off illness, or cure it when present. Rings of many sorts, brooches, various objects suspended around the neck, ear-rings, head-bands, belts for the waist, and rings for the wrists and the ankles, ornamented bracelets and anklets, have at all times had a medicinal power attached to them in some minds. Earrings are still worn by many with the idea that they are helpful in affections of the eyes. I have known children's ears to be pierced and earrings inserted because the little ones were suffering from headache. Precious stones were supposed to have this power when worn. The amethyst protected its wearer from drunkenness; the bloodstone cured anemia; while the opal was supposed to portend evil. Occasionally such gems were ground up and used as internal or external remedies, because of the power supposed to be attached to them. Their influence upon the mind, at least, can be readily understood. The earliest prescription we have in America is at the Metropolitan Museum, New York, among the curiosities from Egypt (about 1500 B.C.). It calls for the use of ground up precious stones in fumigations, probably for an hysterical person.

[Footnote 10: A king of Italy of the later nineteenth century used to send the parings of his toe-nails to friends to be worn in rings for luck and protection against disease.]

The precious metals were used also as powerful cures. Chaucer says, "for [{61}] gold in physick is a cordial." Some think that our own use of chloride of gold a few years ago for many chronic ills had little more reason than the preciousness of gold impressing itself on patients. Inscriptions were made on the metals, and these were supposed to add to their healing or preservative quality. Famous among these was the abracadabra. It had to be written in a particular triangular form, and was then very powerful. Here the amulet invades the sphere of the charm. Prayers were written on parchment, or on paper, or on papyrus, in the old time in Egypt, Babylon and Assyria, and when worn about the body were supposed to do great good. It is surprising to us now how many physicians and scientists placed confidence in these things because they thought that they had seen good results. Alexander of Tralles recommends a number of them. Robert Boyle, the father of chemistry, says that he was cured of a severe ague, that the doctors could not benefit, by the application of an amulet to his wrists. Burton, in the "Anatomy of Melancholy," has a series of references that show how much he, himself, and the educated men of his time, believed in the power of amulets to help in illnesses and Boyle, particularly, has a number of references to precious stones and their curative virtue.

Rings in Therapy.—Under Faith Cures I mention the cramp rings blest by the Queen of England and effective against abdominal pains. Other kinds of therapeutic rings were used rather commonly. All through the Middle Ages iron rings were worn, which were good for colic and biliousness and also for rheumatic pains. There are literally thousands of such rings worn now, here in the United States, and by quite intelligent people. Personally, I know of more than a dozen cases where they have been worn for years. The wearers faithfully take them off each day, rub off the rust which collects on the inside, call their own and others' attention to the fact that all this material has been drawn out of the body through the supposed electrical power of the ring, and then they replace them. Here is pseudo science obtruding itself. Usually these rings are of polished steel and look a little like silver. They may, however, be obtained in gold plate, and then are supposed to be quite as efficacious. The iron or steel rings cost two dollars each; gold-plated rings cost five to ten dollars, according to the ability of the patient to pay, for metallotherapy has as one of its effects the lessening of congestion of the purse. Those who wear them would not part with them, because they feel the benefits derived. These rings are supposed to be particularly good for vague, painful conditions in the joints, especially the so-called rheumatic pains.

In old times these rings were sometimes engraved with a legend that was itself a strong suggestive element. The rings of the Middle Ages that were supposed to be a cure for biliousness were engraved with a command to the bile to go and take possession of a bird. Occasionally rings were supposed to be valuable because of their origin. Epileptic fits, for instance, were rendered much less frequent and less severe if a ring made of money that had been given in the church were worn. The condition was that the sufferer should stand at the church door asking a penny from every unmarried man who passed in or out. After sufficient alms had been thus collected the money was exchanged for silver money that had been contributed to the church, and from this the ring was made. It was to have a cross and sometimes a verselet from Scripture, or an exorcism, or a prayer, engraved on it. It is [{62}] easy to understand that all of this represents strong suggestive influence and that the standing at the church door begging alms might well represent an enforced prolonged opportunity to get rest and air, for many unmarried men do not go to church, and so there were also physical factors at work in the cure noted.

Precious Stones as Preservatives.—Pettigrew, in his "Superstitions Connected with Medicine and Surgery," mentions a number of the precious stones and their power to heal. Garnet hung about the neck relieves sorrow and refreshes the heart; chrysolite is the wisdom stone, the enemy of folly; heliotrope staunches blood and acts as an antidote; sapphire is good for ague and gout, and also gives its wearer courage; it also stops bleeding at the nose and was an antidote; the topaz was good for lunatics; the carnelian cured bloody fluxes and also fluxes of anger and passion. Jasper, hematite and similar stones had certain general powers of doing good. The Bezoar stone had a great reputation against melancholy; the smaragdum was infallible against epilepsy; the onyx was good for sleep; the sardonyx prevented bad dreams. The most wonderful stone, however, was the agate; taken in liquid it was good for any disease. It made the skin healthy. It preserved against snakebite, and against all poisons, and it prevented the devil from injuring one who wore it or drank it, and also preserved him from being struck by lightning. Considering how common agates were and how readily they could be obtained, it is rather surprising that we should have so many stories of illness and deaths by lightning and from poison and from venomous serpents in the old days when its curative value was rated so high.

Amulets.—The coin given by the kings of England when they healed the scrofulus or epileptic came to be, in one sense, an amulet. The sight and the touch of this acted as an ever recurrent suggestion tending to make these patients better, and undoubtedly the coin was of great service by its renewal of the mental influence of the touch of the king. There are traditions, also, that these coins healed others who touched them, and sometimes for generations they were kept in families as representing a fountain of healing and of preservation of health. Any object that thus became invested with reverence produced healing effects. Virchow, in the introduction to Schliemann's "Troas," tells of going to a long distance for water, during the time when he was present at the excavations, in order to be sure that the water would be absolutely pure. The natives had heard that he was a great physician from the West. They concluded that the reason why he went to this particular distant spring for water, in spite of the trouble involved, was that it must have some wonderful healing virtues. Accordingly a tradition of healing grew up around it, and people came from long distances, drank from it and were cured.

There are still people who carry horse chestnuts for rheumatism, and occasionally a farmer carries a potato for the same purpose. The feeling is, if they do no good, at least they can do no harm. Doubtless in the Middle Ages the same feeling prevailed as to other favorite objects. At present, among the better informed classes, various pendants supposed to have some connection with electricity are popular. I have seen a medal made of alternate discs of copper and zinc, and confidently believed to be strongly electrical, worn even by an otherwise sensible merchant in a country town. Electric belts still are [{63}] extremely common—and expensive. Supposed electric insoles, one made of copper, the other of zinc, are sold in great numbers and at good prices, though, quite needless to say, they are absolutely inert electrically. Various electric contrivances, small batteries, and the like, really are of the nature of amulets. People have a faith in them that is not justified by anything in science, but that faith helps them in their ills. Most of the supposed medicinal plasters are in the same class. As a rule, sufficient curative material cannot be incorporated in a plaster to be of any service, and most of them, though widely advertised, are scarcely more than rubber adhesive plaster. They do good partly by their mechanical effect, because they actually support muscles, but mainly because of faith in their efficacy. Whenever a particular discomfort occurs the feeling that a plaster is covering the spot gives the patient assurance that he or she must soon be better. In all of these effects there is no manifestation of any physical or marvelous supernormal power, but simply and solely of the influence of the mind on the body.

CHAPTER IX
DETERRENT THERAPEUTICS

In the history of therapy a peculiar phase was the use of all sorts of materials, intensely repugnant to human nature and deterrent to all the finer feelings, but which, nevertheless, proved curative of many ills. We know now that there was absolutely nothing remedial in these substances or methods of treatment, but only the effect produced upon the patient's mind. If the patient makes sufficient effort to overcome the intense repugnance, that enables him to release hitherto latent vital energies, or to correct hampering inhibitions which have prevented curative reactions. The more the patient had to conquer himself, or herself, the more surely did the remedy produce a good effect. It was effective, however, not only among the poor and the uneducated, but often also among the better informed, provided the patients became persuaded of its efficiency. Persuasion in these matters is usually best secured by the reports of cured cases. It is easy to obtain "cures" from almost anything. They are set up as confident proofs of the remedial virtue of methods of treatment. They have been, in the history of medicine, more often the indexes of action upon mind than upon body. Real remedies help patients to get better. Supposed remedies, that afterwards prove quite inert, cure.

Portions of Corpses.—One of the ingredients of the famous Unguentum Armarium (see chapter on Nostrums) was, as has been said, moss scraped from the skull of a man who had been hanged. It was declared to be particularly efficacious against so-called dead members, such as the blanched fingers of Raynaud's disease, or the hysterical palsies, and other functional paralytic conditions of the limbs. The real therapeutic factor was not the gruesome material itself, but the potent suggestions awakened by it. It is probable that the quacks and witch doctors who gave out the formula of their remedies as containing such material often did not take the trouble to collect them, and that their salves and ointments were really quite inoffensive preparations.

[{64}]

Touch of the Hanged.—Some of the traditions which gather round the effect of contact with the body of a hanged person are curiously interesting from the standpoint of psychotherapy. This form of execution seems to have had a much more potent influence in producing therapeutic elements in the bodies of the victims than any other. We do not hear much of the touch of a beheaded person's body nor of any place in medicine for portions of the victims of execution by shooting, though Van Helmont claims curative properties for these in lesser degree. All sorts of ailments were, however, supposed to be cured by the touch of a hanged person. Thomas Hardy in his "Wessex Tales" tells of a young woman in his time suffering from a paralyzed arm, apparently a form of paralysis due to a functional nervous condition, who was recommended by an old "conjure" doctor to touch her bared arm, as soon after the execution as possible, to the purple mark of the rope around the neck of a man who had been hanged. The doctor assured her this was the only means by which she could be cured. We would not be surprised to hear of her cure under such circumstances.

Hardy has carefully collected his material regarding the traditions of the southern part of England, and he makes the hangman say, when the woman applies to him for permission to touch the body of the victim, that such a request had not been made for some years, but that there used to be many applicants when he was a younger man. He adds, moreover, that it was the custom to apply to the governor of the prison and that usually this application was made by the physician of the patient who accompanied him or her on the visit to the corpse. There is no doubt that physicians did, in many cases, have recourse to such methods, and that the reasons for their belief in the efficacy of the touch of the dead was that they had seen the cure in this way of many puzzling diseased conditions, which their skill in wortcraft and herbal medicines had not enabled them to relieve. The touch of the corpse was supposed to bring about a "turning of the blood," and this produced the good effects. Occasionally the patients fainted from terror, yet afterwards were found to be able to use limbs that had been quite beyond their control before. The story is typical of what happened in country districts all over Europe for centuries.

Mummies.—How little distant we are from the use of such material for therapeutic purposes will be appreciated from the fact that mummy was used in medicine down nearly to the end of the eighteenth century. The first edition of the "Encyclopedia Brittanica" (1768) said:

We have two different substances preserved for medicinal use under the name of mummy, though both in some degree of the same origin. The one is the dried and preserved flesh of human bodies, embalmed with myrrh and spices; the other is the liquor running from such mummies, when newly prepared, or when affected by great heat or damps. The latter is sometimes in a liquid, sometimes of a solid form, as it is preserved in vials well stopped, or suffered to dry and harden in the air. The first kind of mummy is brought to us in large pieces, of a lax and friable texture, light and spongy, of a blackish brown color, and often damp and clammy on the surface: it is of a strong but disagreeable smell. The second kind of mummy, in its liquid state, is a thick, opaque, and viscous fluid, of a blackish color, but not disagreeable smell. In its indurated state, it is a dry solid substance, of a fine shining black color, and close texture, easily broken, and of a good smell; very inflammable, and yielding a scent of myrrh and aromatic ingredients while burning. This, if we cannot be content without medicines from our own bodies, ought [{65}] to be the mummy used in the shops; but it is very scarce and dear; while the other is so cheap, that it will always be most in use.
All these kinds of mummy are brought from Egypt. But we are not to imagine, that anybody breaks up the real Egyptian mummies, to sell them in pieces to the druggists, as they may make a much better market of them in Europe whole, when they can contrive to get them. What our druggists are supplied with, is the flesh of executed criminals, or of any other bodies the Jews can get, who fill them with the common bitumen so plentiful in that part of the world; and adding a little aloes, and two or three other cheap ingredients, send them to be baked in an oven, till the juices are exhaled, and the embalming matter has penetrated so thoroughly that the flesh will keep and bear transportation into Europe. Mummy has been esteemed resolvent and balsamic: but whatever virtues have been attributed to it, seem to be such as depend more upon the ingredients used in preparing the flesh, than in the flesh itself; and it would surely be better to give those ingredients without so shocking an addition.

Serpents in Therapeutics.—Snakes and portions of snakes have been prominent features of deterrent therapeutics at all times. Headaches were cured by wrapping a dead snake around the head, or by the touch of a snake's skin, and sore throat by wearing a snake's skin around the throat at night. This seems one degree better than the custom, still common, of wrapping the stocking, that has been worn during the day, around the neck. In the chapter on Graves Disease, the use of the touch of a snake, or of a snake's skin worn around the neck, is mentioned. Girdles made of snake's skin or snakes themselves, were supposed to be good for colic and for various internal troubles, and were sometimes, among barbarous peoples, a sovereign remedy for the ills of pregnancy and assured the woman a safe delivery and an easy labor. Undoubtedly they lessened dreads by suggestion and the effort necessary to overcome repugnance. Some of the symptoms of the menopause have been cured in the same way. Rattlesnake oil has had a special reputation among mountainous people, where the snakes abounded, for the pains and aches of the old, and the vague joint discomfort, sometimes spoken of as rheumatic, but really due to various individual conditions. It is probable that in most cases the oil thus employed was not extracted from the rattlesnake, but was some ordinary oil palmed off under that name, and having its special effectiveness because of the thought associated with it.

Various portions of serpents are still in use, sometimes in the hands of physicians, though usually in popular medicine. I knew a physician in a small inland city who had a great local reputation for curing external eye troubles, and who owed not a little of it to the fact that the people in his neighborhood thought that he used rattlesnake oil as one of the ingredients for his strongest prescriptions. He was supposed to be able to dissolve even cataract by his remedies, and there is no doubt that in many cases of chronic indolent ulcer of the eye he was able to bring about a cure sooner, and have it last longer, than those of the regular profession who had not the advantage of this popular faith. He was careful to buy rattlesnakes from certain of the mountain people, who killed and brought them to him and who advertised the fact that they had such commissions from him. The stories were made all the more interesting by the fact that the doctor would not purchase dead rattlesnakes. They must be brought to him alive, since the therapeutic virtues can only be extracted immediately after death. A mountaineer with a couple of live rattlesnakes with him is always an interesting object and a fine [{66}] advertisement. One would like to know what the doctor did with the snakes—that is, how he disposed of them without suspicion. Homeopathic physicians still have lachesis-viper venom in their pharmacopeia. Their remedies, however, if they really follow the dilution principle of their founder, can have an effect only on the mind, so that the use of lachesis is not surprising.

Repugnant Remedial Measures.—Quite in keeping with the use of deterrent remedies of various kinds are the recommendations to do certain things that involve great self-control, and the overcoming of repugnance, or fright, or the like. A favorite mode of preparing remedies in the Middle Ages was to gather the particular herbs for the prescription in a graveyard in the dark of the moon. The patient himself was supposed to gather them and to be alone when doing so, if they were to be effective. How much occupation of mind and diversion of thought would be afforded for timid people by the effort to overcome themselves to this extent! The occupation of mind alone and the concentration of thought necessary for the ordeal would be quite sufficient to divert many people from the centralization of attention on themselves, which is responsible for so many of their symptoms, or for that exaggeration of symptoms that aggravates the ailment.

Ordures as Remedies.—Among all primitive peoples we have the story of the use, as remedies, of ordures of various kinds, of repugnant portions of animals, of ground insects, of animal excrement and urine, and even of human excretions, of the blood of serpents, or eels, or carrion feeding birds, and the like. Ground lice and insects of various kinds are very common as prescriptions in the history of primitive medicine. They turn up here and there through the Middle Ages, and they are said to be still used in China. The more one knows about side-tracks in medicine, the more does one find of far-fetched repugnant materials vaunted as wonderful cures. Some of the substances employed are so disgusting that one does not care to mention, much less discuss, them. I have had a man tell me that, in a severe epidemic of diphtheria, he saved his children's lives when they were attacked by the disease, and the children of others were dying all around him, by blowing the dried excrement of dog down their throats.

There are certain popular medical practices that are related to these old traditions of deterrent therapeutics. In many manufacturing establishments, in spite of progress with regard to sepsis and antisepsis and the diffusion of information as to first aid to the injured, it is still the custom to put spittle on wounds. I am sure that every doctor has seen quids of tobacco used in this way. Even native-born Americans, who are not illiterate, are sometimes found using some deterrent material. I have known such a man use his own urine as an eye-wash for sore eyes, and the use of children's urine for such purposes is much commoner than might be thought. After all, it is only a generation since physicians used to taste urine in order to determine whether it contained sugar or not, and I have seen a country doctor even take between his finger and his thumb a little of the excrement of a child and apply his tongue to it, pretending of course that he obtained very valuable information this way.

Excretions and Secretions.—All the human excretions have formed the basis of vaunted remedies. Tears, on the principle that like cures like, were used for melancholia; nasal secretion to lessen respiratory difficulty through [{67}] the nose; sputum for various mouth affections, but also as an application to external abrasions, and to the eyes, the ears, and the like. Undoubtedly patients were helped by many of these, not because of any physical effect, but because they felt easier as a consequence of the satisfaction of having something done for them, and the consequent freedom from solicitude which allowed nature to produce her curative reaction without interference. The greater the effort he has to make, apparently the more efficiently does he control this disturbing state of mind. This is the secret of many cures now as well as in the olden time.

Whatever good effect is produced in such cases comes, of course, from the persuasion that these substances will do good, and there must be a strong suggestion to that effect before the repugnance can be overcome. While we are prone to think the older peoples who used such materials commonly are to be condemned for ignorance and superstition, it is well to recall that human nature has not changed, and is still ready to be influenced in the same way. Brown Sequard's extract of testicular substance came in this category. We had a wave of organotherapy a few years ago, and we know now that whatever benefits patients derived from taking heart substance for heart troubles, and brain substance for brain troubles, and kidney for renal diseases, was entirely due to mental influence. The cannibal who eats the heart of his enemy, thinking that the vigor and courage of the other will pass into him, undoubtedly has for a time a power of accomplishment greater than before. Nothing acts so powerfully as suggestion of this kind to give renewed vigor and to enable us to tap sources of energy that we were not aware of in ourselves, and that enable us to accomplish what before seemed quite impossible, and even to bring about curative reactions.

Diseases Benefited.—Observe the classes of disease that were particularly relieved by deterrent therapeutics. Headache was one of these. All sorts of things were cures for headaches—the touch of the hangman's rope, or of an executed criminal, or some herb gathered in the graveyard in the dark of the moon, or pills made of the excrement of various animals. The forms of headache thus relieved would be those in which over-attention to self, rather than real headache, produced queer feelings in the head, though concentration of attention might exaggerate this into an ache. Foot troubles were cured by deterrent therapeutics. To wear the shoes of a dead person, especially of a murderer who had been hanged, would cure them. Colic was cured by pills of excrementitious materials, and by all sorts of other deterrent remedies. For instance, one well-known remedy was to wash the feet and drink the wash-water. The wash-water of little babies was a favorite remedy for the vague abdominal pains of old maids, and for the symptoms due to the menopause.

Deterrent Pain.—A striking illustration of a strong mental influence helping out a slight amount of therapeutic efficiency is found in the use of the actual cautery for medical affections. At a number of times in history most of the chronic pains and aches, the arthritises, the so-called gouty tendencies when localized, the rheumatic affections and especially the chronic rheumatisms, have been treated by means of the cautery. All of the neuralgias, many of the neuroses, all of the neuritises and a certain number of so-called palsies and paralyses, were treated successfully by this means. It is a very suggestive remedy producing a deep impression that now relief must be in sight. It [{68}] became popular over and over again, though after a time it always lost its influence, and ceased to have the beneficial effects that it had at the beginning of its reintroduction.

During the second half of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century the cautery became very popular. It was applied particularly in the form of the moxa. A cylinder of cotton was employed for this purpose, being set on fire and allowed to burn on the skin of the patient, producing a deep wound. The mental effect of this can be readily understood. Baron Larrey, one of the most eminent surgeons of the time, thought the moxa one of the best aids that he had in the treatment of many affections where the knife was not indicated. There were large groups of diseases in which it was almost a specific. Larrey employed it in affections of vision, of smell, of taste, of hearing and of speech. In many paralytic affections of the muscular system, in all chronic affections of the head, among which he enumerates non-traumatic affections, hydrocephalus, chronic headaches and many other affections supposed to be seated in the cranium. In asthma he was particularly successful with the moxa. Old catarrhal affections yielded to it. Consumption was frequently benefited by it. Most of the chronic affections of the uterus were benefited, as were also similar affections of the stomach. He considered that the moxa must be admitted, without contradiction, to be the remedy par excellence against rachitis. In Pott's disease, which he called dorsal consumption, it worked wonders. In sacrocoxalgia, in cocygodynia and femero-coxalgia he had excellent results with the moxa.

A glance at this list shows exactly the class of cases in which suggestion has always played a large role, and for which there has been, at various times, a series of specific remedies, medicinal, manipulative and surgical. Others extended the value of the moxa beyond these affections. Ponto found it valuable in gout, and in the various chronic affections which are sometimes grouped under the name chronic rheumatism. He insisted that the moxa could be placed on almost any part of the body, though the contra indications he suggests show how far the men of his time went with its use. Only these portions named might not have a moxa applied to them. It must not be used on the skull, on the eyelids, on the ears, on the mamme, on the larynx and on the genitals, though it might be applied to the perineum or the perineal body.

Deterrent Taste and Smell.—The disturbing effects produced by other senses besides those of sight have been used in the same way for the production of definite therapeutic suggestive effects. A number of the ill-tasting, almost nauseating drugs of the olden time prove to have very little real therapeutic efficiency in the light of modern clinical careful observation. This is particularly true of the herbs and simples. Many a disgusting preparation apparently owed all of its' good effects on the patient to the effort that was required to swallow it, producing such a favorable influence upon the mind, by contrecoup as it were, that the patient got better. A little girl said that cough medicines were nasty things they gave you in order to keep you from catching cold again. The sense of smell has been used in the same way. Valerian is probably an efficient drug in certain respects, but undoubtedly its efficiency is materially increased by its intensely repulsive odor. For many of the psycho-neuroses and neurotic conditions generally the ammonium valerianate is likely to be much more efficient than the strychnin valerianate, though probably the [{69}] latter should be considered as more physically efficacious in its tonic properties. Asafetida, musk and some preparations of the genital organs of animals that used to be in the pharmacopeia, owed most, if not all, of their power, whatever it was, to the mental effect of their odor and the feeling of deterrence that had to be overcome before they were taken.

There is a precious therapeutic secret in this use of deterrent, repugnant, frightful materials which patients use to advantage under certain circumstances. It illustrates the influence of the mind over the body, and emphasizes the fact that such influence can be exerted in the full only when a deep impression is produced upon the patient. Whether this can be imitated without deceit, and without the use of undignified methods, must depend on the physician himself and his personality. There can be no doubt that there is a wonderful power here to be employed. It must be the physician's business to find out in each individual case, according to his own personal equation, just how he may be able to use at least some of it. It is well worth studying and striving for, because nothing is more potent for psychoneurotic conditions, and for neuroses on the borderland of the physical, than which no ailments are more obstinate to treatment.

CHAPTER X
INFLUENCE OF THE PERSONALITY IN THERAPEUTICS

Though it has seldom been fully realized and has probably never been appreciated as in our time, one of the most important factors in therapeutics, in every period of the history of medicine, has been the personal influence of the physician. Therapeutic fashions have come and gone, new drugs have been introduced, have had their day and then been relegated to the limbo of worn-out ideas. At all times, however, physicians have succeeded in doing good, or at least using, with apparent success, the therapeutic means of their own time, however crude and inadequate these afterwards proved to be. They have succeeded in shortening the progress of disease as well as increasing the patient's resistive vitality and thus enabled him not infrequently to survive where otherwise a fatal termination might have occurred. All unsuspected during most of the time, it was the personal influence of the physician that counted for most in all of the historical vicissitudes of therapeusis. It mattered not that the means he employed might seem absurd to the second succeeding generation, as was so often, indeed almost invariably, the case, his personal influence has at all times overshadowed his available therapeutic auxiliaries. In spite of all our advance in scientific medicine, to a considerable degree this remains true even at the present time, and to fail properly to use this important auxiliary is to cripple medical practice.

Place of Personal Influence.—When the antitoxins and directly curative serums seemed about to make for themselves a place in therapeusis, it looked for a time as though this personal element might be entirely superseded. It seemed that all other therapeutic factors must give way to definitely accurate doses of antitoxic principles, directly opposed to the toxins of disease and [{70}] capable of conquering it. With the success of diphtheria serum, the prospects for scientific therapeutics from the biological standpoint became very promising. Unfortunately, our further experience with antitoxins and therapeutic sera of various kinds has not been satisfactory, and now the medical world is looking elsewhere for progress in therapeutics.

This throws us back once more on the old-time therapeutics, and we have to learn to use all their elements. One of the most important of these, if not, as we have suggested, absolutely the most important, the one that in all the many variations of therapeusis has maintained itself, is the personal influence of the physician by which he is able to soothe the patient's fears, allay his anxieties, make him face the situation calmly so that he may not use up any of his vital force in useless worry, but on the contrary employ all his available psychic energy in helping nature to overcome whatever disturbance there is within the organism. This personal influence was for several centuries spoken of as personal magnetism, not merely in the figurative sense in which we now employ that term, but in a literal sense. The implication was that some men possessed within themselves a reservoir of superfluous energy, vital in character, but thought to be related to the force exhibited by the magnet, when it attracted bodies to itself, and made metals for a time magnetic like itself, and which actually passed over from the physician to his patient. We have gotten away from the idea of any physical force flowing from physician to patient, but we know very well that certain physicians are much more capable than others of arousing the vital energies of the patient, sometimes to the extent of making him feel, after treatment, that he has more force than before. The patient feels that something must have been added to his natural powers, though he has only been brought into a state of mind where he can better use his own powers.

It is the men whose presence created this impression in patients, an impression that is justified by the fact that somehow he enabled them to vitalize themselves better than before, who have been most successful in the treatment of patients. In all ages the men of reputation for healing have had this. A careful study of their lives shows that this counted for more in many of the experiences of their healing than the drugs and remedies which they employed. The men who have been the most sought by patients have not as a rule left us great therapeutic secrets; on the contrary, they have only employed the conventional remedies of their times with reasonable common-sense and have added to them their own personal influences. On the other hand, the men who have made discoveries in therapeutics, and in medicine, have not always been popular as physicians. They have known too much of their own lack of knowledge to be quite confident in their use of remedies, and this has hurt something of their personal influence over patients.