In America, when a person is bitten by a rattlesnake or copperhead, the first aid to the injured is commonly a pint of whiskey. You might better rub milk on the patient's bootheels, because the milk is harmless, but the pint of whiskey is anything but harmless; and one is as good as the other as far as curing the snake bite is concerned. Whiskey is popularly supposed to be a good medicine in all the ills of humanity. It is a good medicine in certain cases and a very bad medicine in others. A snake bite is a startling evil, and while far from a physician the early settlers gave the patient the only medicine they had, whiskey, and if a little is good a great deal is better. As the "bite" of the North American snakes is frequently not fatal, some early victims grew well in spite of the snake venom and the added whiskey poisoning; therefore a pint of whiskey cured them, post hoc ergo propter hoc. Thus the "cure" became fixed in the popular ignorance, and some moral theologians, without investigating the [{119}] matter, fixed it deeper. The venom of the East Indian cobra and of other tropical and subtropical snakes would not be affected in the slightest degree by all the whiskey in Kentucky. The only hope in such cases, is in Calmette's antitoxin, administered within an hour or two after the poisoning.
Snake venom paralyses the muscles of respiration, and the patient ceases to breathe. A little whiskey may do good—whiskey pushed to intoxication is very injurious. Artificial respiration, if needed, as in a case of attempted resuscitation after partial drowning, with skilful stimulation by a physician, and the use of an antitoxin, are the main parts of the treatment in snake poisoning; but to pour a pint of whiskey into the victim is cruel ignorance. Patients often come into dispensaries showing bitten wounds which are stuffed with hair from the dog that did the biting; whiskey causes a man to see snakes, therefore use "hair from the dog that bit you." This may be good homoeopathy, but it is not medicine.
The making a man drunk with alcohol "to remove great pain" is a treatment not used by reputable physicians: there are many correct medical methods of removing pain, but a big draught of whiskey is not one of them. Even in a case where a physician can not be found, it is usually questionable whether the effect of alcoholic intoxication would not be worse than the irritation of the pain; and if it were not, where is the line to be drawn? Some male and female old ladies can work up "great pain" from a colic. The bigger and stronger a man is, especially if he has never been ill before, the greater his "agony" when he is having a tooth filled.
AUSTIN ÓMALLEY.
IX
HEREDITY, PHYSICAL DISEASE, AND MORAL WEAKNESS
Heredity is a very vexed question, with regard to which most varied opinions are held even by those apparently justified in having opinions, so that it is evident we are as yet only crossing the threshold of definite knowledge and are not near anything like the clear view that many people have imagined. The most striking proof of this inchoateness of scientific knowledge of heredity is the fact that within five years the work of a monk in Austria, done about forty years ago, which has lain utterly unrecognised ever since, has come to be accepted as the most striking bit of progress made—almost the only real scientific knowledge with regard to heredity that was acquired during the whole nineteenth century. Father Gregor Mendel's work [Footnote 2] was done with regard to the pea plants in his monastery garden, and it revolutionised all the supposedly scientific thinking with regard to heredity that has been current in biology for half a century.
[Footnote 2: See American Ecclesiastical Review, Jan. 1904; Walsh, A New Outlook in Heredity. ]
This serves very well to show how far in advance of observed facts theories of heredity have gone. There is undoubtedly a very significant influence exerted over life and its functions by the special powers that are transmitted by heredity. How far this influence extends, however, and how much it may be said to rule details of existence, of action and in human beings, that complex of elements we call character, is entirely a matter of conjecture, and the [{121}] belief in its extent, or limitation, depends absolutely on the tendency of the individual mind to accept or discredit certain theories in heredity which have had great vogue.
Until within a very few years it was considered a matter of common experience and observation that under some circumstances, at least, acquired characteristics were transmitted by heredity. That is to say, it has been definitely asserted as probable, and by many even intelligent people considered absolutely certain, that modifications of a living being undergone during the course of its existence might influence the progeny of that being in various but very definite ways. It was not, of course, thought that if a man lost an arm and subsequently begot a child, the child would be born without an arm, but slighter modifications of the organism were somehow supposed to be transmissible; and, on the other hand, modifications which affect important organic structures of the body were somehow thought to have a definite effect, by transmission, upon corresponding portions of the progeny.