Not many years since, the cold hands of a convict, who had terminated his life on the gallows, in Liverpool, were drawn over several wens a number of times to effect a cure. A person in one of our western states ran a pitchfork into his hand, and he applied a plaster to the cold iron as well as to the fresh wound. When people run a nail into their foot, they frequently save and polish the rusty iron to facilitate the recovery. Some time since, in the State of Maine, the body of a female was taken from the grave, her heart taken out, dried, and pulverized, and given to another member of the family, as a specific against the consumption. And the same thing has more recently been done in the town of Waltham, Massachusetts. The heart was reduced to a powder, and made into pills, but they did not cure the patient; while the person who took up the remains from the grave, and removed the heart, came very near losing his life, from the putrefactive state of the corpse at the time.
We could relate many other cases, equally foolish and disgusting. All such things should be classed under the general name of charms, and be looked upon as relics of the grossest superstitions. Why not as well have the touch of a slave as a king? Why not as well apply your plaster to a tree as to a pitchfork? Why not as well drink the heart of a lamb as a woman? You may say that God has determined certain cures shall follow certain applications. No such determination is published in his word, and no such conclusions can be inferred from facts. You may pretend that a special miracle is wrought in such cases. But this is incredible; for the object is not compatible with the miraculous interposition of Deity. And the few cures which are reputed to have taken place can be satisfactorily accounted for, on the influence of the imagination, and other natural causes. So that such a belief is not only superstitious, but calculated to lead people to neglect the proper means of recovery, and thus injure themselves and the medical profession.
In the years 1808, '9, and '10, a Mr. Austin of Colchester, Vermont, gave out that he was a gifted person in the art of healing; and if the patient would describe to him, by word of mouth, or by letter, the true symptoms of his malady, he would receive healing at his word, if indeed his disease was curable. In a very little time the obscure retreat of Austin was thronged with invalids, coming from almost every section of the country; and Colchester was scarcely less in favor than Ballston or Saratoga. The mail carriers groaned under the burden of maladies described. Bar rooms at public inns, on roads leading to Colchester, were decorated with letters directed to the "Prophet of Colchester;" and vagrants were found travelling over the country, collecting of invalids their evil symptoms, to be truly and faithfully delivered to the prophet in a given time, at the moderate price of fifty cents per letter. We were soon referred to cases wherein the most inveterate deafness was removed; the blind saw; dropsies and consumptions, in the last stages of them, were cured; and the patient, it is said, in many instances, would tell the day and the hour when their letters were received by the prophet, although they might be some hundred miles distant from the deliverer, because, at such an hour, they began to mend. The prophet, however, did not long enjoy his far-famed celebrity. His house, after a while, was deserted of invalids. The people discovered their folly, and permitted him to sink into his former merited obscurity. It was just the same with the celebrated rain-water doctor, as he was called, who established himself at one time in Providence, and at another time in the vicinity of Boston. Many of those now living can recollect the accounts of marvellous cures, and the flocking of invalids of all descriptions to his temple of health. But the community at length discovered the imposition of his practice, and left him to the undisturbed enjoyment of his rain water and his gruel.
The most recent case of medical imposition practised upon the public, that has come to our knowledge, is that of a practitioner in New York city, who, by receiving a letter from sick or diseased persons, giving the year, day, and hour of their birth, immediately forwards them a package of medicine suited to their case. It seems to be a matter of astonishment to many how he arrives at a knowledge of their state of health, so as to be able to adapt his remedies to their several conditions. But it is probably done on the principles of astrology—by finding the planet under which the patient is born, the diseases appertaining to that planet, and the plants belonging to the same, which are supposed to have a special effect upon the relative planetary diseases. Culpepper, in his English Herbal, if we mistake not, arranges or classifies all plants and diseases in this way, and contends that astrology is the only true key to medical science. Fortune telling is practised upon a similar plan, through the agency of astrology. But the whole is a deception, entirely unworthy the age in which we live. The fortune teller may hit upon an incident which is correct, once in a while, and it would be strange if he did not. And the astrological physician may prescribe some little tonic, or stimulant, that will raise the drooping spirits for a time, and actually lead the hopeful patient to believe that he or she is fast recovering from their long-afflictive maladies. But the sequel too often teaches them the lesson of their sad mistake.
The history of Valentine Greataks, the son of an Irish gentleman, who lived in the time of Cromwell, is very similar to what we have related of the prophet of Colchester. And about the same time, Francisco Bagnone, a Capuchin friar, was famous in Italy, having a gift of healing, principally by his hands only. Multitudes of sick people attended him wherever he went, to obtain healing mercy. And here, perhaps, we may find the true principle on which all the impositions of Popery have been maintained for centuries gone by. It cannot be a matter of surprise that, if men, of more information than they, can be made to believe that they are delivered from disease by experiments of magnetism, tractors, or the mere touch of the hand, these should believe that they are healed by visiting the tombs of saints; by standing before their statues; being touched by nails from their coffins, rings from their fingers, or by the bones of the fingers themselves.
We are by no means authorized to say that none of these persons were relieved of pains and diseases by seeking relief in this way. So great is the influence of the imagination on the nervous, vascular, and muscular systems, as has already been shown, that it would be no more than probable that obstructions, causing pain and sickness, should in some instances be removed, and lay a foundation for recovery. And, moreover, that in a still greater number of instances the power of the imagination on the origin of the nerves within the brain should counteract the motion to the brain by disease acting upon the extremities of the nerves; and thus the patient for a season might experience relief from pain, and even feel pleasure, as was the case with an artist upon the Pont Royal, mentioned by Dr. Sigault, and in the gambols of the rheumatic patient, as mentioned by Dr. Haygarth. But in all these cases, experiment and illustration, like those of the commissioners at Paris, and like that of Dr. Haygarth in England, would disclose the real ground of these effects. The patients would no longer attribute them to a supernatural influence. They would learn why, in most cases, the relief supposed to be obtained was only momentary, and why all those gifted persons, both in Europe and America, have had no more than an ephemeral celebrity, and, in most instances, lived to see themselves neglected, and their pretensions become the subjects of just satire and reproof.
5. Popular superstitions have greatly injured the cause of religion. That superstition which allows any substitute for personal holiness is very pernicious. The Pharisees considered themselves holy, because they were the descendants of faithful Abraham. They fasted twice a week; paid tithes of all they possessed; made long prayers in public places; and were strict observers of all sacred days and religious ceremonies. At the same time, they neglected the weightier matters of the law—justice, mercy, faithfulness; devoured widows' houses; were proud, bigoted, and self-righteous.
Some people think they lived only in the times of the apostles. "But we should recollect," says the Rev. George Whitefield, "that vipers and toads have the most eggs, and most numerous progeny. If you were to look at the eggs of a toad through a microscope, you would be surprised at the innumerable multitude; and the Pharisees are an increasing generation of vipers, which hatch and spread all over the world. If you would know a Pharisee, he is one who pretends to endeavor, and talks about keeping the law of God, and does not know its spirituality. There are some of them very great men, in their own estimation, and frequently make the greatest figure in the church. One of them, a gentleman's son, because he had not broken the letter of the law, thought he was right and without sin. "O," says he, "if I have nothing to do but to keep the commandments, I am safe. I have honored my father and mother; I never stole; what need he to steal who has so good an estate? I never committed adultery." No, no! he loved his character too well for that: but our Lord opens to him the law—This one thing thou lackest; go, sell all thou hast, and give to the poor: he loved his money more than his God; Christ brought him back to the first commandment, though he catechized him first in the fifth. So Paul was a Pharisee. He says, 'I was alive without the law, once; I was, touching the law, blameless." How can that be? Can a man be without the law, and yet, touching the law, be blameless? Says he, "I was without the law; that is, I was not brought to see its spirituality. I thought myself a very good man." No man could say of Paul, Black is his eye. "But," says he, "when God brought the commandment with power upon my soul, then I saw my specks, and beheld my lack of true righteousness."
Some Roman Catholics perform tedious pilgrimages; lacerate their own bodies; abstain from meats on certain days; and some have paid the pope or priests for the pardon of their sins, or purchased indulgences for the commission of wickedness. Some Protestants, too, attend punctually upon all religious meetings, subscribe liberally to the charities of the day, observe all gospel ordinances, and profess great attachment to the cause of Christ; and yet are fretful, unkind, and disobliging in their families; censorious in their conversation; uncharitable in their judgment; grasping in their dealings, and unhappy in their dispositions. Some have thought that, because Christ died for the sins of the whole world they could commit sin with impunity; or, if they were elected, they could do what they pleased, and be sure of heaven at last. But all these things have no foundation in reason, experience, or revelation, and may therefore be considered superstitious. A belief in them is exceedingly injurious to the cause of piety and holiness, because it leads to the neglect of the one thing needful—a uniformly sober, righteous, and godly life. God will certainly render unto every man according to his deeds. Be he Pharisee or Sadducee, Catholic or Protestant, elect or non-elect, he can escape the punishment of no sin but by repentance and reformation. And no sin is ever removed, no virtue is ever given, by miracle. Our iniquities must be forsaken, and our goodness acquired, by our own exertions, aided by the promised influence of the Holy Spirit. And, until we have accomplished these ends, we cannot rationally expect pure and permanent happiness.
There have been opinions respecting the devil, tinctured somewhat with superstition, that have contributed to bring reproach upon the Scriptures, which were supposed to teach the existence of just such a being as many believed him to be. Martin Luther, in speaking of his confinement in the castle of Wartburg, says, "The people brought me, among other things, some hazel nuts, which I put into a box, and sometimes I used to crack and eat of them. In the night time, my gentleman, the devil, came and got the nuts out of the box, and cracked them against one of the bed posts, making a very great noise and rumbling about my bed; but I regarded him nothing at all: when afterwards I began to slumber, then he kept such a racket and rumbling upon the chamber stairs, as if many empty barrels and hogsheads had been tumbling down."