Epileptic seizures are supposed to be due to spirits, and the proper treatment is for two or more men to stand upon the thighs and pelvis of the unfortunate sufferer, and so prevent the entrance of the spirit into some of the vital organs. This plan is said to be quite successful, as many patients so treated have recovered.
The absurdities of superstitious belief among the Laos might be multiplied indefinitely: these instances are, however, sufficient. Impressed with a sense of their utter helplessness in dealing with those mysterious agencies which are so hostile to them, they invariably conclude that man is subject to the government of invisible and malignant beings of whom he can know nothing, and whose anger, when aroused, no merely material agencies can appease. So in every case of sickness offerings must be made to the offended spirits; readings from the sacred books and prayers must be rehearsed.
These beliefs, however, as long as they remain general and theoretical, are mild in their effects in comparison with another superstition of the Laos, which I must not fail to mention. Abandoning the vague and general, in this superstition their belief becomes terribly specific: they imagine that the spirit or essence of one living person may enter the body of another person and inflict serious injuries, and, unless expelled, even destroy life; furthermore, they can ascertain whose spirit it is. This kind of spirit they term Pee K’a. Hysteria, delirium, variation of surface temperature are among the symptoms supposed to indicate this kind of possession. The treatment is a specialty, and the doctors who understand these cases gain great notoriety and are sent for from far and near to exorcise the spirits. The exorcism involves a practice full of savage cruelty to the patient and of barbarous injustice to the unfortunate neighbor whose spirit is accused of having entered the patient. I had repeatedly requested permission to witness an investigation of one of these cases, and at last had an opportunity. I learned that the patient had some months ago suffered from a protracted illness (probably typhoid fever), and during her illness had lost the power of speech. She recovered gradually and became quite well and strong, but was still unable to speak. One day she went with a party of children to a temple, and while there spoke a few words more or less distinctly; her companions became alarmed and ran home. Supposing the case to be one of witchcraft, the owner (the girl was a slave) sent for the spirit-doctor; three of these specialists were present when I reached the place. After asking some questions concerning the previous illness of the patient, a consultation was in order, the most important feature of which seemed to be the drinking of a bowl of arrack (whiskey distilled from rice); these spirit-doctors took frequent and prolonged draughts; they drank as if to slake an ancient thirst. I thought they liked it, but I was informed that the learned doctors drank simply in order to facilitate their communication with the spirit, and that the chances were that they did not like the taste of whiskey.
Having at length decided upon a suitable line of action, the doctors proceeded to the investigation of the case. The most eminent of the doctors—at least the one who had consumed the most whiskey—took a tiger’s tooth, and, muttering some gibberish, drew it along the side and back of the patient, leaving deep scratches; the patient, unable to speak, of course writhed and struggled. At length, after a deeper incision (which drew the blood), the patient uttered an audible cry; this sound was interpreted by the ferocious, drunken spirit-doctors to indicate the situation of the spirit. With a vigorous thrust in the side, while his assistant, thinking he had discovered the spirit in another region, was equally attentive, the chief inquisitor with foul and abusive language ordered the spirit to leave. The exorcism was a failure, and the spirit refused to make itself known, though pressingly flattered to do so by the persuasive and forcible eloquence of these three drunken, demoniac savages.
In these investigations any injury inflicted is directed against the spirit, and any answers to questions asked by the doctor or the friends of the patient are supposed to proceed from the spirit; so the doctor asks the name of the spirit, and the patient, if conscious or partly so, will, in order to escape torture, give the name of some acquaintance, probably some near and intimate neighbor; for usually some suspicion will have been expressed. The name of some one having been mentioned by the patient, various questions concerning the domestic relations of the family of the person named are asked, such as the names of all the members of the family, the number of cattle they own, the amount of money they have, and sundry other questions concerning things supposed to be known only to members of the family. If to all these questions satisfactory answers are given, the person whose name is mentioned is accused of witchcraft, and, together with all his family, all in the house, must leave the neighborhood; everything belonging to them, except such articles as can be easily removed, is committed to the flames; they cannot sell their gardens nor rice-fields nor any other possession, since no one will risk the supposed contamination. The accused cannot settle in any adjoining neighborhood, but must go as strangers into some distant province occupied only by others like themselves driven from their homes upon charges of witchcraft. All the accumulations of a lifetime of thrift and economy may at any time be sacrificed to the whims of this blind credulity. This superstition is one of the greatest social evils; indeed, it entails more serious injury than all other beliefs and practices combined. No one receives any benefit from it; it is purely destructive. Hundreds of families are yearly driven from their homes in obedience to the requirements of this degrading prostitution of the human intellect.
Medical Missionary Work among the Laos.
Since the establishment of the Cheung Mai mission in 1867 the missionaries have made the care of the sick a part of their regular work. Dr. Vrooman was the first missionary physician sent to Cheung Mai; he was compelled, on account of his health, to leave there in 1873, having remained only about two years. Dr. Vrooman’s successor arrived in Cheung Mai in the spring of 1875. During the six months ending Sept. 30, 1875, about six hundred patients received treatment of the foreign doctor. The work has increased steadily since that time; in the year ending Sept. 30, 1882, thirteen thousand persons received treatment. This increase in seven years from about one thousand to thirteen thousand a year indicates that the work of the medical missionary supplies a demand.
Because of having no hospital accommodations, the work has been chiefly dispensary work, while as many as could be personally attended have been visited at their homes. Notwithstanding this large increase in the number of patients treated, the results of the medical work have not been very gratifying. The difficulties with which one has to struggle in dispensary work or house visitation are so great as to render any effort almost devoid of satisfactory results from a professional point of view; and, obviously, the conditions which interfere with the medical work will also interfere with the missionary work; in fact, what are molehills in the former become mountains in the latter.
The houses of the Laos are located and built in violation of all hygienic considerations, and in addition to the counteracting influences arising from the imperfect sanitary surroundings, the foreign physician has to contend against persistent meddlesome interference with his directions; and in this contention he wages a losing warfare, for he has arrayed against him that influence which is so potent everywhere—namely, the prestige of ancient superstitions sanctioned by ignorance and custom. In the treatment of diseases the skill of the most competent physician is of no avail without the faithful and skillful execution of his orders, which can be accomplished alone by an intelligent and sympathizing nurse—I might rather say, a trained nurse. The foreign physician is usually sent for as a last resort, and is simply expected to perform a miracle; and unless he in a measure satisfies the wildest requirements he is pronounced a failure, and his presence is considered as rather an intrusion and a source of mischief; for he forbids ceremonies which are supposed to be essential to the welfare of the household, a neglect of which may occasion both immediate and remote disaster. Although spirit-worship and other religious observances are of paramount importance in their homes, they willingly neglect them when treated upon our own premises.
Upon entering a sick chamber the physician finds the air almost suffocating, and must conduct his examination by the dim light of a small wax taper, for in the construction of a Laos house the principal object to be attained seems to be the utter exclusion of light, there being no doors or windows except the necessary entrance. The examination concluded, the physician gives his directions concerning the management of the patient and goes his way, with the assurance that his instructions will be regarded by the friends of the patient as of some importance or as utterly insignificant, just according to their own views of the case.