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    THE EVIL EYE
    THANATOLOGY
    _AND OTHER ESSAYS_

    ROSWELL PARK, M. D., LL.D. (YALE)

    [Illustration: Man operating fruit press "Arti et Veritati"]

    RICHARD G. BADGER
    THE GORHAM PRESS
    BOSTON

    Copyright, 1912, by Richard G. Badger

    All Rights Reserved


    THE GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON, U. S. A.

    To

    Sir William Osler, M. D., LL.D.,
    F. R. C. P., etc.

    Regius Professor of Medicine,
    Oxford University.

    Ideal Scholar and Friend.




PREFACE


Responsibility for the following collection of essays and addresses
(occasional papers) rests perhaps not more with their writer, who was
not unwilling to see them presented in a single volume, than with those
of his friends who were complimentary enough to urge their assemblage
and publication in this shape. They partake of the character of studies
in that borderland of anthropology, biology, philology and history
which surrounds the immediate domain of medical and general science.
This ever offers a standing invitation and an enduring fascination
for those who will but raise their eyes from the fertile and arable
soil in which they concentrate their most arduous labors. Too close
confinement in this field may result in greater commercial yield, but
the fragrance of the clover detracts not at all from the value of the
hay, nor do borderland studies result otherwise than in enlargement of
the boundaries of one's storm center of work.

No strictly technical nor professional papers have been reprinted
herein, while several of those which appear do so for the first time.

Buffalo, December, 1912.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER                                                PAGE

   I The Evil Eye                                         9

  II Thanatology                                         32

 III Serpent-Myths and Serpent Worship                   49

  IV Iatro-Theurgic Symbolism                            70

   V The Relation of the Grecian Mysteries to
       the Foundation of Christianity                    92

  VI The Knights Hospitaller of St. John of
       Jerusalem                                        132

 VII Giordano Bruno                                     164

VIII Student Life in the Middle Ages                    199

  IX A Study of Medical Words, Deeds and
       Men                                              233

   X The Career of the Army Surgeon                     265

  XI The Evolution of the Surgeon from the
       Barber                                           296

 XII The Story of the Discovery of the Circulation      314

XIII History of Anaesthesia and the Introduction
       of Anaesthetics in Surgery                       351




I

THE EVIL EYE[1]

[1] A Presidential Address before the Buffalo Society of Natural
Sciences.


Belief in magic has been called by Tylor, one of the greatest
authorities on the occult sciences, "one of the most pernicious
delusions that ever vexed mankind." It has been at all times among
credulous and superstitious people made the tool of envy, which Bacon
well described as the vilest and most depraved of all feelings.
Bacon, moreover, singled out love and envy as the only two affections
which have been noted to fascinate, or bewitch, since they both have
"vehement wishes, frame themselves readily into imaginations and
suggestions and come easily into the eye." He also noted the fact that
in the Scriptures envy was called the Evil Eye.

It is to this interesting subject in anthropological and folk-lore
study, namely, the Evil Eye, that I wish to invite your attention
for a time. Belief in it is, of course, inseparable from credence in
a personal devil or some personal evil and malign influence, but in
modern times and among people who are supposed to be civilized has
been regarded ordinarily as an attribute of the devil. Consideration
of the subject is inseparable, too, from a study of the expressions
"to fascinate" and "to bewitch." Indeed this word "fascination" has
a peculiar etymological interest. It seems to be a Latin form of the
older Greek verb "_baskanein_," or else to be descended from a common
root. No matter what its modern signification, originally it meant
to bewitch or to subject to an evil influence, particularly by means
of eyes or tongue or by casting of spells. Later it came to mean the
influencing of the imagination, reason or will in an uncontrollable
manner, and now, as generally used, means to captivate or to allure.
Its use in our language is of itself an indication of the superstition
so generally prevalent centuries ago. It is, however, rather a polite
term for which we have the more vulgar equivalent "to bewitch," used in
a signification much more like the original meaning.

Belief in an evil power constantly at work has existed from absolutely
prehistoric times. It has been more or less tacitly adopted and
sanctioned by various creeds or religious beliefs, particularly
so by the church of Rome, by mediaeval writers and by writers on
occult science. Even now it exists not only among savage nations but
everywhere among common people. We to-day may call it superstition,
but there was a time when it held enormous sway over mankind, and
exercised a tremendous influence. In its present form it consists
often of a belief that certain individuals possess a blighting power,
and the expression in England to "overlook" is not only very common,
but an easily recognizable persistence of the old notion. Evidently
St. Paul shared this prevalent belief when he rebuked the foolish
Galatians, saying as in our common translation, "Who hath bewitched
you that ye should not obey the truth?" In the Vulgate the word
translated "bewitch" is "_fascinare_," exactly the same word as used by
Virgil, and referring to the influence of the evil eye. Cicero himself
discussed the word "fascination," and he explained the Latin verb
_invidere_ and noun _invidia_ as meaning to look closely at; whence
comes our word envy, or evil eye.

All the ancients believed that from the eyes of envious or angry people
there was projected some malign influence which could infect the air
and penetrate and corrupt both living creatures and inanimate objects.
Woyciki, in his Polish Folk-lore, relates the story of a most unhappy
Slav, who though possessed of a most loving heart realized that he
was afflicted with the evil eye, and at last blinded himself in order
that he might not cast a spell over his children. Even to-day, among
the Scotch Highlanders, if a stranger look too admiringly at a cow the
people believe that she will waste away of the evil eye, and they give
him of her milk to drink in order to break the spell. Plutarch was sure
that certain men's eyes were destructive to infants and young animals,
and he believed that the Thebans could thus destroy not only the young
but strong men. The classical writers are so full of allusions to this
subject that it is easy to see where people during the Middle Ages
got their prevalent belief in witches. Thus, Pliny said that those
possessed of the evil eye would not sink in water, even if weighed down
with clothes; hence the mediaeval ordeal by water;--which had, however,
its inconveniences for the innocent, for if the reputed witch sank he
evidently was not guilty, but if he floated he was counted guilty and
then burned.

Not only was this effect supposed to be produced by the fascinating
eye, but even by the voice, which, some asserted, could blast trees,
kill children and destroy animals. In Pliny's time special laws were
enacted against injury to crops by incantation or fascination; but the
Romans went even farther than this, and believed that their gods were
envious of each other and cast their evil eyes upon the less powerful
of their own circle; hence the _caduceus_ which Mercury always carried
as a protection.

To be the reputed possessor of an evil eye was an exceeding great
misfortune. Solomon lent himself to the belief when he enjoined, "Eat
thou not the bread of him that hath an evil eye." (Prov. 23:6). The
most inconvenient country in which to have this reputation to-day
is Italy, and especially in Naples. The Italians apply the term
_jettatore_ to the individual thus suspected, and to raise the cry of
"_Jettatore_" in a Neapolitan crowd even to-day is to cause a speedy
stampede. For the Italians the worst of all is the "_jettatore di
bambini_," or the fascinator of infants. Elworthy relates the case of
a gentleman who on three occasions acted in Naples in the capacity of
sponsor; singularly all three children died, whereupon he at once
got the reputation of having the "_malocchio_" to such an extent that
mothers would take all sorts of precautions to keep their children
out of his sight. The great Bacon lent himself also to the belief to
such an extent as to advise the carrying on one's person of certain
articles, such as rue, or a wolf's tail or even an onion, by which the
evil influence was supposed to be averted.

A most interesting work was written by Valletta and published in
Naples in 1787. It was practically a treatise upon fascination and the
jettatore. Valletta himself was a profound believer in all this sort
of thing, and finished up his work by offering rewards for answers to
certain questions, among which were the following:--"Which jettatore is
most powerful, he who has or he who has not a wig? Whether monks are
more powerful than others? To what distance does the influence of the
jettatore extend, and whether it operates more to the side, front or
back? What words in general ought one to repeat to escape the evil eye?"

In ancient times it was believed that women had greater power of
fascination then men, a belief to which our sex still hold at the
present day, although in modern times the evil eye proper is supposed
to be possessed by men rather than by women; monks especially, ever
since the establishment of religious orders, being considered to
possess this fatal influence. Curiously enough, the late Pope, Pius
IX, was supposed to be a most pronounced jettatore, and the most
devout Catholics would point two fingers at him even while receiving
his blessing. Let me quote Elworthy in this connection:--"Ask a Roman
about the late Pope's evil eye, and he will answer, 'They say so, and
it really seems to be true. If he had not the jettatura it is very
odd that everything he blessed made fiasco. We did very well in the
campaign against the Austrians in '48; we were winning battle after
battle and all was gayety and hope, when suddenly he blessed the cause
and everything went to the bad at once. Nothing succeeds with anybody
or anything when he wishes well to them. When he went to S. Agnese
to hold a great festival down went the floor and the people were all
smashed together. Then he visited the Column to the Madonna in the
Piazza di Spagna and blessed it and the workmen. Of course one fell
from the scaffold the same day and killed himself. He arranged to meet
the King of Naples at Porto d'Anzio, when up came a violent gale and
storm that lasted a week. Another arrangement was made and then came
the fracas about the ex-Queen of Spain.'"

The superstition of the evil eye and of witchcraft goes everywhere with
the belief in the power of transformation, which at certain periods of
history has been so prevalent as to account for many of the stories of
ancient mythology, and will account even for such nursery stories as
that of Little Red Riding Hood, as well as for the old-world belief
in the _werewolf_. Indeed, a common expression of to-day reminds one
of this old belief, since it is a common saying to be ready to "jump
out of one's skin for joy." This belief in transformation has begotten
an ever-present dread of ill omens which is even now one of the most
prevalent of superstitions. In Somerset, to see a hare cross the path
in front of one is a sign of death. In India they fear to name any
sacred or dreaded animal. The black cat is everywhere an object of
aversion, and in some parts of England to meet a person who squints is
equal to meeting one possessing the evil eye. Surely I do not need to
remind this audience of the fear which many people have of taking any
important action on Friday. This fear goes so far in some instances
as to lead people to deprecate over-praise or apologize for a too
positive statement. Your courteous Turk will not take a compliment
without "Mashallah;" the Italians will not receive one without "Grazio
a Dio;" while the Irishman almost always says "Glory be to God," and
the English peasant "Lord be wi' us;" the idea in every instance being
to avert the danger of fascination by these acknowledgments of a higher
power.

In England during the horrible times when the Black Death raged it
was supposed that the disease was communicated by a glance from the
distorted eyes of a sick man. In 1603 Delrio, a Jesuit, published a
large six-volume folio work entitled "A Disquisition on Magic," in
which he takes it for granted that the calamities of mortals are the
work of evil spirits. He says, "Fascination is a power derived by
contact with the devil, who, when the so-called fascinator looks at
another with evil intent, or praises by means known to himself, infects
with evil the person at whom he looks." Those familiar with the history
of so-called animal magnetism, mesmerism or hypnotism, will see a close
connection between these beliefs and the practice of this peculiar
form of influence. Mesmerism, in fact, as ordinarily practiced, was
more or less dependent upon the influence of touch, or actual contact,
whose importance has always been by the credulous rated high. In fact,
it will be remembered that many of the miracles of the New Testament
were performed by the aid of touch, and in the Old Testament it is
recorded how disappointed Naaman was when he went to be cured of his
leprosy in that the prophet did not _touch_ him. The influence of the
_royal touch_ for the cure of scrofula, known for centuries as the
King's Evil, will also not be forgotten. In fact, our word to "bless"
signifies to touch by making the sign of the cross on the diseased
part, as, for instance, in the West of England, where goitre is rather
common, it is believed that the best cure is that the swelling should
be touched by the hand of a corpse of the opposite sex.

The more we deal with the superstitions now under consideration the
more evident it becomes that the principal thought among the simpler
peoples, or even among some of the religious sects of to-day, has
been the propitiation of angry deities, or of destructive influences,
rather than the worship and exaltation of beneficent attributes. As
Elworthy says, "We find that fear and dread have in all human history
been more potent factors in men's conduct than hope and gratitude or
love." Take for example the propitiatory sacrifices of Abel and Cain,
or the sacrifice which Abraham proposed to make of his own son, or the
very words which have crept into our language such as _atonement_, etc.
With this personification of an evil power or attribute in nature came
also belief in transformation, or metamorphosis, of which the Greek and
Roman mythology is full. How many of the Christian symbols of to-day,
nearly all of which are of pagan origin, convey to the initiated
instances of this belief, can hardly be mentioned in this place.
Suffice it to say that their number is very great. But I find too many
temptations to wander from my subject, which is essentially the evil
eye.

In mediaeval symbolism, as in ancient, the intent often was to
represent either on some amulet, charm or picture a figure of the thing
against which it was most desired that a protective influence should be
exercised, hence the general prevalence of the eye in some pictorial
representation. The ancient Egyptians, as well as the Etruscans, used
to paint a huge eye on the bows of their vessels, which was supposed
to be a charm against the evil eye. Even to-day in the Orient I have
seen Greek boats with eyes painted on either side of their prows. The
eye was a common adornment of Egyptian pottery, usually in combination
with various other pictures, but as a symbol it seems during the past
century or two to have passed out of common employ, except perhaps
in Malta, and among the Free-masons, who simply are perpetuating its
use. Nevertheless, wax or silver eyes are seen hung up in some foreign
churches. A curious feature of these superstitions has been this, that
any feature of indecency or obscenity when attaching to these symbols,
amulets, etc., has been supposed to make them much more potent. This
probably was because anything strange or unusual was more likely to
attract the eye, and therefore divert its influence from the individual
to the inanimate object, hence the prevalence of phallic emblems in
connection with these fancied protections. Many objects of this kind
can be to-day picked up in the jewelry stores of Rome and of Naples.

Another of the most efficacious of these amulets takes the general form
of a hideous mask, often called the _Gorgoneion_. In all probability
this was largely for the reason given above--that it was most likely
to attract attention. Symbols of this kind are in very general use
among people who know nothing of the reason therefore. Thus, we see
them on seals, coins, etc. The gargoyles of mediaeval architecture are
frequently given this fantastic appearance and for this same purpose.

In Roman times the dolphin was a favorite device for a potent charm
against the evil eye, and was pictured on many a soldier's shield.
Ulysses adopted it as his especial choice, both on his signet and his
shield, perhaps because it was supposed to have been through the
agency of the dolphin that Telemachus was saved from drowning.

To us in the medical profession it is of no little interest that in
Rome, according to Varro, there stood three temples on the Esquiline
dedicated to the goddess of Fever and one to Mephitis. Tacitus relates
that a temple to Mephitis was the only building left standing after the
destruction of Cremona, where there was also an altar dedicated to the
Evil Eye. We know, also, that in the very centre of the Forum there
stood an altar to Cloacina, the Goddess of Typhoid. What complete sway
this goddess has held from ancient times to the present I need scarcely
tell you. "When Rome, after the fall of the empire, relapsed into its
most insanitary condition this old worship reappeared in another shape,
and a chapel arose near the Vatican to the _Madonna della Febre_, the
most popular in Rome in times of sickness or epidemic." This simply
shows a transfer of ideas, the attributes of Diana being conveyed over
to her Christian successor, the virgin, whose cult became equally
supreme.

The principal symbol of this cult was the horned moon or crescent,
and, in consequence, horns in one form or another became the most
common of objects as amulets against the Evil Eye. So comprehensive
and persistent is this belief in Naples that, in the absence of a horn
in some shape, the mere utterance of the name _corno_ was supposed to
be an effectual protection. Even more than this, the name _Un Corno_
became applicable to any and every charm or amulet against the Evil
Eye. We may find many references to the Horn in Scripture, where it
served both as an emblem of dignity and as an amulet. Most curious it
is that the phylactery with which the Pharisees adorned their garments,
and which called forth the most scathing denunciation by the Master,
was undoubtedly an emblem of a horn, and worn as an amulet against
the Evil Eye. At the beginning of the Christian era it had become
fashionable to wear these, and how they were enlarged and made not only
badges of sanctity but marks of worldly honor, we may read in the New
Testament.

The horn has been an important feature of Christian symbolism, as of
pagan, and we constantly see the ram's horn, which was the successor of
the bull's horn, made such from economical reasons, all over the ruins
of ancient Rome. The married women of Lebanon wear silver horns upon
their heads to distinguish them from the single women. The Jewesses
of Northern Africa wear them as a part of their regular costume, and
even to-day curious spiral ornaments are worn on either side of the
head by the Dutch women. In Naples horns in all shapes are exceedingly
common upon the trappings of the cab horses. Indeed the heavy trappings
and harness of these overloaded animals are usually protected with a
perfect battery of potent charms, so that any evil glance must be fully
extinguished before it can light upon the animal itself. Thus, we may
frequently see upon the backs of these animals two little brazen flags,
said to be typical of the flaming sword which turned every way, and
which are supposed to be an unfailing attraction to the eye. The high
pommel ends usually in a piece of the inevitable wolf's skin, and many
colored ribbons or worsteds are wound about portions of the harness in
such a way as completely to protect all that it encloses.

But the most numerous of all these emblems is a _hand_ in various
positions or gestures. Probably every other cab horse in Naples carries
the hand about him in some form. In Rome these things are not seen
so much on horses' backs, although wolf skins, horns and crescents
are common enough, but we see large numbers of silver rings for human
fingers, to each of which a little pendant horn is attached. These
may be seen in the shop windows strung upon rods and plainly marked
_Annelli contra la Jettatura_. Those who have seen Naples thoroughly
have noted how cows' horns, often painted blue, are fixed against the
walls, especially at an angle, about the height of the first floor. But
one of the most remarkable amulets which I have ever seen hangs outside
one of the entries to the Cathedral in Seville, where over a door is
hung by a chain the tusk of an elephant, and further out, over the
same doorway, swung by another chain, an enormous crocodile, sent as a
present or charm of special power to Alfonso, in 1260, by the Sultan of
Egypt. These two strange charms hang over the doorway of a Christian
church of to-day, indicating the acceptance by a Christian people of a
Moslem emblem and amulet.

Again, in Rome it is very common to see a small cow's horn on the
framework of the Roman wine carts or dangling beneath the axle.
Much more common and better known among the Anglo-Saxon peoples is
the horse-shoe emblem, which with us has lost all of its original
signification, as an emblem of fecundity, and has become a charm
against evil. It is hung up over doorways, is nailed up in houses, it
guards stable doors and protects fields against malign influences. Even
in the Paris Exhibition of 1889, where there was a representation of a
street from old Cairo, there hung over several of the doors a crocodile
with a horse-shoe on his snout.

So far I have said very little about the positions of the hand and
certain gestures by which it is intended to ward off the evil eye.
The Mohammedans, like the Neapolitans, are profound believers in the
efficacy of manual signs; thus outside of many a door in Tangier I have
seen the imprint of a hand made by placing the outstretched hand upon
some sticky black or colored material, which was then transferred as
by a type or die to the doorway of the dwelling, where in the likeness
of the outstretched manus it serves to guard the dwellers within. This
is to me one of the most curious things to be observed in Mohammedan
countries. A relic of the same belief I have seen also over the great
gate of the Alhambra, in the Tower of Justice, where, in spite of the
very strict Moslem custom and belief against representation of any
living object, over the keystone of the outer Moorish arch is carved
an outstretched upright hand, a powerful protection against evil. It
is this position of the hand, by the way, which has been observed in
all countries in the administration of the judicial oath. Moreover, the
hand in this position is the modern heraldic sign of baronetcy.

The hand in the customary position of benediction is sometimes open
and extended, while at other times only the first and second fingers
are straightened. The power which the extended hand may exert is well
illustrated in the biblical account (Exodus 17: 11) "And it came to
pass when Moses held up his hand that Israel prevailed, and when he let
down his hand Amalek prevailed." And so it happened that when Moses
wearied of the constrained position his hand was supported by Aaron
and by Hur. This is only one of numerous illustrations in the holy
writings showing the talismanic influence of the human hand. There are
comparatively few people who realize, to-day, that the conventional
attitude of prayer as of benediction, with hands held up, is the old
charm as against the evil eye. In one of the great marble columns
in the Mosque of St. Sophia in Constantinople there is a remarkable
natural freak by which there seems to appear upon the dark marble
the white figure of an outspread hand. This is held in the highest
reverence by the superstitious populace, who all approach it to pray
for protection from the evil eye. The open hand has also been stamped
upon many a coin both in ancient and modern times, and the general
prevalence of the hand as a form of doorknocker can be seen alike in
the ruins of Pompeii and the modern dwelling.

The hand clenched in various forms has been used in more ways than as
a mere signal or sign of defiance. In Italy the _mano-fica_ implies
contempt or insult rather than defiance. Among all the Latin races this
peculiar gesture of the thumb between the first and second fingers
has a significant name and a significant meaning. It is connected
everywhere with the fig, and expresses in the most discourteous way
that which is implied in our English phrase "don't care a fig." It
is in common use as an amulet to be worn from the neck or about the
body, and conveys the same meaning as that which the Neapolitans
frequently express when they say "May the evil eye do you no harm."
Another position of the hand, namely, that with the index and little
fingers extended, while the middle and ring fingers are flexed and
clasped by the thumb, gives also the rude imitation of the head of
a horned animal, and is frequently spoken of as the _mano cornuta_.
A Neapolitan's right hand is frequently, in some instances almost
constantly, kept in that position pointing downwards, just as hand
charms are made to hang downwards, save when it is desired to use the
sign against some particular individual, when the hand is pointed
toward him, even at his very eyes if he appear much to be dreaded.
When, however, the hand in this position is pointed toward one's chin
it conveys a most insulting meaning and hints at conjugal infidelity.
As the Neapolitan cab-men pass each other the common sign is to wave
the hand in gesture and in this position. This is true also of many
other places.

The sign of the cross is very often made with the hand, usually with
the first two fingers extended, and seems to mean a benediction of
double potency, because both the hand and the cross itself are utilized
in the gesture. I have elsewhere discussed the signification of the
sign of the cross, and do not care to take it up again just now. It is
certainly of phallic origin and as certainly antedates the Christian
era by many hundred years. It is, in other words, a pagan symbol
to which a newer significance has been given. Talismanic power has
usually been ascribed to it, and in some form, either as the Greek
Tau or the Crux Ansata, has been most frequently employed. In one or
the other of these forms it was the mark set upon the houses of the
Israelites to preserve them from the destroying angel. In the roll of
the Roman soldiery, after a battle, it was placed after the names of
those still alive; and we read in Ezekiel 9:4 of the mark which was to
be set upon "the foreheads of the men that cry," which was certainly
the Greek Tau, because the Vulgate plainly states this. Upon some
of the old Anglo-Saxon coins there was placed a cross on each side,
usually the handled cross, and upon various seals it has been in use
until a comparatively recent period. It may be seen, also, in many
illustrations from the catacombs, for instance, dating back to a time
before the cross was a generally received Christian emblem, showing
both the use of the cross and the hand in the positions to which I have
already alluded. The sign of the cross is made by many a schoolboy in
his play before he shoots his marble, and I have often seen it made
upon the wooden ball before a man has bowled with it. Many a peasant
scratches it upon his field after sowing, and many a housewife has
scratched it upon her dough.

The hand with the first two fingers and thumb extended in the ordinary
position of sacerdotal benediction was certainly a charm against evil
long before the Christian era. This is not used so much by the common
people, but has been appropriated rather by the priests. By a sort of
general consent this has been especially the attitude permitted to the
Second Person of the Trinity, although there are numerous instances in
mediaeval painting where the hand of the First Person has been shown in
this position. Indeed, the expression "_dextera Dei_," or "right hand
of God," is conventionalized.

In many amulets, images and pictures, other charms are combined with
that supposed to be exercised by the human hand. An exceedingly common
one was the Egyptian scarab. The Egyptians believed that there were no
females of this kind of insect, hence it was considered a symbol of
virility and manly force, and in connection with the _mano pantea_
just alluded to gave the amulet power to guard both the living and
dead. In fact it was almost as common upon these emblems as the human
eye itself.

Again, the serpent was a frequent emblem in this same connection. As
I have elsewhere written upon the subject of serpent-worship I need
scarcely more than allude to it here, save to say that to the serpent
were ascribed numerous virtues and powers, and that its use upon any
charm was supposed to reinforce the virtues already possessed by it.

Among the most curious of all the Italian charms against the Evil Eye,
and yet one which has been singularly neglected by most writers, is
the sprig of rue or, as the Neapolitans call it, the _cimaruta_. In
its simplest form it was undoubtedly of Etruscan or Phoenician origin.
Later, however, it became curiously involved with other symbols and
quite complicated. It is worn especially upon the breasts of Neapolitan
babies, and is considered their especial protection against the
much-dreaded jettatura. In ancient times no plant had so many virtues
ascribed to it as had the rue. Pliny, indeed, cites it as being a
remedy for 84 different diseases. It used to be hung about the neck in
primeval times to serve as an amulet against fascination. In most of
these amulet forms it consists of three branches, which were supposed
to be typical of Diana Triformis, who used often to be represented in
three positions and as if having three pairs of arms.

Diana, by the way, was the especial protectress of women in
child-birth. Silver was her own metal and the moon her special emblem.
Therefore, the expression, "the silver moon" is not so meaningless
as it would appear. This will in some measure account for the fact
that corals, to which large virtues were ascribed, used always to be
mounted in silver, and that the crescent, or new moon, is also almost
invariably made of this same metal. Of the many charms which used to be
combined in the _cimaruta_ there is scarcely one which may not be more
or less considered as connected with Diana, the Goddess of Infants.

Frequently, also, we may see representations of the sea-horse quite
like the living hippocampi of to-day, which are worn alike by cab
horses and by women in Naples. They are known locally as the _Cavalli
marini_.

Protection supposed to be most efficient was and is frequently afforded
also by another method, namely, printed or written invocations,
prayers, formulae, etc., worn somewhere about the body. Sometimes
these were worn concealed from view and at others they were openly
displayed. Even today on Turkish horses and Arab camels are hung
little bags containing passages from the Koran, while the Neapolitan
horses frequently carry in little canvas bags prayers to the Madonna
or verses from scripture,--these as a sort of last resort in case the
other charms fail. The good Catholic of to-day, especially if of Irish
descent, wears his little scapulary suspended around the neck, which
is supposed to be a potent protection. Frommannd's large work on Magic
offers us a perfect mine of written spells against fascination, which
have often to be prepared with certain mystic observances. The various
written charms, as against the bite of the mad dog, are only other
illustrations of the same superstition. Indeed, many superstitious
people believe that the mere utterance of particular numbers exercises
a charm. Daily expression of this belief we see in the credulity about
the luck of odd numbers, and the old belief that the third time will be
lucky. Military salutes are always in odd numbers. More value attaches
in public estimation to the number seven than to any other, as we see
in the miraculous powers ascribed to the seventh son of a seventh son.

An appeal to luck to-day is the equivalent of the old prayer to the
Goddess Fortuna, and is voiced in the common idea about the lucky coin
and the various little observances for luck which are so popular. These
observances are everywhere inclusive of the popular importance attached
to expectoration, which is one of the most curious features of these
many widespread beliefs. The habit of spitting on a coin, for instance,
is very common, just as the schoolboy spits on his agate when playing
marbles or on his baseball, or the bowler upon his wooden ball before
rolling it. In fact, this whole matter of spitting has been in all
ages an expression of a deep-rooted popular belief. Among the ancient
Greeks and Romans the most common remedy against an envious look was
spitting, hence it was called "_despuere malum_." Old women would avert
the evil eye from their children by spitting three times (observe the
odd number) into their bosoms.

The virtues and properties attributed to saliva among various peoples
have been numerous and exalted. To lick a wart on rising in the
morning used to be one of its well-recognized cures, and is to-day
a popular remedy for any slight wound. Especially was the saliva of
a fasting person peculiarly efficacious. Pliny states that when a
person looks upon an infant asleep the nurse should spit three times
upon the ground. But the most marvellous virtues were attributed to
saliva in the direction of restoration of sight. The most conspicuous
illustration of this is the instance mentioned in the New Testament
when Christ healed the blind man, for it is related that:

"He spat on the ground and made clay of the spittle, and did anoint the
eyes of the blind man with the clay."

The practice of concealing the eyes is prevalent throughout the
Orient, and among the Mohammedans, cannot be referred entirely to male
jealousy, for the women themselves confess to the greatest reluctance
to show their faces to the stranger, fearing the influence of the evil
eye.

Again, inasmuch as from time immemorial diseases of all kinds have
been considered the direct result of fascination, it was most natural
that charms of varied form should be introduced as a protection.
Many persons even of considerable education lend themselves to this
superstition. The carrying in one's pocket of a potato, a lump of
camphor or an amulet is, among other alleged charms, but an everyday
illustration of this belief.

It would be possible to go on with an almost endless enumeration of
the forms of this still generally prevalent belief in the power of
the evil eye, and of the charms by which it may be averted. As has
been set forth, it is but a particulate expression of a general and
widespread belief in the existence of an evil being, for some vague
and almost unsubstantial, for others assuming almost the proportions
of the personal devil of mediaeval theology, or even of the Tyrolean
Passion Plays. A discussion in a general way of this topic I have held
to be not entirely foreign to the purpose of this society, it being one
of the most interesting subjects of folklore study, and it may perhaps
be considered just at the present to have a more particular interest
for us in that we have so recently been favored with a most delightful
and scholarly essay on the "Salem Witchcraft" by Prof. John Fiske, in
which he graphically set forth the mechanism and the consequences of
an aggravated expression of this belief, which constitutes the most
serious blot which can be found upon the history of the Protestant
white races in this country.




II

THANATOLOGY

A QUESTIONNAIRE AND A PLEA FOR A NEGLECTED STUDY[2]

[2] Appeared first in the Journal of the American Medical Association,
April 27, 1912.


Is it possible to watch the "vital spark of heavenly flame," as it
quits "this mortal frame" and not be overcome by the mystery of death
as the termination of that even greater mystery, life? Is there
inspiration in the pagan emperor's address to his soul--those Latin
verses which Pope has so beautifully translated?

To the speculative philosopher death may have a different
significance, and one not altogether included in that given to it by
the physiologist. To the former it is a subject for transcendental
speculation; to the latter it is the terminal stage of that adjustment
of internal and external relations which, for Spencer, constitutes
life. For us its primary and immediate significance is purely mundane,
yet it deserves such serious study from a practical viewpoint as it
seldom receives.

What is death? When does it actually occur? How can it occur when
the majority of cells in the previously living organism live on for
hours or for days or, under certain favoring circumstances, retain
potentialities of life for indefinite periods? These and numberless
related questions constitute a line of inquiry that may well call for
a separate department of science. Pondering in this wise, I long ago
coined an expression which years later I found had been incorporated
in the scientific dictionaries, though never before heard by me or
encountered in my reading. "Thanatology" is this word, and it may be
defined as the study of the nature and causes of death. Inseparable
from it, however, are certain considerations regarding the nature and
causes of life. Yet I would not introduce a compound term such as
"biothanatology," wishing so far as possible to limit the study and the
meaning.

Let us ask ourselves a few more questions. Does life inhere in any
particular cell? In the leukocytes? In the neurons? Both are capable
of stimulated activity long after the death of their host. In fact, by
suitable electric stimulation, nearly all the phenomena of life may
be reproduced after death, save consciousness and mentality alone. Do
these then constitute life, and their suppression or abolition death?
If so what about the condition of trance, or of absolute imbecility,
congenital or induced? Or, again, how can a decapitated frog go on
living for hours? Is it perhaps because the heart is _the_ vital organ
that the hearts of some animals will continue to palpitate for hours
after their removal from the bodies? Yet the animals which have lost
them certainly promptly die. Suddenly stop a man's heart-action by
electrocution, or the guillotine, or a bullet, and he dies, we say,
instantly. Let it stop equally suddenly under chloroform and there is
a period of several minutes during which it may be set going. Let a
man apparently drown and this viable period becomes even longer--say a
goodly fraction of an hour. During the interval is he alive or dead, or
is there an intermediate period of absolutely suspended animation? And
if so, in what does it consist?

Is there a vital principle? If so what is it? Is such a thing
conceivable? Can such a concept prevail among physicists? Can we
consent even to entertain in this direction the notion of what is so
vaguely called "the soul?" Of course, those who talk most lucidly
about the soul know least about it, and no man can define it in
comprehensible terms; but can consideration of the soul (whatever it
may be) be omitted from our thanatology? Probably not, at least by many
thinkers who cannot segregate their physics from their theology. Sad
it is that theology, which might be so consolatory had it any fixed
foundation, should be utterly impotent when so much is wanted of it.
Theology, however, has little if aught to do with thanatology.

Is protoplasm alive? If so, then why may we not believe, with Binet,
in the psychic life of micro-organisms? He seems to have advanced good
reason for assuming that we may do so, albeit such manifestations in
either direction may be scarcely more than expressions of chemiotaxis.
But if protoplasm be alive in any proper sense, as it would appear
(else where draw the line?), just when does it so appear and whence
comes its life? If it be alive, then life inheres in the nitrogen
compounds composing it, or else is an adjunct of matter, imponderable,
elusive, something _un_-conceivable if undeniable. The vitalists are
of late perhaps attaining an ascendency which for decades they had
lost, since they maintain that life is not to be explained by chemical
activities alone. And yet it is possible to set going in the eggs of
certain sea animals the phenomena of life, or to liberate them by
certain weak solutions of alkaline cyanides, without the pressure or
assistance of fructifying spermatozoa. In such cases life or death are
determined by ionization and certain chemicals, or by their absence.
Where then, again, is the vital principle? Or is it inherent in the
ion, and was Bion correct when he said "electricity is life?"

The life of a cell is then necessarily quite distinct from the life
of its host, nor can the latter be composed simply of the numerical
total lives of its components. Some lower animals bear semidivision,
in which case each half soon becomes a complete unit by itself. Others
seem to bear the loss of almost any individual part without loss of
life, and it is hard to say just which is the vital part. The central
pumping organ is perhaps the _sine qua non_, when it exists. But when
non-existent, then what?

Again, while a living organism may be artificially divided into viable
portions, no method seems known by which a series of separate cells may
be, as it were, assembled or combined into one, of which a new unit
may result from assemblage or combination. The more highly specialized
or complex the cell, the more easily does it part with life, and the
more difficult becomes its preservation and its reproduction. We may
assume that after the death of a man his most specialized cells are
the first to die, or more, that their death has perhaps preceded his
own. In the ante-mortem collapse seen in many diseases and poisonings,
has not this very thing occurred, i. e., that the patient has outlived
his most important cells? Certainly when a patient dies of progressive
gangrene he has outlived, perhaps, a large proportion of his millions
of competent cells. Viewed properly, what a strange spectacle is here
presented! Perhaps twenty per cent. of his cells actually dead, the
rest bathed in more or less poisonous media, still their host endures
yet a little while. "Behold, I show you a great mystery." About which
of the poisoned cells does the flame of life still flicker?

The life-giving germ-and sperm-cells may exist and persist for some
time after the body dies, as numerous experiences and experiments have
shown. Ova and spermatozoa do not die the instant the host dies. And
herein appears another great mystery, that cells from the undoubtedly
dead body may possess and unfold the potentialities of life when
properly environed. Among the lower forms of life cells but slightly
differentiated go on living and even creating new organisms, though the
larger organisms be dead. Moreover, in what way shall we regard the
division of one ameboid cell into two, equally alive and complete? Here
two living organisms are made out of one, without death intervening,
and by permutation alone may one calculate, through how few generations
cells need pass in order to be numbered by millions, without a death
necessary to the process.

Thus far we have had in mind life and death in the animal kingdom
alone. But most of what has been said, and much that has not, is
equally true in the vegetable kingdom. Even in the mineral kingdom--as
some think--the invariable and inevitable tendency to assume definite
crystalline form represents the lowest type of life. Indeed it might
fall in with Spencer's definition as evincing a tendency to adjust
internal to external relations, though exhibited only after such
ruthless disturbance as liquefaction by heat or solution. But then,
is not every disturbance of relations "ruthless," because it follows
inexorable habits of Nature? Even a crystal will reform as frequently
as appear certain other phenomena of life, if made to do so. Were atoms
alive they would suffer with every fresh chemical change, and who knows
but that they do?

But in the vegetable world we certainly have all the features of life
and death in complete form: fructification of certain cells by certain
others, development in unicellular form or in most profuse and complex
form, a selection of necessary constituents of growth from apparently
unpromising soil, and the production of startling results. Does not
the sensitive plant evince a contact sensibility almost equal to that
of the conjunctiva? And who shall say that it does not suffer when
rudely handled? Does not the production of the complex essential oils
and volatile ethers which give to certain flowers their wonderful
fragrance, indicating what strange combinations of crude materials have
been effected within their cells, show as wonderful a laboratory as any
concealed within the animal organisms? Yet death comes to these plants
with equal certainty, and presents equally perplexing mysteries. When
dies the flower? When plucked and separated from its natural supply
or when it begins to fade (a period made more or less variable by the
care given it), or when it ceases to emit its odor? And is then death
a matter of hours? When the floral stem was snapped what else snapped
with it? At what instant did the floral murder occur?

Every seed and every seedling possesses marvelous potentiality of life,
and so long as it does we say it is not dead; nor yet is it alive. It
resists considerable degrees of heat, will bear the lowest temperature,
will remain latent for long periods, and still its cells will instantly
respond to favoring stimuli. Its actual life is apparently aroused by
purely thermic and chemical (electrionic?) activities environing it. In
what do its life and its death consist?

But life and death are influenced--we say "strangely" only because it
all seems strange to us--by uncommon or purely artificial conditions.
Radium emanations have always an injurious effect on embryonic
development. Under their influence, for example, the eggs of amphibia
become greatly disturbed. Cells that should specialize into nerve,
ganglion and muscle fail to develop, and consequently there may be
produced minute amphibian monsters, destitute of nerves and muscles,
but otherwise nearly normal. Hertwig has submitted the sperm-cells of
sea urchins to these rays, without killing them, but invariably with
consequent abnormal development.

The effect of cathode or _x_-rays is even more widely recognized and
has been more generally demonstrated. They seem to possess properties
injurious to most cell-life and even fatal to some.

Still more puzzling, and weird in a way, are the results of
experiments, now widely practiced, which have to do with juggling, as
it were, with ova, larvæ and embryos, by all imaginable combinations
of subdivision and reattachment of parts, so that there have resulted
all kinds of monstrosities and abnormalities. To such an extent has
this laboratory play been carried that almost any desired product can
be furnished--living creatures with two heads, two tails, or whatever
combination may be determined.

Among the most remarkable of these efforts have been those of
Vianney, of Lyons, who has shown that it is possible to remove the
head end of several different insect larvæ without preventing their
development and metamorphosis into the butterfly stage. In _Bombyx_
larvæ, for example, the butterflies arrived at the mature stage, with
streaked wings and beautiful coloration, but almost headless. These
anencephalous insects lived for some time.

Few animals survive exposures of any length to a temperature much over
150 F., and most of them are killed by considerably less heat. Freezing
has always been considered equally fatal. Gangrene is the common result
of freezing a part of the human body, and that means local death.
Extraordinary pains must be taken with a frozen ear or finger if its
vitality is to be restored. And so even with the hibernating, or the
cold-blooded animals, a really low temperature has been generally
regarded as fatal.

But the recent experiments of Pictet, who did so much in the production
of exceedingly low temperatures, freezing of gases, etc., have shown
some startling results in the failure to kill goldfish and other of the
lower animals by refrigeration. For instance, goldfish were placed in a
tank whose water was gradually frozen while the fish were still moving
therein. The result was a cake of ice with imprisoned supposedly dead
fish. This ice was then reduced to a still lower temperature, at which
it was maintained for over two months. It was then very slowly thawed
out, whereupon the fish came to life and moved in apparently their
normal and natural ways as if nothing had happened.

This confirms Pictet's early experiments and convictions, that if the
chemical reactions of living organisms can be suspended without causing
organic lesions the phenomena of life will temporarily disappear, to
return when conditions are again as usual. It is worth relating that
his fish frozen in this way could be broken in small pieces just as if
they were part of the ice itself.

How often during these recent decades when events have seemed to move
faster, when discoveries and inventions have been announced at such
frequent and brief intervals that we fail to note them all for lack
of time, when haste and rush characterize habits alike of life and
thought, do we find that we simply must stop, as it were for breath,
while we unload a large amount of accumulated mental rubbish and
clear a space in our storage capacity for up-to-date knowledge! It is
a decennial mental house-cleaning process. We must unlearn so much
of that which ten to forty years ago we so laboriously learned. We
must adopt new and improved reasoning processes. But it is hard to do
all this. For instance, as a boy I learned the old chemistry quite
thoroughly. During a subsequent interval, when I did not need to study
it, came the new chemistry, and when I again required it I had not
only to study a practically new science--which was not so bad--but
to rid my brain of much that had really found firm lodgment there,
and this was difficult or impossible. So it is with one who, having
been brought up on Euclidean geometry, finds himself confronted with
the comparatively new non-Euclidean, and who has then not merely to
forget, but to unlearn all those fundamental axioms which seemed so
plain and so indisputable, that is, if he would accept the teachings of
Bolyai and others. For example, that a straight line is not necessarily
the shortest route between two points shocks our Euclidean orthodoxy,
and is at the same time, _to us_, inconceivable; as also that parallel
lines indefinitely prolonged _may_ touch, and the like; likewise the
concept of four-dimensional spaces, or worse yet, _n_-dimensional. And
now, in somewhat like manner and to a certain degree, must we revise
our previous conceptions of death, at least to this extent: Not that we
yet know much better than we did what it really is, but that we know
more about what it is not. Even save, perhaps, in its instantaneous
happening it is _but a step_ toward dissolution, usually not the first,
certainly not the last, but yet the most conspicuous.

Death is in many respects a biochemical fact. It is so intertwined with
ionic changes in the arrangement of matter that we may hope for more
information regarding some of its aspects as knowledge of the latter
accumulates.

But, evidently, we need to clarify our notions as we rearrange our
facts. Somatic death is, after all, a most complex process. It may be
shortened by instant and complete incineration, but scarcely in any
other way. Even dynamite would scarcely simplify the problem. As to
conscious death, that is _probably_ (though not certainly) a matter
of seconds only or possibly fractions of a second. While we have no
accurate appreciation of what constitutes consciousness, nor even just
where it resides, the central nervous system appears to be its most
probable seat. But conscious death may occur almost instantly without
injury to this system, as when a bullet passes through the thorax and
the heart, without injuring the spine.

But what is it that suddenly checks all concerted and interdependent
activity? Or does something or some controlling agency suddenly leave
the body?

A recent theory, having features to commend it, is to the effect that
life is a property or a feature of the ultimate _corpuscles_ which
compose the atom. Since these corpuscles bear to their containing
atom a relative size comparable to that of the tiniest visible insect
winging its way in a large church edifice, the intricacies of this
particular theory readily appear. But it does seem as though among
ourselves life has much to do with the hitherto neglected and despised
nitrogen atom or molecule, since life inheres _par excellence_ in
nitrogen compounds. Moreover, _vitality is conspicuously a feature of
those chemical elements which have the lowest atomic weight_, while at
the other end of the table of atomic weights stands radium, of whose
destructive emanations I have already spoken.

Another phase of the general subject of thanatology was suggested
especially by Osier, who a few years ago called attention to the fact
that but few, if any patients really die of the disease from which
they have been suffering. This is not a paradox, and needs only
reason and observation to confirm it. His statement was a preliminary
to the consideration of terminal infections and toxemias, which of
itself would be sufficient to erect thanatology into a dignified
special study. Take, for instance, a patient who has long suffered
from diabetes. The end is characterized by coma, i. e., an evidence
of profound toxemia, and is in large measure due to acetonemia. A
patient with chronic Bright's disease dies of uremic poisoning, or
one with pneumonia dies of genuine heart-failure. The terminal stage
of cancer is, again, toxemia of one kind or another, according as it
has interfered with digestion, with respiration, or some other vital
function, or has broken down, thus saturating the patient with septic
products.

This aspect of the subject will bear any amount of study and
elaboration, and its mention here should be sufficient for my purpose.
Accordingly as it is properly appreciated, it will be recognized as
having an important practical bearing, since, if we may foresee the
direction from which the final danger threatens, it may be the better
and the longer averted.

Another very important and practical subject is wrapped up in this
one, namely, the utilization of apparently dead, or at least of only
potentially living material (tissue) in the various methods of grafting
or transplantation, which are to-day a part of the surgeon's work. The
methods are themselves a transplantation of experiences gained by work
in the vegetable kingdom. What wonder that the marvels revealed in one
department should have incited work along parallel lines in the other?
That flowers and fruit of one kind may be made to grow on a tree of a
very different kind excites but a small amount of the astonishment it
deserves, mainly because it is now a common occurrence, though properly
regarded it might seem a miracle.

Differing only in minor respect is, for example, the removal of
thyroidal tissue from one human being and its implantation into
another, with functional success. One may ask just here, how is
this matter concerned with thanatology? And the reply is: If this
tissue were taken from a fresh corpse it would be by most people
regarded as dead tissue. If so, does the dead come to life? Without
violating the proper scientific use of the imagination one may
fancy something like the following: Let a healthy young woman meet
accidental and instantaneous death. It would be possible to use no
inconsiderable portion of her body for grafting or other justifiable
surgical procedures. The arteries and nerves could be used, both in
the fresh state, and the former even after preservation, for suitable
transplantation or repair work on the vascular and nervous systems
of a considerable number of other people. So also could the thyroid,
the cornea, the ovaries and especially the bones. All the teeth, if
healthy, could be reimplanted. With the thin bones, ribs especially,
plastic operations--particularly on the noses--of fifty people
could be made. And then the exterior of the body could be made to
supply any amount of normal integument with which to do heterologous
dermatoplastic operations, or would furnish an almost inexhaustible
supply of epidermis for Thiersch grafts, which latter material need not
be used in the fresh state, but could be preserved and made available
some days and even weeks later. A portion of the muscles might possibly
be made available for checking oozing from bleeding surfaces of others,
if used while still fresh and warm, and possibly portions of the
ureters or some other portion of the remains might be utilized for some
unusual purpose. Then what extracts or extractives might be prepared
from other parts of the body, pituitary, adrenals, bone-marrow, etc.?
The tendons might also be prepared for sutures. Every one of these
procedures would give promise of success, the technic being in every
respect satisfactory.

But the possible limit is not yet reached, since with each kidney might
be carried out experiments like those feats of physiologic jugglery
such as Carrel has shown us, by implanting one, say in the neck,
connecting up the renal with the carotid artery, and the renal vein
with the jugular, while some receptacle would have to be provided as a
terminal for the ureter.

This is, after all, not a fantastic dream, nor such an extreme
picture as would at first appear, since every organ or tissue
above-mentioned--and more--has been used as indicated, and with success.

But imagine the dead body affording viable products, even indirectly
life itself, to (possibly) so many others! Does this complicate the
study of death? And what must become of the simple credulous faith of
the zealot who believes in the actual and absolute resurrection, at
some later date?

There is something more than mere transcendentalism in the science of
thanatology; it has a plausible medico-legal and pragmatic import.
Right glad should I be if I might arouse a deserved interest in it.

How may I more fittingly conclude than by quoting a few lines from our
own Bryant's "Thanatopsis":

    "Earth that nourished thee, shall claim
    Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
    And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
    Thine individual being, shalt thou go
    To mix forever with the elements."

Though were I minded to rehearse certain difficulties met in the
preparation of this paper, which I have long had in mind, I might also
add the following lines from the same poet's "Hymn to Death":

    "Alas! I little thought that the stern power
    Whose fateful praise I sung, would try me thus
    Before the strain was ended."

One may well quote, at this point, Lamartine, who asked, "What is life
but a series of preludes to that mystery whose initial solemn note
is tolled by death?" (On this theme Liszt built up that wonderful
symphonic tone poem "Les Preludes.")

Even infinity is now questioned by the mathematicians. This being the
case, where shall we, where can _we_ stop?

 NOTE.--While writing the foregoing paper there came to my notice the
 recent book "Death; Its Causes and Phenomena," by Carrington and
 Meader (London, 1911). It is interesting, but save that it contains a
 helpful bibliography, is of little assistance to one wishing to pursue
 the study from its pragmatic aspect. One of the authors is committed
 to a personal theory that death is caused by cessation of the
 vibrations which during life maintain vital activity; the other that
 death is, as it were, the culmination of a bad habit of expectancy
 that something of the kind must occur, into which we have fallen, in
 spite of the fact that other living beings below man undergo the same
 fate, though not capable of expecting anything.




III

SERPENT-MYTHS AND SERPENT-WORSHIP[3]

[3] A Presidential Address before the Buffalo Society of Natural
Sciences.


Since the dawn of written history, and from the most remote periods,
the serpent has been regarded with the highest veneration as the most
mysterious of living creatures. Being alike an object of wonder,
admiration and fear, it is not strange that it became early connected
with numerous superstitions; and when we remember how imperfectly
understood were its habits we shall not wonder at the extraordinary
attributes with which it was invested, nor perhaps even why it
obtained so general a worship. Thus centuries ago Horapollo referring
to serpent symbolism, said: "When the Egyptians were representing a
universe they delineated the spectacle as a variegated snake devouring
its own tail, the scales intimating the stars in the universe, the
animal being extremely heavy, as is the earth, and extremely slippery
like the water; moreover it every year puts off its old age with its
skin as, in the universe, the recurring year effects a corresponding
change, and becomes renovated, while the making use of its own body for
food implies that all things whatever which are generated by divine
providence in the world undergo a corruption into them again."

In all probability the annual shedding of the skin and the supposed
rejuvenation of the animal was that which first connected it with
the idea of eternal succession of form, subsequent reproduction and
dissolution. This doctrine is typified in the notion of the succession
of ages which prevailed among the Greeks, and the similar notion met
with among nearly all primitive peoples. The ancient mysteries, with
few or perhaps no exceptions, were all intended to illustrate the
grand phenomena of nature. The mysteries of Osiris, Isis and Horus in
Egypt; of Cybele in Phrygia, of Ceres and Proserpine at Eleusis, of
Venus and Adonis in Phoenicia, of Bona Dea and of Priapus in Rome,
all had this in in common, that they both mystified and typified the
creation of things and the perpetuation of life. In all of them the
serpent was conspicuously introduced as it symbolized and indicated
the invigorating energy of nature. In the mysteries of Ceres, the
grand secret which was communicated to the initiates was put in this
enigma,--"The bull has begotten a serpent and the serpent a bull,"
the bull being a prominent emblem of generative force. In ancient
Egypt it was usually the bull's horns which served as a symbol for the
entire animal. When with the progress of centuries the bull became too
expensive an animal to be commonly used for any purpose, the ram was
substituted; hence the frequency of the ram's horns, as a symbol for
Jove, seen so frequently, for example, among Roman antiquities.

Originally fire was taken to be one of the emblems of the sun, and thus
most naturally, inevitably and universally the sun came to symbolize
the active, vivifying principle of nature. That the serpent should
in time typify the same principle, while the egg symbolized the more
passive or feminine element, is equally certain but less easy of
explanation; indeed we are to regard the serpent as the symbol of the
great hermaphrodite first principle of nature. "It entered into the
mythology of every nation, consecrated almost every temple, symbolized
almost every deity, was imagined in the heavens, stamped on the earth
and ruled in the realms of eternal sorrow." For this animal was
estimated to be the most spirited of all reptiles of fiery nature,
inasmuch as it exhibits an incredible celerity, moving by its spirit
without hands or feet or any of the external members by which other
animals effect their motion, while in its progress it assumes a variety
of forms, moving in a spiral course and darting forward with whatever
degree of swiftness it pleases.

The close relationship if not absolute identity among the early races
of man between Solar, Phallic and Serpent worship was most striking;
so marked indeed as to indicate that they are all forms of a single
worship. It is with the latter that we must for a little while concern
ourselves. How prominent a place serpent worship plays in our own
Old Testament will be remarked as soon as one begins to reflect upon
it. The part played by the serpent in the biblical myth concerning
the origin of man is the first and most striking illustration. In the
degenerated ancient mysteries of Bacchus some of the persons who took
part in the ceremonies used to carry serpents in their hands and with
horrid screams call "Eva, Eva;" the attendants were in fact often
crowned with serpents while still making these frantic cries. In the
Sabazian mysteries the snake was permitted to slip into the bosom
of the person to be initiated and then to be removed from below the
clothing. This ceremony was said to have originated among the Magi. It
has been held that the invocation "Eva" related to the great mother of
mankind; even so good an authority as Clemens of Alexandria held to
this opinion, but Clemens also acknowledges that the name Eva, when
properly aspirated is practically the same as Epha, or Opha, which the
Greeks call Ophis, which is, in English, serpent. In most of the other
mysteries serpent rites were introduced and many of the names were
extremely suggestive. The Abaddon mentioned in the book of Revelation
is certainly some serpent deity, since the prefix Ab, signifies not
only father, but serpent. By Zoroaster the expanse of the heavens and
even nature itself was described under the symbol of the serpent. In
ancient Persia temples were erected to the serpent tribe, and festivals
consecrated to their honor, some relic of this being found in the word
Basilicus, or royal serpent, which gives rise to the term Basilica
applied to the Christian churches of the present era. The Ethiopians,
even, of the present day derive their name from the Greek Aithiopes,
meaning the serpent gods worshipped long before them; again, the Island
of Euboea signifies the Serpent Island and properly spelled should be
Oub-Aia. The Greeks claimed that Medusa's head was brought by Perseus,
by which they mean the serpent deity, as the worship was introduced
into Greece by a people called Peresians. The head of Medusa denoted
divine wisdom, while the Island was sacred to the serpent. The worship
of the serpent being so old, many places as well as races received
names indicating the prevalence of this general superstition; but this
is no time to catalogue names,--though one perhaps should mention
Ophis, Oboth, Eva in Macedonia, Dracontia, and last but not least, the
name of Eve and the Garden of Eden.

Seth was, according to some, a semi-divine first ancestor of the
Semites; Bunsen has shown that several of the antedeluvian descendants
of Adam were among the Phoenician deities; thus Carthagenians had
as God, Yubal or Jubal who would appear to have been the sun-god of
Esculapius; or, spelled more correctly, Ju-Baal, that is Beauty of Baal.

Whether or not the serpent symbol has a distinct phallic reference has
been disputed, but the more the subject is broadly studied the more it
would seem that such is the case. It must certainly appear that the
older races had that form of belief with which the serpent was always
more or less symbolically connected, that is, adoration of the male
principle of generation, one of whose principal phases was undoubtedly
ancestor worship, while somewhat later the race adored the female
principle which they symbolized by the sacred tree so often alluded
to in Scripture as the Assyrian grove. Whether snakes be represented
singly, coupled in pairs as in the well known Caduceus or Rod of
Esculaipius, or in the crown placed upon the head of many a god and
goddess, or the many headed snake drinking from the jewelled cup, or
a snake twisted around a tree with another approaching it, suggesting
temptation and fall,--in all these the underlying principle is always
the same. Symbols of this character are met with not only in the
temples of ancient Egypt but in ruins antedating them in Persia and the
East; in the antiquities belonging to the races that first peopled what
is now Greece and Italy, in the rock markings of India and of Central
Europe, in the Cromlechs of Great Britain and Scandinavia, in the Great
Serpent Mound which still remains in Ohio, and in many other mounds
left by the mound builders of this country, in the ruins of Central
America and Yucatan, and in the traditions and relics of the Aztecs and
Toltecs,--in fact wherever antiquarian research has penetrated or where
monuments of ancient peoples remain. There never has been so widespread
a superstition, and no matter what later forms it may have assumed we
must admit that it, first of all, and for a long time was man's tribute
to the great, all powerful and unknown regenerative principle of
nature, which has been deified again and again, and which always has
been and always will be the greatest mystery within the ken of mankind.

Brown in his "Great Dionysiak Myth" says the serpent has these points
of connection with Dionysus, (1) as a symbol of and connected with
wisdom, (2) as a solar emblem, (3) as a symbol of time and eternity,
(4) as an emblem of the earth, life, (5) as connected with the
fertilizing mystery, (6) as a phallic emblem. Referring to the last
of these he says: "The serpent being connected with the sun, the
earth, life and fertility, must needs be also a phallic emblem, and
was appropriate to the cult of Dionysos Priapos." Again, Sir G. W.
Cox says, "It is unnecessary to analyze theories which profess to
see in it worship of the creeping brute or the wide-spreading tree;
a religion based upon the worship of the venomous reptile must have
been a religion of terror. In the earliest glimpses which we have
the serpent is the symbol of life and of love, nor is the phallic
cultus in any respect a cult of the full grown branching tree." Again,
"This religion, void of reason, condemned in the wisdom of Solomon,
probably survived even Babylonian captivity; certainly it was adopted
by the sects of Christians which were known as Ophites, Gnostics and
Nicolaitans."

Another learned author says: "By comparing the varied legends of the
East and West in conjunction we obtain a full outline of the mythology
of the ancients. It recognizes as the primary element of things two
independent principles of nature, the male and female, and these,
in characteristic union as the soul and body, constitute the Great
Hermaphrodite Deity, the one, the universe itself, consisting still
of the two separate elements of its composition, modified though
combined in one individual, of which all things are regarded but as
parts." In fact the characteristics of all pagan deities, male or
female, gradually mold into each other and at last into one or two;
for as William Jones has stated, it seems a well-founded opinion
that the entire list of gods and goddesses means only the powers of
nature, principally those of the sun, expressed in a variety of ways
with a multitude of fanciful names. The Creation is, in fact, human
rather than a divine product in this sense, that it was suggested to
the mind of man by the existence of things, while its method was,
at least at first, suggested by the operation of nature; thus man
saw the living bird emerge from the egg, after a certain period of
incubation, a phenomenon equivalent to actual creation as apprehended
by his simple mind. Incubation obviously then associated itself with
creation, and this fact will explain the universality with which the
egg was received as a symbol in the earlier systems of cosmogony. By
a similar process creation came to be symbolized in the form of a
phallus, and so Egyptians in their refinement of these ideas adopted
as their symbol of the great first cause a Scarabaeus, indicating the
great hermaphroditic unity, since they believed this insect to be both
male and female. They beautifully typified a part of this idea also
in the adoration which they paid to the water lily, or _Lotus_, so
generally regarded as sacred throughout the East. It is the sublime and
beautiful symbol which perpetually occurs in oriental mythology, and,
as Maurice has stated, not without substantial reason, for it is its
own beautiful progeny and contains a treasure of physical instruction.
The lotus flower grows in the water among broad leaves, while in its
center is formed a seed vessel shaped like a bell, punctured on the
top with small cavities in which its seeds develop; the openings into
the seed cells are too small to permit the seeds to escape when ripe,
consequently they absorb moisture and develop within the same, shooting
forth as new plants from the place where they originated; the bulb of
the vessel serving as a matrix which shall nourish them until they
are large enough to burst open and release themselves, after which
they take root wherever deposited. "The plant, therefore, being itself
productive of itself, vegetating from its own matrix, being fostered in
the earth, was naturally adopted as a symbol of the productive power
of the waters upon which the creative spirit of the Creator acted, in
giving life and vegetation to matter. We accordingly find it employed
in every part of the northern hemisphere where symbolical religion,
improperly called idolatry, existed."

Further exemplification of the same underlying principle is seen in the
fact that most all of the ancient deities were paired; thus we have
heaven and earth, sun and moon, fire and earth, father and mother, etc.
Faber says "The ancient pagans of almost every part of the globe were
wont to symbolize the world by an egg, hence this symbol is introduced
into the cosmogonies of nearly all nations, and there are few persons
even among those who have made mythology their study to whom the
mundane egg is not perfectly familiar; it is the emblem not only of
earth and life but also of the universe in its largest extent." In the
Island of Cyprus is still to be seen a gigantic egg-shaped vase which
is supposed to represent the mundane or Orphic egg. It is of stone,
measuring thirty feet in circumference, and has upon it a sculptured
bull, the emblem of productive energy. It is supposed to signify the
constellation of Taurus, whose rising was connected with the return of
the mystic re-invigorating principle.

The work of the Mound Builders in this country is generally and widely
known, still it is perhaps not so generally known how common upon this
continent was the general use of the serpent symbol. Their remains
are spread over the country from the sources of the Allegheny in N.
Y. state westward to Iowa and Nebraska, to a considerable extent
through the Mississippi Valley, and along the Susquehanna as far as
the Valley of Wyoming in Pennsylvania. They are found even along the
St. Lawrence River; they also line the shore of the Gulf from Florida
to Texas. That they were erected for other than defensive purposes
is most clear; without knowing exactly what was the government of
their builders the presumption is that it combined both the priestly
and civil functions, as obtained centuries ago in Mexico. The Great
Serpent Mound, already alluded to, had a length of at least 1,000 feet;
the outline was perfectly regular and the mouth was widely open as if
in the act of swallowing or ejecting an oval figure, also formed of
earth, whose longest diameter was one hundred and sixty feet. Again
near Granville, Ohio, occurs the form of an alligator in connection
with which was indubitable evidence of an altar. Near Tarlton, Ohio,
is another earth work in the form of a cross. There is every reason to
think that sacrifices were made upon the altars nearly always found in
connection with these mounds. Among the various animal effigies found
in Wisconsin, mounds in the form of a serpent are most frequently
met with, while circles enclosing a pentagon, or a mound with eight
radiating points, undoubtedly representing the sun, were also found.

There would seem in all these representations to be an unmistakable
reference to that form of early cosmogony in which every vivification
of the mundane egg constituted a real act of creation. In Japan this
conceptive egg is allegorically represented by a nest-egg shown
floating upon an expanse of water, against which a bulb is striking
with horns. The Sandwich Islanders have a tradition that a bird, which
with them is an emblem of deity, laid an egg upon the waters, which
burst of itself and thus produced the Islands. In Egypt, Kneph was
represented as a serpent emitting from his mouth an egg, from which
proceeds the divinity Phtha. In the Bible there is frequent reference
to seraphs; Se Ra Ph is the singular of seraphim, meaning, splendor,
fire or light. It is emblematic of the fiery sun, which under the name
of the Serpent Dragon was destroyed by the reformer Hezekiah; or, it
means, also, the serpent with wings and feet, as used to be represented
in funeral rituals.

Undoubtedly Abraham brought with him from Chaldea into lower Egypt
symbols of simple phallic deities. The reference in the Bible to
the Teraphim of Jacob's family reminds us that Terah was the name
of Abraham's father, and that he was a maker of images. Undoubtedly
the Teraphim were the same as the Seraphim; that is, were serpent
images and were the household charms of the Semitic worshippers of the
Sun-God, to whom the serpent was sacred. In Numbers, 21, the serpent
symbol of the Exodus is called a seraph; moreover when the people were
bitten by a fiery serpent Moses prayed for them, when Jehovah replied,
"Make them a fiery serpent, (literally seraph) and set it upon a pole,
and it shall come to pass that every one who is bitten when he looketh
upon it shall live." The exact significance of this healing figure of
the serpent is far to seek.

In this connection it must be remembered also, that among several of
the Semitic tongues the same root signifies both serpent and phallus,
which are both in effect solar emblems. Cronus of the ancient Orphic
theogony, probably identical with Hercules, was represented under the
mixed emblem of a lion and a serpent, or often as a serpent alone. He
was originally considered Supreme, as is shown from his being called
Il, which is the same as the Hebrew, El, which was, according to St.
Jerome, one of the ten names of God. Damascius in his life of Isidorus
mentions that Cronus was worshipped under the name of El. Brahm, Cronus
and Kneph each represented the mystical union of the reciprocal or
active and passive regenerative principles.

The Semitic Deity, Seth, was certainly a serpent god, and can be
identified with Saturn and with deities of other people. The common
name of God, _Eloah_, among the Hebrews and other Semites, goes back
into the earliest times; indeed Bryant goes so far as to say that El
was the original name of the Supreme deity among all the nations of the
East. He was the same as Cronus, who again was the primeval Saturn.
Thus Saturn and El were the same deity, and like Seth were symbolized
by the serpent.

On the western continent this great unity was equally recognized; in
Mexico as Teotl, in Peru as Varicocha or the Soul of the Universe, in
Central America and Yucatan as Stunah Ku, or God of Gods. The mundane
egg was everywhere received as the symbol of the original, passive,
unorganized formless nature, and later became associated with other
symbols referring to the creative force or vitalizing influence, which
was often represented in emblem by a bull. In the Aztec Pantheon all
the other gods and goddesses were practically modified impersonations
of these two principles. In the simpler mythology of Peru these
principles took the form of the Sun, and the Moon his wife. Among the
ruins of Uxmal are two long massive walls of stone thirty feet thick,
whose inner sides are embellished with sculpture containing fragments
of colossal entwined serpents which run the whole length of the walls;
in the center of the wall was a great stone ring.

Among the annals of the Mexicans the woman whose name old Spanish
writers translated "The woman of our Fish" is always represented as
accompanied by a great male serpent. This serpent is the Sun-God, the
principal deity of the Mexican Pantheon, while the name which they give
to the goddess mother of primitive man signifies "Woman of the Serpent."

Inseparably connected with the serpent as a phallic emblem are also
the pyramids, and, as is well known, pyramids abound in Mexico and
Central America. As Humboldt years ago observed pyramids existed
through Mexico, in the forests of Papantha at a short distance above
sea-level; on the plains of Cholula and of Teotihuacan, and at an
elevation which exceeds those of the passes of the Alps. In most widely
different nations, in climates most different, man seems to have
adopted the same style of construction, the same ornaments, the same
customs, and to have placed himself under the government of the same
political institutions. Mayer describing one of his trips says, "I
constantly saw serpents in the city of Mexico, carved in stone and in
the various collections of antiquities." The symbolic feathered serpent
was by no means peculiar to Mexico and Yucatan. Squier encountered
it in Nicaragua on the summits of volcanic ridges; even among our
historic Indian tribes, for example among the Lenni Lenape, they called
the rattlesnake "grandfather," and made offerings of tobacco to it.
Furthermore in most of the Indian traditions of the Manitou the great
serpent figures most conspicuously.

It has been often remarked that every feature of the religion of the
new world discovered by Cortez and Pizarro indicates a common origin
for the superstitions of both continents, for we have the same worship
of the sun, the same pyramidal monuments, and the same universal
veneration of the serpent. Thus it will be seen that the serpent symbol
had a wide acceptance upon this continent as well as the other, and
among the uncivilized and semi-barbaric races; that it entered widely
into all symbolic representation with an almost universal significance.
Perhaps the latest evidences of the persistence of this belief may be
seen in the tradition ascribing to St. Patrick, the credit of having
driven all the serpents from Irish soil; or in the perpetuation of
rites, festivals and representations whose obsolete origin is now
forgotten. For instance the annual May-day festival, scarcely yet
discontinued, is certainly of this origin, yet few if any of those who
participate in it are aware that it is only the perpetuation of the
vernal solar festival of Baal, and that the garlanded May-pole was
anciently a phallic emblem. Among men of my own craft the traditions
of Aesculapius are familiar. Aesculapius is, however, inseparably
connected with the serpent myth and in statues and pictures he is
almost always represented in connection with a serpent. Thus he is seen
with the Caduceus or the winged wand entwined by two serpents, or,
sometimes with serpents' bodies wound around his own; but rarely ever
without some serpent emblem. Moreover the Caduceus is identical with
the simple figure of the Cross by which its inventor, Thoth, is said to
have symbolized the four elements proceeding from a common center. In
connection with the Cross it is interesting also that in many places in
the East serpent worship was not immediately destroyed by the advent of
Christianity. The Gnostics for example, among Christian sects, united
it with the religion of the Cross, as might be shown by many quotations
from religious writers. The serpent clinging to the Cross was used as
a symbol of Christ, and a form of Christian serpent worship was for
a long time in vogue among many beside the professed Ophites. In the
celebration of the Bacchic mysteries the mystery of religion, as usual
throughout the world, was concealed in a chest or box. The Israelites
had their sacred Ark, and every nation has had some sacred receptacle
for holy things and symbols. The worshippers of Bacchus carried in
their consecrated baskets the mystery of their God, while after their
banquet it was usual to pass around the cup which was called "The Cup
of the Good Daemon," whose symbol was a serpent. This was long before
the institution of the rite of the Last Supper. The fable of the method
by which the god Aesculapius was brought from Epidaurus to Rome, and
the serpentine form in which he appeared before his arrival in Rome
for the purpose of checking the terrible pestilence, are well known.
The serpentine column which still stands in the old race course in
Constantinople is certainly a relic of serpent worship, though this
fact was not appreciated by Constantine when he set it up.

The significance of the Ark is not to be overlooked. First, Noah was
directed to take with him into the Ark animals of every kind. But this
historical absurdity, read aright and in its true phallic sense, means
that the Ark was the sacred Argha of Hindoo mythology, which like
the moon in Zoroastrian teachings, carries in itself the germ of all
things. Read in this sense the thing is no longer incomprehensible.
As _En Arche_ (in the beginning) Elohim created the Heavens and the
Earth, so in the Ark were the seeds of all things preserved that
they might again repopulate the earth. Thus this Ark of Noah, or of
Osiris, the primeval ship whose navigation has been ascribed to various
mythological beings, was in fact the Moon or the Ship of the Sun, in
which his seed is supposed to be hidden until it bursts forth in new
life and power. But the dove which figures so conspicuously in the
biblical legend was consecrated to Venus in all her different names, in
Babylon, in Syria, in Palestine and in Greece; it even attended upon
Janus in his Voyage of the Golden Fleece. And so the story of Jonah
going to Joppa, a seaport where Dagon, the Fish-God was worshipped, and
of the great fish, bears a suspicious relation to the same cult, for
the fish was revered at Joppa as was the dove at Nineveh.

It has been impossible to dissociate serpent and serpent worship from
Aesculapius. This is not because this mythological divinity is supposed
to have been the founder of my profession, but because he has been
given at all times a serpentine form and has been, apparently, on the
most familiar terms with the animal. Pausanias, indeed, assures us that
he often appeared in serpentine form, and the Roman citizens of two
thousand years ago saw in this god "in reptilian form an object of high
regard and worship." When this divinity was invited to make Rome his
home, in accordance with the oracle, he is represented as saying:

    "I come to leave my shrine;
    This serpent view, that with ambitious play
    My staff encircles; mark him every way;
    His form though larger, nobler, I'll assume,
    And, changed as God's should be, bring aid to Rome."

    (Ovid: Metamorphosis XV).

When in due time this salutary serpent arrived upon the island in the
Tiber he began to assume his natural form, whatever that may have been;

    "And now no more the drooping city mourns,
    Joy is again restored and health returns."

Considering then the intimate relation between the founder of medicine
and the serpent it will not seem strange to you that the serpent myth
is a subject of keen interest to every student of the history of
medicine.

This devotion to serpent worship appears to have lingered a long
time in Italy, for so late as the year 1001 a bronze serpent on the
basillica of St. Ambrose was worshipped. De Gubernatis speaking of it
says, "Some say it was the serpent Aesculapius, others Moses, others
that it was the image of Christ; for us it is enough to remark that it
was a mythological serpent before which the Milanese mothers offered
their children when they suffered from worms, in order to relieve
them," a practice which was finally suppressed by San Carlo. Moreover,
there has persisted until recently what is called a snake festival in
a little mountain church near Naples, where those participating carry
snakes around their persons, the purpose of the festival being to
preserve the participants from poison and sudden death and bring them
good fortune. (Sozinskey).

The power of the sun over health and disease was long ago recognized
in the old Chaldean hymn in which the sun is petitioned thus:

    "Thou at thy coming cure the race of man;
    Cause the ray of health to shine upon him;
    Cure his disease."

Probably some feeling akin to that voiced in this way gave rise to the
following beautiful passage in Malachi (4:2):

  "The Sun of Righteousness shall arise with healing in His wings."

As a purely medical symbol the serpent is meant to symbolize prudence;
long ago men were enjoined to be "As wise as serpents" as well as
harmless as doves. In India the serpent is still regarded as a symbol
of every species of learning. It has also another medical meaning,
namely, _convalescence_, for which there is afforded some ground in
the remarkable change which it undergoes every spring from a state of
lethargy to one of active life.

According to Ferguson, the experience of Moses and the Children of
Israel with brazen serpents led to the first recorded worship paid
to the serpent, which is also noteworthy, since the cause of this
adoration is said to have been its intrinsic healing power. The
prototype of the brazen serpent of Moses in latter times was the Good
Genius, the _Agathodaemon_ of the Greeks, which was regarded always
with the greatest favor and usually accorded considerable power over
disease.

The superstitious tendency to regard disease and death as the
visitation of a more or less capricious act by some extra mundane power
persists even to the present day. For example, in the Episcopal book
of Common Prayer, it is stated, in the Order for the Visitation of the
Sick, "Wherefore, whatsoever your sickness be, know you certainly that
it is God's visitation," while for relief the following sentiment is
formulated in prayer, "Lord look down from heaven, behold, visit and
relieve these, thy servants," thus voicing the very ideas which were
current among various peoples of remote antiquity and eliminating all
possibility of such a thing as the regulation of disease or of sanitary
medicine.




IV

IATRO-THEURGIC SYMBOLISM[4]

[4] An Address before the Maine Medical Association, Portland, June
2nd, 1898.


So soon as had subsided the feeling of surprise, caused by a most
unexpected invitation to address you to-night, I began at once to cast
about for a subject with which I might endeavor so to interest you as
to justify the high and appreciated compliment which this invitation
mutely conveyed. And so, after considerable reflection, it appeared
to me that it was perhaps just as well that medical men should be
entertained, even at such a gathering as this, by something which
if not _of_ the profession was at least _for_ the profession, and
still not too remote from the purposes which have drawn us together.
Accordingly I decided to forsake the beaten path and, instead of
selecting a topic in pathology or in surgery, upon which I could
possibly speak with some familiarity, to invite your attention to a
subject which has always been of the greatest interest to me, yet upon
which it has been hard, without great labor and numerous books, to get
much information. If I were to attempt to formulate this topic under a
distinctive name I could perhaps call it _Medico-Christian_ Symbolism.
It is well known to scholars that practically all of the symbols and
symbolism of Christianity have come from pagan sources, having been
carried over, as one might say, across the line of the Christian
era, from one to the other, in the most natural and unavoidable way,
although most of these symbols and caricatures have more or less lost
their original signification and have been given another of purely
Christian import.

To acknowledge that this is so is to cast no slur upon Christianity;
it is simply recording an historical fact. It would take me too far
from my purpose to-night were I to go into the reasons which brought
about this change; I simply want to disavow all intention of making
light of serious things, or of reflecting in any way upon the nobility
of the Christian Church, its meanings or its present practices. But,
accepting the historical fact that Christian symbols were originally
pagan caricatures, I want to ask you to study with me for a little
while the original signification of these pagan symbols, feeling that
I can perhaps, interest you in such a study providing that it can be
shown that almost all of these emblems had originally an essentially
medical significance, referring in some way or other either to
questions of health and disease, or else to the deeper question of
the origin of mankind and the great generative powers of nature, at
which physicians to-day wonder as much as they did two thousand years
ago. Considering then the medical significance of such study I have
been tempted to incur the charge of being pedantic and have coined the
term _Iatro-Theurgic Symbolism_, which title I shall give to the essay
which I shall present to you to-night.

As Inman says, "Moderns who have not been initiated in the sacred
mysteries and only know the emblems considered sacred, have need
of both anatomical knowledge and physiological lore ere they can
see the meaning of many signs." The emblems or symbols then, to
which I shall particularly allude, are the _Cross_, the _Tree_ and
_Grove_, the _Fish_, the _Dove_, and the _Serpent_. And first of all
the Cross, about which very erroneous notions prevail. It is seen
everywhere either as a matter of personal or church adornment, or as
an architectural feature, and everywhere the impression prevails that
it is exclusively a Christian symbol. This, however, is the grossest
of errors, for the world abounds in cruciform symbols and monuments
which existed long before Christianity was thought of. It is otherwise
however with the Crucifix which is, of course, an absolutely Christian
symbol. The image of a dead man stretched out upon the Cross is a
purely Christian addition to a purely pagan emblem, though some of
the old Hindoo crosses remind one of it very powerfully. No matter
upon which continent we look we see everywhere the same cruciform sign
among peoples and races most distinct. There perhaps has never been
so universal a symbol, with the exception of the serpent. Moreover
the cross is a sort of international feature, and is spoken of in its
modifications as St. Andrew's, St. George's, the Maltese, the Greek,
the Latin, etc. Probably because of its extreme simplicity the ages
have brought but little change in its shape, and the bauble of the
jeweller of to-day is practically the same sign that the ancient
Egyptian painted upon the mummy cloth of his sacred dead. Thus it will
appear that the shadow of the Cross was cast far back into the night
of ages. The Druids consecrated their sacred oak by cutting it into
the shape of a cross, and when the natural shape of the tree was not
sufficient it was pieced out as the case required. When the Spaniards
invaded this continent they were overcome with surprise at finding the
sign of the Cross everywhere in common use. It was by the community of
this emblem between the two peoples that the Spaniards enjoyed a less
war-like reception than would otherwise have been accorded to them.

That the Cross was originally a phallic emblem is proven, among other
things, by the origin of the so-called Maltese Cross, which originally
was carved out of solid granite, and represented by four huge phalli
springing from a common center, which were afterward changed by the
Knights of St. John of Malta into four triangles meeting at a central
globe; thus we see combined the symbol of eternal and the emblem of
constantly renovating life. The reason why the Maltese Cross had so
distinctly a phallic origin, and why the Knights of St. John saw fit
to make something more decent of it, is not clear, but a study of
Assyrian antiquities of the days of Nineveh and Babylon shows that it
referred to the four great gods of the Assyrian Pantheon, and that with
a due setting it signifies the sun ruling both the earth and heavens.
Schliemann discovered many examples of it on the vases which he exhumed
from the ruins of Troy.

But probably the most remarkable of all crosses is that which is
exceedingly common upon Egyptian monuments and is known as the
_Crux-Ansata_, that is the handled cross, which consisted of the
ordinary Greek _Tau_ or cross, with a ring on the top. When the
Egyptian was asked what he meant by this sign he simply replied that it
was a divine mystery, and such it has largely remained ever since. It
was constantly seen in the hands of Isis and Osiris. In nearly the same
shape the Spaniards found it when they first came to this continent.
The natives said that it meant "Life to come."

In the British Museum one may see, in the Assyrian galleries, effigies
in stone of certain kings from whose necks are suspended sculptured
Maltese crosses, such as the Catholics call the Pectoral Cross. In
Egypt, long before Christ, the sacred Ibis was represented with human
hands and feet, holding the staff of Isis in one hand and the Cross in
the other. The ancient Egyptian astronomical signs of planets contained
numerous crosses. Saturn was represented by a cross surmounting a ram's
horn; Jupiter by a cross beneath a horn, Venus by a cross beneath a
circle (practically the Crux-Ansata), the Earth by a cross within the
circle, and Mars by a circle beneath the cross; many of these signs are
in use to-day. Between the Buddhist crosses of India and those of the
Roman church are remarkable resemblances; the former were frequently
placed upon a Calvary as is the Catholic custom to-day. The cross is
found among the hieroglyphics of China and upon Chinese pagodas, and
upon the lamps with which they illuminated their temples. Upon the
ancient Phoenician medals were inscribed the Cross, the Rosary and the
Lamb. In England there has been for a long time the custom of eating
the so-called Hot-Cross Buns upon Good Friday:--this is no more than
a reproduction of a cake marked with a cross which used to be duly
offered to the serpent and the bull in heathen temples, as also to
human idols. It was made of flour and milk, or oil, and was often eaten
with much ceremony by priests and people.

Perhaps the most ancient of all forms of the cross is the cruciform
hammer known sometimes as Thor's Battle Ax. In this form it was
venerated by the heroes of the North as a magical sign, which thwarted
the power of death over those who bore it. Even to-day it is employed
by the women of India and certain parts of Africa as indicating the
possession of a taboo with which they protect their property. It has
been stated that this was the mark which the prophet was commanded to
impress upon the foreheads of the faithful in Judah. (Ezekiel 9:4).

It is of interest also as being almost the last of the purely
pagan symbols to be religiously preserved in Europe long after the
establishment of Christianity, since to the close of the Middle Ages
the Cistercean monk wore it upon his stole. It may be seen upon the
bells of many parish churches, where it was placed as a magical sign to
subdue the vicious spirit of the tempest.

The original cross, no matter what its form, had but one meaning;
it represented creative power and eternity. In Egypt, Assyria and
Britain, in India, China and Scandinavia, it was an emblem of life
and immortality; upon this continent it was the sign of freedom from
suffering, and everywhere it symbolized resurrection and life to come.
Moreover from its common combination with the yoni or female emblem, we
may conclude, with Inman, that the ancient Cross was an emblem of the
belief in a male Creator and the method by which creation was initiated.

Next to the Cross, the _Tree of Life_ of the Egyptians furnishes
perhaps the most ancient and universal symbol of immortality. The tree
is probably the most generally received symbol of life, and has been
regarded as the most appropriate. The fig tree especially has had the
highest place in this regard. From it gods and holy men ascended to
heaven; before it thousands of barren women have worshipped and made
offerings; under it pious hermits have become enlightened, and by
rubbing together fragments of its wood, holy fire has been drawn from
heaven.

An anonymous Catholic writer has stated, "No religion is founded upon
international depravity. Searching back for the origin of life, men
stopped at the earliest point to which they could trace it and exalted
the reproductive organs in the symbols of the Creator. The practice was
at least calculated to procure respect for a side of nature liable,
under an exclusively spiritual regime, to be relegated to undue
contempt. * * * Even Moses himself fell back upon it when, yielding to
a pressing emergency, he gave his sanction to serpent worship by his
elevation of the brazen serpent upon a pole or cross, for all portions
of this structure constituted the most universally accepted symbol of
sex in the world."

As perfectly consistent with the ancient doctrine that deity is
both male and female take this thought from Proclus, who quotes the
following among other Orphic verses:

"Jupiter is a man; Jupiter is also an immortal maid;" while in the
same commentary we read that "All things were contained in the womb of
Jupiter."

In this connection it was quite customary to depict Jupiter as a
female, sometimes with three heads; often the figure was drawn with a
serpent and was venerated under the symbol of fire. It was then called
Mythra and was worshipped in secret caverns. The rites of this worship
were quite well known to the Romans.

The hermaphrodite element of religion is sex worship; gods are styled
he-she; Synesius gives an inscription on an Egyptian deity, "Thou art
the father and thou art the mother; thou art the male and thou art the
female." Baal was of uncertain sex and his votaries usually invoked
him thus, "Hear us whether thou art god or goddess." Heathens seem
to have made their gods hermaphrodites in order to express both the
generative and prolific virtue of their deities. I have myself heard
one of the finest living Hindoo scholars, a convert to Christianity,
invoke the God of the Christian Church both as father and as mother.

The most significant and distinctive feature of nature worship
certainly had to do with phallic emblems. This viewed in the light of
ancient times simply represented allegorically that mysterious union of
the male and female principle which seems necessary to the existence of
animate beings. If, in the course of time, it sadly degenerated, we may
lament the fact, while, nevertheless, not losing sight of the purity
and exalted character of the original idea. Of its extensive prevalence
there is ample evidence, since monuments indicating such worship are
spread over both continents and have been recognized in Egypt, India,
Assyria, Western Europe, Mexico, Peru, Hayti and the Pacific Islands.
Without doubt the generative act was originally considered as a solemn
sacrament in honor of the Creator. As Knight has insisted, the indecent
ideas later attached to it, paradoxical as it may seem, were the result
of the more advanced civilization tending toward its decline, as we see
in Rome and Pompeii. Voltaire speaking of phallic worship says "Our
ideas of propriety lead us to suppose that a ceremony which appears
to us so infamous could only be invented by licentiousness, but it
is impossible to believe that depravity of manners would ever lead
among any people to the establishment of religious ceremonies. It is
probable, on the contrary, that this custom was first introduced in
times of simplicity, and that the first thought was to honor a deity in
the symbol of life which it gives us."

The so-called Jewish rite of circumcision was practiced among Egyptians
and Phoenicians long before the birth of Abraham. It had a marked
religious significance, being a sign of the Covenant, and was a
patriarchal observance because it was always performed by the head of
the family. Indeed on the authority of the Veda, we learn that this was
the case also even among the primitive Aryan people.

Later in the centuries, as Patterson has observed, obscene methods
became the principal feature of the popular superstition and were,
in after times, even extended to and intermingled with gloomy rites
and bloody sacrifices. The mysteries of Ceres and Bacchus celebrated
at Eleusis were probably the most celebrated of all the Grecian
observances. The addition of Bacchus was comparatively a late one, and
this name Bacchus was first spelled Iacchos; the first half, _Iao_,
being in all probability related to _Jao_ which appears in Jupiter or
Jovispater, and to the Hebrew Yahve, or Jehovah. Jao was the Harvest
God and consequently the god of the grape, hence his close relation to
Bacchus. How completely these Eleusinian mysteries degenerated into
Bacchic orgies is of course a matter of written history.

I have not yet alluded to the reverence paid to the fish, both as
phallic emblem and as a Christian symbol. The supposition that the
reason why the fish played so large a part in early Christian symbolism
was because of the fact that each letter of the Greek word _Ichthus_
could be made the beginning of words which when fully spelled out, read
Jesus Christ, the Son of God, etc., is altogether too far-fetched;
though it be true it is a scholastic trick to juggle with words in this
way rather than to find for them a proper signification.

Among the Egyptians and many other nations, the greatest reverence
was paid to this animal. Among the natives the rivers which contained
them were esteemed more or less sacred; the common people did not
feed upon them and the priests never tasted them, because of their
reputed sanctity, while at times they were worshipped as real deities.
Cities were named after them and temples built to them. In different
parts of Egypt different fish were worshipped individually; the Greek
comedians even made fun of the Egyptians because of this fact. Dagon
figures as the Fish-god, and the female deity known as Athor, in Egypt,
is undoubtedly the same as Aphrodite of the Greeks and Venus of the
Romans, who were believed to have sprung from the sea. Lucian tells us
that this worship was of great antiquity; strange as this idolatry may
appear, it was yet most wide-spread and included also the veneration
which the Egyptians, before Moses, paid to the river Nile.

It is important to remember that Nun, the name of the father of Joshua,
is the Semitic word for fish, while the phallic character of the fish
in Chaldean mythology cannot be gainsaid. Nim, the planet Saturn, was
the fish-god of Berosus, and the same as the Assyrian god Asshur, whose
name and office are strikingly similar to those of the Hebrew leader
Joshua.

Corresponding to the ancient phallus or lingam, which was the masculine
phallic symbol, we have the Kteis or Yoni as the symbol of the female
principle; but an emblem of similar import is often to be met with in
the shape of the shell, the fig leaf or the letter delta, as may be
frequently seen from ancient coins and monuments. Similar attributes
were at other times expressed by a bird, using the dove or sparrow,
which will at once make one think of the prominence given to the dove
in the fable of Noah and the Ark. Referring again to the fish symbol
let me say that the head of Proserpine is very often represented
surrounded by dolphins; sometimes by pomegranates which also have a
phallic significance. In fact, Inman in his work on Ancient Faiths
says of the pomegranate, "The shape of this fruit much resembles that
of the gravid uterus in the female, and the abundance of seeds which
it contains makes it a fitting emblem of the prolific womb of the
celestial mother. Its use was largely adopted in various forms of
worship; it was united with bells in the adornment of the robes of the
Jewish High Priest; it was introduced as an ornament into Solomon's
Temple, where it was united with lilies and with the lotus."

Its arcane meaning is undoubtedly phallic. In fact, as Inman has
stated, the idea of virility was most closely interwoven with religion,
though the English Egyptologists have suppressed a portion of the facts
in the history which they have given the world; but the practice which
still obtains among certain Negroes of Northern Africa of mutilating
every male captive and slain enemy is but a continuance of the practice
alluded to in the 2nd Book of Kings, 20:18, Isaiah, 39:17, and 1st
Samuel 18:26.

Frequently in sacred Scripture we find allusions to the Pillar as
a most sacred emblem, as for example in Isaiah 19:19, "In that day
there shall be an altar to the Lord in the midst of the land of Egypt
and a pillar to the border thereof to Jehovah," etc. Moreover God
was supposed to have appeared to his chosen people as a _pillar of
fire_. Nevertheless when among idolatrous nations _pillars_ were set
up as a part of their rites we find them noticed in Scripture as an
_abomination_, as for example, Deut. 12:3, "Ye shall overthrow their
altars and break their pillars;" Levit. 26:1, "Neither rear ye up a
standing image."

Among the Jews the pillar had much the same significance as the
pyramid among the Egyptians or the triangle or cone among votaries of
other worships. The Tower of Babel must have been purely a mythical
creation but in the same direction. Although Abraham is regarded as
having emigrated from Chaldea in the character of a dissenter from the
religion of his country (see Joshua 24:2-3), his immediate descendants
apparently had recourse to the symbols to which I have alluded. Thus he
erected altars and planted pillars wherever he resided, and conducted
his son to the land of Moriah to sacrifice him to the deity, as was
done among the Phoenicians. Jeptha in like manner sacrificed his own
daughter Mizpeh, and the temple of Solomon was supposed to have been
built upon the site of Abraham's ancient altar. Jacob not only set up a
pillar at the place which he called Bethel but made libations; Samuel
worshipped at the High Places at Ramah, and Solomon at the Great Stone
in Gibeon. It remained for Hezekiah to change the entire Hebrew cult.
He removed the Dionysiac statues and phallic pillars as well as the
conical and omphallic symbols of Venus and Ashtaroth, broke in pieces
the brazen serpent of Moses and overthrew the mounds and altars. After
him Josiah removed the paraphernalia of sun worship and destroyed the
statues and emblems of Venus and Adonis, (2nd Kings, 23:4-20).

The Greek Hermes was identical with the Egyptian Khem, as well as with
Mercury and with Priapus, also with the Hebrew Eloah; thus when Jacob
entered into a covenant with Laban his father-in-law, a pillar was
set up and a heap of stones made and a certain compact entered into;
similar land marks were usual with the Greeks and placed by them upon
public roads.

As Mrs. Childs has beautifully said, "Other emblems deemed sacred by
Hindoos and worshipped in their temples have brought upon them the
charge of gross indecencies. * * * If light with its grand revealings,
and heat, making the earth fruitful with beauty, excited wonder and
worship among the first inhabitants of our world, is it strange that
they likewise regarded with reverence the great mystery of human birth?
Were they impure thus to regard it? Or are _we_ impure that we do _not_
so regard it?"

Constant, in his work on Roman Polytheism says, "Indecent rites may be
practiced by religious people with the greatest purity of heart, but
when incredulity has gained a footing among these peoples then those
rites become the cause and pretext of the most revolting corruption."

The phallic symbol was always found in temples of Siva, who corresponds
to Baal, and was usually placed as are the most precious emblems of
our Christian temples to-day, in some inmost recess of the sanctuary.
Moreover lamps with seven branches were kept burning before it, these
seven branched lamps long antedating the golden candlestick of the
Mosaic Tabernacle. The Jews by no means escaped the objective evidence
of phallic worship; in Ezekiel 16:17, is a very marked allusion to the
manufacture by Jewish women of gold and silver phalli.

As a purely phallic symbol and custom mark the significance of certain
superstitions and practices even now prevalent in Great Britain. Thus
in Boylase's _History of Cornwall_ it is stated that there is a
stone in the Parish of Mardon, with a hole in it fourteen inches in
diameter, through which many persons creep for the relief of pains
in the back and limbs, and through which children are drawn to cure
them of rickets, this being a practical application of the doctrine
of regeneration. In 1888 there was printed in the _London Standard_ a
considerable reference to passing children through clefts in trees as
a curative measure for certain physical ailments. The same practice
prevails in Brazil and in many other places, and within the present
generation it has been customary to split a young ash tree and, opening
this, pass through it a child for the purpose of curing rupture or some
other bodily ailment.

The phallic element most certainly cannot be denied in Christianity
itself, since in it are many references which to the initiated are
unmistakable. From the fall of man with its serpent myth and its
phallic foundation to the peculiar position assigned to the Virgin
Mary as a mother, phallic references abound. However, it should not
be forgotten that whatever were the primitive ideas on which these
dogmas were based, they had been lost sight of or had been received in
a fresh aspect by the founders of Christianity. The fish and the cross
originally typified the idea of generation and later that of life,
in which sense they were applied to Christ. The most plainly phallic
representation used in early Christian Iconography, is undoubtedly the
_Aureole_ or elliptical frame work, containing usually the figure of
Christ, sometimes that of Mary. The Nimbus also, generally circular
but sometimes triangular, is of positive phallic significance, even
though it contain within it the name of Jehovah. The sun flowers
which sometimes are made to surround the figure of St. John the
Evangelist are the lotus flowers of the Egyptians. The divine hand
with the thumb and two fingers outstretched, even though it rests on a
cruciform nimbus, is a phallic emblem, and is used by the Neapolitans
of to-day to avert the Evil Eye, although it was originally a symbol
of Isis. Indeed the Virgin Mary is the ancient Isis, as can be most
easily established, since the virgin "Succeeded to her form, titles,
symbols, rites and ceremonies." (King). The great image still moves
in procession as when Juvenal laughed at it, and her proper title is
the exact translation of the Sanskrit and the equivalent of the modern
Madonna, the Lotus of Isis, and the Lily of the modern Mary. Indeed, as
King has written, "It is astonishing how much of the Egyptian symbolism
passed over into usages of the following times." The high cap and
hooked staff of the god became the bishop's mitre and crozier. The term
Nun is purely Egyptian and bore its present meaning. The Crux Ansata,
testifying the union of the male and female principle in the most
obvious manner, and denoting fecundity and abundance, is transformed
by a simple inversion into an orb surmounted by a cross, the ensign of
royalty.

The teaching of the Church of Rome regarding the Virgin Mary shows a
remarkable resemblance to the teachings of the ancients concerning
the female associate of the triune deity. In ancient times she has
passed under many and diverse names; she was the Virgin, conceiving and
bringing forth from her own inherent power; she was the wife of Nimrod;
she has been known as Athor, Artemis, Aphrodite, Venus, Isis, Cybele,
etc.

As Anaitis she is Mother and Child, appearing again as Isis and Horus;
even in ancient Mexico Mother and Child were worshipped. In modern
times she reappears as the Virgin Mary and her Son; she was queen of
fecundity, queen of the gods, goddess of war, Virgin of the Zodiac, the
mysterious Virgin "Time" from whose womb all things were born. Although
variously represented she has been usually pictured as a more or less
nude figure carrying an infant in her arms. (Inman, "Ancient Faiths").

Inman declares without hesitation that the trinity of the ancients is
unquestionably of phallic origin, and others have strenuously contended
and apparently proven that the male emblem of generation in divine
creation was three in one, and that the female emblem has always been
the triangle or accepted symbol of trinity. Sometimes two triangles
have been combined forming a six-rayed star, the two together being
emblematical of the union of the male and female principles producing
a new figure; the triangle by itself with the point down typifies the
delta or yoni through which all things come into the world.

Another symbol of deity among the Indians was the Trident, and this
marks the belief in the Trinity which very generally prevailed in
India among the Hindoos. As Maurice says, "It was indeed highly proper
and strictly characteristic that a three-fold deity should wield a
triple scepter." Upon the top of the immense pyramids of Deoghur,
which were truncated, and upon whose upper surface rested the circular
cone--that ancient emblem of the Phallus and of the Sun, was found
the trident scepter of the Greek Neptune. It is said that in India is
to be found the most ancient form of Trinitarian worship. In Egypt it
later prevailed widely, but scarcely any two states worshipped the
same triad, though all triads had this in common at least that they
were father, mother and son, or male and female with their progeny. In
the course of time, however, the worship of the first person was lost
or absorbed in the second and the same thing is prevalent among the
Christians of today, for many churches and institutions are dedicated
to the second or third persons of the Trinity but none to the first.

The transition from the old to the new could not be effected in a short
time and must have been an exceedingly slow process, therefore we need
not be surprised to be told of the ancient worship that after its
exclusion from larger places it was maintained for a long time by the
inhabitants of humbler localities; hence its subsequent designation,
since from being kept up in the villages, the _pagi_, its votaries,
were designated _pagani_, or pagans.

Even now some of these ancient superstitions remain in recognizable
form. The moon is supposed to exert a baneful or lucky influence
according as it is first viewed; the mystic horse-shoe, which is a
purely uterine symbol, is still widely employed; lucky and unlucky
days are still regarded; our playing cards are indicated by phallic
symbols, the spade, the triadic club, the omphallic distaff and
eminence disguised as the heart and the diamonds. Dionysius reappears
as St. Denys, or in France as St. Bacchus; Satan is revered as St.
Satur or St. Swithin; the Holy Virgin, Astraea, whose return was
heralded by Virgil as introducing the Golden Age, is now designated
as the Blessed Virgin, Queen of Heaven. The Mother and Child are
to-day in Catholic countries adored as much as were Ceres and Bacchus,
or Isis and the infant Horus, centuries ago. The nuns of Christian
to-day are the nuns of the Buddhists or of the Egyptian worshippers
of Isis, and the phallic import is not lost even in their case since
they are the "Brides of the Savior." The libations of human blood
which were formerly offered to Bacchus found most tragic imitation in
the sacrifices of later days. The screechings of the ancient prophets
of Baal, and of the Egyptian worshippers, preceded the flagellations
of the penitentes. Even recently, during Holy Week in Rome, devotees
lash themselves until the blood runs, as did the young men in ancient
Rome during the Lupercalia. And even yet in New Mexico the Indian
_penitentes_ repeat the cruel flagellations and cross-bearing taught by
the Spanish priest, to the extent--sometimes--of an actual crucifixion.
In the ancient Roman catacombs are found portraits of the utensils
and furniture of the ancient mysteries, and one drawing shows a woman
standing before an altar offering buns to a certain god. In fact we may
say there is no Christian fast nor festival, procession nor sacrament,
custom nor example, that do not come quite naturally from previous
paganism.

The Creation is in fact a _human rather than a divine product_, in
this sense that it was suggested to the mind of man by the existence
of things, while its method was, at least at first, suggested by the
operations of nature; thus man saw the living bird emerge from the
egg, after a certain period of incubation, a phenomenon equivalent to
actual creation as apprehended by his simple mind. Incubation obviously
then associated itself with Creation, and this fact will explain
the universality with which the egg was received as a symbol in the
earlier systems of cosmogony. By a similar process creation came to be
symbolized in the form of a phallus, and so the Egyptians, in their
refinement of these ideas, adopted as their symbol of the first great
cause, a Scarabaeus, indicating the great hermaphroditic unity since
they believed this insect to be both male and female.

Further exemplification of the same underlying principle is seen in the
fact that most all of the ancient deities were paired, thus we have
heaven and earth, sun and moon, fire and earth, father and mother, etc.
Faber says,--"The Ancient Pagans of almost every part of the globe were
wont to symbolize the world by an egg; hence this symbol is introduced
into the cosmogonies of nearly all nations, and there are few persons
even among those who have made mythology their study to whom the
mundane egg is not perfectly familiar; it is the emblem not only of
earth and life but also of the universe in its largest extent."

I began this essay with the intention of demonstrating the recondite
but positive connection between the symbolism of the Church of to-day
and the phallic and iatric cults of pre-christian centuries. (Much
of the subject matter contained in the previous essay (III) may be
profitably read in this connection). As a humble disciple of that
Aesculapius who was the reputed founder of our craft, I have felt
that every genuine scholar in medicine should be familiar with these
relations between the past and the present.




V

THE RELATION OF THE GRECIAN MYSTERIES TO THE FOUNDATION OF CHRISTIANITY


Ever since mentality has been an attribute of mankind, man has
appreciated that he is surrounded by a vast incomprehensible mystery
which ever closes in upon him, and from whose environment he may never
free himself. The endeavor to solve this mystery has on one hand
stimulated his reasoning power, and on the other nearly paralyzed it.
Having no better guidance he has in all time attributed to a Great
First Cause powers and faculties, even shape and form, more or less
human; thus from time immemorial God or the Gods have been given a
kingdom, a throne, some definite form, and even offspring. To him
or them have been given purely human attributes, and they have been
supposed to possess human passions and to be capable of love, wrath,
strength, etc. In nearly all ages lightning, for instance, has been
regarded as an expression of divine fury. As intelligence advanced
the number of Gods was reduced and their manifestations classified
and studied more or less imaginatively; and so while men have always
acknowledged the impossibility of explaining the great mysteries of
creation and of space, they have seemed to find it necessary to create
other equally inscrutable mysteries of purely human invention, such as
the incarnation, the trinity, the resurrection, vicarious salvation,
metempsychosis, and the like.

History shows the love of mystery to be contagious as well as
productive of its kind, and the origin of mystic teachings as well as
of most secret societies bears out these statements. Secrets, guarded
by fearful oaths, personified by meaningless emblems, concealed either
in language unintelligible to others, or else hidden in terms whose
special meaning is known only to the initiated, made attractive by
special signs, symbols, innocent rites, or barbarous observances,--all
of these means were designed solely to keep men banded together for
the purpose of forming a propaganda intended to perpetuate yet other
mysteries in which the initiates were especially interested. Since
history began such associations of men have existed for most diverse
ends, all having this in common, that only by this means could they
secure and maintain influence and power.

And so the series of pictures which represent man in this role may be
regarded as a panorama, led by garlanded priests carrying images of
Isis or droning hymns to Demeter of Eleusis, or Druids preparing for
their human sacrifices; followed by gay and voluptuous Bacchantes,
succeeded by white-robed Pythagoreans; next may come the suffering
Essenes bearing crosses, then the Latin Brotherhoods, followed by the
German and English Guilds, the Stone Masons with their implements,
the Crusader Knights, those coming first having an appearance of
actual humility and devotion, while those who follow are haughty and
contemptuous to a degree. Then would follow the black-robed Penitentes
and the members of the Society of Jesus, sanctimonious, with eyes cast
down, human machines, mere tools in the hands of their superiors; the
panorama continuing with a widely assorted lot of scholars, artisans
and men of all conditions in various regalia, and terminated with an
indistinguishable multitude of variously adorned men, some sleek and
fat, others ill-conditioned, some devout and sincere, others mere
jesters and knaves from every walk of life.

It was most natural and to be expected that primitive man should be
most profoundly impressed with the forces of nature, often terrifying
and frightful, often winsome and attractive, and that he should bow
himself down to the unknown cause of these manifestations. With his
extremely finite mind he necessarily personified them; after having
done this he proceeded to propitiate them by worship with certain forms
of ritual. Perhaps fire first and most of all attracted him in this
way, and drew from him the earliest acts of worship, for in spite of
the general views to the contrary fire is often of natural origin,
and must have been known to men before they became able to produce
it by their own efforts. From practical to generalized concepts was
a natural step, and thus mythology had its beginnings; the earliest
distinctions were as between that which is overhead, i. e. Heaven, and
that which is beneath, namely, the earth; these are the beginnings
of all cosmogonies. Next the Gods were given the attributes of sex;
Heaven was represented as masculine, fructifying, powerful; Earth as
conceptive, female and gentle. By the union of these two were produced
sun, moon and their progeny--the stars. Later the sun became Poseidon
or Neptune, because he appeared from and disappeared into the sea. Then
the imagination began to run riot, and gave rise to many individual
divinities, gods and goddesses, all with human passions and attributes,
mingling and propagating after human fashion, and begetting dynasties
and half human races, whose doings were the subject of countless epics,
dramas, myths and romances.

Thus time passed on and the original sense or meaning of these
myths, descending slowly by oral tradition, became lost, while the
myths themselves were for a long time accepted as historical facts.
Nevertheless in all ages there have been men who, like Aristotle,
Cicero and Plutarch, have questioned the accuracy of these statements
and shown themselves intelligent and active sceptics. During all these
times, however, a wily priest-craft had lived and thrived on the
superstitions of the common people and the practices in which they have
indulged; by these men, thus conditioned, any active doubt was regarded
as subversive of the system by which they were supported, and as one
not to be tolerated;--this condition pertaining not only to antiquity,
since it is too significant a feature even of the early years of this
twentieth century. A more or less honest though misinformed priesthood
has, in all times, been in favor of the purification of the theology
in vogue in their times and among their inner circles, and has in the
main given the most rationalistic interpretation to the obscure things
which they taught, and practised what their education and environment
would permit. But in order to preserve the mysteries, to maintain them
as such, and save themselves from becoming superfluous, not to say
intolerable, these same mysteries have been tricked out with mysticism,
symbolism of the most fantastic character, and allegory of the most
bewildering kind; moreover this has often been accomplished by dramatic
representations and by moralizing or demoralizing ceremonies. The
countries in which these "mysteries," as they have since been known,
were most commonly practised and most widely believed were Egypt,
Chaldea and Greece.

The sources of the Egyptian mysteries, like those of Egyptian
civilization, are the most difficult to discover. The Nile is
necessarily the basis of Egyptian history, geography, activity and
habits, and consequently must be also of the Egyptian cult. The people
who were known as Egyptians invaded the land of the Nile from the
direction of Asia, and found there a race of negro type whom they
subdued and with whom they later mingled. The Semites called the land
Misraim; the Greeks finally changed the name of its great river to
Neilos. The country is a land of enigmas. Who built those pyramids, and
why? Who originated the system of pictorial writing which we call the
hieroglyphic? Who planned those wonderful temples now either in ruins,
as in upper Egypt, or buried beneath the desert sands, as in lower
Egypt? Who brought and erected those mighty blocks of stone or massive
slabs from enormous distances, and handled them as we could scarcely do
to-day with the best of modern machinery?

In course of time two hereditary classes were formed, the priests who
dominated the minds, and the warriors who controlled the bodies of the
conquered people and the lower classes. The latter kept the throne of
Egypt occupied, while the former, having a monopoly of the knowledge of
the time, prescribed for the people what they must believe, yet were
very far from accepting these precepts for themselves, and in their
inner circles made light of that which they preached to the despised
classes without.

The Egyptians named their Sun God RE, but assigned the various
attributes of the sun to different personalities; they had moreover not
only Gods for the whole land, but Ptah was God of Memphis, Ammon God
of Thebes, etc. Local deities were often constructed out of inspiring
objects or from animals inhabited by spirits, and thus the fetichism
of the original negro race exerted no little influence upon the higher
cult of their lighter colored conquerors. Worship was paid to animals
not for their own sake but because of the Gods who were supposed to
reside within them; thus their prominent Gods were represented with
the head of some animal. This honor belonged not to any individual
animal but of necessity to the entire species, certain representatives
of which were maintained at public expense in the temples, where they
were carefully guarded and waited upon by the faithful. To harm one of
these animals was to be severely punished, to kill one of them was to
die. Conversely when a God failed in responding to the prayers of the
faithful his fetich had to suffer, and the priests first threatened the
animal, and if menaces were unavailing they killed the sacred beast,
albeit in secret, lest the people should learn of it.

As time went on there was less of zoölatry, and the Sun-Gods and their
associates figured more largely among the cult of the people. The sun's
course was not represented as that of a chariot, as among the Persians
and Greeks, but rather as the voyage of a Nile boat, upon which the
God Re navigated the heavens; from which it will appear that the
priestly religion was making slow progress to monotheism by means of
oligotheism. The secret teaching of the priests was now more and more
to the effect that the Gods stood not so much for themselves as for
something else. During the fourth dynasty the lower Egyptian city Anu
was known as the City of the Sun, hence the Greek name for the place,
Heliopolis. Still more characteristic was the giving of the name of
Osiris, who figured as God of Abdu, which the Greeks called Abydos,
in upper Egypt, to the God of the Sunset, who was king of the lower
domains and of death, brother and at the same time husband of Isis,
brother also of Set, who slew him, and father of Horus, i. e. God of
the new sun, who figures after each sunset. Horus fought with Set,
but being unable to completely destroy him left him the desert as his
kingdom, while himself holding to the Nile valley. This story of the
Gods was publicly represented in various scenes on certain holidays,
but only the priests, i. e., the initiated, knew the real meaning of
the representations. Even the name of Osiris and his abode were kept
secret, and outsiders heard only of the "great God" dwelling somewhere
in "the West."

These were the most famous of all the old Egyptian mysteries, though
to them were added many others, including that of Apis, the sacred
bull of Memphis, who served also as the symbol of the Sun and of the
fructifying Nile; beneath his tongue was to be seen the sacred beetle,
and the behavior of the great animal was supposed to be prophetic and
his actions to mean oracular sayings. The Sphinx again was a sun-God,
his image being repeated throughout the Nile region, and was always
thought of as a male; the head was represented as that of some king,
while the whole figure stood for the Sun-God Harmachis; although the
sphinx later introduced into Greece was always female.

While the Egyptians did not attribute to their numerous Gods divine
perfection, they nevertheless regarded religious practices as a means
of currying favor with their divinities, a custom apparently still in
favor. The priests believed in a Sun-God as the only true deity, but
not so the people; thus the priests in the various cities praised their
local and tutelary God as supreme and made him identical with Re, whose
name they appended to the original, as for instance _Amon-Re_. The
king, no matter where he was, prayed always to the local deity as lord
of heaven and earth, yet in words always the same.

At last during the eighteenth dynasty, about 1460 B. C., Amenhotep IV
realized that the power of the priesthood was a menace to the crown
and therefore proclaimed the Sun as the sole God, not in human shape,
but in that of a disk. He ordered all other images of other Gods
associated with the sun to be destroyed; the priests of these deposed
Gods lost their places and estates, which latter were confiscated.
But his sons-in-law who succeeded him restored the deposed monarchs.
Nevertheless they were marked as heretics by those priests who were
reinstated in their former power. In consequence of this conflict,
which was violent and prolonged, the intellectual life of Egypt was
paralyzed and the mystic teachings of the priests were henceforth not
disturbed by any wave of progress or advance.

The people again sank into a stupid and unredeemable formalism,
demonism and sorcery. With the purpose of amusing them the priests
furnished gorgeous sacrificial processions and festivals, while at
the same time drawing them away from the true God by teaching them a
worship of deceased kings and queens. They also built temples, to only
the outer portion of which were the people generally admitted, while
the innermost portions were guarded by these priests lest the mysteries
thus protected be such no longer. They also procured the building of
the ancient Labyrinth, near Lake Moeris, of which Herodotus tells us
that there were fifteen hundred chambers above ground and as many more
under ground, which latter were never shown except to the initiated,
and which contained the remains of sacred crocodiles and of the
Pharaohs.

The Egyptian priests taught that man was made up of _body_, a material
essence or the _soul_, which in the shape of a bird left the body
at death, and an _immaterial spirit_ which held to the man the same
relation which a God held to the animal in which he dwelt, and which
at death departed from the body like the image of a dream. They taught
also that, if the soul and spirit were to live on, the body should be
embalmed and laid in a rock chamber, and that then the relatives must
supply meat, drink, and clothing for its use. The spirit took its way
to Osiris and by means of a magic formula the dead would be made one
with Osiris; hence in the Egyptian "Book of the Dead" the deceased was
addressed as Osiris with his own name added, and could now lead a happy
life in the other world, which life was portrayed on the walls of the
Sepulchres in pictures which are still to be seen, showing how the
creature comforts of this world were to be enhanced in the next. Having
reached the outer world, and having escaped the host of demons that
threatened him on his passage, he could then revisit this earth at will
in any form.

The Egyptian priests also taught that there was a judgment of the dead,
and that new comers had to appear before Osiris, with his forty-two
Assessors, and disclaim the commission of each one of forty-two sins;
all of which was a magic formula for obtaining bliss according to
their notion rather than anything intended as a true statement. The
hippopotamus figured as an active agent in the Book of the Dead,
appearing always as the accuser, when the sins and the good deeds were
being weighed in the balance, while the God Thot was the "attorney for
the defense."

All these secret doctrines of a priestcraft necessitated secret
associations, at least of the higher priests, to which the king was
always admitted, the only Egyptian outside of the priesthood to be
thus taught their secrets. This was purely for protection; having less
fear of foreigners these priests often initiated distinguished men
from foreign lands, Greeks especially. Thus Orpheus, Homer, Lycurgus,
Solon, Herodotus, Pythagoras, Plato, Archimedes, and many others,
received the secret doctrine. The ritual was a long and tedious but
significant ceremony, taught by degrees like the Masonry of to-day, and
necessitated in some cases the right of circumcision; all who passed
it were pledged to the most strict silence. According to Diodorus the
Orphic Mysteries were in large degree a repetition of the Egyptian,
while the Greek legislators, philosophers and mathematicians whom I
have named drew their knowledge from the same source; all of which is
probably a very gross exaggeration. Nevertheless it would appear from
the hieroglyphic remains that high grade schools were conducted by the
Egyptian priests, and that foreign scholars could obtain for themselves
instruction in the exact sciences of the day. Only the priests,
however, were able to write the hieroglyphics, at least in the earlier
centuries of Egyptian history.

There can be no doubt but that the secret doctrine of the Egyptian
priests was both philosophic and religious, and was sharply
distinguished from the popular belief which mistook tradition for
truth; that it was monotheistic, that it rejected polytheism and
zoölatry, and that the true signification of Egyptian mythology was
expounded in private. Moreover an essential part of this mystery
concerned the interpretation of myths as allegorical accounts of
personified natural phenomena. For instance Plutarch ("Isis and
Osiris") writes--"When we hear of the Egyptian myths of the Gods, their
wanderings, their dismemberment and other like incidents, we must
recall the remarks already made, so as to understand that the stories
told are not to be taken literally as recounting actual occurrences."

Without now going into the subject of the relative age of the Egyptian
and Chaldean cults, I will remind you that the secret wisdom of
one race was not excelled by that of the other. The Chaldean races
are undoubtedly of Turanian origin, and their form of religion was
peculiar to the Ural-Altaic stock and the Turkic races, who originated
the Cuneiform writing. Their most ancient writings represented evil
spirits as coming from the desert in groups of seven, and contained
formulas for exorcising them; they were presided over by the heavens,
while from the higher spirits evolved Gods and Goddesses in countless
number. Upon the original ground work of Chaldean ideas a Semitic race
built a superstructure, and the first traces of the Babylonians and
Assyrians appeared some four thousand years B. C. Their highest God was
an individual whom they named Baal, while the sun and moon were his
images. As in Egypt the priests were held in great reverence, standing
next after the king, who was _ex officio_ high priest; they too had a
secret doctrine withheld from the vulgar. Although the Chaldeans were
astrologers rather than astronomers, they were yet familiar enough with
the heavens to estimate astral phenomena for what they really were,
instead of holding them to be Gods, though they may have represented
them as such to the common people. Their literature contained numerous
mythological poems, so obscure that to understand them a key was
required, which key was only in the possession of the priests. Inasmuch
as Abraham came from Ur in Chaldea, with him crept into biblical
literature much of the Chaldean tradition and folklore. The Chaldeans
had also their Noah, and their deluge, in which the dove figured as in
the biblical account. When the proprietor of the Ark finally freed the
animals he erected an altar and offered sacrifice, to which the Gods
gathered "like masses of flies." This story contributes but one section
of the great Chaldean epic in which are recounted the exploits of a
hero corresponding with the Nimrod of the Hebrew Bible, dating from the
twenty-third century B. C., and reminding one forcibly of the Herculean
and many other myths recounted in other ancient languages.

An off-shoot of the Chaldean culture was that of Persia, whose priestly
class were far removed above the warriors and farmers that constituted
the other two classes. Priests married only among their own race,
possessed all the knowledge, made their king _ex officio_ one of
themselves, and practised itinerant teaching, but solely among their
own caste. In the holy city, Ragha, the priests alone held rule and no
secular power prevailed; Zoroaster was their founder; they were the
physicians, astrologers, interpreters of dreams, scribes and officers
of justice, while they impressed upon the minds of the people their
exclusive duties;--to reverence the holy fire, which was their greatest
mystery, to listen to the teaching of passages from the sacred book,
and to perform numerous ceremonies of purification. Only the initiated
were taught the meaning of the strife between the good Ormuzd and the
evil Ahriman, which was probably the alternation of day and night, and
of summer and winter.

In India the intense feeling with regard to caste but little altered
the condition of things from that obtaining as above described,
though the Brahmins were further away from the other castes than in
other countries where the priests came from the common people; by
the latter the Brahmins used to be regarded as Gods and did all they
could to perpetuate this feeling. By this fact alone they became a
self-constituted mystic organization, being themselves pantheists while
the people were idolators. Though they taught pantheism in their sacred
books, the second and third castes, namely the warriors and farmers,
did not understand the teaching, and the fourth caste dared not read
them at all.

In this pantheism penitents and hermits were esteemed as above kings
and heroes; but even the life of a hermit was not exacting enough
for them, so they organized the idea of a soul of the universe so
incomprehensible that, as they themselves acknowledged, no man could
comprehend it or instruct another in it. Despairing of solving the
problem they finally fancied that the universe was a phantasm, and that
the earth and all things earthly were nothing. They taught that through
countless aeons of time men grew always worse, and were born only to
suffer and die, or to do penance in the torments of an indescribable
Hell. Naturally of all these things the people could only understand
the teachings pertaining to hell and future punishment, and so the
Brahmins contrived for them a supreme deity, having the same name as
their Soul of the Universe, namely Brahma, whom they made the creator
but playing a passive part. The people were not content, however,
with an absentee passive God, but paid much more attention to Vishnu
the preserver, and the dreaded Siva, the destroyer. After a while
these three Gods were united in a sort of trinity, represented by a
three headed figure, but without temples or sacrifices. The Brahmins
continued their subtleties and divided the people into parties, like
the scholiasts and disputants of the middle centuries of our present
Christian era, and so the Hindoo religion became more and more debased.
However, in the sixth century B. C., Buddha, that great figure in
early history, endeavored to save it by a reform which found much more
encouragement in the West, and to the far East of India, than in India
itself, and which has since assumed a more composite character by
fusion with the religions of the surrounding countries.

Buddha formed first a monastic society based upon ethical doctrines,
whose underlying principle was that only by a renunciation of
everything can man find safety, peace and comfort. Buddha's first
teachings were mystic and for the initiated only; his followers
believed also in reincarnation. After his death and that of those who
were supposed to have lived before him, and who were expected to appear
again, and who had been raised to the dignity of Gods, (and after
their number had been added to that of the popular Hindoo Gods and
to the Gods of the other people), then Buddhism became a polytheism,
and because of the variety of possible explanations and the necessary
exegesis, assumed in the end the dimensions of a secret mystic doctrine.

The Hellenes undoubtedly did, in the beginning, worship natural
forces under the form of animals, especially of serpents; later human
and animal forms were united, and so they had deities with heads of
animals, or with the bodies of horses like the Centaurs, or with the
hoofs of goats like the Satyrs. But the natural Greek taste for the
beautiful early asserted itself; the figures of Gods came by degrees
to express the ideal of physical perfection, that is the human shape,
and the Grecian religion became essentially a worship of the beautiful,
and not as among Oriental religions a worship of the unnatural or
hideous. They forgot the astronomic and cosmic significance of the
early myths and held rather to personifications of the normal forces,
of which their poets sang as of mortal heroes. They never dreamt of
dogma, creed or revelation, demanded only that man honor the Gods, but
left it to the taste of each one how he should suitably perform his
acts of reverence. It must be confessed, however, that in candor and
chastity they left much to be desired; but this may be explained when
we remember that their own Gods set them a very poor example in these
respects. Still history will forgive them much because they loved
much. The Greeks were exceedingly liberal in their interpretations
concerning the Gods, while the various peoples constituting the Greek
race were not at all agreed as to the number and respective rank
of the Gods whom they worshiped. Thus one would be disowned here,
another there; while in one place greater honor would be paid to one,
or elsewhere to another; exactly as in the case of the Saints among
the Catholic people of to-day. They went so far in their worship
of the beautiful as to divide the Gods among the localities which
possessed statues of them, which Gods came to be regarded as distinct
individuals; so that even Socrates doubted whether Aphrodite of the sky
and Aphrodite of the people were or were not the same person.

Furthermore in their liberality they made Gods to hand for every
emergency, and even worshiped the unknown Gods, as St. Paul long ago
recorded. For the Greeks these Gods were neither monsters like those
of Egypt, India and Chaldea, nor incorporeal spirits like the Gods of
Persia and of Israel, but human beings with all the human attributes.
For the Greeks neither Jehovah existed, nor a personal devil in any
form. Like the Greeks themselves their Gods had many human failings,
though in them religion survived many mythological creations like the
Centaurs, the Satyrs, etc. These were merely folklore beings enacting
parts ranging from terror to farce, and never receiving divine honors.

Grecian religion was, so to speak, the established church of the
Greek states, but came to be in time a cloak for the designs of the
politicians; in which respect history has many times repeated itself.
For instance Socrates was made to drink his cup of hemlock on the
pretext that he had apostatized from the state religion. Still even
in his day heresy played no part except among politicians. Every one
could plainly state his convictions, and Aristophanes in his comedies
introduced Gods in the most ridiculous and compromising situations. So
long as the public worship of the Gods went on the state cared little
for the upholding of positive or suppressing of negative beliefs. The
Gods were entitled to sacrifices and the people to divine aid, but they
could regulate the interchange to suit themselves. The greatest public
crimes were violation of temples and profanation of sacred things; one
must leave the images alone even if he did not believe in the Gods they
represented. Punishment of blasphemy was only inflicted when complaint
was made. Foreign Gods could be introduced and worshiped at will,
providing only that the customary honors were rendered to those at home.

Such religious freedom could naturally only exist during the minority
or the absence of a priestly class. Anyone could transact business
with the Gods or conduct sacrifices; priests were employed only in
the temples, and outside of them they had neither business, influence
nor privileges. Their pantheism was comprehensive; the Gods were
everywhere, and the honor done to them consisted in invocations,
votive offerings and sacrifices. The Grecian religion recognized no
official revelation which all were required to believe, though it did
not deny the possibility of revelations at any time. Their oracles
were obtainable only in particular places and through duly qualified
individuals. At one time in ancient Greece conjuration was in vogue,
but the Gods and demons who indulged in it were all borrowed from
foreign sources, and in time it degenerated into pure magic.

The Greeks, however, could not get away from the sentimental notion
that belief in the Gods must have an ethical side and must be
subordinate to their faith; in other words that human nature was
something entirely different from the divine to which it was subject.
Alienation from the God in which they believed led necessarily to the
impulse to seek him, which was the leading motive in the institution of
the Grecian mysteries,--Gods who were man's equals were not sufficient
for the Greeks. In the beginning of these mysteries they borrowed the
art of the popular religion, disregarded the science of the day as
well as the philosophic doctrines of their great men, held in contempt
both human power and human knowledge, and devoted themselves almost
entirely to self-introspection, meditation on revelation, incarnation
and resurrection, and presented these things in dramatic forms and
ceremonies, by which illusions they hoped to make more or less
impression upon the senses. The Grecian mysteries were the opposite
of genuine Hellenism. The true Greek was cheerful, happy, clear in
perception, and his Gods appeared to him as do their statues to us
to-day. But Greek mysticism was full of gloom, symbolism and fantastic
interpretations; in every way it was unhellenic and abnormal, having no
fit place in their soil nor in their age. It always has been the case
that sentimental, romantic or mystical dispositions find delight in the
mysterious, while logical minds are unmoved by it. From the Mysteries
no man was excluded, save those who had shown themselves unworthy of
initiation. They had their origin in the early rites of purification
and atonement; the former being at first only bodily cleansing, which
later took on a moral significance; while the atonement was a sort
of expiation which came with the consciousness of sin and desire for
forgiveness. Atonement was most called for in case of blood guiltiness,
and consisted largely in the sacrifices of animals, burning of incense,
etc. In all the ancient mysteries these two features of purification
and expiation played a great part.

Of them all the oldest and most celebrated were those instituted at
Eleusis, in Attica, in honor of the Goddess Demeter (Latin Ceres),
and her daughter Persephone (Latin Proserpina). To these were added
later a masculine deity, known at first as Iacchos, whose name is
probably related to Jao, which appears in Jovispater or Jupiter, and
to the Hebrew Yahve or Jehovah. Later, however, B was substituted for
I and Iacchos was made to read Bacchus. Jao was the Harvest God, and
consequently God of the grape, hence the close relation to Bacchus.
The Greek word Eleusis means _advent_, and commemorates the visit of
Demeter while wandering in search of her daughter,--which reminds one
of the Egyptian story of Isis. Moved by gratitude, Demeter bestowed
upon the people of Eleusis the bread-grain and the mysteries. From this
city the cult of these two deities spread over all Greece and most of
Asia Minor, passed into Italy in modified form, and thus became widely
accepted. The people built at Eleusis a temple in pure Doric style and
a Mystic House in which the secret festivals were held. The city was
connected with Athens by a Sacred Way, which was flanked with temples
and sanctuaries, while in Athens itself was a building, the Eleusinion,
in which a portion of the mysteries were celebrated. The buildings at
Eleusis were in good preservation until the fourth century A. D., when
they were destroyed by the Goths under Alaric, and at the instigation
of monkish fanatics. You will see, then, that the mysteries were widely
observed in Asia Minor, and at a time when they must have deeply tinged
the religious views and habits of a large portion of the population
prior to the beginning of the Christian Era.

The Eleusinian mysteries were always under the direction of the
Athenian government, and the report of their celebration was always
rendered to the grand council of Athens. The function of the priests
was an hereditary and exclusive privilege and the mysteries as a
whole were under the immediate care of a sacred council. The people
contented themselves mainly with honoring the Gods, while in these
mysteries the original endeavor was to emphasize the preëminence of
the divine over the human, hence their careful guardianship by the
authorities of the state. Both were offshoots of pantheism, one seeing
the divine in all earthly things, the other constantly searching for
it there, and striving to unite with it. Monotheism, that is absolute
separation of the human from the divine without hope of union, is a
purely Oriental conception, quite incomprehensible to the Greek mind.
No ancient Greek ever conceived of a creative deity in the Egyptians'
sense, nor of a vengeful Jehovah like that of the Hebrews.

The Eleusinian mysteries were most highly venerated among the Greeks;
so much so that during their celebration hostilities were suspended
between opposing armies, while those who witnessed them uninvited or
betrayed the secret teaching, or ridiculed them, were executed or
banished. So late even as the period of the Roman supremacy the Roman
Emperors took an interest in maintaining these mysteries, and some of
the early Christian Emperors, like Constantius II. and Jovian, while
forbidding nocturnal festivals made an exception of these.

The sum of the original Eleusinian doctrine is a myth based upon the
rape of Demeter's daughter Persephone by Pluto, all of which is the old
story of the seasons and the changes brought about in their regular
succession; and as Persephone was ultimately united with Bacchus but
returned to the lower world for the winter, we see typified first, the
fruitfulness of the Sun God; secondly, the fecundity of the soil, and,
thirdly, the resurrection of the body, which having been dropped like
the grain into the earth was supposed to rise from it again after a
similar fashion. How much this may have to do with present Christian
beliefs concerning the resurrection may not be easily decided.
Nevertheless it is of interest that the doctrine of the resurrection
is of pre-Christian origin and is traceable through heathen teachings,
even if having no greater support than the analogy above cited. The
central teaching of the mysteries was probably that of a personal
immortality analogous to the return of bloom and blossom to plants in
the spring.

There were two festivals held at Eleusis, the _lesser_ in March, when
the ravished Persephone came up out of the nether world into the
sunlight; and the _greater_ in October when she had to follow her
sullen spouse into Hades again. The preliminary celebration was held
at Athens, and lasted six days, from October 15th to 20th. They all
assembled upon that day and went down to the seashore for the rite of
purification, the other days being spent in sacrificing and marching
in solemn procession. On the last of them came the grand Bacchic
procession, when thousands of both sexes wended their way along the
sacred road to Eleusis; the distance to be traveled was fourteen miles,
but many stops were made. Arrived at Eleusis the first evening was
devoted to drinking the decoction called _kykeon_, by which Demeter was
originally comforted during her wanderings. During the first days the
initiated feasted and performed their mystic rites, consisting largely
of torch light processions at night. After these were over the festival
became a scene of merriment and athletic competition. The fasting and
solemn cup, along with others of their rites, remind one of certain
Christian observations perpetuated to the present day, while the severe
tests to which those desiring initiation were subject have been more
or less imitated by the Free Masons and other secret societies of
mediaeval or modern times. The Mystic House must have been furnished
with all the resources of the stage and the most ingenious stage
carpentry of that day, and makes one think of Scottish Rite Masonry
of this. The initiates regarded their chances in the next world as
much better than those of the common people, as all the ancient Greek
writers acknowledge.

In age and renown the mysteries of the Cabiri, in the island of
Samothrace, rank next to those of Eleusis. They date back to a time
preceding the evolution of several of the Grecian deities. These
Mysteries implied originally an astro-mythology, losing in time its
astral meaning. In these Samothracian mysteries the reproductive forces
of nature figured most prominently, and through them the Phallic
worship of the Orientals was transmitted to the Greeks. Into these
mysteries women and even children were initiated. There were also
Cabirian mysteries in several other Islands in the Grecian Archipelago,
as well as on the continent.

Mysteries were also celebrated in the Island of Crete, in honor of
Zeus. We know but little concerning them save that in the spring time
the birth of the God was commemorated in one place, and his death at
another, and that amid loud noises the story of the childhood of Zeus
was enacted by the young.

As already remarked the worship of Bacchus was imported and in him was
personified the influence of the sun upon the growth of the vine, while
the ultimate tendency was to the glorification of life and force; in
other words, it was eminently materialistic and appealed to the grosser
senses. The Dionysian mysteries originated in Thrace, and among a
people of Pelasgian stock, who were naturally gloomy save when aroused,
when their enthusiasm became exaggerated into transports of frenzy. In
time a distinction obtained between the Dionysian mysteries and the
festivals. At least seven different non-mystic festivals occurred in
Attica during the year, which were of popular character, during which
the Phallic worship, if any, predominated. The fabled adventures of
Bacchus were enacted and the dramatic stage originated at this time
and from this beginning. On the other hand, a triennial festival of
Dionysos was held in which women participated who, saturated with wine,
lost all restraint and humility and were called _maenades_ or mad
women, while their festivals were spoken of as _orgia_, whence our
modern term orgies. These were conducted at night, upon the mountains,
by torch-light, in mid-winter, while the women, who were clothed in
skins, shunned all association with men, and drank, danced, sang and
committed all sorts of excesses, finally sacrificing a bull, in honor
of the god, whose flesh they devoured raw. They then raved about
the death of their god and how he must be found again; all hope in
rediscovering him centering in the quickening springtime.

Bacchus worship, bad as it was in Greece, was surpassed in Rome, Livy
even comparing the introduction of the Bacchic cult into Rome to a
visitation of the plague. In its Etruscan and Roman form it became
simple debauchery with a thin veneering of religion. So abominable did
it become in time that in 186 B. C., the Consul Albinus was compelled
to suppress it. Seven thousand persons were implicated at that time,
and the ringleaders and a multitude of their accomplices were condemned
to death or exile. The senate decreed that the Bacchanalia should
never again be held in Rome or Italy, and the places sacred to Bacchic
worship were to be destroyed. These orgies continued unchecked outside
of Italy, and in time reappeared again even upon Italian soil, until
the days of the Roman Emperors, when they reached a pitch of absolute
shamelessness, as in the case of the notorious Messalina.

Time fails in which to mention all of the other debased mysteries
which were met with in the various parts of Greece and Italy. Among
them, however, must be recorded those of the mother of Rhea, those of
Sebazios, and those of Mithras, all of which were finally collected
by the sect of Orpheans. Among the Persians Mithras was the Light,
and his worship was perhaps the purest cult that could be imagined.
Later it was combined with sun worship, and Mithras became a Sun God,
and as such generally recognized among the different peoples. To the
early Greeks Mithras was unknown, but in the later days of the Roman
Empire his mysteries made their appearance and gained great prominence.
The monuments represented a young man in the act of slaying a bull
with a dagger, while all around are human and animal figures, the
youth standing for the Sun God who, on subduing Taurus in May, begins
to develop his highest power. The original beautiful rites later
degenerated and became orgies. Among the original rites was a form of
baptism and the drinking of a potion made of meal and water. Human
sacrifices were in some places a part of the cult.

The most disreputable of all these mysteries appear to have been the
Sabazian, which were made up of several earlier forms, and were mere
excuses for gluttony and lewdness, while the priests of the cult were
most impudent beggars.

Thus in time the mysteries were stripped of all the beauties of a
heavenly origin and became of earth exceedingly earthy, while their
initiates, lost to all shame and decency, persisted nevertheless
in their sacred hypocrisy, until the hideous night of the Gods
disappeared before the glow of a brighter morning.

After this rather long preliminary portion, we are now prepared,
as otherwise we could not be, to consider the relation between the
Christian religion and these ancient mysteries. Granting that Jesus was
the founder of the Christian religion, we must remember, nevertheless,
that he was distinctly a Jew, spent his life in Judea, and based his
teachings upon Judaism; also that long before his day Judaism was
thoroughly indoctrinated with Greek elements, and that after his
crucification the propaganda was carried on not so much by Jews as
by Greeks and men of Grecian education. Between the Greeks and the
Jews there were then, as now, the greatest differences; differences
which have already been epitomized, but which may be thus summarized.
On one side the closest union between God or the Gods and man, most
lofty sentiments and finest sense of art-form, a priesthood making no
pretentions and exerting little influence, a nation sustaining active
commercial relations with the world, and all imbued with eagerness to
adopt whatever was novel; on the other side, the widest separation
between Jehovah and man, a substitution of theology and religious
poetry for a study of nature, a nation ruled by priests and protected
against all access from without, either by sea or caravan, adhering
determinedly to the old and distrusting whatever was new.

After the Jews were liberated from Babylon, by Cyrus, they dispersed
widely, living largely under Persian rule, and subjected after
Alexander's conquest to Greek influences. Later they were scattered
still more widely, becoming in time a mercantile race. In Egypt they
enjoyed greater privileges than elsewhere, and in Alexandria saw the
acme of Grecian art and teaching. While retaining their reverence for
their scriptures and for the temple at Jerusalem, they quite generally
adopted the language of the country, and particularly was this true of
the Jews living in Alexandria in the third century, B. C., during which
the Pentateuch was translated into the Septuagint, the remainder of the
Hebrew bible being translated about 125 B. C. Thus the Greeks gained
an introduction to Jewish theology, while the Hellenist Jews learned
for the first time a Grecian philosophy; thus, too, among the scholars
of one race was begotten a high esteem for the sages and philosophers
of the other, while from the polytheism of one and the monotheism
of the other was constructed a new mysticism. In this Alexandrian
mysticism appeared in particular and for the first time the new idea
of divine revelation, which was applied by enthusiasts alike to the
Old Testament and to the Grecian writings. The Jew Aristobulus devised
a most ingenious allegorical interpretation of the Old Testament, and
traced to it all the wisdom of the Greeks, who until recently had never
heard of it; and Philo, another Hebrew philosopher, contemporary with
Christ, yet of whom he knew nothing, so construed the traditions of his
race as to see in the four rivers of Eden the four cardinal virtues,
in the trees of paradise the lesser virtues, and in the great figures
of Jewish history personifications of various moral conceptions, all
of which was out-doing the manner in which his Grecian friends had
developed their own mysteries. Moreover, and this is very important,
Philo taught that God had made a world of ideas and according to this
model had subsequently made a corporeal world; the former having for
its central point the Word. This statement that the _Word_ was the
first and the _World_ his second deed passed later into the gospel of
St. John, which opens "In the beginning was the _word_, and the _word_
was God."

Philo founded a sect based upon the doctrine that the soul's union
with the body is to be regarded as a punishment from which man should
free himself, for his soul's sake. This sect was known as the Essenes,
who in spite of claims to the highest antiquity really were founded
during the first century B. C., and who constituted in effect a secret
society. They were the true socialists of their day, and held things
in common. They invented a peculiar nomenclature for the angels
and imposed upon their new members to keep these names secret. As
a society they did not long survive the beginning of the Christian
era, being made superfluous by Christian asceticism. The Essenes,
however, were of importance in this regard that they constituted the
middle terms between the Grecian mysteries and Christianity, as they
did between Grecian philosophy and Judaism. They were, in effect,
a Jewish imitation of the Pythagorean league. _When with Grecian
mysticism were associated the nobility of Socrates, the philosophy
of Plato, the science of Aristotle and the Jewish belief in one God,
it is not strange that out of these elements, combined with the
teachings of simple humanity enunciated by Christ, there resulted a
power which transformed the world._ The view that all mankind are
brothers, originally Jewish, was also of independent Greek origin and
came especially from the Stoics, who had to lie dormant until some tie
stronger than mere political association held men together. This tie
subsequently became a religious one. Polytheism had nothing more to
give up; all the forces had been worked over in the God-making process,
the Pantheon was full, and men ridiculed alike the Gods, their oracles
and their priests. These same priests smiled at each other when they
met, and forfeited all public respect by the lives they led. Olympic
wantoning and derision of the Gods must necessarily have ended so soon
as anything better could be substituted therefor.

The long felt want was for a God of definite character, of approved
prowess, with human feelings, human wrath, and human love, made after
man's own likeness, who should stand for a doctrine of personal
immortality, and give some promise of a hereafter. The Jews, the only
monotheists of the time, were prepared to furnish such a God, but he
was too spiritual, and was worshiped by altogether too indefinite
rites and peculiar usages. Nevertheless the God of the Jews was
utilized for this purpose while the mystic elements with which he was
to be surrounded were furnished by the ancient Grecian mysteries and
the doctrines of the Pythagoreans and Essenes. So completely did the
Jews and Greeks mingle in Egypt and in Judea, that the idea prevailed
among both races that the time had come for something new in the
desired direction. The various secret leagues demanded a separation of
the divine from the human and their subsequent reconciliation, all of
which was subsequently furnished to their satisfaction in the accounts
of the origin and death of Christ. Even during the early years of the
Roman Empire men looked for a new kingdom in the East, and both Jews
and Heathen awaited some divine intervention. This took more definite
form in the Jewish expectation of a Messiah who should restore the
kingdom of Israel, and in their worship of Jehovah, while the Greeks
yearned for something to take the place of their degenerate polytheism.

The times were thus ready for the appearance of Jesus, who lived for
most of his life in obscurity, and of whose career no mention is made
by contemporary Greek and Roman writers. This was perhaps fortunate for
his followers, for none could contradict what any other might choose
to say of Him who rose above the bigotry of his day and people, who
was executed because of his independence of the priests and scribes,
and who was thus regarded as the longed for Messiah. On the Jewish
branch of his real origin were grafted Grecian mystical off-shoots of
superhuman origin;--an immaculate conception, a vicarious sacrifice,
a resurrection and an assumption of a portion of the God-head. Thus,
in what has come down to us concerning the Founder of the Christian
church, truth and fiction mingle; the former being that which is
consistent with highest laws and natural phenomena; and the latter that
which conflicts with these. Jesus himself never made pretentions to
being more than a man. When he spoke of his father he spoke of him as
equally the father of all mankind; he was the greatest moral reformer
that ever lived, and he differed widely from the Essenes in that he
sought to save man, not by Essenism and withdrawing him from the world,
but by living with him and setting him a beautiful example.

The ancients were firm believers in signs and portents from the heavens
which were supposed to serve both for the instruction and warning
of mankind. Stars, meteors, the aurora, comets and sudden lights of
any kind were regarded as presaging events like the birth of Gods,
heroes, etc. Great lights were supposed to have appeared both at the
conception and birth of Buddha, and of Crishna. The sacred writings of
China tell of like events in the history of the founder of her first
dynasty, Yu, and of her inspired sages. The Greeks and Romans had
similar traditions regarding the birth of Aesculapius and several of
the Caesars. In Jewish history we read that a star appeared at the
birth of Moses, and of Abraham--for whom an unusual one appeared in
the East. The prominence which a similar star in the East played in
the legends of the Founder of Christianity and the effect which, as
also in the case of Moses it had upon Magi, needs here no rehearsing. A
very different significance was attached to eclipse or to any phenomena
by which unexpected darkness is produced. The Greeks held that at the
deaths of Prometheus, Hercules, Aesculapius and Alexander, a great
darkness overspread the earth. In Roman history the earth was shadowed
in darkness for six hours when Romulus died. Much the same thing is
reported to have occurred when Julius Caesar died. So also one of the
most conspicuous features attending the crucifixion of Jesus was a
similar phenomenon which is made to play a most conspicuous part, for
we read in three of the gospels that "darkness spread over the earth
from the sixth to the ninth hour;" although the only evangelist who
claims to have been present says nothing about it, nor do historians of
that time, like Seneca and Pliny, make note of any such event in Judea.

In view of all this, however, to deny the star in the East, and the
hours of darkness following the crucifixion, is regarded by many pious
people as rank blasphemy or heresy of the deepest dye.

The parables in which Jesus taught so unmistakably were similes adapted
to the simple comprehension of his people, who likewise often made use
of such figurative language. Those who followed him used this form
of speech much more freely, and quickly erected his personality into
the dignity of a God, magnified him and his mission, and soon saw him
generally accepted as the equivalent of the Messiah, for whom Greeks
and Jews alike had longed. His alleged miracles were unnecessary,
in addition to being contradictory to all known natural sequences,
because the simple and sublime truths which he preached could not be
made more expressive by any such help. In the light of to-day they
seem unnecessary juggleries, quite unworthy of so grand a character.
They probably represent the effort of his followers, who portrayed his
life and personality in colors which would make them more generally
acceptable.

Of such transformations as that by which the son of a carpenter was
made to appear of divine origin history has no lack. The Grecian
polytheism furnished numerous illustrations; Apollo appeared on earth
as a shepherd, Herakles, the son of Zeus, and Romulus (who was also the
son of a _virgin_ and of _Mars_), were founders of cities, states and
nations. The Jewish accounts of creation stated that God walked the
earth, and why not in human form? Why also should not the founder of a
religion be the son of God and of a virgin? The rest of the beautiful
story upon which we were all brought up must be regarded as fanciful
embellishment, beautiful in its imagery, but having no foundation in
fact or scientific possibility. The annunciation, the star in the
East, the slaughter of the innocents, etc., can only be regarded in
this light.

The stories of the miracles are probably distinctively purposive.
In the Grecian mysteries Demeter and Dionysos figured as givers of
bread and wine; Jesus, too, was made lord and giver of these two
sacred viands, all of which appears in his changing water into wine,
multiplying the loaves, and later in the institution of the Last
Supper, at which bread and wine became a part of these Christian
mysteries which are still widely perpetuated. In his quieting the
storm, walking upon the water, finding the penny in the fishes' mouth,
and the draught of fishes, are portrayed his power over the forces of
nature and lower forms of life. His power over disease was personified
by stories of healing paralytics, lepers, blind, deaf and dumb people,
casting out devils, and even by restoring the dead to life. Apparitions
were common according to the history of his life, as of the holy spirit
in form of a dove, his encounter with Satan, the appearance of Moses
and Elias, etc. The ancient tendency to personify appears again in the
form of Satan or a personal devil, namely the power of evil, while in
the Transfiguration is personified the superiority of the new law over
the old. Finally the miracles attending his last days, the darkening
of the sun, the rending of the veil and the Resurrection, were all
occurrences which it would be impossible to omit from the closing
scenes in the life of anyone who has figured as a God. They betoken
the mourning of nature, while the Ascension personified the belief in
an everlasting Redeemer and the individual immortality of those who
believed in him.

In thus epitomizing the events in the life of Jesus upon which, from
his day until now, men have laid such fearful stress, and upon whose
acceptance the present life as well as the future of all men has been
conditioned, I should be far from doing justice to myself should I
fail to point out my own attitude in the matter. I hold it true that
the self-evident truth, as well as the wonderful sublimity of Christ's
teachings, become apparent upon the study of the same, and are weakened
rather than strengthened by insistence upon all that is supernatural,
mysterious and inconceivable in the generally accepted account of his
life and labor. My mind is freed from the necessity for the mysterious
which the Graeco-Jewish people demanded, and which the superstitious
people of to-day still demand, and I prefer to let him stand for what
he seems to me to be,--_the greatest moralist and teacher of all
time_, rather than to surround him with a veil of imagery and with
statements so impossible of belief as to make it impossible to accept
one part without accepting them all. The Jews already had doctrines
of unity of God and love for others; the Grecian philosophy antedated
him in insisting upon elevation of life to a higher plane than that
of mere gratification of the senses, and everywhere his predecessors
and contemporaries could furnish miracles by the hundred, but in
force, grandeur and simplicity of his teachings, in his comprehensive
humanity, in his directness of appeal, in his condemnations of those
who departed from the model which he set, he never has had and probably
never will have an equal. In his self-abasement and love for others he
was as irresistible as have been these principles in civilizing and, in
this sense, christianizing the world.

In Jesus' own day there was no hair-splitting theology; devotion, love
of fellow-men, charity, repentance, these were all that were needed.
But the beautiful simplicity of his teaching was lost with the death of
his first disciples. The system was esteemed too simple, too unadorned
to appeal to the people used to something quite the contrary. And so
Stephen the Martyr, who was of Grecian education, was stoned because
he demanded a repudiation of certain Jewish teachings, although the
congregation at Antioch adopted his views.

Paul the great leader was an epileptic and had frequent fits and
visions, and these made a strong impression, not only on himself but
on his followers. On the creations of his imagination the doctrine of
the resurrection is largely based. He set up the God-man Jesus as the
counterpart of the first man Adam, who represented sin and death, and
who was to be crucified and born anew in Christ. Between Paul, the
great Gentile Christian, and Peter, the Jewish Christian, the church
was quickly split into two parties; these two soon subdividing into
others, and among them all arose the New Testament literature, whose
Alexandrine dialect establishes the influence of Greek education.

Thus did Christianity develop out of the secret associations of the
ancient world. The early Christians themselves constituted, at least
while under persecution, a sort of secret society. Their worship
was mystical, but not because Jesus so taught;--rather because of
their environment and traditions. The practice of baptism, the last
supper and the doctrines of incarnation and resurrection have been as
certainly added to the Nazarene's sublime code of ethics as to them in
turn, in the centuries to follow, were added every conceivable notion,
mystery and stupid absurdity which the diseased minds of men could
imagine, and which have been the cause of more departure from Christ's
original teachings, and of more strife and bloodshed than any other
feature in the history of mankind.

Indeed it is one of the greatest inconsistencies of history that
the doctrines of love, unity and peace, taught by the Founder of
Christianity, should have been the greatest of all factors to rend
mankind apart, beget feelings of hatred, and result in the death, from
this cause, of millions of men such as Jesus himself most loved.




VI

THE KNIGHTS HOSPITALLER OF ST. JOHN OF JERUSALEM


The three great militant, mendicant and monastic orders of the middle
ages were the Knights Hospitaller of St. John, the Knights Templar,
and the Teutonic Order. In addition were numerous others, smaller,
shorter lived, less important in every respect, scarcely mentioned in
even the larger histories, like the knights of Calatrava, Alcantara,
Santiago de Compostella, and the English Knights of the Holy Sepulchre.
These orders were the immediate as well as the indirect outgrowth
of mediaeval conditions for which both the Church and the State
were responsible. The secret tenets of the Christians had been made
public, and those who held to them had for some time ceased to be a
secret society; their faith was now a part of that church which was
essentially the State, and which occupied a goodly part of Europe.

Sad to say the Church was rent, and the State suffered accordingly
from constant strife between sects and parties, who contested, even
to the death, over interpretations to be given to the scriptures, and
the matter of creeds. Thus while discussing at point of the sword
whether the soul is to be saved by good works, or by grace of God, they
disregarded the very essence of the simple teachings of Jesus, and
brought upon theology, even in those days, the contempt and ridicule of
the liberal minded and the non-believer, so that even to-day it suffers
because of the unfortunate light in which it was made to appear.
That theology should lead to war is the antithesis of the Christian
doctrine, yet no wars have been so fierce and bloody as those waged in
"spreading the cross" and propagating a misinterpreted gospel. And so
theology suffered doubly from the Monks who perverted it, and from the
Knights and the State that inculcated it with fire and sword.

For a thousand years nothing of importance was added to human
knowledge, and mental confusion reigned supreme. At the end of
this period all the original teachings of Christ were forgotten,
and after passing through the hands and tongues of fanatics or
deluded and ignorant men, Christianity was left with the semblance
of a monotheistic basis on which had been crudely built up certain
doctrines borrowed from Egyptian and Grecian sources, among which may
be mentioned the Trinity, Immaculate Conception, Resurrection and
Ascension, as well as certain practices like that of the Lord's Supper,
plainly borrowed from pagan customs. There was in all this so much
to challenge belief, and so much at first unacceptable to minds not
trained to believe it, that, in order to be effective their propaganda
had to be carried on with the sword. Moreover to the Christian mystic,
anxious to unify himself with the hidden, unknown deity the idea of
Moslem unbelievers in possession of the high places which they regarded
with such reverence, was simply intolerable and repugnant beyond
description.

Hence the Crusades undertaken in order to regain the Sepulchre; in
which by Papal decree the Monks joined the Knights, and under command
of emperors and the greatest generals of their day, made temporary
conquest of the Holy Land, founding the kingdom of Jerusalem. The
immediate outcome of the general movement was that alliance, made wise
and even necessary, when theology and chivalry joined hands, from
which resulted the foundation of such orders as those mentioned at the
beginning of this paper. These allies of which they were composed, all
took the monastic vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, and for a
time kept them, until the possession of power and the acquisition of
wealth brought their inevitably accompanying temptations. Each of these
orders and many of the others passed through the successive stages of
poverty, with meekness and constant benefaction, succeeded sooner or
later by temporal aggrandizement, selfishness, greed, and rapacity,
with all the crimes in the calendar, and the inevitable ultimate
downfall. Of them all the Hospital Knights bore by all means the least
smirched record, on which account, partly, as well as because of their
most prominent purpose, i. e., their work among the sick, wounded and
distressed, I deem their careers worthy of more particular study.

For this purpose we may quickly dismiss the Teutonic knights from
present consideration, simply reminding you that they were really
the founders of modern Prussia. They had their own origin in the
commendable public spirit of the merchants of Lübeck and Bremen, who
during the siege of Acre made tents out of the sails of their ships, in
which their wounded countrymen might be nursed and attended. Most of
their active service against the Saracens was in Spain.

Of the Knights Templar a little must be said here. About 1119 two
Knights, Hugo (or Hugh) of Payens, and Godfrey of St. Omers, associated
with themselves six other French Knights in a league of military
character, styling themselves "Poor Knights of Christ," and pledged
themselves to keep safe for pilgrims the highways of the Holy Land.
They prospered and grew, and came into the favor of Baldwin I, king
of that kingdom of Jerusalem already mentioned. Inasmuch as their
Monastery occupied a part of the site of Solomon's temple of old they
were known as _Templars_. At the synod of Troyes, in 1128, they were
recognized as a regular Order, and received monastic rules and habits,
with a special banner. They were also known as "Poor Companions of the
Temple of Jerusalem," a name which did not very long befit them. At
first, like the Hospital Knights, they begged their food, fasted, kept
vows, worshipped diligently, and cared for the poor and infirm. Beard
and hair were cropped short, the chase was forbidden, and they took
the usual vows of chastity. But as they acquired property they forgot
the simple life and habit, as well as their vows of obedience and
chastity, while their pledge to protect the pilgrim on his way became
in time a farce, not alone through their indifference and negligence,
but through their treasonable dealings with the Saracens, and even
treacherous surrender of their strongholds.

Thus, whatever their pristine purpose, lucre and power became the later
objects of their strife and the impelling motives of their lives. By
the accession of so-called "affiliated members" they avoided the rule
of celibacy, and admitted married knights and those engaged to be
married.

Their Grand Masters in time ranked next after Popes and Monarchs. While
the former favored them it was mainly because they feared them. They
were exempt from all episcopal jurisdiction, and subject only to the
Pope. So rich and powerful did they become that at the time of their
suppression they controlled an Empire of five provinces in the East and
sixteen in the West, while the Order possessed some 15,000 houses. They
aimed to make all Christendom dependent upon themselves, with only the
Pope as their nominal head.

Of their personal bravery, which was usually impeccable, of their
affluence and intolerable effrontery, and of many of their traits and
characteristics, one may form an excellent idea by reading _Ivanhoe_,
where these seem to be quite faithfully depicted. It is, to me I
confess, just a little amusing as well as saddening to see the men, who
name their secret Masonic associations after the founders of the Order,
displaying and imitating, at least in public where alone they can be
judged by outsiders, only those features of Templar Knighthood which
marked the period of their decadence or their downfall. As imitations
they may be historically accurate, but as worthy of emulation, or even
of imitation such displays are matters of questionable taste, at least,
to those who read medieval history.

The Templars in their days of splendor and later downfall, were neither
pious, nor learned, nor good Christians. Many of their secret doctrines
were of heretical origin, taken from the Waldenses or the Albigenses,
and they cared far more for their own possessions than for the Holy
Land. They promulgated the shameful excuse that God evidently willed
that the Saracen should win; that the defects of the Crusaders were
evidently according to His decision, and that therefore they were
released from their vows, and could return to Europe, where indeed they
rested--after their fashion,--from their labors, and passed their time
in doing everything their founders had vowed not to do.

But this is not intended to be an epitome of Templar history; rather
a brief statement of the reasons why they went proudly and sometimes
stoically to their final downfall, and why the Hospital Order, though
not always keeping up to its earlier standards, nevertheless so
far eclipsed them, as to become the recipients of very much of the
Templars' enormous resources and wealth, being thought worthy to be
thus entrusted. And so it happened that, in 1307, Philip of France had
all the Templars in France arrested and their property sequestrated.
This led to a tripartite dispute in which were involved the Templars,
the Pope and the King. In 1310 fifty-four Templar Knights were burned
alive in Paris. At last the Pope, to prevent their property from
falling into secular hands, made over to the Hospitallers most of the
Templar estates, excepting however those in Spain. The Grand Master
Molay and another Templar were burned to death on an island in the
Seine.

So much then in brief, for purposes of contrast. Now to the avowed
subject of this paper.

During the seventeenth century there rose a controversy as to the
foundation of a hospital already in existence in Jerusalem, named
after the Asmorean prince John Hyrcanus, (the son and successor of
Simon Maccabaeus, who restored the independence of Judea and founded
a monarchy over which his descendants reigned till the accession of
Herod. He died 105 B. C.). This was at a time when the pious merchants
of Amalfi planned a refuge for their pilgrims. It was this John whom
many suppose to have been the patron of the order, though it seems
now clearly established that the first sponsor or the first St. John,
in this connection, was the Greek patriarch John surnamed Eleëmon,
or the Charitable, because of his practical philanthropy. (See "St.
John the Almsgiver," Rev. H. T. F. Duckworth, 1901). But by the time
the Crusaders, under Godfrey of Bouillon, had taken Jerusalem from the
Saracens, St. John Baptist seems to have become the acknowledged patron
saint of the hospital, his image being worn by epileptic patients, and
being later adopted as the regular badge for those engaged in hospital
work.

But this term _hospital_ must not be regarded in its present
acceptance; it was used in a broader sense to imply any house of
refuge, even from wild animals; in fact a _hospice_.

This particular hospice seems to have been erected on the ruins of
one founded by St. Gregory in 603, where it is known that the French
Benedictines worked. Two centuries later Charlemagne had claimed the
title of Protector of the Pilgrims. ("De Prime Origine Hospitaliorum,"
by La Roulx. Paris. 1885).

This institution was naturally located in close proximity to the most
sacred places, which early Christian traditions made such to the
pilgrims who came from all over Western Europe. It was in existence in
1099. It was made doubly necessary by not only the hardships of travel,
but by the ill usage of the natives, at a time when the Holy City was
in the hands of the Moslems, who demanded an entrance fee often beyond
the pilgrims' means. Thus subjected to indignities indescribable,
robbed often before their arrival, these misguided pilgrims often died
of want, or returned with their primary pious object unattained. Had
it not been for one Gerard, the first administrator of the hospice,
their hardships had been even greater.

The buildings of the Order, at first meagre, were finally enlarged to
cover a square, nearly 500 ft. on each side, with one side on the Via
Dolorosa and another fronting the Bazaar, and all a little south of the
Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Nearby were other churches and hospices.
This was the arrangement before the establishment of the kingdom of
Jerusalem in 1099. During the next century the Order, under Raymond du
Puy, had enlarged the church of St. John Eleëmon into the conventual
church of St. John Baptist, while along the south of the square above
mentioned ran an excellent building, the hospital of St. John. When
Saladin recaptured Jerusalem, in 1187, this church was converted by the
Turks into a mad-house, known as the "Muristan," this being finally
ceded to Germany in 1869.

From the new kingdom of Jerusalem the Hospitallers obtained a
constitution, and the Gerard above mentioned was made their first
"Master." He was succeeded in 1118 by du Puy, while Baldwin II was
the Latin King of Jerusalem. The Hospital had been recognized by the
Archbishop of Caesarea in 1112, and had widely extended its sphere
of usefulness. It was King Baldwin who was anxious to stamp upon the
Order a military character, similar to that conferred upon the Order of
the Temple in 1130. This was natural since the kingdom was isolated,
surrounded by fanatic enemies and always beset by and in danger from
them. Thus the necessities of the times and the environment made it
requisite that all who were able should bear arms, and coöperate for
mutual defence.

Thus it came about that the Order was divided into three divisions, the
first in rank being the Knights of Justice, each of whom must be of
noble rank or birth, and have received the accolade of knighthood from
secular authority. The second division comprised the ecclesiastics,
who were later divided into two grades, the Conventual Chaplains, who
were assigned to duty at headquarters, and the Priests of Obedience who
served other priories and commanderies in various parts of Europe. The
third grade were the Serving Brothers, also divided into the Servants
at arms or Esquires, and the Servants at office. The Servants at arms
attended the Knights of Justice as their Esquires, and might eventually
become eligible to the first division. The Servants at office were
little if anything more than menials or domestics. Even these latter,
however, possessed certain privileges and emoluments which made
admission to this grade advantageous to men of humble origin and
faculties.

The dress of the Order was a black robe with cowl, having a white linen
cross of eight points over the left breast, and was at first worn by
all. Later, under Pope Alexander IV, the fighting knights wore their
white crosses upon a ground gules.

The first recorded appearance of a body of Hospitaller knights in
actual war was at Antioch, in 1119, while the complete military
constitution of the Order of St. John was achieved in 1128. During the
balance of the existence of the Kingdom of Jerusalem then, two colleges
or companies of military monastic knights existed, side by side, in
the Holy Land, the "chief props of a tottering throne." (Bedford).
Between these rival bodies arose in time such jealousy, and within them
such intrigues,--aggravated always by the animosities of the ordinary
clergy, who took offense at the patronage bestowed upon the orders
by the Popes, aggravated also by similar difficulties on the part of
the knights of the Teutonic Order and that of St. Lazarus,--that the
best interests of the kingdom and of the Church suffered as much from
intestine dangers as from those arising from the Moslems surrounding
them. Nevertheless it may be said that the Order of the Hospital
never lost sight of its primary purposes, and never disgraced itself
by the treasonable and treacherous dealings, and correspondence with
enemies which disgraced not a few members of other and rival Christian
organizations.

The result of such disreputable actions lead--as ever--to disunion
and final disruption, and this to final capitulation and surrender
of Jerusalem, in 1187. This meant the abandonment not only of their
old home, but of their usefulness there. The Saracens occupied their
buildings and premises from that time till ruin overtook them. Thus
rudely compelled to emigrate the Order moved the same year (1187) to
the town of Margat, where was also a castle of the same name. But the
work in Jerusalem had not been abruptly discontinued, since Sultan
Saladin, in evidence of his esteem, allowed them possession of their
hospital for another year, in order that their charitable work should
not be abruptly interrupted, and even made them liberal donations.
When during the third Crusade, in which Richard Coeur de Lion bore so
valiant a part, Ptolemais was captured, it was then and there that the
Order established its headquarters, in 1192, wherefore the town became
named St. Jean d'Acre. Here they abode nearly a century.

Various other towns in Palestine held out for a time against the Turks,
e. g., Carac, Margat, Castel Blanco and Antioch, and in spite of the
intense rivalry between the Orders, Thierry, the Grand Master of the
Templars, reported in a letter to King Henry II, that the Hospitallers
bore themselves even with fervor and the greatest bravery, and praised
the aid they gave in the capture of the Turkish fleet, at Tyre, when
seventeen Christian galleys manned by friars, and ten Sicilian vessels
commanded by General Margarit, a Catalan, defeated the infidels, and
captured their admiral and eight Emirs, with eleven ships, the rest
being run aground, where Saladin later burned them, to keep them from
falling into Christian hands. (Bedford).

Notwithstanding all this, however, the joint occupation of Acre with
the Templars had a bad effect on both Orders, who turned not only to
luxury and license, but their swords against each other. Acre was at
this time a most cosmopolitan city; here mingled at least seventeen
different nationalities and languages, each occupying its own part of
the city, so that in time extravagance and lust flourished to the last
degree of demoralization. The Hospitallers were at this time far more
wealthy than the Templars, who were exceedingly jealous thereof, and
both at Margat and still worse at Acre this jealousy was exhibited in
many bloody affairs. Weakened thus by this intestine strife they were
in reverse proportion strengthened. The Pope who had defended them as
against the scathing censure of Emperor Frederick, found need, in 1238,
to accuse the knights--alike of both orders--of sheltering loose women
within their precincts, of owning individual property, both of these in
violation of their vows of chastity and poverty, and of treacherously
assisting the enemy. Yet many bore witness to the actual good they
accomplished, even at this time. In 1259 Pope Alexander, bewailing
the lack of a more distinctive dress, permitted the decree that the
fighting knights might wear black mantles, while in war they were
permitted to wear red surcoats, with a white cross.

Later it was permitted to women to join the Order, and many ladies of
high degree took advantage of the permission, rivalling in religious
zeal and in charitable deeds the most sanctified of the brethren. As
the King of Hungary wrote, at one time, after visiting some of their
houses, "In a word the Knights of St. John are employed, sometimes like
Mary in contemplation, and sometimes like Martha in action, and this
noble militia consecrate their days either in their infirmaries or else
in engagements against the enemies of the cross."

The deterioration of Acre was not so great as to make cowards of our
Knights, however, and with the continued and aggressive siege laid
by the Saracens against that city the Hospitallers and the Templars
finally made common cause, each endeavoring to outdo the other in deeds
of bravery and daring. Though defeated again and again, the Moslem
ranks were renewed by fresh soldiers, while the militant and other
monks imprisoned within the city saw their combined members steadily
diminish. At last it remained for John Villiers, Grand Master, with his
few surviving fighters, to carve their way to their boats, leaving no
combatants behind them, and then to embark in their galleys to seek a
harbor of refuge in the island of Cyprus.

_Cyprus and Rhodes._ Settled in Cyprus, the Knights renewed their zeal
and their resources. Here they began to build that fleet of galleys
which, increased later in Rhodes, became most formidable. When they and
the Templars left forever the Holy Land the Templars took the position
that their vow to protect the holy places was now either fulfilled
or at least at an end, and they distributed themselves among their
numerous preceptories all over Europe, where they made themselves
_personae non gratae_ to their civil rulers, because of their own
real power, their oriental ostentation, and their secularization
and distasteful entrance into and interference with the social and
political life and customs of their new environment. Things went from
bad to worse, public feeling was more and more aroused, and their
extermination was only a matter of time. Finally Pope Clement V and
King Phillip le Bel undertook this task with barbarous ruthlessness.
Kings, nobility and the people joined hands in the common task. The
Templars had acquired various properties, by capture, by bequest, and
in every lawful and unlawful manner, which yielded in the aggregate
relatively enormous revenues, too strong a temptation for needy secular
rulers to resist. The Pope had at last to intervene in order to prevent
the total secularization of all this great spoil, and thus it happened
that no small proportion of it was, after its sequestration, allotted
to the Order of St. John, whose Grand Masters and Knights had not
forgotten nor abandoned their original vows and purposes, and who held
that the inviolacy of their obligations required their continuous
residence in some such oriental city as Rhodes.

And here we may part company, as did they, only quite peacefully, with
the Templar Knights. Driven from Europe they made their last stand
in Great Britain, and of their lives and deeds there we have no more
readable nor interesting historical account than Scott has given us
in Ivanhoe. Any further allusion to them here will be most casual.
They offer the conventional picture, only _in extenso_, of original
poverty and self-abnegation, coupled with devotion and valor, changed
to arrogance, treason, abandonment of purpose, unbridled lawlessness
leading to crime and cruelty, all brought about because of affluence,
acquired power, selfishness, cupidity and every debasing human
weakness. Small wonder then, that they could be no longer tolerated in
Christendom.

So turn we again to the Hospitallers, now made rich and powerful at
the expense of their old rivals and at last enemies. It had soon been
made evident that Cyprus did not meet their wants and necessities. Its
king was not over friendly, and they sought further. Their gaze fixed
on the island of Rhodes, which possessed a fertile soil, a city with
an excellent harbor, not too far from the main land, i. e. not too
isolated, which was under the--by that time merely nominal--suzerainty
of the Emperor of the Eastern or Greek empire. After several futile
efforts they at last, in 1310, under the twenty-fourth Grand Master
Villaret, captured the island, where under their ceaseless energy both
hospitals and forts were built. To Rhodes were brought also Christian
refugees from the various Turkish provinces, and thus their numbers
were rapidly strengthened. Their fleet, already begun (_vide supra_)
was greatly increased, and with it they had many a conflict with the
Turkish corsairs, whose inroads they practically checked.

About the beginning of the fourteenth century changes had been made in
the Order, which was now divided into Langues, or arranged according to
nationalities, yet without materially altering the original division
into the three classes (Knights, Chaplains and Serving Brothers). In
this way the Order was apportioned between seven nations or languages,
Provence, Auvergne, France, Italy, Aragon, England and Germany.
Finally under pressure from Spain the Langue of Aragon was divided
into two, Aragon and Castile, the latter including Portugal. The
various dignities and offices were divided among these langues, whose
principals became a kind of Privy Council to the Grand Master, and were
known as Conventual Bailiffs. They were given different names in each
country; thus the Grand Commander of the English langue was known as
the Turcopolier, of France the Grand Hospitaller, of Italy the Admiral,
etc. As the new fortifications arose around the city of Rhodes, each
was placed in charge of one of these langues or divisions, while each
erected quarters for its own men. It did not follow, however, that
every member of each langue came from the country which it represented.
While Scotland was an independent kingdom it contributed to the
Turcopolier, while many Scotchmen belonged to the French or even the
other langues. At this time the inhabitants of the City of Rhodes
consisted largely of Christian refugees, who owed their security, even
their lives, to the fact that the Knights Hospitaller still adhered
to their primary objects, the liberation of the captive and giving
assistance to the sick and distressed. This they afforded through
their fleet and their hospices. When Smyrna nearly fell into the hands
of Timour the Tartar, about the middle of the fourteenth century,
the Order strengthened their harbor by erecting a new fort, which
they named Budrum (corrupted from Petros-a Rock), where any Christian
escaping from slavery found shelter. Here was also kept a remarkable
breed of dogs, who were trained not only as watch dogs but to render
services similar to those afforded by the Alpine dogs of St. Bernard.

As time went on the Sultans became more and more jealous of the naval
power possessed by the Order. With the fall of the Eastern Empire
and the final retaking of Constantinople by Mahomet II, in 1453 (See
"Prince of India"), it was made evident that danger to the Order from
this direction was rapidly increasing. This became so urgent that
in 1470, after Mahomet had taken the island of Negropont, the Grand
Master commanded that all members of the Order should repair at once
to Rhodes. In 1476 d'Aubusson began the most active measures for the
defense of the place, and thus was ready for the attack, in May, 1480,
when 80,000 men in 160 ships, landed on the island coast. In this siege
no small part was played by renegade traitors, the most prominent being
one George Frapant, a German, whom the Grand Master finally hung in
July. In the last sorties which terminated this siege deeds of the
greatest bravery were performed; yet here we can only commemorate the
fact that the Turks were summarily defeated, leaving 3,500 corpses on
the ground after the last decisive attack. The losses of the besieged
were small as compared with those suffered by the Turks.

Later in the same year the island suffered from a severe earthquake.
Mahomet died not long after this, was succeeded by his son Bo-jazet who
made truce with the Order, presenting them with a relic of supposedly
inestimable value, namely the hand of St. John, which the Turks had
taken at Constantinople.

Years of comparative quietude succeeded until in the following century,
in 1522, Solyman the Magnificent landed upon the island in July, with
100,000 soldiers and 60,000 pioneers. Again ensued all the horrors of a
siege. The defenders did their part so bravely that the Sultan publicly
disgraced his generals. But the inevitable famine wrought consequent
disaffection on the part of the native population, who clamored for
capitulation, and sought treasonable terms therefor, because of which
one of the most prominent of them was tried, found guilty and executed.
Finally under stress of circumstances no longer endurable Grand Master
Adam agreed to honorable surrender, and on the first of January, 1523,
the Hospitaller Knights relinquished the island, the Sultan himself
speaking in terms of extravagant praise of their heroism, while at
the same time he scathingly censured the Christian monarchs of Europe
who had failed to come to their relief. Thus after two hundred and
twenty years of occupation and rule of the island of Rhodes, some 5,000
Knights and other members of the Order, and natives, left it to take
abode for a short time in their Priory at Messina. Driven from here by
plague, they moved on to Viterbo, while their Grand Master travelled in
search of a new home.

_Malta._ Malta had been early proposed for this purpose, and offered by
Charles V, while many wishes turned to the city of Modon, in Greece.
After seven years of wandering and indecision Grand Master L'Isle Adam
accepted Malta as the best solution of the difficulty. Thither the
Order now removed, and there Adam died in the Castle of St. Angelo,
erected by the Norman Count Roger of Sicily, still active in improving
its existing defences. In 1555 the Order lost nearly all of its fleet
in consequence of a violent hurricane, which accident for a while laid
the island open to piratical attacks, especially of a corsair named
Dragut; but he did little damage, save that with the knowledge of the
island and its defences thus gained he persuaded Solyman to undertake
another attempt to crush the Order, the latter being justly furious
because some galleys belonging to the Order had captured a ship that
happened to be loaded with rich valuables belonging to the ladies of
his harem. Therefore war was again declared in 1565.

The Turkish fleet was made up of 130 galleys with 50 smaller boats, and
carried the Janissaries and 34,000 other soldiers, against whom the
Grand Master could only oppose some 9,000 men, 700 of whom, however,
were desperate men, released from the galleys of the enemy, and eager
for vengeance. On May twenty-fourth the siege of St. Elmo was in
reality begun by a fierce bombardment, the walls being soon battered,
and the garrison forced to take shelter in excavations made in the
solid rock. And now the besiegers' force was augmented by the arrival
of Dragut, in those days the dreaded corsair of the sea, who came with
thirteen more ships and 1,500 more men. June thirteenth saw a desperate
conflict when, after six hours of fierce fighting and the loss of
only 300 men, the besiegers were repulsed. Soon after this Dragut was
killed. Again on June twenty-third another general attack was repulsed,
though the garrison was thereby reduced to 60 men. Even this small
force, many crippled and maimed, repulsed the first onslaught of the
Turks, but had later to sell their lives as dearly as they could.

The Turkish general Mustapha took barbarous revenge, even on the
corpses of the Knights which he decapitated and then tied to planks
that they might float past St. Angelo. La Vallette retaliated by
beheading some of his captives and firing their heads at the Turks from
his cannon.

At this juncture the garrison was reinforced by the arrival of 700 men
and 42 Knights from Sicily. Refusing all opportunities to surrender
and all parley under flags of truce, Grand Master La Vallette built
new defences and strengthened the old, in spite of a fierce July sun.
Meanwhile the Turks, also reinforced, prepared for still more desperate
sorties, selecting for the land attack men who knew not how to swim,
in order that they might fight the more fiercely, and drawing off the
boats as soon as their loads were emptied, so that no retreat could be
possible. One thousand Janissaries were embarked in ten large barges,
but nine of these were sunk by the artillery fire from the forts. On
the other side of the defences a large attacking column was completely
routed. The loss to the Turks this day was 3,000 men, that of the
garrison 250.

And so the siege went on; attack after attack, with but small success
to the investing army. But the heroic defenders suffered increasingly
under the constant strain, and both armies were exhausted, the Turks
losing 800 men from dysentery alone. To such an extent was this true
that when the Turkish officers drove their soldiers to the charge by
blows of their own swords, it was but necessary to cut down those who
led the charges, when the rest would turn and fly.

And now came other long expected reinforcements from Sicily, when a
fleet landed 8,500 men and returned for 4,000 more. Being now quite
unequal to the continuation of the siege the Turks evacuated all the
ground they had gained, and finally made a hasty and complete flight,
harassed in every way, in their endeavors to escape, by the now
victorious garrison.

The losses during the period of siege, with its numerous engagements,
were estimated at some 30,000 Turks, and 8,000 men and 260 Knights of
the Order. Is it strange that by contributions from all over Christian
Europe there was soon built up a town bearing the name of Valetta, thus
commemorating the heroism and military prowess of the Order's Grand
Master La Valette, as well as the "glorious issue" of the struggle for
Malta, and the confirmation of the Order as a sovereign independent
community?

Thus secured from further probable struggle this city of Valetta
acquired a certain degree of glory, later even of magnificence.
From all parts of Europe, wherever any commandery of the Order was
maintained, was paid tribute to the Grand Master, as may be adjudged
even to-day, long after French rapacity had robbed the city of many of
its treasures. Individual Knights vied with each other in their gifts,
and palaces arose wherein were received the envoys and even ambassadors
of foreign courts. The fleet was constantly busied in clearing the
Mediterranean of Moslem and other pirates, and many Christians were
released from the galleys in which they had been chained to the oars.

In this restoration the English langue took a rather small part, and
their officers and members had often to be rebuked or punished for
insubordination or worse crimes. The Reformation in England interfered,
and furnished some reason for their diminishing zeal. The galleys of
the Order became more and more like pleasure boats, and many of their
cruises were in effect pleasure excursions. Later in their decadence
their adventures became more like piratical incursions, until, under
letters of marque issued by a decadent Admiralty, the Malta privateer
was equivalent to the pirate. (Maroyat). These facts were scarcely
offset by that other, that the last fleet of the Order, which left
Valetta in 1783, was sent to the relief of earthquake sufferers in
Sicily.

With regard to their activities in the matter of succoring the sick let
it be noted that the Knights found on their arrival at Malta a hospital
or hospice already existing. In the buildings of a nunnery still
standing may be seen the gateway of their own first hospital. In 1575
they erected one much larger, which had a passageway connected with
the waterfront, so that patients could be brought directly from the
ships. This building in some part still remains in use as a military
hospital. Its great ward is 500 feet in length, and 30 feet high,
divided by partitions 15 feet in height. In its best days patients were
served from silver utensils. It was under the charge of the Regent
of the French Knights, who had as his staff five doctors and three
apothecaries. Other knights and servants acted as male nurses. The
knights were luxuriously cared for, and 150 beds were always in reserve
for those returning from expeditions who might need them.

In 1796, only a year before the disintegration of the Order began, the
patients numbered from 350 to 400. There existed also a hospital for
women, with 230 beds, and a foundling hospital where some fifty waifs
were sheltered.

A curious bit of history connecting the middle ages with the more
recent past relates to the hospital interests of the Order. The nobles
of Dauphigny had founded a fraternity of Hospitallers for the relief
of sufferers from St. Anthony's fire (erysipelas), which was erected
into the regular Antoine order in 1218. About 550 years later, or to be
exact in 1777, a compact was made by which the Order of St. John took
over their property, under certain conditions, which involved, among
other considerations, a larger expenditure. The Antonine estates, in
France and Savoy, were confiscated in 1792, thus entailing a tremendous
loss to the Order, so great, in fact that the Valetta treasury became
insolvent. (Bedford). From this time we may date the rapid downfall of
the Order. Malcontents and traitors gained the supremacy, and in 1798,
after treacherous negotiations, Napoleon landed part of his army in
Malta, and Valetta surrendered.

Thus, as Bartlett says, "ignominiously came to a close, on June 12th,
1798, the once illustrious Order of St. John of Jerusalem, having
subsisted for more than 700 years."

At this time it consisted of 328 enrolled knights, and a military force
of some 7,000 men.

Napoleon expressed his surprise at the strength of the fortifications,
furnished them with one thousand cannon, left a garrison of 3,000
men, took with him the disciplined soldiers he found there, rifled
the island of its treasures, its art work and its bullion, and sailed
for Egypt. Several of the traitor knights were put to death by the
infuriated populace, whose anger was not appeased by Nelson's victory
at Aboukir--the battle of the Nile--but took form in open insurrection.
The French garrison finally took refuge in the old fortifications,
where they withstood for two years a siege by the combined insurgents
and an English fleet. Finally reduced by famine and disease they
capitulated to the English forces under Gen. Pigot. The latter then
selected Capt. Sir Alexander Ball, Nelson's representative, Governor of
the Island. At the Peace of Amiens the effort was made to restore the
Order as ruling authority, under the protectorate of the Great Powers,
but the Maltese themselves objected so vehemently that after no small
amount of trouble and dispute the inhabitants of the island elected to
place themselves under the sovereignty of Great Britain, an arrangement
finally and definitely confirmed at the Congress of Vienna in 1814.

Thus disappeared from history one of the most interesting and longest
enduring institutions recorded in its pages, and certainly the most
long-lived of any of its kind. I say disappeared, meaning thereby only
to indicate its disruption, as it were into fragments, its primary
purpose, i. e. aid to the needy, being kept ever in view by some, while
others preferring the life of a soldier, took service under various
rulers or military leaders. The traitors who were responsible for
surrender to Napoleon fared badly according to their deserts, though
it does not appear that any of them were hung. In the migration England
seemed to attract many, perhaps the majority of those who were still
inclined to good deeds. The title of Grand Master was still continued,
under some pretension to perpetuation of the Order. In Russia the Czar
Alexander, in 1801, upon the death of his predecessor Paul, announced
himself a Protector of the Order, and designated Count Soltikoff to
exercise the functions of the Grand Master.

Thus dismembered, disunited and scattered, the fragmentary langues
of the Order underwent, on their way to final dissolution, various
vicissitudes, through which they cannot here be followed. Complete
extinguishment was the eventual fate of most of them. I shall only
concern myself now with that of the English langue, and its partial
revival in 1830.

Rev. Dr. Peat, chaplain to George IV, was one of those to whom the
remnants of the English langue appealed, with the result that in 1827
certain notable English gentry, of eminent attainments, undertook to
revive the Order in England, only under quite different conditions from
those previously obtaining. In 1831 Dr. Peat was invested with the
authority and functions of Grand Prior. It will be at once seen how the
matter of religious belief now separated the English Order from all the
survivors of the previous regime, and why the last ties were severed.

Under the new regime members of the Order dropped all pretense of
playing a military role; one may read thereafter of real hospital
activity. The Life Boat movement and ambulance work were gradually
incorporated into their plans and scope. When First Aid to the Injured
began to be publicly taught public and general interest was quickly
aroused, and the energetic cooperation of eminent men was assured. In
other words the Order gradually took up just that class of work which
is now done under the Red Cross. Sir Edward Lechmere established, in
1867, a commandery of the Order in one of his castles, and in 1874
was instrumental in the acquisition of the St. John Gate, which still
stands, an example of Tudor architecture as also a well preserved
monumental relic of the time, beginning about 1180, when the Order had
founded a hospital in Clerkenwell, while the ladies of the order were
housed in Bucland, in Somersetshire. The old Priory of the Order in
Clerkenwell was practically destroyed in 1381, by the mob led by Jack
Straw, in an insurrection which had, along with other results, as an
incident, the beheading of Sir Robert Hales, the Prior of the Order. In
the slow process of rebuilding the present Gate was not completed till
1504. On the North and South fronts remain projecting towers, while in
the Western tower a spiral stair case is still in use. Bedford's work,
from which I have drawn heavily, gives excellent pictures of the Gate
as it appears to-day, and of the old priory restored.

Colonel Duncan, also, deserves honorable mention in this connection;
he became Director of the Ambulance Movement in 1875. Finally we have
to record here that under a new Charter, granted in 1888, the then
Prince of Wales, later King Edward, became the Grand Prior. Therefore
the Order of the Hospital, in England of St. John of Jerusalem is, in
fact, the legitimate successor--one might say the lineal descendant--of
the old Order of Knights Hospitaller, though it is to-day a secular and
voluntary society, keeping to the traditions of the past, no longer
military nor militant, save as it fights disease and best of all
teaches others how to do the same. To follow it further is no longer
necessary. Its work is essentially that of the Red Cross. It has, for
instance, a depot at old St. John's Gate, whence all the material
required in teaching and illustrating as well as rendering first aid is
issued. Its work was begun with a two-wheeled litter, an old Esmarch
triangular bandage from Germany, and a stretcher from France. Now it
distributes all these things throughout the British Empire. Now, too,
it maintains ambulances all over the city of London, which do for
their own hospitals just what each of our hospitals at home has to
do for itself. The German "Samariter-Verein" is virtually a Chapter
of the English Order in its revivified form. In 1883 a branch of the
Order was organized in India, where among others the native police are
instructed in "First Aid." In 1882, by a Firman of the Turkish Sultan,
an Ophthalmic Hospital was opened, under the auspices of the Order, in
Jerusalem. Only those who have travelled in the East can appreciate
what this means to the poor, where squalor vies with ignorance, and, as
in Egypt though not so universally, both conspire to the ruin of that
greatest of all blessings--eyesight.

But I will not delay to write further of what the Ambulance Brigade of
London, and its affiliated corps, have accomplished in many parts of
the world; in South Africa, for example, it works under the general
supervision of the Order of St. John, as it now exists in London.
It does everything that in our country is accomplished by the Red
Cross for the general public, and by the Hospital Corps and their
Medical Officers for our Army and Navy. Over the graves of eleven
members of the brigade, who died at their posts in South Africa, in
St. Paul's, London, not far from the crypts where lie the remains of
Nelson and Wellington, has been erected a monument to their memory.
Another bearing among other inscriptions this beautiful scriptural
quotation:--"Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his
life for his friends," was unveiled by His Royal Highness, acting
as Grand Prior, in St. John's Church, Clerkenwell, June 11th, 1902.
Fifteen hundred men enrolled in the Order had left that church before
their departure for the Front, and of these about seventy sacrificed
their lives to this sort of duty. Do not the dead deserve all praise
and respect, and the survivors all commendation?

A few years ago my friend Sir George Beatson, surgeon to the Royal
Infirmary in Glasgow, published a little monograph--"The Knights
Hospitallers in Scotland and their Priory at Torphichen" (Printed by
Hedderwick and Sons, Glasgow,)--which aroused my interest sufficiently
to prompt a visit to this, the last home of the old Order in that
part of the world. The little village Torphichen lies about midway
between Glasgow and Edinburgh, and three miles south from the town of
Llinlithgow. Here had been founded, in 1124, one of the great Priories
or Preceptories under control of the English _langue_. Here they
settled in a magnificent and fertile area, the Grampian hills to their
north; to their west could be seen the snow-capped top of what is now
known as Ben Lomond. By donation, by cultivation of the arable soil,
and by wise management of their resources, they prospered greatly, from
the worldly point of view. Here they erected that building, a part of
which still exists, and which makes a picturesque ruin which is not yet
a scene of desolation.

The members of the Order took, here as elsewhere, the view that the
best way to serve God was by _remaining in it_ and working, not by
_fleeing from it_ into lazy, selfish and profitless solitude as did too
many of the monks.

In common with other monasteries the Torphichen Preceptory possessed
the Right of Sanctuary, and in its churchyard still stands the short
stone pillar, carved with a Maltese cross on its upper surface,
which meant that within a mile in every direction therefrom all
those charged with any crime, save murder only, might find temporary
protection.

Here for four hundred years, and until the Reformation upset
everything, the Hospitallers carried on their affairs. In 1560 their
last Preceptor or Grand Prior made over to the Crown all their
properties and effects. The Crown in return made these possessions a
temporal Barony, carrying with it the title of Lord of Torphichen. From
this time the property began to suffer--from time, storm, vandalism of
the people and neglect. Still the present Lord Torphichen has proven
himself a better guardian than did some of his predecessors. A parish
church has been built, partly upon the sight of the old structure,
partly into it. Dr. Beatson has urged that a combination between the
present Order of St. John, in London, and the St. Andrew's Ambulance
Association might be effected which might work to the benefit of both,
by reviving some of the work done here in days gone by.

I have ventured this brief reference to Torphichen, partly because
of my interest in the place itself, associated with my visit there,
and partly because every such visit to the monuments of past grandeur
and usefulness should strengthen our interest and zeal in what man is
accomplishing to-day, and should help link together the Past and the
Present in a manner not merely fascinating but inspirational, and keep
us from forgetting that motto of the Order,

    "Pro utilitate Hominum"
    For the Welfare of Mankind.




VII

GIORDANO BRUNO


The Renaissance was the fourth of the great events in the history of
the Christian Era; the first being the decline of Rome, the second the
introduction of the Christian cult, and the third, the intrusion into
Southern Europe of the Teutonic and Slavonic tribes. With none of these
however, save the fourth, is this paper primarily concerned, and not
even with the fourth save indirectly, though it deals with a special
feature of it. Protestants and Catholics alike impeded progress and
the self-evolution of reason in every possible way. Italy gave the
world the Roman Republic, then the Roman Empire and finally the Roman
Church; after that arose a new storm centre in the North which swept
toward the Mediterranean. The Teutons effaced the Western Empire,
adopted Christianity, and completely modified what remained of Latin
civilization. Then the Roman Bishops separated the Latin from the Greek
Church, and under the captious title of The Holy Roman Empire bound
Western Europe into what has been called a "cohesive whole." While
Romans and Teutons never actually blended homogeneously, they had
yet a common bond of union. When this coalition was for a time freed
from both Papacy and Empire--then began intellectual activity and
independence of thought, taking form in Italy as the Renaissance; in
Germany as the Reformation. In the South it was known as the Revival
of Learning. It furnished a _lux a non lucendo_. Italy gave freedom
rather to the mind, Germany rather to the soul. Toward the South men
still took refuge behind that form of modified paganism which became
Catholicism. In the North they attained a more complete emancipation
because of their violent opposition to the Papacy and all that went
with it.

In the long run both attained the same result, i. e., liberation of
the mind from artificial impediments and fetters, though they of the
North achieved it in its full extent far earlier. (I am speaking of
course, relatively; men's minds are far from free even today, but the
state we have reached is a great advance upon that of Bruno's time).
The Reformation led men to be far more outspoken than they dared be in
the South; the free thinkers of Italy were still content to do homage
to a thoroughly corrupt Papal hierarchy. As critics and warriors Luther
and Calvin rank as liberators of the human mind, but later, as founders
of mutually hostile sects, they only retarded civilization, and the
churches they founded are today as stagnant pools.

In 1548, in the midst of this stormy period in Italian history Bruno
was born, in the little village of Nola, not far from Naples, whence
Vesuvius was visible in the picturesque distance. His father was a
soldier, his mother of very humble origin. Of his family history
nothing is known; little explanation is thus afforded, by the doctrine
of heredity, for the marvelous mental faculties which he subsequently
displayed. Nevertheless his father was a man of some culture, at
least, for he was a friend of Tansillo, a poet, under whose influence
the growing boy subsequently came. Bruno has told us himself how one
Savolino (probably an uncle) annually confessed his sins to his Curé,
of which "though many and great" his boon companion readily absolved
him. But only once was full confession necessary; each subsequent
year Savolino would say: "Padre mio, the sins of a year--to-day,--you
may know them;" to which the Curé would reply "son, thou knowest the
absolution of one year ago;--go in peace, and sin no more."

In those days as in many others superstition was everywhere rife and
effective. Its influence must not be disregarded as one studies the
formation of Bruno's character.

When he was about eleven years old Bruno was sent to Naples to be
taught logic, dialectics and humanities. When fifteen he entered the
Dominican Monastery in Naples, and assumed the clerical habit of that
order. Here he gave up his baptismal name of Filippo and assumed that
of Giordano, according to the monastic custom. In 1572 he was ordained
priest.

His reasons for thus entering the Church are scarcely far to seek. Of
intellectual bent, and studious rather than martial in his habits and
inclinations, there was but one career open to him. To be sure the
Dominican Order was the most narrow and most bigoted of all, as the
current punning expression "_Domini canes_" will indicate. Still it was
at that time the most powerful, especially in the kingdom of Naples,
which was then ruled by Spain. The old cloister had been once the home
of St. Thomas Aquinas, whose works Bruno claimed at his trial he had
always by him, "continually reading, studying and restudying them, and
holding them dear."

This was the age when efforts to put down every heresy had been
redoubled. The fanaticism of Loyola, and the decision of the Council of
Trent "to erase with fire and sword the slightest traces of heresy,"
made a poor frame work in which to place the picture of a liberal
minded scholar. Bruno soon learned this at his cost. Even during his
novitiate he was accused of giving away images of the saints, and
of giving bad advice to his associates. In 1576 he was accused of
apologizing for the heresy of Arius, that the Son was begotten of the
Father, and so not consubstantial nor coeternal with Him, but created
by Him and subordinate to Him; (which was condemned by the Council
of Nice, 325, and contradicted in the Nicene Creed;) admiring its
scholastic form, rather than its abstract truth. Disgusted with his
treatment he left Naples and went to Rome. Even here he was molested
in the Cloister of Minerva (note the pagan name), and was met with
an accusation of 130 specifications. He then abandoned his garb and
his cloister and escaped from Rome, beginning thus the nomadic life
which he continued until immured in the dungeons of the Inquisition at
Venice, sixteen years later. Through these wanderings one must follow
him, if one would become familiar with his life and traits.

He now resumed for a time his baptismal name, and traveled to a town on
the Gulf of Genoa, where he taught youth and young gentlemen. Then he
passed on to Turin and Venice, where he spent weeks in futile attempts
to find work. But the schools and the printing houses were closed
because of the plague. In Venice however he managed to print his first
book on "The Signs of the Times;" or rather this was his first book to
appear in print. It seems that before he left Naples he wrote "The Ark
of Noah," a satirical allegory. In this he represented that the animals
held a formal meeting in the Ark, to settle questions of precedence
and rank, and that the presiding officer, the Ass, was in danger of
losing his position and his influence, because his power lay rather in
hoofs than horns. Throughout most of his life Bruno constantly scored
and criticised Asinity; it was frequently the topic of his invective,
and those who read between his lines were probably quite justified in
regarding these frequent allusions as references to the ignorance,
bigotry and credulity of the Monks.

From Venice Bruno went to Padua, where some of the Dominican friars
persuaded him to resume monastic costume, since it made travel easier
and safer. Thence by way of Brescia and Milan he may be followed to
Bergamo. At Milan he first heard of his future friend Sir Philip
Sydney. From Bergamo he resolved to go to Lyons, but learning that he
would find anything but welcome there he turned aside and crossed the
Alps, arriving in Geneva in the Spring of 1579. Here he was visited by
a distinguished Neapolitan exile, the Marquis De Vico, who persuaded
him again to lay aside his clerical garb, and who gave him the dress of
a gentleman, including a sword.

Here is raised the great question,--Did Bruno adopt Calvinism? Before
the Inquisition fifteen years later he practically denied this, yet
acknowledged attending the lectures of Balbani, of Lucca, as well as
of others who taught and preached in Geneva. Under the regulations of
the Academy (University), where he had already registered, certain
regulations must be complied with, and Bruno appears to have obeyed
them in at least a certain degree. But the immediate cause for his
departure from Geneva appears to have been one of his outbreaks of
cynicism and accurate scholarship, since in 1579 he was called before
the Council for having caused to be printed a document enumerating
twenty errors made by the Professor of Philosophy (de la Faye) in one
of his lectures. The latter was incensed and outraged at this criticism
and disparagement of his views and learning, and the quarrel assumed
unexpected magnitude, since Bruno, on his second appearance before the
Consistory or supreme tribunal of the Church, denied the charges and
called the ministers "pedagogues." These gentlemen decided to refuse
him communion unless he should confess and repent of his faults and
make due apology. His acceptance of these conditions not being hearty
enough to suit his judges, he was admonished and excluded from the
communion. These steps lead to greater contrition on his part, and the
ban of excommunication was withdrawn. This sentence of exclusion was
the only one within the power of the Consistory to pass, but does not
prove that Bruno had accepted the protestant faith, nor partaken of its
communion. In fact at his trial he steadfastly denied this. It seemed
however, to disgust him with Calvinism, against which thereafter he
never ceased to inveigh. Later he contrasted it with Lutheranism which
was far more tolerant, and still later gave him a heartier welcome.
Calvin, it must be remembered, had written a polemic against Servetus,
"in which it is shown to be lawful to coerce heretics by the sword."
As between the council of Trent and Calvin it certainly must have been
hard, in those days, to select either a faith, or an abiding place
where that faith might be peaceably practised. Doubtless Bruno's views
concerning the philosophy of Aristotle conflicted with those of the
church authorities, for Beza (Calvin's follower), had stated that they
did not propose to swerve one particle from the opinions of that Greek
philosopher, to whom, though of pagan origin, the Church, both Roman
and Protestant, was for centuries so firmly bound.

And so shaking the dust of Geneva from his feet he journeyed to Lyons,
where he failed utterly to find occupation, and then on to Toulouse,
where he remained about two years. Here he took a Doctorate in Theology
in order to compete for a vacant chair. To this he was elected by
the students, as the custom then was in most of the _scholia_ or
universities. For two sessions he lectured on Aristotle. Had this
University required of him that he should attend mass, as did some
others, he could not have done so, owing to his excommunication;
though just why exclusion from a Calvinistic academy should debar him
from Catholic mass does not appear. Toulouse was a _warm_ place for
heretics; the burning of 14,000 of them at its capture will prove
this. A few years (35) after he left it Vanini was burned for heretic
notions. It is hardly to be believed that Bruno could pass two years
or more here without controversies arising from his teaching. But his
nominal reason for leaving, in 1581, and going to Paris, was the war
then raging in Southern France, under Henry of Navarre.

Before leaving Toulouse he completed his "_Clavis Magna_" or "Great
Key," the last word--as he seemed to think--on the art of memory. Only
one volume of this great work, which, in his peculiarly egotistical
way, he said is "superlatively pregnant," was ever published, and that
in England, the "_Sigillus Sigillorum_." It must not be forgotten that
it was on both teaching and practising this art of memory that Bruno,
throughout his career, prided himself. He was even not averse, at least
at certain periods of his career, to the belief that he had some secret
system for this purpose, or even received occult aid. But when summoned
before Henry III, to whose ears had come his fame, and asked whether
the memory he had and the art he professed were natural or due to
magic, he proved that a good memory was a cultivated natural product.
He then dedicated to the King a book on "_The Art of Memory_."

But this was shortly after his arrival in Paris, in 1581, where he
quickly became famous. A course of thirty lectures on "_The Thirty
Divine Attributes_" of St. Thomas Aquinas would have given him a chair,
could he have attended mass.

His residence in Paris was marked by an extraordinary literary
activity. He published in succession _De Umbris Idearum_ (Shadow of
Ideas), dedicated to Henry III, (this included the Art of Memory
just mentioned) _Cantus Circaeus_ (Incantation of Circe) dedicated
to Prince Henry; _De Compendiosa Architectura et Complemento Artis
Lulli_ (Compendious Architecture); _Il Candelaio_ (The Torchbearer);
these all appeared in 1582. These varied greatly in character. The
first was devoted to the metaphysics of the art of remembering, with
an analysis of that faculty, and these second was given up to the
same general topic. It was all obscure, hence perhaps its popularity.
Brunnhofer says that it was "a convenient means of introducing Bruno
to strange universities, gaining him favor with the great, or helping
him out of pressing need of money. It was his exoteric philosophy with
which he could carefully drape the philosophy of a religion hostile
to the Church, and ride as a hobby horse in his unfruitful humors."
Nevertheless we must believe in his sincerity. The "Compendious
Architecture" is the first of his works in which Bruno deals with the
views of Raymond Lully, a "logical calculus and mnemonic scheme in one"
(McIntyre) that had many imitators. For Lully Bruno seems to have the
greatest regard, this appearing in many ways. Lully, by the way, was a
Spanish scholastic and alchemist, who was born on one of the Balearic
Islands in 1235. He went as a missionary to the Mahommedans, and spent
much time in Asia and Africa. He figures largely in the history of the
alchemists and as a practitioner of the occult.

The "Torchbearer" was a work of very different character. It was
described as a "Comedy" by one who described himself as "Academico di
nulla academia, ditto il fastidito: In tristitia hilaris, hilaritate
tristis." It is essentially a satire on the predominant vices of
pedantry, superstition and selfishness or sordid love. Though lacking
in dramatic power it is regarded as second to nothing of its kind and
time. Its _dramatis personae_ are personified types, not individuals.
It was realistic even in its vulgarity, for obscenity was prevalent in
the literature of those days. But in it Bruno struck at what seemed to
him his greatest enemy, i. e. pedantry.

There were at this time in Paris two great Universities, one the
College de France, with liberal tendencies, and opposed to the Jesuits
and all pedantry; the other the Sorbonne, for centuries the guardian
of the Catholic faith, endowed with the right of censorship, which
must have been exercised over Bruno's works. In which of these, though
surely in one of them, Bruno was made an Extraordinary Lecturer
history has failed to record. He must have offended both, since he was
anxious to be taken back into the Church, yet was revolutionary in his
teaching. More than thirty years later Nostitz, one of his pupils,
paid tribute to his versatility and skill, saying "he was able to
discourse impromptu on any suggested subject, to speak extensively and
elaborately without preparation, so that he attracted many pupils and
admirers in Paris." (McIntyre). But Bruno belonged to the literally
peripatetic school, and in 1583 he forsook Paris for London, because as
he says of "tumults," leaving it to the imagination whether these were
civil or scholastic.

Elizabeth reigned at this time; her influence made England a harbor
of safety for religious and other mental suspects. She had a penchant
for Italians and their language; two of her physicians were Italians,
and Florio was ever welcome at her court. To this court Bruno also
was welcomed, and, basking for sometime in the sunshine of her regard
and patronage, passed there the happiest portion of his unhappy life.
Oxford was at that time the stronghold of Aristotelianism. One of
its statutes ordained that "Bachelors and Masters who did not follow
Aristotle faithfully were liable to a fine of five shillings for every
point of divergence, and for every fault committed against the Logic
of the Organon." (McIntyre). In Oxford at this time, unfortunately,
theology was the only live issue; of science as of real scholarship
there was little or none. (Its predominant trait of those days is
still, perhaps, its dominant feature to-day). To this university Bruno
addressed a letter, couched in vainglorious and egotistical terms,
craving permission to lecture there. This was not received with favor,
while his doctrines met with small encouragement at this ancient seat
of learning, which Bruno later stigmatized as the "widow of true
science." But opportunity was afforded him to dispute publicly before
a noble visitor in June, 1583, a Polish prince; one Alasco, for whom
great public entertainment had been provided. His opponent, defeated by
fifteen unanswerable syllogisms, resorted to scurrility and abuse. This
public exhibition put an end to the lectures on the Immortality of the
Soul which Bruno had been allowed to give, and he returned to London.

Shortly after this he published his _Cena_ (Ash Wednesday Supper)
in which he ridiculed the Oxford doctors, saying among other things
that they were much better acquainted with beer than with Greek. But
he criticised too cynically and lost thereby in popularity. This
led to the appearance of the _Causa_, a dialogue, in which he was
less vindictive. He admitted in this that there was much in the old
institution which was admirable; that it was even the first in Europe,
that speculative philosophy first flourished there, and that thence,
"the splendor of one of the noblest and rarest spheres of philosophy,
in our times almost extinct, was diffused to all other academies in
civilized lands." What he most condemned was the too great attention
given to language and words while the realistics for which words
stand were neglected. Doctors were easily made and doctorates too
cheaply bought. His charge in brief was that they mistook the shadow
for the substance; a charge even yet too commonly justified among the
strongholds of theology and other speculative dogmas.

Returning to London after this experience Bruno went to live with
Mauvissiere, the French Ambassador. While the English records make no
mention of his presence it is yet quite certain that he was frequently
at Court, and that men like Sydney, Greville, Temple and others were
his frequent associates. But as the Ambassador's influence was on the
wane, he was not equal to his great trust. At this time our philosopher
spoke of himself as one "whom the foolish hate, the ignoble despise,
whom the wise love, the learned admire," etc. (McIntyre). Of Queen
Elizabeth he wrote in most fulsome phrases, such as she too dearly
loved. Before his judges, a few years later, Bruno apologized for his
exaggerated expressions concerning a Protestant ruler, claiming that
when he spoke of her as "divine" he meant it not as a term of worship,
but as an epithet like those which the ancients bestowed upon their
rulers; claiming further that he knew he erred in thus praising a
heretic.

Bruno published seven works in England. The first was "_Explicatio
triginta Sigillorum_," the Thirty Seals thus explained being hints for
acquiring, arranging and remembering all arts and sciences. To it was
added his _Sigillus Sigillorum_ for comparing and explaining all mental
operations. Then came an Italian dialogue "_La Cena de le Ceneri_" or
Ash Wednesday Supper. This was written in praise and extension of the
Copernican theory, indeed quite exceeding it in teaching the identity
of matter, the infinity of the universe, the possibility of life on
other spheres, with a painstaking attempt to show that these notions
do not conflict with those of Mother Church. Next came "_De Causa,
Principio et Uno_." (Cause, Principle and Unity). This treated of the
immanence of spirit, the eternity of matter, the potential divinity
of life, the origin of sin and death, and many other similar abstruse
topics. It was followed by _De l'Infinito Universo ed Mondi_, with
numerous reasons for believing the universe to be infinite and full of
innumerable worlds, with the divine essence everywhere pervading.

All these works appeared in 1583. In 1584 appeared his "_Spacio de la
Bestia Triofante_" or Expulsion of the Triumphant Beast. In this prose
poem Jupiter, repenting his errors, resolves to expel the many beasts
that occupy his heavenly sphere--the constellations--and to substitute
for them the virtues. In the council of the gods convened by him many
subjects are discussed, among them the history of religions, the
contrasts between natural and revealed religions and the fundamental
forms of morality. In this allegory Jupiter represents of course
the human spirit; the Bear, the Scorpion, etc., are the vices to be
expelled. Unfortunately the book was quite generally regarded as
attack upon the Church or the Pope, though what he really struck at
was the credulity of mankind. It was dedicated to Sir Philip Sydney.
Then came his "_Cabala del Cavallo Pegasio_" or Cabal, dedicated to a
suppositious Bishop who was made to impersonate the spirit of ignorance
and sloth. It is a mordant satire on Asinity, including credulity and
unquestioning faith. After this he dedicated another work to Sidney.
"_Degl' Heroici Furori_" (Enthusiasms of the Noble), a collection of
sonnets with prose commentaries, like Dante's _Vita Nuova_, touching
on the love for spiritual beauty arising from that for physical beauty
attaining a climax in a sort of ecstasy by union with the divine. These
sonnets possess a very high literary value aside from their other
interest.

When his ambassadorial patron was recalled Bruno probably returned
to Paris with him, during the latter part of 1585. Here he spent a
year amidst constant turmoil and excitement, and at his own expense.
Though he attempted reconciliation with the Church he was regarded as
an apostate. He held one more public disputation in which he advanced
one hundred and twenty theses against the teaching of the Sorbonne,
his side being taken by its rival, the College de France. The outcome
cannot have been brilliantly favorable, since he soon after left Paris,
in June, 1586. The collection of charges above alluded to was published
in Paris after Bruno's departure, and again in Wittenberg, under the
title "_Excubitor_" (The Ambassador). It was an arraignment of the
Aristotelians, based on the words of that great master himself. Bruno
claimed the same right to criticise Aristotle that the latter claimed
to criticise his predecessors. In it Bruno says, "It is a poor mind
that will think with the multitude because it is a multitude; truth is
not altered by the opinions of the vulgar or the confirmation of the
many;"--and again--"it is more blessed to be wise in truth in face of
opinion than to be wise in opinion in face of truth." (McIntyre, p. 50).

In addition to this Bruno had also published, before leaving Paris, a
commentary on the Physics of Aristotle.

Tarrying somewhat by the wayside Bruno reached Wittenberg, where,
in 1586, he matriculated at its University, Marburg having curtly
rejected him. Describing him here McIntyre styles him the "Knight
Errant of Philosophy." Here Lutheranism dominated the theological
faculty, while the philosophical faculty was dominated by Calvinism;
views concerning the person of Christ, the "Real Presence," and the
doctrine of Predestination keeping them apart in spite of Melancthon's
attempt to reunite the two factions. From the Lutheran party Bruno
obtained permission to lecture, and so for two years he taught from
the Organon of Aristotle, as well as the writings of Raymond Lulli.
To the University senate he dedicated a work on Lulli, "_De Lampade
Combinatoria Lulliana_," whose chief purpose was to teach one how
to find "an indefinite number of propositions and middle terms for
speaking and arguing." He regarded it as the only key to the Lullian
writings, as well as a clue to a great many of the mysteries of the
Pythagoreans and Cabalists. It was soon followed by "_De Progressu
et Lampade Venatoria Logicorum_," intended to enable one to "dispute
promptly and copiously on any subject."

But again fate compelled a change of residence, for the Calvanistic
and Ducal party gained in political ascendancy, to which party Bruno,
as a Copernican, would have appeared as a heretic. After delivering
an eloquent address of farewell he moved on, his next abiding place
being Prague, where Rudolph II, of Bohemia, was posing as the friend
of all learned men. Here he already had friends at court, and here
he introduced himself with another Lullian work. To the Emperor he
next dedicated a work of iconoclastic type, "One hundred and sixty
articles against the mathematicians and philosophers of the day." For
this the Emperor granted him the sum of three hundred dollars, and in
January, 1589, he shifted again to Helmstadt, in Brunswick, where he
matriculated again in the then youngest of the German Universities.
This had been founded only twelve years before by Duke Julius, who
was extremely liberal in his views, and intended to found a model
institution, in which theology should not play too dominant a part. But
while he received here a certain recognition fate again sported with
him, for the Duke died four months after his arrival. Bruno obtained
permission to pronounce a funeral oration, desiring to express his
gratitude to the memory of one who had opened such an institution, so
free to all lovers of the Muses and to exiles like himself, who were
here protected from the greedy maw of the Roman wolf, whereas in Italy
he had been chained to a superstitious cult. It was full of allusions
to the papal tyranny which was infecting the world with the rankest
poison of ignorance and vice.

The fatuous simplicity and the worldly blindness which Bruno displayed,
in ever setting foot inside of Italian or papal territory after the
delivery of this _Oratio Consolatoria_, may in one way be appreciated
but never understood or explained. Moreover he had made himself
_persona non grata_ as well to the Protestants, who were scarcely
more liberal than the Catholics. It appears that the great Boethius,
superintendent of the Church at Helmstadt, had acted both as judge
and executioner, and publicly excommunicated Bruno without a hearing,
since there is extant a letter appealing from his arbitrary judgment
and malice. The grounds for this judgment were never made clear,
since no attention was ever paid to the appeal; but inasmuch as Bruno
never really joined the Protestant profession it must have been meant
to inflict some species of social ostracism. Boethius had himself to
be suppressed later. But Bruno, finding too many enemies, left for
Frankfort in 1590, "in order to get two books printed."

These were his two great Latin Works, "De Minimo" and "De Immenso," the
introduction to the latter being the "De Monade." He worked at these
with his own hands. In the introduction to the former his publisher
stated that before its final revision Bruno had been hurriedly called
away by an unforseen chance. This sudden departure may have been due
to a refusal of the town Council to permit his residence there, or it
may have been a call to Zürich, where he spent a few months with one
Hainzel, who had a leaning toward the Black Arts. Bruno wrote for him
"_De Imaginum Compositione_," a manual of his Art of Memory. In this
Swiss city he also dictated a work "_Summa Terminorum Metaphysicorum_,"
which was not published until 1609, and then in Marburg. But Bruno
returned to Frankfort in 1591, where he obtained permission to
publish his _De Minimo_. This work was on the "three fold minimum
and measurement, being the elements of three speculative and several
practical sciences." This like the two next mentioned was a Latin poem,
after the fashion of Lucretius. The _De Monade, Numero et Figura_ dealt
with the Monad, and with the elements of a more esoteric science,
while in the _De Immenso et Innumerabilibus_, the Immeasurable and
Innumerable, he dealt with the Universe and the worlds. These three
poems contain Bruno's complete philosophy of God and Nature.

While thus staying in Frankfort for the second time Bruno was invited
by a young Venetian patrician to pay him a visit, and become his
tutor in those arts in which the philosopher excelled. It was the
most unfortunate event in Bruno's unhappy life when he accepted this
apparently tempting invitation. Mocenigo, his host, was of good family,
but shallow, vain, weak-minded and dishonest, with the fashionable
taste of his day for the black arts. It is quite possible that he
was moreover the tool of the Inquisition, which had long desired to
entrap Bruno. It is probable moreover that the latter quite failed to
appreciate how unenviably he was regarded by that Church to which he
still felt that he belonged. Furthermore Venice was then a Republic and
free, and he longed for his beloved Italy again.

En route to Venice he spent three months in Padua, teaching there and
gathering around himself pupils, even in that short time. He had barely
left it when Galileo was invited there to teach; as Riehl has said,
"the creator of modern science following in the steps of its prophet."

Early in 1592 Bruno went to live in Mocenigo's house. Trouble soon
began. Entirely apart in temperament and characteristics, they soon
disagreed. The pupil was deeply disappointed at not acquiring that
mastery over the secrets of nature for which he had hoped, and found
that there was no quick way to acquire a retentive and replete memory.
And so Mocenigo announced to his friend Ciotto, the bookseller, his
intent to gain from Bruno all he could and then denounce him to the
Holy Office. While others were thus conspiring against him Bruno
was writing a work on "The Seven Liberal Arts" and on "Seven Other
Inventive Arts," intending to present it to the Pope, hoping thus to
obtain absolution and be released from the ban of excommunication.

When Bruno at last appreciated the dangers by which he was surrounded
he announced his intent to go again to Frankfort to have some of his
books printed, and so took his leave of Mocenigo. On the following day,
in May, 1592, Bruno was seized by six men, using force, who locked him
in an upper story of Mocenigo's house. The next day he was transferred
to an underground cellar, and the following night to the prison of the
Inquisition. May 23rd his former host denounced him, with a cunning and
lying statement concerning some of his views and teachings. Thus he was
reported as stating that Christ's miracles were only apparent, that He
and the apostles were magicians, that the Catholic faith was full of
blasphemies against God, that the Friars befouled the world and should
not be allowed to preach, that they were asses, and the doctrines of
the Church were asses' beliefs, etc. (McIntyre). This was followed
two days later by a second denunciation in which Mocenigo went to a
diabolical extreme of deceit and hypocrisy; stating that all the time
he was entertaining Bruno he was promising himself to bring him before
the Holy Office. Within forty-eight hours the Holy Tribunal met to
consider the matter; before them appeared the book-sellers who had
known Bruno in Zürich and Frankfort, and before them came Bruno in his
own behalf, professing his entire willingness to tell the whole truth.
Within a few days Mocenigo made yet another deposition, denouncing
Bruno's statements about the infallible Church. On the following day
Bruno was again heard in his own defense, and appealed to the famous
and fallacious doctrine of two-fold truth, acknowledging that he had
taught too much as a philosopher rather than as an honest man and
Christian, and that he had based his teachings too much on sense and
reason and not enough on faith;--so specious had become his argument
with the terrors of the Inquisition before him. He further claimed that
his intent had been not to impugn the faith but to exalt philosophy. He
then beautifully epitomized his own views, claiming that he believed
in an infinite universe, in an infinite divine potency, holding it
unworthy of an infinite power to create a finite world, when he could
produce so vast an infinity; with Pythagoras he regarded this world as
one of many stars,--innumerable worlds. This universe he held to be
governed by a universal providence, existent in two forms;--one nature,
the shadow or footprint of deity, the other the ineffable essence of
God, always inexplicable. Concerning the triune Godhead he confessed
certain philosophic doubts as well as concerning the use of the term
"_persons_" in these distinctions, while he quoted St. Augustine to
the same effect. The miracles he had always believed to be divine and
genuine; concerning the Holy Mass and the Transubstantiation he agreed
with the Church. As the days went by he became the more insistent upon
his orthodoxy. He condemned the heretic writings of Melancthon, Luther
and Calvin, expressed respect for the writings of Lulli because of
their philosophical bearings, while for St. Thomas Aquinas he had the
most profound regard.

Other counts in the indictment which he had to face were his doubts
concerning the miracles, the sacraments and the incarnation, his
praise of heretics and heretic princes and his familiarity with the
magic arts. He finally made a formal solemn abjuration of all the
errors he had ever committed, and the heresies he had ever uttered, or
doubts expressed or believed, praying only that the Holy Office would
receive him back into the Church where he might rest in peace. Further
examinations were held and the earlier processes against him in Naples
and Rome recalled. After this there was a period of apparent quiet save
that he remained in prison. It is not known to what tortures he may
have been subjected, but it is recorded that he knelt before his judges
asking their pardon, and God's, for all his faults, and professed
himself ready for any penance, apparently not yet realizing the fate
in store for him.

A little later it transpired that the Sacred Congregation of the
Supreme Tribunal of the Holy Office, in Rome, desired to assume all
further responsibility for the process against so distinguished a
heretic. Accordingly the machinery of the Church was put in motion to
this end. Negotiations with the Venetian Republic, somewhat tedious
and complicated, which need not detain us now, were at last concluded.
January 7, 1603, the Venetian procurator reported of Bruno that "his
faults were exceedingly grave in respect of heresies, though in other
respects he was one of the most excellent and rarest natures, and
of exquisite learning and knowledge," (McIntyre) but that the case
was of unusual gravity, Bruno not a Venetian subject, the Pope most
anxious, etc. It was then decided to remit him to the Tribunal of the
Inquisition at Rome; whereat it is duly reported, the Pope was deeply
gratified.

To Rome then he went and here he was lost, so far as documentary
records go, for a period of six years. How to explain this fact and
this apparent clemency has bothered the biographers not a little.
Whether this time was spent in an examination of his voluminous
writings, which would seem incredible, or whether the Dominicans
labored so long to procure his more absolute recantation in order
to prevent scandal in and reflection on their order, or whether
Pope Clement himself regarded kindly--in some degree-- the great
scholar who was so anxious to dedicate to him a _magnum opus_;--to
these queries history answereth not. The Dominicans pretended--years
later--to doubt if he ever had been put to death, or whether he
had ever really belonged to their order. These statements are too
characteristic to provoke more than a sad smile.

Finally matters were hastened to an end by the efforts of Fathers
Commisario and Bellarmino; the latter being the zealous bigot who
decided that Copernicanism was a heresy, who later laid the indictment
against Galileo. Through their machinations Bruno was, in February,
1599, decreed on eight counts as a dangerous heretic, who might still
admit his heresies, and he was to be granted forty days in which to
recant and repent. But this period was stretched out some ten months,
until December, when it was reported that Bruno refused to recant,
having nothing to take back. Among the Tribunal at this time was San
Severino, fanatical, bitter because of his failure to secure the
papacy, who had declared that St. Bartholomew's was "a glorious day,
a day of joy for Catholics." It was decided that the high officers of
the Dominicans should make one last effort to compel or coax Bruno to
abjure. This he declined to do, Whereupon, January 20th, 1600, it was
decreed that "further measures be proceeded to, _servatis servandis_,
that sentence be passed, and that the said Friar Giordano be handed
over to the secular authority." A few days later Bruno was degraded,
excommunicated and handed over to the Governor of Rome, with the
usual hypocritical recommendation to "mercy," and that he be punished
"without effusion of blood," which meant of course burning at the stake.

Bruno's reply to his judges deserves to be printed in letters of
gold whenever it can be recorded;--"_Greater perhaps is your fear in
pronouncing my sentence than mine in hearing it._"

Let us spare ourselves a too minute account of his execution. Some
reports are to the effect that his tongue was tied, because he refused
to listen to the exhortations of those members of the Company of St.
John the Beheaded, better known as the Brothers of the Misericordia,
who accompanied the condemned to the scaffold or the stake, resorting
to the most cruel methods in order to provoke at least some appearance
of recantation or repentance during the last moments of life.

Right here let it be said of Bruno that whatever may have been his
weaknesses before the Inquisition at Venice, he stood firmly by his
creed when put to the final test, and died an ideal martyr's death
because his creed did not agree with that of his persecutors.

And so terminated the life of one of Italy's greatest ornaments and
scholars. The occasion had not then the importance we assign it now.
The burning of a heretic was a frequent spectacle, and the year 1600
was the year of Jubilee, in which the death of one unbeliever more
was but the incident of a day. He had himself foreseen it, saying,
"Torches, fifty or a hundred, will not fail me, even though the march
past be at mid-day, should it be my fate to die in Roman Catholic
Country."

There remains yet to comment on his character and to analyze his views.

The greatest blot upon the former is his attitude before the Venetian
Tribunal. Here he was at first defiant, even polemical, strong in his
asserted right to use the natural light of sense and reason. Under
greater stress he modified this to one of absolute and indignant
denial, and finally became submissive to the last degree, cringing
and finally begging for pardon on bended knees. That this attitude
changed with his better realization of his predicament is undeniable.
Moreover what keen and sensitive natures may do under the influence
of torture is never to be predicated. How many of us could resist the
persuasiveness of the rack when it came to modifying our beliefs?
But whatever may have been his weakness at that time, he completely
rehabilitated himself before his end, for were not his ashes scattered
to the winds as a token that he completely failed to recant? Surely no
martyr to science or dogma ever died a more dignified death, for the
edification or example of others.

What shall be said of his persecutors and prosecutors? Let us here be
charitable; let us be just. Have we yet that absolute knowledge of
right and wrong which can enable us to pass final judgment on men of
the past, their motives and actions? Moral perceptions are the product
of the race, the age and the environment; they vary greatly with the
times. There is no crime in or out of the Decalogue which has at all
times and by all peoples been regarded as such. The Church during
several centuries enjoyed a monopoly of wisdom or learning as well as
of opportunities for acquiring them. Zealotry, bigotry, intolerance,
fanaticism, were the natural products of such conditions. So were
cruelty and disregard of human life. Join the mind of a bigot to the
body of one who knows not fear, and the result will be a Loyola, or a
St. Louis of France, who held that the only argument a layman should
engage in with a heretic should be a sword thrust through the body.
If then heresy was a crime, punishable by a cruel death in all the
capitals of Europe, let us blame less the men who were trained and
grew up with these notions, but rather more the Church which preached
them, whether Catholic or Protestant. Only if one of these really
were, as it still claims to be, _infallible_, then what has become of
its infallibility? Or if heresy be held still a crime then what shall
we say of the Church's ethics? If one were God-given the other is
un-Christ-like. But no free thinker can engage in theological polemics,
or with jesuitical sophistries, without letting his reason excite his
emotions; and when the emotions enter the door logic flies out of the
window.

Let us say then that Bruno was in some respects so far ahead of his day
and generation that they understood him not. And yet he was a _torch
bearer_, save at his own last funeral pyre, shedding forth a light
which illumed the centuries to come, and helping to make the period
of the Italian Renaissance one of the most important and glorious in
the world's history. If better known and more widely studied, he would
be by English and American students placed on that pinnacle which he
deserves in the Hall of Fame.

What shall be said of Bruno as a philosopher? He, first of all men in
the middle ages, taught that Nature was lovable and worthy of study.
Loving her, trusting, confiding in her, he found himself at outs with
all the mental processes of his fellow scholars. In this way the
natural method was brought into direct opposition with the ponderously
artificial and strained methods of his day. He held that our eyes were
given us that we might open and look upward. "Seeing, I do not pretend
not to see, nor fear to profess it openly," he says. His philosophy
was rather a product of intuition than of ratiocination, which became
his real religion, for which Catholicism was a cloak, because in those
days one was compelled to wear a cloak or live but a short life, and
that within prison walls. What the medieval church, Catholic and even
Protestant, has to answer for, as to the suppression of truth and
provocation of hypocrisy, is beyond the mensuration of man. For the
argument from authority he had the greatest contempt, and herein he
set the world of thinkers a valuable lesson. "To believe with the many
because they were many, was the mark of a slave," (McIntyre). Before
Bacon, before Descrates, he saw the necessity of "first clearing the
mind of all prejudice, all traditional beliefs that rest on authority."
He thus begins one of his sonnets:--

"Oh, holy assinity! Oh, holy ignorance, holy folly and pious devotion;
which alone makest souls so good that human wit and zeal can go no
further," etc.

By the independence of his mental processes he was thrown quite upon
his own resources, and his nature, already dignified and reserved, was
made more introspective and self-conscious. In this way he developed
strains of vanity and egotism which led him at times to the bombastic
self-laudation of a Paracelsus. He had nothing but disgust for the
common people and the sort of scholars (pedants) whom they admired. The
vulgar mind was more influenced by sophisms, by appearance, by failure
to distinguish between the shadow and the substance. Take but two or
three of Bruno's conceptions:--

He perhaps first during the middle ages taught the transformation of
lower into higher organisms, following the Greeks who first enunciated
the doctrine of evolution, which it remained for Darwin and Wallace
to edit and illustrate as that law of the organic continuity of life,
which we call _evolution_. He further wrote of the human hand as a
factor in the evolution of the human race, in a way which should have
commended him to the author of the Bridgewater treatise. He wrote of
the changes on the earth's surface brought about by natural processes,
which have changed not only the external configuration of the same but
the fate and destiny of nations; of the identity of matter throughout
the universe; of the universal movement of matter. Long before Lessing
he showed how myths may contain the germs of great truths, and should
be regarded as indications thereof. In this way, he told us, the Bible
was to be regarded, holding its more or less historical statements to
be quite subordinate to its moral teachings.

When we realize how to such highly developed reasoning powers as Bruno
possessed, were added a phenomenal memory, a tremendous power of
assimilation, a developed imagination, a poetic nature, the gift of
easy and accurate speech and a temperament easily excited to fervor
in attack or defense, we may the better appreciate his dominating
greatness as well as his trifling weakness; the former being entirely
to his own credit while the latter are ascribed largely to the faults
of his time, and the fact that he was really living far ahead of his
day and generation. He was not only the forerunner of modern science,
he was the prototype of the modern biblical critic, foreshadowing the
modern higher criticism, albeit in veiled terms, and as a matter of
esoteric teaching; because the biblical critic of those days was burned
at the stake, while to-day he is barely ostracized by the shallow and
narrow minded, with whom he has at best nothing mentally in common. So
much have four centuries of labor and vicarious suffering accomplished
for the emancipation of the human mind.

Bruno _had_ a creed, but it was too simple for his times. He rejected
certain orthodox dogmas, (e. g. the Trinity, the Immaculate Conception)
which commend themselves still less to the emancipated and cultivated
minds of to-day. He absolutely rejected authority, which was a step
toward reason comparable to the freeing of the slaves or serfs. He
evolved a theory of evolution from _a priori_ concepts, which it
remained for Darwin to complete and demonstrate. He believed in the
natural history of religions. His motives were of the loftiest, though
his methods were not always those of to-day. He believed that the
essence of truth inhered in those differences which kept men apart, and
still sever them. He believed the _law of love_ and that it sprang from
God, which is the Father of All, that it was in harmony with nature,
and that by love we may be transformed into something of His likeness.
As Bruno himself says:--"This is the religion, above controversy or
dispute, which I observe from the belief of my own mind, and from the
custom of my fatherland and my race." (McIntyre, p. 110).

And yet this sublime man was burned as a heretic! Let us stop when we
hereafter pass through the Campo dei Fiori, as I have done many a time,
and take off our hats to the memory of this great man, who, while small
in some human traits, yet was the greatest thinker in Italy during
the sixteenth century, whose memory may help us to forget some of the
hypocrisies and cant so generally prevalent during the age which and
among the men who condemned him. Let us also thank God that there is no
Tribunal of the Inquisition to-day, to pass misguided judgment upon us
for having gone further than Bruno ever dreamed, though along the same
lines, and to condemn us therefore to the Flames.

This paper has already been prolonged, perhaps tiresomely, nevertheless
I cannot refrain from quoting a few paragraphs from that most versatile
student of this period, Symonds, whose estimate of Bruno is as
follows:--(Renaissance in Italy; Catholic Reaction, II Chap. ix).

"Bruno appears before us as the man who most vitally and
comprehensively grasped the leading tendencies of his age in their
intellectual essence. He left behind him the mediaeval conception of an
extra-mundane God, creating a finite world, of which this globe is the
center, and the principal episode in the history of which is the series
of events from the Fall, through the Incarnation and Crucifixion, to
the Last Judgment. He substituted the conception of an ever-living,
ever-acting, ever-self-effectuating God, immanent in an infinite
universe, to the contemplation of whose attributes the mind of man
ascends by the study of Nature and interrogation of his conscience.

"Bolder even than Copernicus, and nearer in his intuition to the
truth, he denied that the universe had "flaming walls" or any walls
at all. That "immaginata circonferenza," "quella margine immaginata
del cielo," on which antique science and Christian theology alike
reposed, was the object of his ceaseless satire, his oft-repeated
polemic. What, then, rendered Bruno the precursor of modern thought in
its various manifestations, was that he grasped the fundamental truth
upon which modern science rests, and foresaw the conclusions which
must be drawn from it. He speculated boldly, incoherently, vehemently;
but he speculated with a clear conception of the universe, as we still
apprehend it. Through the course of three centuries we have been
engaged in verifying the guesses, deepening, broadening and solidifying
the hypotheses, which Bruno's extension of the Copernican theory, and
his application of it to pure thought suggested to his penetrating and
audacious intellect."

Bruno was convinced that religion in its higher essence would not
sufferer from the new philosophy. Larger horizons extended before the
human intellect. The soul expanded in more exhilarating regions than
the old theologies had offered.

    "Lift up thy light on us and on thine own,
    O soul whose spirit on earth was as a rod
    To scourge off priests, a sword to pierce their God,
    A staff for man's free thought to walk alone,
    A lamp to lead him far from shrine and throne
    On ways untrodden where his fathers trod
    Ere earth's heart withered at a high priest's nod,
    And all men's mouths that made not prayer made moan.
    From bonds and torments, and the ravening flame,
    Surely thy spirit of sense rose up to greet
    Lucretius, where such only spirits meet,
    And walk with him apart till Shelley came
    To make the heaven of heavens more heavenly sweet,
    And mix with yours a third incorporate name."




VIII

STUDENT LIFE IN THE MIDDLE AGES[5]

[5] An Address given before the Chas. K. Mills Society of Students of
the University of Pennsylvania, February 19, 1902.

[Reprinted from the _Univ. of Penna. Medical Bulletin_, March, 1902.]


I assume that every university student of today realizes that his
possibilities and his opportunities are better in every way than were
those enjoyed by students of bygone times. I take it, also, that you
would not be averse to listening to an account of the habits, the
surroundings, the privileges, and the disadvantages which surrounded
students at a time when universities were young and when customs in
general, as well as manners, were very different from those of to-day.
With all this in view, I shall ask your attention to a brief account
of Student Life in the Middle Ages, with especial reference to that of
the medical student. Measured by its results, the most priceless legacy
of mediæval times to mankind was the university system, which began in
crude form and with an almost mythical origin, but which gradually took
form and shape in consequence of many external forces. It represented
an effort to "realize in concrete form an ideal of life in one of its
aspects." Such ideals "pass into great historic forces by embodying
themselves in institutions," as witness, for instance, the case of the
Church of Rome.

The use of words in our language has undergone many curious
perversions. Take our word "bombast," for instance. Originally it
was a name applied to the cotton plant. Then it was applied to any
padding for garments which was made of cotton. Later it was used
as describing literary padding, as it were, as when one filled out
an empty speech with unnecessary and long words, and, at last, it
came to have the meaning which we now give it. So with the word
"university." "Universitas" in the original Latin meant simply a
collection, a plurality, or an aggregation. It was almost synonymous
with "collegium." By the beginning of the thirteenth century it was
applied to corporations of masters or students and to other associated
bodies, and implied an association of individuals, not a place of
meeting, nor even a collection of schools. If we were to be literal and
consistent in our use of terms, for the place where such collections
of men exercise scholastic functions the term should be "_studium
generale_," meaning thereby a place, not where all things are studied,
but where students come together from all directions. Very few of the
mediæval studia possessed all the faculties of a modern university.
Even Paris, in its palmiest days, had no faculty of law. The name
_universitas_ implies a general invitation to students from all over
the world to seek there a place for higher education from numerous
masters or teachers. The three great _studia_ of the thirteenth century
were Paris, transcendent in theology and the arts; Bologna, where
legal lore prevailed; and Salernum, where existed the greatest medical
school of the world's history. In spite of the fact that these, like
all the other _studia_ of the Middle Ages, were under the influence of
the Church, from them sprang most of the inspiration that constituted
the mainspring of mediæval intellectual activity, although how baneful
such influence could be may be illustrated by the Spanish--that is, the
ultra-Catholic University of Salamanca, where not until one hundred
years ago were they allowed to teach the Copernican system of astronomy.

Under the conditions existing during the Middle Ages, with relatively
few institutions of advanced learning, and in the presence of that
spirit which led men to travel long distances, and very widely out
of the provinces, to the cities of the great scholia, or, as we call
them now, universities, the most imperative common want was that of a
common language; and so it happened that not only were the lectures all
given in Latin, but that it was very commonly used for conversational
purposes, and appears to have been almost a necessity of university
life. Early in the history of the University of Paris a statute made
the ability of the petitioner to state his case before the rector in
Latin a test of his bona-fide studentship. This may perhaps, in some
measure account for the barbarity of mediæval Latin. Still, as the
listener said about Wagner's music, "it may not have been as bad as it
sounded," since the period of greatest ignorance of construction and
rhetoric had passed away before the university era began. John Stuart
Mill even praised the schoolmen of the Middle Ages for their inventive
capacity in the matter of technical terms. The Latin language, which
was originally stiff and poor in vocabulary, became, in its employment
by these mediæval thinkers, much more flexible and expressive. It was
the Ciceronian pedantry of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
which killed off Latin as a living language. Felicity in Latin counted,
then as now, as a mark of scholarship, and six hundred years ago a
schoolmaster could come up to the university and, after performing
some exercises and passing such an examination as the doctors of music
do to-day, could write one hundred verses in Latin in praise of the
university, and take his degree. The boys who went to the universities
learned their Latin at inferior grammar schools, often in university
towns. These schools were mainly connected with cathedrals or churches,
although, in the later Middle Ages, even the smallest towns had schools
where a boy might learn to read and write at least the rudiments of
ecclesiastical Latin. In those days not only were the clergy Latin
scholars, but the bailiff of every manor kept his accounts in Latin,
and a tutor even formed part of the establishment of a great noble or
prelate who had either a family or pages in his care.

In those good old days boys were accustomed to seek the university at
the ages of thirteen to fifteen. A Paris statute required them to
be at least fourteen, and naturally many were older. Many of these
students were beneficed, and boys were canons or even rectors of parish
churches. In this capacity they obtained leave of absence to study in
the universities, and so it was quite common at one time for rectors
and ecclesiastics of all ages to appear in the rôle of university
students. At the close of the fourteenth century, in the University of
Prague, in the law school alone there appeared on the list of students
one bishop, one abbot, nine archdeacons, 290 canons, 187 rectors, and
still other minor ecclesiastics. At one time in the University of
Bologna, in the registry of German corps, more than half the students
were church dignitaries. Sad to relate, many of these clerical students
were among the most disorderly and troublesome of the academic
population, the statutes vainly prescribing that they should sit "as
quiet as girls;" while, as Rashdall says, "even spiritual thunders had
at times to be invoked to prevent them from shouting, playing, and
interrupting."

Considering the youthfulness of what we may call the freshmen, as many
of them went up to the universities at the early age already mentioned,
it is not strange that we hear of "fetchers" or "carriers" or
"bryngers," who were detailed to escort them home; but we must remember
that the roads were dangerous in those days, and that protection of
some kind was necessary even for men. Proclamations against bearing
arms usually made exceptions in favor of students travelling to or
from the university. Students, many of them, lived in halls, or, as
we would say now, dormitories, and one of them assumed the rôle of
principal, or was delegated to exercise certain authority. Quite often
this was the man who made himself responsible for the rent, whose
authority came only from the voluntary consent of his fellow-students,
or who was elected by them.

When it came to the matter of discipline, the good old-fashioned
birchen rod was not an unknown factor in university government. There
seems to have been always a certain relationship between classic
studies and corporal punishment. In mediæval university records
allusions to this relationship began about the fifteenth century. In
Paris, about this time, when there were so many disgraceful factional
fights, the rectors and proctors had occasionally to go to the
colleges and halls and personally superintend the chastisement of
the young rioters. We find also in the history of the University of
Louvain that flogging was at one time ordered by the Faculty of Arts
for homicide or other grave outrages. It is worth while to recall
for a moment how grave offences were dealt with in those days. At
the University of Ingolstadt one student killed another in a drunken
quarrel, and was punished by the university by the confiscation of
his scholastic effects and garments, but he was not even expelled. At
Prague a certain Master of Arts assisted in cutting the throat of a
friar bishop, and was actually expelled for the deed. In those days
drunkenness was rarely treated as a university offence. The penalties
which were inflicted for the gravest outrages and immoralities were
for the greater part puerile in the extreme. In most serious cases
excommunication or imprisonment were the penalties, while lesser
offences were punished by postponement of degree, expulsion from the
college, temporary banishment from a university town, or by fines.

In Leipzig, in 1439, the fine of ten new groschen was provided for the
offense of lifting a stone or missile with a view of throwing it at
a master, but not actually throwing it; whereas the act of throwing
and missing increased the penalty to eight florins, while successful
marksmanship was still more expensive. Later statutes made distinction
between hitting without wounding and wounding without mutilation,
expulsion being the penalty for actual mutilation. With the beginning
of the sixteenth century the practice of flogging the very poorest
students appears to have been introduced. During these Middle Ages
they had a peculiar fashion of expiating even grave offences. For
example, at the Sorbonne, if a fellow should assault or cruelly beat
a servant he was fined a measure of good wine--not for the benefit of
the servant, but for all the culprit's fellow-students. Those were the
days, too, when trifling lapses incurred each its own penalty. A doctor
of divinity was fined a quart of wine for picking a pear off a tree in
the college garden or forgetting to shut the chapel door. Clerks were
fined for being very drunk and committing insolences when in that
condition. The head cook was fined for not putting salt in the soup.
Most of these fines being in the shape of liquors or wines, I imagine
that the practice was more general because the penalty was shared in by
all who were near.

With lapse of time the statutes of the German universities gradually
grew stricter until they became very minute and restrictive in the
matter of unacademical pleasures. A visit to the tavern, or even to
the kitchen of the college or hall, became a university offence. There
were statutes against swearing, against games of chance, walking abroad
without a companion, being out after eight in the winter or nine in the
summer, making odious comparisons of country to country, etc. This was
particularly true of the English universities, where a definite penalty
was imposed for every offence, ranging from a quarter of a penny for
not speaking Latin to six shillings eight pence for assault with
effusion of blood.

The matter of constantly speaking Latin led to a system of espionage,
by which a secret system of spies, called "_lupi_" or wolves, was
arranged; these were to inform against the "_vulgarisantes_," or those
offenders who persisted in speaking in their mother tongue.

It was the students of those days who set the example and the fashion
of initiating, or, as we would say now, of hazing the newcomers. This
custom of initiation, in one form or another, seems to have an almost
hoary antiquity. As Rashdall puts it, three deeply rooted instincts of
human nature combine to put the custom almost beyond suppression. It
satisfies alike the bullying instinct, the social instinct, and the
desire to find at once the excuse and the means for a carouse. In the
days of which we are speaking the _Bejaunus_, which is a corruption of
the old French _Bec-jaune_ (or yellow bill), as the academic fledgling
was called, had to be bullied and coaxed and teased in order to be
welcomed as a comrade, and finally his "jocund advent" had to be
celebrated by a feast furnished at his own expense. A history of the
process of initiating would furnish one of the most singular chapters
in university records. At first there were several prohibitions
against all _bejaunia_, for the unfortunate youth's limited purse ill
afforded even the first year's expenses. As the years went by certain
restrictions were imposed, and by the sixteenth century the _depositio
cornuum_ had become in the German universities a ceremony almost equal
in importance to matriculation. The callow country youth was supposed
to be a wild beast who must be deprived of his horns before he could
be received into refined society in his new home. This constituted the
_depositio_ for which he was supposed to arrange with his new masters,
at the same time begging them to keep expenses as low as possible.
Soon after he matriculated he was visited in his room by two of the
students, who would pretend to be investigating the source of an
abominable odor.

This would be subsequently discovered to be due to the newcomer
himself, whom they would take at first to be a wild boar, but later
discovery to be that rare creature known as a _bejaunus_, a creature
of whom they had heard, but which they had never seen. After chaffing
comments about his general ferocious aspect it would be suggested,
with marked sympathy, that his horns might be removed by operation,
the so-called _depositio_. The victim's face would then be smeared
with some preparation, and certain formalities would be gone through
with--clipping his ears, removal of his tusks, etc. Finally, in fear
lest the mock operation should be fatal, the patient would be shriven;
one of the students, feigning himself a priest, would put his ear to
the dying man's mouth and then repeat his confession. The boy was
made to accuse himself of all sorts of enormities, and finally it was
exacted as penance that he should provide a sumptuous banquet for his
new masters and comrades.

This latter ceremony consisted of a procession headed by a master in
academic dress, followed by students in masquerading costume. Certain
further operative procedures were then gone through with, the beast was
finally dehorned and his nose held to the grindstone, while a little
later his chin was adorned with a beard made of burnt cork, and his
wounded sensibilities assuaged by a dose of salt and wine. All this
constituted a peculiar German custom, although some means of extorting
money or bothering those who were initiated was practically universal.
In Germany this ceremony of _depositio_ seems to have led later to
the bullying and fagging of juniors by seniors, that gave rise to
indignities while at the same time it more than exceeded in brutality
anything of which we have read in the English grammar schools. These
excesses reached their highest in the seventeenth century, and for
a long time defied all efforts of both government and university
authorities to suppress them.

In southern France this initiation assumed somewhat different form.
Here the freshman was treated as a criminal, and had to be tried for
and released by purgation from the consequences of his original sin.
At Avignon this purgation of freshmen was made the primary purpose
of a religious fraternity formed under ecclesiastical sanction, and
with a chapel in the Dominican church. (Rashdall). The preamble of
its constitution piously boasted that its object was to put a stop
to enormities, drunkenness and immorality, but its practices were at
extreme variance with its avowed purposes.

The matter of academical dress may interest for a moment. During
the Middle Ages there was for the undergraduate nothing which could
be properly called academic dress. In the Italian universities the
students wore a long black garment known as a "cappa." In the Parisian
universities every student was required by custom or statute to wear a
tonsure and a clerical habit, such "indecent, dissolute, or secular"
apparel as puffed sleeves, pointed shoes, colored boots, etc., being
positively forbidden; and so the clothes of uniform color and material,
like those worn in some of the English charitable schools, have been
the result of the uniform dress of a particular color which mediæval
students were supposed to wear, and which indicated that at the time
they were supposed to be clerks. At one time the so-called Queen's Men
in Oxford University were required to wear bright red garments, and
differences of color and ornament still survive in the undergraduate
gowns of Cambridge. While the students usually wore dark-hued material,
the higher officials of the universities wore more and more elaborate
garments, until the rector appeared in violet or purple, perhaps with
fur trimmings. The hoods, which are still worn to-day, were at one
time made of lamb's wool or rabbit's fur, silk, such as those which we
wear, coming in as a summer alternative at the end of the fourteenth
century. The birretta, or square cap, with a tuft on the top, in lieu
of the modern tassel on top of the square cap, was a distinctive badge
of membership, while doctors and superior officers were distinguished
by the red or violet color of their birrettas.

This so-called "philosophy of clothes" throws much light upon the
relation of the Church to the universities, as well as on the use
and misuse of the term "clericus." That a man was a _clericus_ in
the Middle Ages did not necessarily imply that he had taken even the
lowest grade of clerical orders. It simply implied that he was a
clerk, i. e., a student. Even the wearing of a so-called clerical
dress was rather in order that the wearer might enjoy exemption from
secular courts and the privileges of the clerical order. The lowest
of the people even took the clerical tonsure simply in order to get
the benefit of clergy; and to become a clerk was at one time almost
equivalent to taking out a license for the commission of murder or
outrage with comparative immunity. Nevertheless, the relation between
clerkship and minor orders is still quite obscure.

It is quite evident that students of those days were not worked as
hard as those of the present day. Three lectures a day constituted a
maximum of work of this kind, beside which there were disputations
and "resumpciones," which seem to have corresponded very much to the
quizzes of to-day, scholars being examined or catechised, sometimes
even by the lecturer himself. Gradually supplementary lectures were
introduced, but there was a period during which the university seemed
to decline and decay rather than the reverse, when intellectual life
was not nearly as active and studies not nearly as closely pursued. In
the days of Thomas Aquinas intellectual vigor was at its highest, but
in the fifteenth century there was a distinct falling off.

During these centuries, too, it was not unusual that students attended
mass or religious services before going to lectures. This practice grew
during the latter portion of the Middle Ages. Attendance was not,
however, compulsory. Even at Oxford the statutes of the New College
were the first which required daily attendance at mass. In those days
lectures began at six in the morning in summer, and sometimes as late
as seven in the winter mornings. There is every reason to think that
often lectures were given in the darkness preceding dawn, and even
without artificial light. It should be said that these lectures were
sometimes three hours in duration, and hence it might appear that three
such lectures a day were about all that could be expected of a student.

The standard of living for the mediæval student was not always so bad
as has been sometimes represented. University students then, as now,
were recruited from the highest as well as the poorest social classes,
and the young sons of princely families often had about them quite an
establishment. At the lower end of the university social ladder was
the poor scholar who was reduced to begging for his living or becoming
a servant in one of the colleges. In Vienna and elsewhere there were
halls whose inmates were regularly sent out to beg, the proceeds of
their mendicancy being placed in a common chest. Very poor scholars
were often granted licenses to beg by the chancellor. This was not
regarded as a particular degradation, however, because the example of
the friars had made begging comparatively respectable. Those who would
have been ashamed to work hard were not ashamed to beg.

This custom, for that matter, is by no means yet abandoned. When
I was first studying in Vienna, in 1882, I remember a young German
nobleman who was reduced to such an extent that he lived absolutely on
the charity of others. He kept a little book in which he had it set
down that on such a day such a person had promised to give him so much
toward his support, and he called regularly on his list of supporters,
and almost daily, in order that the gulden which they had promised him
might be forthcoming.

There is the good old story you know, also, of the three students who
were so poor that they had but one cappa or gown between them, in which
they took turns to go to lectures. In the small university towns,
where thousands of students gathered together during a part of the
year--where means of carrying food were scanty, and food itself not
abundant--it is not strange that student fare was often of the most
meagre sort.

The matter of food was not the only hardship of student life in those
days about which we are talking. At that time such a thing as a fire
in a lecture-room was unknown, there being no source of warmth or
comfort, save, perhaps, straw or rushes upon the floor. The winter
in the northern university towns must have been severe, but it is
not likely that either in the lecture-room or in his own apartments
did the student have any comfort from heat. This was true to such an
extent that they often sought the kitchens for comfort. In Germany
it was even one of the duties of the head of the college to inspect
the college-rooms lest the occupants should have supplied themselves
with some source of heat. In some places, however, there was a common
hall or combination room in which a fire was built in cold weather.
You must remember, also, that glass windows were an exceptional luxury
until toward the close of the period under discussion. In Padua the
windows of the schools were made of linen. In 1643 a glass window was
for the first time introduced into the Theological School at Prague.
In 1600 the rooms inhabited by some of the junior fellows at Cambridge
were still unprovided with glass windows. Add to these hardships the
relative expense of lights, when the average price of candles was
nearly two pence per pound, and you will see that the poorest student
could not afford to study by artificial light. Some of the senior
students may have had bedsteads, but the younger students slept mostly
upon the floor. In some places there were cisterns or troughs of lead,
or occasionally pitchers and bowls were provided, but usually the
student had to resort to the public lavatory in the hall.

Along with these hardships consider the amusements of this period,
which were for the greater part conspicuous by their absence. Statutes
concerning amusements were often more stringent than those concerning
crime or vice. These were essentially military times, and tournaments,
hunting, and hawking, which were enjoyed by the upper social classes,
were considered too expensive and distracting for university students,
and were consequently forbidden. "Mortification of the flesh" was
the cry of those days, as even now among some religious fanatics.
Even playing with a ball or bat was at times forbidden, along with
other "insolent games." A statute of the sixteenth century speaks of
tennis and fives as among "indecent games" whose introduction would
create scandal in and against the college. Games of chance and playing
for money were also forbidden; nevertheless, they were more or less
practised. Even chess enjoyed a bad reputation among the mediæval
moralists, and was characterized by a certain bishop of Winchester
as a "noxious, inordinate, and unhonest game." Dancing was rather
a favorite amusement, but was repressed as far as possible, since
the celebrated William of Wykeham found it necessary to prohibit
dancing and jumping in the chapel. Apparently, then, in those days a
good student amused himself little, if at all, and had to find his
relaxation in the frequent interruptions caused by church holidays. At
St. Andrew's, in Scotland, however, two days' holiday was allowed at
carnival time expressly for cock-fighting. On the evenings of festival
days entertainments were occasionally provided by strolling players,
jesters, or mountebanks, who were largely patronized by students.

Altogether, it is not strange that students in those days fell into
dissolute habits, many having to be expelled or punished. We can even
understand how some of them actually turned highwaymen and waylaid
their more peaceful brothers as they approached the universities
with money for the ensuing season. In the archives of the University
of Leipzig there are standard forms of proclamation against even
such boyish follies as pea-shooting, destruction of trees and crops,
throwing water out of the window upon passers-by, shouting at night,
wearing of disguises, interfering with a hangman in the execution of
his duty, or attending exhibitions of wrestling, boxing, and the like.

Evidently, then, university life had its exceedingly wild side. One
needs only to recall the history of the famous Latin Quarter in Paris
to be convinced of this. This was the students' quarter in the old
city of Paris as extended by Philip Augustus across the river. Paris
then was surrounded by a cordon of monasteries, whose abbots exercised
jurisdiction over their surrounding districts. Just to the west of the
student quarter stood the great Abbey of St. Germain. Between the monks
of this monastery and the students there were frequent conflicts, and
it is recorded that in 1278, for instance, a pitched battle occurred
between the monks, under their provost, on one side, and the unarmed
and defenceless boys and masters, on the other, during which many were
badly wounded, and some mortally. The matter was finally carried to
court, and the monks were required to perform certain penances and
to pay certain fines. Their brutality, however, was not effectually
suppressed. In 1304 the Provost of Paris hanged and gibbetted a
student, and was punished therefor by the king; while the subsequent
history of Paris is one of constant conflict between students and the
clerical orders. On the other hand, the clerical tonsure in which the
Parisian scholar clothed himself enabled him to indulge in all kinds of
crime, without fear of that summary execution which would have been his
fate had he been merely an ordinary beggar.

Bibulousness was another striking characteristic of mediæval university
life. In those days they knew not tea nor coffee nor tobacco, but
spirituous liquors in some form were far from unknown to them. No
important event of life could be transacted without its drinking
accompaniment. At all exercises, public or private, wine was freely
provided, and many of the feasts and festivals which began with mass
were concluded with a drunken orgie.

You have observed that so far I have made frequent mention of clerical
matters. In truth, in northern Europe the Church included practically
all the learned professions, including the civil servants of the
government, the physicians, architects, secular lawyers, diplomatists,
and secretaries, who were all ecclesiastics. It is true that in order
to be a "clerk" it was not really necessary to take even minor orders,
but it was so easy for a king or bishop to reward his physician, his
lawyer, or his secretary by a monastic office rather than by a large
salary, that the average student, at least in the larger places, looked
to holy orders as his eventual destination. How much of insincerity and
hypocrisy there were among those reverend gentlemen thus constituted
you may imagine better than I can picture. The Reformation, as well as
the increasing corruption of the monastic orders, brought about changes
which were not rapid, but which became almost complete, and led finally
to the partial restoration of the ancient dignity of the early Church.

Without pursuing this part of the subject further, it may be imagined
what a general alteration and reformation in all branches of study, as
well as in the general intellectual life of the people, the founding
of the universities accomplished. For the greater part designed for
the confirmation of the faith, they often brought about a reaction
against it. Like the other integral portions of the university, the
medical departments of nearly all the mediæval institutions came into
existence through voluntary associations of physicians and would-be
teachers. For a long time medicine was included under the general head
of philosophy, whose standard-bearers were Aristotle and the Arabians.
At Tübingen, in 1481, the medical student's days were divided about as
follows: In the morning he studied Galen's _Ars Medici_, and in the
afternoon Avicenna on _Fever_. During the second year, in the forenoon
he studied Avicenna's _Anatomy and Physiology_, and in the afternoon
the ninth book of Rhazes on _Local Pathology_. The forenoons of his
third year were spent with the _Aphorisms_ of Hippocrates, and in the
afternoon he studied Galen. If any text-book on surgery at all were
used it was usually that of Avicenna. Some time was also given to
the writings of some of the other Arabian physicians. At that time
any man who had studied medicine for three years and attained the age
of twenty-one might assume the rôle of teacher if he saw fit, being
compelled only, at first, to lecture upon the preparatory branches. He
was at that time called a _baccalaureus_. After three years' further
study he became a _magister_ or _doctor_, although for the latter
title a still further course of study was usually prescribed. The
courses of medical instruction were quite stereotyped in form, and were
carefully watched over by the Church. Nevertheless, it came about that
the study of medicine once more was taken up by thinkers, although,
unfortunately, not logical thinkers, whereas previously it had been
almost entirely confined within the ranks of the clerics or clergy.
The most celebrated of all these mediæval philosophers in science and
medicine was Albert von Bollstaedt, usually known as Albertus Magnus,
who died in 1280. His works which remain to us fill twenty-one quarto
volumes, in which he discussed both anatomical and physiological
questions. It is exceedingly illustrative of the foolishly speculative
vein in which many of these discussions were carried on, that they
seriously discussed such questions as whether the removal of the rib
from Adam's side, out of which Eve was formed, really caused Adam
severe pain, and whether at the judgment day that loss of rib would be
compensated by the insertion of another. Those were the days, also,
when it was seriously discussed whether Adam or Eve ever had a navel.
In spite of such follies, however, Albertus Magnus left an impression
upon scholarship in science, in a general way, which long outlasted him.

These were the days when the students organized themselves into
so-called "nations," whence arose that conspicuous features of
German university life of today of so-called students' Corps.
These nations--each composed, for the main part, of men of one
nationality--had their own meeting-places, their own property, etc. One
of the principal means of instruction in those days was disputations,
or, as we would say, debates, held between students, often of different
nations, in which they were expected to prove their knowledge and
mental alertness. When it is recalled that universities were larger--i.
e., better attended--in those days than now, it will be seen to what
an extent these nations were developed. Oxford, in 1340, is said to
have had no less than 14,000 students; Paris about the same time had
12,000; and Bologna had some 10,000 students, the majority of whom were
studying law.

The title of doctor came into vogue about the twelfth century. At
first it was confined to teachers proper, and was bestowed upon the
learned--i. e., those who had almost solely studied internal medicine,
and who were required to take an oath to maintain the methods which
had been taught them. For the title of doctor certain fees were
paid, partly in money and partly in merchandise. The so-called
presents consisted of gloves, clothes, hats, caps, etc. At Salernum
it cost about $60 to graduate in this way, while at Paris the cost
was sometimes as high as $1,000, and this at a time when money had
much more purchasing value than it has to-day. It was then, as now, a
peculiar feature of the English universities that but little systematic
instruction in medical science was given. Just as the majority of
English students at present study in London rather than at one of
the great universities, so in those days did they go to Paris or
Montpellier.

This will be perhaps as good a place as any to emphasize the fact that
the clergy, having so long monopolized all learning and teaching, and
having, at the same time, an abhorrence for the shedding of blood,
which indeed had been prohibited by many papal bulls and royal edicts,
permitted the practice of the operative part of medicine--i. e.,
surgery--to fall into the hands of the most illiterate and incompetent
men. Inasmuch as the Church prohibited the wearing of beards, and
as many of the religious orders also shaved their heads, there were
attached to every monastery and to every religious order a number of
barbers, whose duty was to take care of the clergy in these respects.
Thus into their hands was gradually committed the performance of any
minor operation which involved the letting of blood, and from this,
as a beginning, it came about that no really educated man concerned
himself with the operations of surgery, but left them entirely to the
illiterate servants of the Church. This is really the reason that the
barbers for many centuries did nearly all the surgery, and why, at the
same time, surgery fell into such general and wide-spread disrepute.
From this it was only revived about one hundred years ago. Did time
permit, this would be a most appropriate place to digress from the
subject of this paper and rehearse to you the various stages in the
evolution of the surgeon from the barber; but time does not permit
it, and it constitutes a chapter in history by itself, which must be
relegated to some other occasion. (See p. 296).

It was about the beginning of the fifteenth century that the better
class of physicians began to belong to the laity, and were called
"physici" in contrast to the "clerici." Later they were known as
"doctores." Until the fourteenth century most of them studied in
Italian or French universities, the Germans even being compelled to
go to these foreign institutions. In Paris they were required to take
an oath that they would not join the surgeons. This regulation was
founded as much upon spite and envy as upon any other motive. Many
of the clerical physicians belonged to the lower class, and were so
ignorant that even the Church itself was forced to declare many of
their successes miracles. Although monks and the clergy in general
had been frequently forbidden to practice medicine, the decrees to
this effect were quite generally disregarded, except in the matter of
surgical operations. In the ranks of the higher clergy it must be
said that well-educated physicians were occasionally found. There is,
for instance, the record of a certain bishop of Basel, who was deputed
to seek from Pope Clement V. an archbishopric for another person, but
finding the Pope seriously ill, cured him, and received for himself in
return the electorate of Mayence, which was perhaps one of the largest
honorariums ever given to a physician.

These were the days when magic, mingled with mystery, played no small
rôle in the practice of medicine, and when disgusting and curious
remedies were quite in vogue. Superstition and ignorance everywhere
played a most prominent part. For instance, it was, in those days, an
excellent remedy to creep under the coffin of a saint. When a person
was poisoned it was considered wise to hang him up by the feet and
perhaps to gouge out one of his eyes, in order that the poison might
run out. It should be noted that putting out the eyes was frightfully
common in the Middle Ages, mainly as a matter of punishment. It
is said, for instance, that the Emperor Basil II. on one occasion
put out the eyes of 15,000 Bulgarians, leaving one eye to one of
every thousand, in order that he might lead his more unfortunate
fellow-sufferers back to their ruler, who, it is said, at the sight of
this outrage swooned and died in two days. It is said, too, that this
is the reason why the Emperor Albrecht was one-eyed.

What the revival of learning could thus and did accomplish under
these conditions as above portrayed may be readily appreciated. The
restoration of Greek literature, the revival of anatomy, the habit
of independent observation--all told materially in this renaissance
of medicine. The Italian universities became the objective point of
all who desired a thorough medical education. The students chose the
lecturers and officers of the university and had a large voice in
the construction of the curriculum. The officers of their selection
negotiated with those of the State, at least until the close of the
sixteenth century.

In spite of this general renaissance of medical learning and the
impetus felt by the inspired few during the sixteenth century, it
must be said that the general condition of medical science and of
those who practised it was not greatly improved. The superstition of
the common people and the timidity and indolence of all concerned
were about as marked as they have ever been in the history of human
error, and the practice of medicine was at least a century behind the
applied knowledge of the other arts and sciences. At that time the best
physicians and doctors were to be found in the Italian universities,
the French coming next, and, last of all, the German. The Italian
universities were the Mecca sought by those who desired the best
education of the day, and of all the Italian medical faculties those of
Bologna, Pisa, and Padua ranked highest.

Those were the days, also, of the travelling scholars--a very marked
feature of mediæval life. They migrated from one of the Latin
schools to another, and from one famous teacher to another, sometimes
travelling alone, at other times in groups or bands, and practising
often the worst barbarities while _en route_, supporting themselves by
begging and stealing. On their marches they stole almost everything
which was not tightly fastened down, and prepared their food even in
the open fields. The result was that most of them fell into dissolute
habits of life. A somewhat better class of vagrant students sang hymns
before doors and received food as pay. Some earned money singing in the
churches. They apparently both drank more beer and at less cost than at
present. At that time the cost of beer was about one cent for a large
glass.

The younger students were called "schutzen," and, like apprentices
in trades, were obliged to perform the most menial duties. The older
students were known as the "bacchanten," and each bacchant was honored
in proportion to the number of "schutzen" who waited upon him. When,
however, this bacchant himself reached the university he was compelled
to lay aside his rough clothing and rude manners and take an oath to
behave himself.

Not only the students, however, wandered from place to place, but even
the professors of the sixteenth century were nomadic, wandering from
one university to another; for example, Vesalius, the great teacher of
anatomy, taught in Padua, in Pisa, in Louvain, in Basel, in Augsburg,
and in Spain. These habits may be partly accounted for by the fact
that the students elected at least some of their teachers, and the
professors who failed of re-election certainly may be considered to
have had a motive for moving on. Salaries were certainly not large in
those days. Melanchthon, the great theologian, received during his
first eight years a salary of $43 per annum, and by strict economy was
able during this period to buy his wife a new dress. During his later
years his salary attained the sum of $170, which would be equivalent
to $750 to-day. When Vesalius died his salary was $1,000 per annum,
to which certain fees were added. It is not strange, therefore, that
many of the professors pursued reputable occupations during their odd
hours or that they took students to board. We hear to-day of frequent
illustrations of the pursuit of knowledge under difficulty, but
certainly during the ages to which I have referred the ardent student,
were he undergraduate or professor, put up with an amount of hardship,
meagre fare, and trouble of all kinds which would stagger most of the
young men of to-day.

Men were human then as now, and the universities were not above
disputes and quarrels, which sometimes became very bitter and
dishonorable, but were the indirect instrument of good, since they led
in not a few instances to the founding of other universities. Thus,
about the beginning of the sixteenth century, Pistorius and Pollich
were both teachers in Leipzig, but holding antagonistic views regarding
the nature of syphilis, became so embittered that they could not bear
each other's presence, and each resolved to seek another home. The
former influenced the elector to select Frankfort-on-the-Oder as the
site of a new university, while the latter was the means of founding
another at Wittenberg.

It is pretty hard to keep away from the relation of the barber to the
anatomist and surgeon when discussing this subject. In another place
I have dealt with the evolution of the surgeon from the barber, (See
page 296) and have endeavored to show that the principal factor which
operated to keep back the progress of surgery during the eighteen
centuries previous to the last was the influence of the Church, which
opposed the study of anatomy and degraded the practice of surgery. In
the times to which I am referring now, an operation which caused the
shedding of blood was considered beneath the dignity of an educated
physician, and, in some circles, was regarded even as disreputable.
It was, therefore, left to the only class of men who were supposed to
know how to handle a knife or sharp instrument, i. e., the barbers.
When operations were done in universities papal indulgences were often
required, and these cost money, since in those days the Pope gave
nothing for nothing. Public dissection required also papal indulgences,
although in Strasburg, in 1517, permission to dissect the body of an
executed criminal was granted by the magistrates in spite of papal
prohibition.

The ceremonies attending demonstrations of this kind were both
fantastic and amusing. A corpse was ordinarily regarded as
disreputable, and had first to be made reputable by reading a decree
to that effect from the chief magistrate or lord of the land, and
then, by order of the University, stamping the body with the seal of
the corporation. It was carried upon the cover of the box in which
it had been transported into the anatomical hall, which cover, upon
which it rested through the ceremonies, was taken back afterward to
the executioner, who remained at some distance with his vehicle. If
the corpse was that of one who had been beheaded, the head during the
performance of these solemn ceremonies lay between its legs. After the
completion of the ceremonies the occasion was graced with music by
the city fifers, trumpeters, etc., or an entertainment was given by
itinerant actors (Baas).

In time, however, this folly was given up, and by the latter half of
the sixteenth century public anatomical theatres were established. The
most celebrated was built by Fabricus ab Aquapendente, in Padua. It was
so high, however, and so dark that dissections even in broad daylight
could only be made visible by torchlight.

The zeal with which gradually the better class of physicians pursued
their scientific studies became more and more conspicuous, evidenced
in many ways by the hardships with which some of them had to deal, as
witness the struggles of many of the great anatomists of those days.

And so in time the clergy disappeared almost entirely from the ranks
of public physicians, and after the Thirty Years' War completely lost
their supremacy even in literary matters, this being gradually usurped
by the nobility and the more educated laymen; but even then knowledge
was pursued under difficulties, especially the study of anatomy. It
was not until 1658 that a mounted skeleton could be found in Vienna.
Strasburg obtained one in 1671. The handling of the dead body, which we
regard as so necessary, was in those days avoided as much as possible.
The professor of anatomy rarely, if ever, touched it himself, but he
lectured or read a lecture while the actual dissection was done with a
razor by a barber, under his supervision.

Practical instruction in obstetrics, which would seem almost as
important as that in anatomy, was not given in those days; male
students only studied it theoretically. In the Hôtel Dieu, in Paris,
that part which was devoted to instruction in midwifery was closed
against men. It was the midwives in those days who enjoyed the
monopoly of this teaching, and upon whom the greatest dependence for
obstetrical ability was placed. The physicians proper, or _medici
puri_ of the seventeenth century, were individuals of greatest dignity
and profoundest gravity, who wore fur-trimmed robes, perukes, and
carried swords, who considered it beneath them to do anything more
than write prescriptions in the old Galenic fashion. Some continuation
of this is seen in the distinction made even to-day in England
between the physicians who enjoy the title of doctor and the surgeons
who affect to disdain it. These old physicians knowing nothing of
surgery, nevertheless demanded to be always consulted in surgical
cases, claiming that only by this course could things go right. Still
when elements of danger were introduced, as in treating the plague,
they were glad enough to send the barber surgeons into the presence
of the sick, whom they merely inspected through panes of glass. Very
entertaining pictures could be furnished you illustrating the habits
of the physicians of two or three hundred years ago in dealing with
these contagious cases. The masks and armor which they wore and the
precautions which they took would seem to indicate protection rather
against the weapons of mediæval warfare. At one time they were advised
that if they must go into actual contact with these patients they
should first repeat the Twenty-second Psalm. You may find in the old
books, if you will hunt for them, curious pictures illustrating the
precautions taken a few hundred years ago against the pestilence, of
whose nature they knew nothing, and seeing them you may imagine the
vague dread and even the abject fear which led the _physici puri_
or physicians to send the barbers in to minister to plague-stricken
patients, while they contented themselves with ministering at long
range to their needs.

But gentlemen, I fear lest I weary you with a longer rehearsal of
mediæval customs and student follies. While they have all passed away
some of them have survived either in tradition or in modified form, as
will surely have occurred to you while they were rehearsed. You will
not fail to note the steady progress of an ethical evolution which has
toned down the barbarities and the asperities of the past, and which
has substituted a far more ennobling life-purpose and method of its
accomplishment than seemed to actuate your predecessors of long ago.

It is small wonder that the students of those days bore an ill-repute
with their surrounding neighbors. You may see better now, perhaps, why
the medical student even of to-day has to contend with a prejudice
against both his calling and himself, a prejudice begotten of the many
debaucheries and misdeeds of his predecessors, and, I am sorry to say,
even certain excesses of to-day. I do not know how I may more fittingly
terminate these remarks than by reminding you that the profession
which you students hope to enter has suffered most seriously in time
past from the character of the men who have entered it, and that even
to-day certain of its members fail to have a proper regard for its
dignity. It is axiomatic that those slights and indignities from which
we often suffer, and the neglect and indifference of which we often
complain, are in effect the result of our own shortcomings, and that
we are ourselves largely to blame because of that which does not suit
us. I beg you then to remember that even at the outset of student life
there should be ever before you such an ideal of intellectual force and
dignity, of power, of co-ordination of mind and body, as may keep you
ever in the right way, so that when you at last attain your goal you
may deserve that sort of benediction which I find in one of Beaumont
and Fletcher's plays (_Custom of the Country_, v. iv.):

                   "So may you ever
  Be styled the 'Hands of Heaven,' Nature's restorers;
  Get wealth and honors, and, by your success
  In all your undertakings, propagate
  A great opinion in the world."




IX

A STUDY OF MEDICAL WORDS, DEEDS AND MEN[6]

[6] Address in Medicine, delivered June 24, 1902, at Yale University
Commencement.

[Reprinted from the _Yale Medical Journal_, July, 1902.]

_Study nature for facts; study lives of great men for inspiration how
to use them_


Never have I more earnestly craved the gift of eloquence than on
occasions like this, when young men are about to leave the halls in
which and the men with whom they have grown into man's estate, in order
to assume the solemn and weighty responsibilities not only of their
own lives but those as well of others. The day upon which you are thus
released from duties of one kind to assume those of another, welcome
and joyous though it may be, should nevertheless be interspersed with
some serious and earnest thoughts and resolutions. Old Yale sets now
her stamp upon you. It will prove a passport to many homes, but must
never be abused. It will entitle you to the society of the cultivated
and to the respect of scholars everywhere. It will admit you to the
ranks of the learned and cause you to be treated with respect and
equality by some of the profoundest and most scholarly thinkers the
world has even known. Yale has now furnished you with that which her
ripe experience has shown to be requisite for young men commencing
professional careers. As contrasted with the total of human knowledge
its aggregate is not large, but it has not for centuries been the
custom for men to grow gray in studies before undertaking to practice
medicine, and when your own qualifications are compared with those
which we of the passing generation possessed at the corresponding
period of our lives, the comparison will furnish at the same time the
most startling illustration of the rapid advance of medicine in the
past twenty-five years.

Yale has always been eminent for the versatility and originality of
her teachers. Her medical history has been so well told during the
past year by one of her most honored sons, Dr. Welch, that it is not
necessary nor wise to go now into such historical details. The trend of
science to-day is along the lines of comparative investigation, and the
Bible is by no means the only literary collection which to-day is being
subjected to the "higher criticism." The inspiration claimed for the
contributors to that great ancient Collection is denied to the writers
of great modern works, where, nevertheless, fundamental truth is as
requisite for the welfare of the body as in the other for that of the
soul. Only by painstaking research, laboriously repeated, do we clear
the old paths of the rubbish of centuries or discover totally new ones.

Pathfinders of this description have always abounded in this great
institution, drawn by common impulses or attracted by some centripetal
force. And though it were perhaps invidious to mention names, I
nevertheless must select two of Yale's great teachers whose names are
still green in the memory of all men, and ask you to note how the
examples they have set and the work they have done may furnish the line
of thought in which I wish you to follow me for a little while.

The science of comparative philology would seem to be far removed
from that of medicine. Still, it is based upon an ultimate analysis
of parts of speech, and men like Professor Whitney were, not only the
comparative anatomists, but even the histologists--if I may use the
phrase--of words. Comparative philology then is to medical terminology
what embryology and comparative anatomy are to a study of the structure
of the human body. The philologist loves to dissect words and trace
them back through rudimentary stages and roots to their earliest forms.
He loves also to study the evolution of an idea as conveyed by a word,
and trace atavism or reversion in human speech.

Again you have here at Yale a wonderful collection of extinct animal
remains restored with marvellous accuracy to semblance of their
original form and appearance. The indefatigable industry and wonderful
ability of Professor Marsh and his co-workers have enabled us to form
ideographs of the living forms of earlier geologic ages upon this
earth, which could not have been furnished had it not been for their
remarkable knowledge of morphology and skill in synthesis. Indeed,
where have powers of analysis and synthesis been more brilliantly
displayed than by these men. It used to be said of Cuvier, the great
French comparative anatomist, that if given a tooth from any beast,
past or present, he could describe the animal and its habits as well
as reconstruct his skeleton, so wonderfully are minute differences
perpetuated, and so familiar was he with them.

Let us see, then, if it be possible to take some of our common medical
words and by applying to them the methods of Whitney and of Marsh
follow them back to their early forms and significances, and then
construct from them ideographs of the customs, habits and superstitions
of the men who used them. Such a plan systematically carried out
might furnish both a fitting and a novel introduction to the history
of medicine. Coleridge, you know, said we might often derive more
useful knowledge from the history of a word than from the history of a
campaign.

Take, for instance, our word _idiocy_. The Greeks, especially the
Athenians, were a race of politicians. Private citizens who cared
little or naught for office were the _idiotai_, as distinguished from
the public officials and office holders. It came about in time that
men of such retiring habits and modest tastes were regarded as persons
of degraded intellect and taste. And so the _iviwrai_ were considered
of inferior intellectual capacity. In other words, the idiot of those
days was the man content with private life. How different from the
present day when conditions seem so nearly reversed.

Our kindred word _imbecile_ has also present reference to those of
feeble, dwarfed or perverted intellect, and refers rather to mental
than physical defects, though both must often be associated. But
originally the lame and the deformed who were obliged to use artificial
support, walked as it was said, _in bacillum_, upon a stick or crutch,
and from this expression we derive our word imbecile.

Let us trace, for instance, again, the etymology of our word _palate_.
The Latin _palatum_ is the same as _balatum_, that is, the bleating
part. The ancient shepherds of the region of the Campagna watched the
sheep as they went bleating (_balatans_) over those hills, one of which
subsequently became the _Palatine_.

Or take again our word _mania_. It is derived from _unv_ the moon,
meaning the moon-sickness, and corresponds to lunacy from _luna_. You
see the ancient superstition concerning the influence of the moon
abides in the name. This brings up again the old ideas concerning
the metal silver which was sacred alike to Diana and the moon, and
consequently feminine in sex and attributes. Hence comes the mediæval
alchemistic term _lunar caustic_, and hence, too, comes its use in the
treatment of epilepsy for which it was formerly much in use, since
epilepsy was regarded as a form of mania caused by the evil influence
of the moon.

By the way, this may also remind us of the peculiar views of the
alchemists of the middle ages, who believed that the property of sex
inhered in the metals. They believed, for example, that arsenic was
masculine in sex, and so named it from _arsen_, male, and _arsenikos_,
masculine. Medical, like comparative philology, is the more or less
direct outcome of the earth's physical features as they have influenced
the commingling of races and the conquest of nations.

Medicine seems a science of Aryan parentage; in the Sanscrit the
literature of medicine is rich; it was cultivated by the Greeks, but it
lost much of its original significance by virtue of Roman supremacy, as
the Latin races took it over. Under the Arabians it flourished after a
fashion. With the revival of Greek learning there was a restoration of
much that had been lost, but the supremacy of the Church kept it within
extremely narrow limits, though the clericals could not eliminate all
the Arabian words which had crept into its terminology. Greek is to-day
the language to which we turn for aid when it becomes necessary to
invent new terms by which to indicate fresh discoveries or concepts.

The debt of medicine to our Aryan forefathers is great. Surgery was
then a dignified branch of the science. Their autoplastic methods
were conceived with great ingenuity and carried out with much, albeit
with crude skill. The so-called Indian method of reconstructing a
nose bears witness to their ability in plastic art. Their itinerant
surgeons performed many capital operations; i. e., lithotomy and
coeliotomy. There is good reason to believe that Hippocrates knew
nothing of practical anatomy, whereas, long before him Susruta urged
that all physician priests should dissect the human body in order
that they might know its structure; and gave, moreover, directions
for the selection of suitable subjects. The Sanscrit writers knew
the properties of many plants and of at least five of the metals.
Many Greek names of drugs are derived from the Sanscrit, or else they
had a common Aryan origin. Thus the Greek equivalents for our words
castor, musk, cardamon, chestnut, hemp, mace, pepper, sandal-wood,
ginger, nerve, marrow, bone, heart, and head, are unmistakably of much
older, i. e., Sanscrit or Aryan stock, several of them coming down
in Romanized form, but almost unchanged--e. g., os, cor, moschus,
cannabis, castorion.

Although many of the ancient Greeks visited India, it appears that but
relatively few words have come to us from this ancient source.

Our word sulphur, though, is of Sanscrit origin, the Greek word
_theion_ indicating its divine or god-given purifying power, with
possible allusion to its utility in that lower world with which the
theologians most often associate it. The Greek word appears in our
chemical nomenclature as dithionic, trithionic, etc.

We note also an almost complete absence of Egyptian words, though many
cultured Greeks visited Egypt. Nevertheless, the latter looked with
small favor on barbarisms of speech, and our word pyramid is one of the
very few which they thus adopted. The term surgery is of very distinct
Greek origin, and meant handwork as distinguished from the action of
internal remedies. Medicine seems to be derived from _medeo_ to take
care of, to provide, and physic and physician from _phusis_, i. e.,
nature. The physici were originally naturalists, or scientists, like
Aristotle, medical science being but a part of their study. Campbell
in his book ("The Language of Medicine") gives a list of at least two
dozen common terms of to-day which were employed by Homer. In addition
to these, many other Homeric terms are still in use, but with more or
less altered or perverted meanings; for example, æther, when used in
the sense of its being a narcotic agency; astragalus, which originally
meant a die, since the analogous bones of the sheep were used for
dice; amoeba, from _amoibe_, change or alteration, alluding to
constant change of shape. Ammon originally meant a young lamb, iris a
halo, meconium has reference to the juice of the poppy, from _mekon_,
opium; molybdenum was so named from its resemblance to lead, narcosis
originally meant numbness; the pleura was the side; the original phial
was a saucer; the phalanges were so called because they were arranged
side by side as it were in a phalanx; our troche was at first a wheel;
and our tympanum was the original Greek drum, the word still persisting
in musical terminology. The arteries were so named because they
were supposed to contain air, while the veins were the gushers, from
_phleo_, to gush or flow. The original confusion of nerves and tendons
appears in the term aponeurosis.

Long ago there were two rival medical factions among the Greeks, the
Empirics, from _empeirikos_, meaning experimental--who believed there
were no philosophic underlying principles of medical science, and
that experience alone was the safe guide,--and the Methodists, from
_methodos_, who believed it better to follow the _hodos_, or "middle of
the road." The present use of the word empiric shows the contempt with
which the former came to be regarded.

As cure (_curo_) meant to care for, so did medicus have the same
meaning, as already remarked, while the Greek slave, _therapon_, who
waited on his master, became later the therapeutist who cared for his
ailments. Our word to heal has also a somewhat similar dislocated
meaning, since originally it meant protection, i. e., covering. The
same root persists in hell, i. e., hades, referring to a certain
supposititious locality so well covered that from it there is no escape.

Note, too, the influence of ancient mythology in medical phraseology.
Jupiter Ammon, the horned god, is recognized in hartshorn or ammonia.
Mars, the god of war, whose symbol is iron, persists in the so-called
martial preparations or ferruginous tonics. Venus and Aphrodite
naturally appear in venereal and aphrodisiac, while Vulcan's rôle is
indicated in the heat to which caoutchouc is subjected in vulcanizing
rubber. Mercury appears not only in Roman form as a metal, but in
his Greek rôle as Hermes, not to be forgotten when receptacles are
hermetically sealed. Let us cut short a longer list by simply noting in
passing how the Greek Cupid Eros and his mate Psyche are perpetuated
in our terms erotic and psychiatry, while Morpheus, the god of sleep,
can never be forgotten so long as morphine is in use. That the wrath
of the gods was to be dreaded is indicated in our word plague, from
_plege_, meaning a _blow_ from that source, that is their vengeance.
You thus see the antiquity of the notion that epidemics were a divine
visitation, and not due to bad sanitation.

Melancholia, _melas_ and _chole_, meant originally black bile. In
ancient physiology the bile played a very important part, and the
results of hepatic insufficiency were not only indicated by this name,
but the advantages of the use of calomel were amply emphasized by its
name, _kalos_ and _melas_, for it was a beautiful remedy for this
blackness. Another condition indicating trouble with the liver, which
we call jaundice to-day (from the French _jaunisse_), was known as
icterus from _ikteros_, a yellow bird. The poultice which the average
housewife of to-day is so fond of using, was originally a _poltos_, or
pudding, or perhaps a bean porridge.

In the days of ancient sacrifices one part of the animal was not
placed upon the altar as an offering to delight the gods. It was
that now known as the _sacrum_, which is usually defined to have been
considered the sacred bone. The adjective _sacer_ (sacrum), had not
only the meaning generally ascribed to it, but meant also execrable,
detestable, accursed. The sacrum meant then rather the part that was
not acceptable to those to whom it was offered. The word _calculus_,
like the term to calculate, must remind us of the presence of pebbles
and their early use in facilitating reckoning, while our common terms
testimony, testify, must necessarily recall the ancient sacred but
phallic methods of oath-taking. Another superstition connected with
deity is perpetuated in the term _iliac passion_, formerly applied to
volvulus, or one form of acute bowel obstruction with its violent pain,
which has been compared to that produced by the spear-point as part of
the suffering upon the cross.

A keen analysis of the situation at the beginning of the Christian
Era reveals the subtlety of the Greek character. The names of those
organs which called for deep investigation or dissection are taken
directly from the Greek, e. g., hepatic, sphenoid, ethmoid, the aorta,
while many of the superficial parts have Latin names, e. g., temporal,
frontal.

It is to the Greek that all nations almost invariably turn when they
seek to fashion new terms with which to characterize or name new
discoveries. The Romans showed their appreciation of that which was
good when they so readily adopted the science and learning of the
Greeks, and were willing to take over even their gods. The Latin
races have always been good imitators but poor originators, save
perhaps in war and politics. Had they been willing to imitate the
Greeks in these their history might have been very different. When the
Latin translators of Greek medical literature lacked for a word they
cheerfully took the original, sometimes giving it a Latin dress. For
instance, that which we now call the duodenum, meaning only twelve, was
originally the dodekadaktulon, meaning that it was of a length equal to
the width of twelve fingers, while they twisted the name _eileon_, the
twisted intestine, into _ileum_. But the names of most diseases, like
those of the more concealed parts, they copied almost exactly.

While in later ages the Church completely dominated, then subordinated,
and then finally almost terminated the study of the natural sciences,
it is yet of no small interest to note the effect of the rise of
Christianity upon the study of medicine. It has been well said that
the same "cross which brought light to religion cast a gloom over
philosophy" (Campbell). Certain it is that the creed and the tenets
which were for centuries the mainstay of Christianity, and which did so
much for the uplifting of mankind, were made the excuse for the gradual
suppression of all tendency toward investigation of natural phenomena,
and the monasteries, where scholars congregated, became the graves of
scientific thought and study. And so in time knowledge was exiled from
Christian domiciles and transplanted to a Mohammedan environment. With
Christian mythology and mysticism soon came also Christian demonology,
and disease was generally regarded as an evidence of diabolical
possession. This gave rise then, as even now, to the imposters who
pretended to cure it by exorcism of evil spirits or invocation of
divine or superhuman aid. It has always been a sorry time for rational
medicine when superstition is rife. Even under the Arabians science
flourished to but a limited extent. Their religion forbade the
portrayal of any living object, animal or vegetable, consequently their
works contained mere descriptions, never any illustration of any kind.
This, by the way, is the explanation of their fondness for geometric
tracery and of the richness of their ornamental designs. They professed
the same horror of the dead body that was later inculcated by the
Church and most of them scorned dissection. What wonder then that under
Christianity and Islam alike our profession fared badly.

But very little now remains in our terminology to remind us of the
period of Arabian supremacy. The Arabic words naphtha, sumach, alkali,
alcohol, elixir and _nucha_ (neck) are almost the only ones which have
survived the renaissance. How different the monkish Latin sometimes is
from the classic may appear in the use of the two words os and bucca
for mouth, or os frontis and glabella for the frontal bone.

But this enumeration must not be prolonged unduly. Let us select three
or four more examples almost at random and then pass on. But few will
associate Christianity with cretinism. The early Christian inhabitants
of the Pyrenees were known as _Christaas_, or in French, as to-day,
as Chretiens. A mountainous region did for them what it has done in
Switzerland for the races of to-day, and dwarfed the intellects of many
while their thyroids underwent great enlargement. Such degenerates are
known everywhere to-day as cretins, i. e., Christians.

Tarentum was the old Calabrian city later known as Tarento, where
during the middle ages the dancing mania appeared in aggravated form.
The frenzy was known in consequence as _tarantism_, while the spider
whose bite was supposed to cause it was called _tarantula_, and a rapid
dance music which alone would suit such rapid movements is still known
as the _tarantella_.

Nightmare has reference to the old Norse deity or demigod Mara, who was
supposed to strangle people during sleep.

The Sardonic grin has reference to a tradition that in Sardinia was
found a plant which when eaten caused people to laugh so violently that
they died.

But turn we now from words to those deeds which are reputed to proclaim
yet more loudly the manner and the worth of their authors. Where may
one look for a profession which shall afford greater opportunities? And
where may he find one in which incentives are so small? The world's
great rewards have been paid to the great destroyers of our race rather
than to its saviors. Do you suppose that if Napoleon had saved as many
lives as he lost he would have figured in history with his present
lustre? It is true that Lister's discovery has saved many more lives
than Napoleon took. If so, the Hôtel des Invalides should, when the
time comes, contain Lister's monument and not that of a great murderer.

Personal courage is one of the noblest characteristics which any
man can display, particularly so when it combines the moral and the
physical type. Public bravery brings nearly always its meed of public
recognition. In fact, publicity is often the stimulus to a kind of
bravery which without it would hardly respond to the tests. But your
really courageous man is he who cares not for a search-light to reveal
his deeds, one who dares and does within the quietude of his own
environment that from which his weaker brothers would shrink.

The soldier stirred to frenzy by the intensity of his passion will
accomplish with but little dread that which might easily baffle the
resolution of a reasoning man in a calm mood. The religious fanatic,
be he Mussulman or Christian, may permit himself to be rent asunder
rather than recant; but his motives are essentially selfish, since he
looks forward to the Mohammedan's or the Christian's paradise, and so
they are far from altruistic. But for that quiet heroism which shuns
publicity, which calls for the highest quality of both mental and
physical courage, which looks forward neither to the golden present
nor the mystical yet sensuous future, commend me daily, yes hourly,
to the sick rooms of patients suffering from diseases which menace the
welfare of others, the infectious, the dangerous, the loathsome. One
may read of late many stories of army surgeons doing heroic deeds under
fire, and one's heart naturally thrills with emotion as he imagines the
scenes and wonders what manner of daring may lead a man to risk his
life after this fashion. But I submit to you, that brave as is such a
deed and worthy of all possible honor, it has been hundreds of times
for one exceeded in the actual devotion to duty and the resolution
required to brave the elements, or to face death elsewhere than on the
battlefield, or to surrender strength or mayhap life itself, or to
invite disaster by infection, or to wear out and work out life in the
constant grinding altruistic work of doing for others, who perhaps have
violated every known sanitary law and forfeited their every right to
live.

Here is a theme that might well stir the most eloquent poet or orator
that ever lived. How then shall I do it justice? Joanna Bailie has well
put it:

    "The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
    For that were stupid and irrational;
    But he whose nobler soul its fear subdues,
    And bravely dares the danger Nature shrinks from."

This recognition of our profession was accorded much more unstintingly
nearly two thousand years ago, at a time when it was much less
deserved, when Cicero wrote (_De Natura Deorum_) "_Homines ad Deos
nulla re propius accedunt, quam salutem hominibus dando._" (Men are
never more godlike than when giving health to mankind).

But we can hardly delay longer here and at this time with the subject
of heroism in medicine. I shall not have completed the matters which
I wish to present to you to-day until I invite your attention to a
short sketch of the careers of four or five of the men who, during the
past two or three hundred years have set the example for men of all
times and most climes, whose lives are so replete with that which is
interesting, instructive or important that they may be well held up
before a graduating class as illustrations of everything which may be
advantageously imitated. They belong to that class of whom Longfellow
wrote:

    "Lives of great men all remind us
    We can make our lives sublime."

One of those was Jean Fernel, who was born in France about 1497 and
died in 1558. I do not know that his life history offers anything so
very startling, although he came to be regarded as the most memorable
physiologist of his generation, but he adopted a motto which I think
we all might well select for our own, and it was because of this motto
that I have mentioned his name at this point. It was this: "_Destiny
reserves for us repose enough._" If each of you will take this
individually to himself he will find in it stimulus enough for all
kinds of hard work.

The first of the eminently great men now to be mentioned in this
connection was Herman Boerhaave, born in 1668 and died in 1738. He
enjoyed the reputation of being perhaps the most eminent physician who
ever lived. The eldest son of a poor clergyman with a large family, he
was originally intended for theology, and with this in view studied
philosophy, history, logic, metaphysics, philology and mathematics,
as well as theology. A mere accident, resulting from intense party
spirit and doctrinal differences, prevented his devoting his life to
theology, and he turned next to mathematics and then to chemistry and
botany, subsequently studying anatomy and medicine. He graduated in
1693 and began at once to practice in Leyden, with such success that
he was early offered the position of ordinary surgeon to the king,
which, however, he had the moral courage to decline. Subsequently
he taught medicine and botany, to which chairs was also added later
that of chemistry. This fact of itself will show to you something
of the condition of medical science of that day, when one man could
teach chemistry, botany and medicine. His rarest talents, however,
were developed in the direction of clinical instruction, and in this
particular field he won such repute that hearers were attracted to
Leyden from all quarters of the world and in such numbers that no
university lecture-room was large enough to contain them. His practice
grew in extent and remunerativeness in pace with his reputation, and
when he died he left an estate of two millions. So famous was he that
it is said of him that a Chinese official once sent to him a letter
addressed simply "To the Most Famous Physician in Europe." That he had
fixed convictions and practices may be better understood from the fact
that so little difference did he make between his patients that he
kept Peter the Great waiting over one night to see him, declining to
regulate his visiting list by the means or position of his patients.

Boerhaave was universally regarded as a great student and a great
physician, but it was probably his qualities as a man which led to
the astonishing extent of his reputation. Essentially modest, not
disputatious nor belligerent, he had a remarkable influence over
the young men who came near him, while he had a habit of speaking
oracularly or in aphorisms, which are not always so profound as they
sound and yet often make a man's dicta celebrated. Save that he
introduced the use of the thermometer and the ordinary lens in the
examinations of his patients, his teachings do not form any really new
system. In the classification of men he would be regarded as a great
eclectic, in the purer sense of the term. Probably his greatest service
to medicine was in the permanent establishment of the clinical method
of instruction, and perhaps his next greatest real claim to glory is
the character of the instruction and the inspiration which he gave to
two of his greatest scholars, viz.: Haller and Van Swieten. He was
not the founder of a school. He left no great nor memorable doctrines
for which others should contend, but he left a name for studiousness,
honest and logical thinking, which was a priceless heritage for the
university with which he was connected.

The next great scholar to whose life and works I would invite your
attention for a moment, is Morgagni, born in Italy in 1682, died in
1772. He was a pupil of Valsalva, whose assistant he became at the
age of nineteen. Brought up in this way, as it were in the domain of
anatomy, it is not strange that he devoted his attention throughout
his life especially to the anatomical products of disease. It matters
little to us now that he was wont to regard these products as the
causes of disease and thus neglected their remote causes. He it was
who taught us to apply to pathological anatomy the same scrupulous
attention to tissue alterations and changes which the ordinary
anatomist would note in dissecting a new animal form. He was scarcely
the founder of the science of pathological anatomy, for this credit
belongs to Benivieni, but he did very much to popularize the study and
to show its importance. More than this, he wrote a work which for his
day and generation was colossal. It bore the title "_De Sedibus et
Causis Morborum per Anatomen Indagatis._" It consisted of five books.
The first appeared in Venice in 1761. This proved a perfect mine of
information to which one may often turn even to-day, and read with
wonder the observations published one hundred and fifty years ago.
They stamp Morgagni as a great scientist as well as anatomist. His
industry will be indicated by the fact that even after he became blind
he did not cease to work.

Perhaps the most wonderful figure in the whole history of modern
medicine is that of Albrecht von Haller, of Berne, born 1708, died
1777, and often known as the Great. No more versatile genius than his
has ever adorned our profession. A most precocious child, he developed
remarkable abilities in the direction of poetry and music, as well as
medicine, and the only wonder is that he lived to such a ripe old age,
enjoying the fruits of his labors, having displayed throughout his
entire life an industry and productiveness which were most remarkable.
Before he reached the age of ten he had written a Chaldee grammar, a
Greek and Hebrew vocabulary, and a large collection of Latin verses and
biographies. During the next few years he translated many of the Latin
authors, and wrote an original epic poem of some four thousand verses
on the Swiss Confederacy. All of this work he had completed by the
age of twenty-one. It is not strange that among those who knew of his
precocity he was generally known and regarded as a "wonder child." It
will thus be seen, too, that medicine was but one of the many subjects
of his study. He studied a year in Tübingen, where the riotous living
of his fellow students repelled him; then he went to Leyden, falling
there under the influence of the illustrious Boerhaave. How much he
drew from this source no man may accurately say at present, but a
more brilliant example he certainly could not have had. He finished
his studies in Leyden before he was twenty and then traveled through
England and France, but was compelled to flee from Paris to escape
arrest for hiding cadavers in his room for purposes of dissection. This
will prove an evidence of taste for study if not of taste in other
directions.

Suddenly developing a passion for mathematics, he went to Basle and
worked so hard as to almost ruin his health. This necessitated a trip
to the mountains and here his interest in botany was aroused and
indirectly that in medicine continued. Soon after he returned to Berne
to take up the practice of medicine. Here he studied and worked so
hard as to arouse a suspicion of his sanity, but he kept up his health
by frequent trips to the Alps in search of flowers. His fondness for
botany and his taste for poetry seemed to grow with equal pace and he
seems to have been among the first of modern students to appreciate the
beauty and grandeur of Swiss mountain scenery. When he was twenty-five
years of age appeared the first edition of his poems, many editions
appearing later. Here in Berne also he published so many essays on
botany, anatomy and physiology that widespread attention was attracted
to his eminent learning, and he was called to fill the chair of
anatomy and botany in the new university of Göttingen, where he spent
seventeen years of extraordinary mental activity, publishing countless
papers and at the same time continuing his poetic and his nomadic
habits. He established in Göttingen a great botanic garden, founded
scientific societies, published five books on anatomy, all elaborately
illustrated, printed a series of commentaries on Boerhaave's lectures,
and is said to have contributed altogether thirteen thousand articles
relating to almost every branch of human knowledge. It is not strange
that the fame of the University of Göttingen depended largely upon
Haller's reputation.

But Haller developed a clear case of nostalgia, and after being fêted
by the nobility, honored by almost every monarch in Europe, and
receiving every honor that universities and philosophic societies
confer, he resigned from his chair in Göttingen and returned to Berne,
to his _fatherland_. Here, amid his old home surroundings, he worked
for twenty years more at the same tremendous rate, discharging diverse
duties of state and private citizenship, founding and promoting
industries and asylums, and serving constantly upon commissions of all
kinds. While thus engaged appeared that phenomenal work, his great
Treatise on Physiology, so full of original observations that it has
been stated that should discoveries which have been re-discovered
since Haller be collected they would fill several quarto volumes. The
physiological institute of Berne is to-day known as the _Hallerianum_,
as it should be, for it is distinctly the product of his genius.
He died at a ripe age, after having performed an incredible amount
of work, the greatest scholar of his own or perhaps of any century,
revered and honored, faithful to the last and exhibiting in his last
moments that "philosophic calmness of the cultivated intellect" of
which Cicero loved to write. It is related of him that on his deathbed
he kept his fingers on his own wrist, watching the ebbing away of
his own existence and waiting for the last pulsation from his radial
artery. Finally he exclaimed, "I no longer feel it," and then joined
the great majority.

Perhaps Haller's greatest contribution to physiological lore was his
doctrine of irritability of tissues. It took the place of much that had
caused previous discussion and is accepted to-day as explaining, as
nearly as we can explain, numerous phenomena.

In this same great wonder-century lived also John Hunter, the greatest
of England's medical students, the most famous surgeon of his day
and the most indefatigable collector in natural history and natural
science that ever lived. He was born in 1728 and died in 1783. He was
led to study medicine by the fame of his illustrious brother William,
and began his studies by acting as prosector for him. He soon became
a pupil of Cheselden, perhaps the most famous English surgeon of his
generation. Hunter developed very early those extraordinary powers of
observation and that originality in investigation which later made him
so famous. Early in his medical career he came for a time under the
influence of Percival Pott. This was at a time when surgery had emerged
from barbarism and when the French Academy of Surgery had erected it
into the dignity of a science. He entered St. George's Hospital in 1754
as a surgeon's pupil. Later he became a partner with his brother in the
latter's private school of anatomy, but John, being a poor lecturer,
was distinguished by his services in the dissecting-room rather than
in the amphitheater. The customs of his time and the jealousies of
the various medical factions then existing in London led to numerous
acrimonious disputes, in the literary part of which William Hunter,
who was much the more cultured student, took the lead, while John,
who lacked in scholastic ability and had much less education, was
relied on to supply the anatomical data. John was painfully aware of
his deficiencies in literary culture and is said once to have replied
to the disparaging remarks of an opponent: "He accuses me of not
understanding the dead languages, but I could tell him that on the dead
body which he never knew in any language living or dead."

It was in this way that he was led into unseemly encounters with the
Munros, of Edinburgh, and with his late teacher, Pott. The same sort
of dispute finally separated the two brothers, and they parted company
after a very unseemly exhibition of jealousy and fraternal discord.

After studying human anatomy for several years, John Hunter became
profoundly impressed with the need for much larger knowledge of
comparative anatomy, but about this time ill health compelled a
temporary change and so he went into the army as a staff surgeon.
This was at the time when Europe was engaged in the sanguinary Seven
Years' War, and so it happened that Hunter had ample opportunity for
studies and observations in military surgery--at the siege of Belleisle
and later in the war in the Peninsula. Here he made many of those
observations on gunshot wounds which he published at various periods
later and which helped to make him famous.

He resumed his work in London in 1763, and here again he had to
undergo a long trial of those qualities of passive fortitude and
active perseverance under difficulties which were his prominent
characteristics. His personal needs were small but his scientific
requirements were large, and to these latter he devoted every guinea
which he could earn in his small but slowly growing practice. His
own manners were so brusque, and he was so lacking in the refinement
of many of his colleagues and competitors, that it took rare mental
qualities to force him to the front, to which he nevertheless rapidly
advanced. Bacon has said, "He that is only real had need of exceeding
great parts of virtue, as the stone had need be rich that is set
without foil," and this was never more true than in John Hunter's case.
His leisure hours were never unemployed. He obtained the bodies of
all animals dying in the public collections in London and so began
to form that enormous collection which became known later as the
Hunterian Museum. As his means afforded it he built and added to his
accommodations and carried on those vast researches into animal anatomy
and physiology to which the balance of his life was devoted. Although
his practice gradually increased and he became in time the most famous
surgeon and consultant in London, he used, nevertheless, to spend three
or four hours every morning before breakfast in dissection of animals,
and as much of the rest of the day as he could spare. Pupils and
students who wished to consult him had to come early in the morning,
often as early as four o'clock, in order to find him disengaged. He
had that rare ability to do a maximum of work with a minimum of sleep
which has been so conspicuous in the case of Virchow. Before he died,
Hunter attained to a large competence, and his anatomical collection,
consisting of some ten thousand preparations, made largely with his
own hands, was purchased after his death by the Government, for
seventy-five thousand dollars, and presented to the College of Surgeons
where it forms the chief part of the so-called Hunterian Museum.

Hunter's principal claims to greatness obtain in this, that he not only
brought the light of physiology to bear upon the practice of our art,
but by his writings and teachings and especially by his example led men
to follow along the paths he cleared for them. It is no small claim
to glory to be known by such pupils as Hunter had. By these, by his
colossal industry in building up his museum, and by his writings, he
will ever be known as the most prominent figure in the medical history
of Great Britain.

The fifth man in this quintette of geniuses which I am presenting to
you to-day was Francis Xavier Bichat, who was born in France in 1771,
and died in 1802. Although he was thirty-one years old at his death,
his career was so phenomenal, almost meteoric, that it deserves to be
held up as showing what one can do in the early period of his life,
if he will but work. As one reads of his originality and talent one
is led almost insensibly to compare them with those of some of the
world's famous musicians who, also, have died in early manhood after
giving to the world their immortal works, e. g., Schubert, Mozart and
Mendelssohn. Bichat was the son of a physician and applied himself
early to medical studies in Nantes, Lyons, Montpellier and finally
in Paris, where he became the pupil and trusted friend of Desault,
then the greatest Parisian surgeon. When Desault died, in 1795,
this young man began lecturing for him, at the age of twenty-four.
He displayed a wonderful, almost feverish scientific activity, more
particularly in the direction of general and pathological anatomy. He
was the originator of the phrase which he made famous: "Take away some
fevers and nervous troubles, and all else belongs in the domain of
pathological anatomy." Coming upon the stage shortly after Morgagni
left it, he was able by his genius, his logical acumen and his graces
of speech and manner, to give an attractiveness and importance to this
subject which it had hitherto lacked.

It was his great service to more clearly differentiate closely
related diseased conditions and to insist upon a study of post-mortem
appearances in connection with previously observed clinical phenomena.
He also established the tendency of similar tissues to similar
anatomical lesions. In fact our view of what we call general tissue
systems we in reality owe to him, since without use of the microscope
he distinguished twenty-one kinds of tissue, which he studied under the
head of general anatomy, while he held that descriptive anatomy had to
do with their various combinations.

To Bichat was largely due the overthrow of purely speculative medicine
because he placed facts far in advance of theories and ideas. Books
he said are or should be merely "memoranda of facts." That he made
many such memoranda will appear from the fact that before his untimely
death he had published nine volumes of essays and treatises, nearly
all bearing on the general subject of anatomy, normal and morbid. He
also had not only his limitations but his faults. He strangely denied
the applicability of so-called physical laws to body processes, he
minimized the importance of therapeutics, and he sought to place the
vitalistic system upon a realistic basis. Nevertheless he set an
example not only for the young men of France, but of all times and
climes, which should be often held up before them.

And so I have thus placed before you five bright and shining
illustrations of what brains and application can accomplish, selected
from different lands in order to show that medicine has no country, and
from a previous century in order that you may the better realize how
meagre was their environment in those days as compared with that which
you enjoy. Perhaps you will say, "there were giants in those days."
True, but the race has not entirely died out. While Spencer and Virchow
live one may not call the race extinct, nor can the times which have
produced such men as Helmholtz, DuBois-Reymond, Darwin, Huxley, Leidy
or Marsh, fail to still produce an occasional worthy successor.

But it is time now to draw this rather rambling discourse to an end.
The effort has been partly to attract your attention to some of
the side lights by which the vista of your futures may be the more
pleasantly illumined, and partly, by placing before you brief accounts
of the careers of some of your illustrious predecessors, to show that
eminence in medical science inheres in no particular nationality nor
race, neither comes it of heredity nor by request. Like salvation it
is available to all who fulfill the prerequisites. It is a composite
product of application, direction, fervor in study, logical powers
of mind, honesty of purpose, capability of observation, alertness to
improve opportunities, all combined with that somewhat rare gift of
tact, which last constitutes the so-called personal equation by which
many humanitarian problems are solved. _Study nature for facts; study
lives of great men for inspiration how to use them._

    "Were a star quenched on high
      For ages would its light,
    Still traveling downward from the sky,
      Shine on our mortal sight.
    So when a great man dies
      For years beyond our ken,
    The light he leaves behind him lies
      Upon the paths of men."

If then you regulate your mental habits by such a code other habits
will of necessity fall into the proper line. The only other admonition
I would give you in parting is summed up in these beautiful lines of
our own Bryant:

    "So live that when thy summons comes to join
    The innumerable caravan which moves
    To that mysterious realm where each shall take
    His chamber in the silent halls of death,
    Thou go not like the quarry slave at night,
    Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed
    By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
    Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
    About him and lies down to pleasant dreams."

That the sentiment is not new, however, will appear in this other and
ancient version which Sir William Jones has thus rendered from the
Persian:

    "On parent knees, a naked newborn child,
    Weeping thou satst while all around thee smiled,
    So live that, sinking to thy last long sleep,
    Calm mayst thou smile while all around thee weep."




X

THE CAREER OF THE ARMY SURGEON[7]

[7] Commencement Address at the Army Medical School, Washington, D. C.,
May 29, 1909.--From "_The Military Surgeon_," July, 1909.


The experience of listening to a so-called Commencement Address under
these peculiar circumstances is doubtless as novel to you as is to
me its preparation. So different is this occasion from that usually
spoken of as Commencement Day, that it taxed my judgment as much as
it did my ability to--as it were--"meet the indication," and to try
to say the appropriate thing. It behooves me to remember that this
is in effect not an address to a class of students just entering a
learned profession, but an effort on the part of one on the borderland
of experiences gathered from a civil surgeon's work, yet enjoying a
quasi military title, with strong ties and leanings--to some extent
inherited--toward the course of the army surgeon and the fascinations
of the soldier's life. Self-evident it is that you need no admonition
which I could give, for the very fact of your presence here indicates
that your selection by your superior officers stamps their approval of
your ability as well as your character.

Time has wrought vast changes in the personnel of the army medical
corps, as in every other branch of the service. From the days of
Xenophon, with his selection of the best material afforded, to the
dark middle ages with practically no provision, then to the later
centuries with their menial barbers and barber surgeons, and then the
very gradually improved conditions which bettered the service, down
to the present time, when the best is none too good, there has been
that same evolution which has characterized all the rest of mankind's
surroundings and man's realization of his public and private duties.
From the days when the first duty of the so-called army surgeon was
to minister to his commanding general, and when the private soldier
received but the scantiest if any attention, we have arrived at that
time when the good health of the entire army is the aim and pride of
the medical corps, and when public opinion demands for every enlisted
man a degree of watchful care greater than many parents bestow upon
their own families. The line officer of to-day can no longer afford
to disregard the advice of his medical officers, and camp sanitation
is now of even greater importance than operative technique, because
preventable sickness and the incapacity caused by disease are
recognized as far more to be dreaded than the bullets of the enemy.

Public estimate of our duties to the sick and wounded has varied
largely during different epochs. Thus Homer makes Nestor say:

    "A surgeon skilled our wounds to heal,
    Is more than armies to the public weal."

Homer also lauded the services of the two sons of Aesculapius, whom he
deified as the grandest of heroes and the wisest of surgeons, and thus
wrote of them at the siege of Troy, twelve hundred years before the
birth of Christ:

    "Of two great surgeons, Podalirius stands
    This hour surrounded by the Trojan bands,
    And great Machaon, wounded, in his tent
    Now wants the succor which so oft he lent."

Again he thus describes an operation:

    "Patroclus cut the forky steel away;
    While in his hand a bitter root he pressed,
    The wound he washed and styptic juice infused;
    The closing flesh that instant ceased to glow,
    The wound to torture, and the blood to flow."

Contrast the tender mercies thus described with an incident occurring
during one of the exciting experiences of Ambroise Paré, who one
day, during a battle, saw three desperately wounded soldiers placed
with their backs against a wall. An old campaigner inquired, "Can
those fellows get well?" "No," answered Ambroise. Thereupon the old
campaigner went up to them and cut all their throats, "sweetly and
without wrath." Note, if you will, the expression, "sweetly and without
wrath," since it implies a primitive form of humanity in providing
euthanasia for the hopelessly wounded.

While it has been from time immemorial the custom to attach surgeons
to various armies, some idea of prevailing notions of antiquity may be
gained from the statement that Xenophon had but eight field surgeons
with his 10,000 troops. In his army the sick and wounded were cared for
in adjoining villages, or, when on the march, were carried in the rear
of the troops, being cared for by women from "the baggage." Whether
these women were the "vivandieres" of those days I do not quite make
out, nevertheless they must have been much the same thing.

In the days of Rome's greatest glory each cohort of 420 men had four
surgeons, while each legion of ten cohorts had one legionary physician.
In the navy there was also one physician to each trireme; nevertheless
the wounded on land or sea received scant attention, although it
is interesting to read that each soldier carried with him the most
necessary bandages ready for use, an emergency packet supposed to be
quite modern.

A few hundred years later, in the Eastern Empire, the Emperor Maurice
ordered that throughout every division of from two hundred to four
hundred cavalry eight or ten of the strongest men be selected, in order
to bring to the rear those who were severely wounded, to supply them
with water, and to collect the weapons lying upon the field. These
mounted cavalrymen received a small reward for each person rescued.
Three hundred years later this arrangement was continued in operation
by Leo VI. Wherever it was possible the sick and wounded soldiers
were cared for by monks or by sisters, in the numerous hospices and
institutions which abounded throughout the East, and although the care
was often of the worst the efforts made were in the right direction.
Holy oil, laying on of hands, supplication, and the use of holy relics
constituted a large part of the treatment in vogue; nevertheless these
remedies were not quite so injurious as some of the other and more
disgusting ones whose use prevailed in those days.

Without doubt the two army surgeons who during the last 500 years
achieved more fame than any of their colleagues were Ambroise Paré,
and Baron Larrey. Such commanding figures were they, not only in their
professional work, but in the general influence which they wielded
alike upon sovereign and common soldier, that they will ever be
regarded as among the most memorable characters of common history. Paré
died in 1590, Larrey in 1842. Each was passed along from one ruler or
commander to his successor, and each was regarded as about the most
priceless legacy which could be thus transmitted.

Paré's name has always been most conspicuously mentioned in connection
with the history of the introduction of the ligature as a substitute
for the cautery iron or boiling oil, previously in use for the
checking of hemorrhage, and for his teaching concerning the nature of
gun-shot wounds, which had been previously and universally considered
as necessarily poisoned wounds; but his new practice and his new views
in these respects were but a small part of the general services which
he rendered. It is not worth while to try to even epitomize here
to-day the history of the ligature; though while its introduction
has been widely credited to Paré, you must not forget that it was
in use many centuries before his time, and was frequently mentioned
by the early writers. What Paré really did was, first, to abolish a
barbarous and unscientific method of dealing with hemorrhage, and then
to re-introduce or promote the employment of the ligature as a far
preferable substitute, more humane, more clean, and more desirable.
And so rather than do scant justice by incomplete reference to Paré's
actual contributions to knowledge I prefer rather to speak of the other
side of this great man's character, and to remind you of some of the
many ways by which he secured such marvellous influence over those
around him, and made his remarkable personality of the greatest use.
As he passed through one campaign after another his reputation became
more and more firmly established, and inspired surgeons the world over
with the desire to visit him. In almost his every act his sagacity was
conspicuously displayed, while, whenever they were called for, his
personal courage and absolute lack of fear were equally apparent.

Deprived of the benefits of early and liberal training he probably, on
that very account, developed his power of thought, his memory and his
analytical powers all the more keenly, inasmuch as these were made to
take the place of what he might have learned from books.

The following anecdote will serve to illustrate, for instance, the
general esteem in which he was held. In October, 1552, the army of
Charles V. was besieging the city of Metz, and Charles himself came to
take command. In the beleaguered city were gathered the nobility and
the bluest blood of France, while at the head of the defending forces
was the Duke of Guise. The imprisoned soldiers and civilians suffered
alike from the onslaughts of the enemy, the rigors of a frightful
winter, the lack of food, and the presence of disease. The Duke had
established two hospitals for the soldiers, which he put in charge of
the barber surgeons of the city, and furnished them with money with
which to procure supplies, but owing to the wretched incompetence of
these same barber surgeons nearly all the wounded perished, and the
horrible suspicion arose that the soldiers were being poisoned. The
Duke sent word to the King of France that the place could hold out for
ten months, but that they needed more medicines. The King then sent
for Paré, gave him money, ordered him to take all the medicines and
other supplies he deemed necessary, and further aided him by bribing
an Italian captain to permit the celebrated surgeon, in some way,
to enter the besieged city. Braving all dangers, and being finally
successful, Paré entered Metz two months later. He had at this time
been with the armies for at least sixteen years, and was known by
sight to officers and soldiers alike. On the day after his arrival the
Duke of Guise dramatically presented him, on the ramparts, to all his
officers, who embraced him, and hailed him with loud acclaim, while
by the soldiers he was received with shouts of triumph. "We shall not
die," they exclaimed, "even though wounded, for Paré is among us." The
effect of this great surgeon's appearance was to give new vigor to the
defenders, and to it was due the fact that the city was saved.

In his time Paré met with success such as to-day would be pronounced
most extraordinary. He inspired the wounded with utmost confidence,
and displayed, always and everywhere, remarkable firmness. Not the
least notable feature in his personal history is it that he should have
so long retained favor at court with such outspoken independence of
character.

Equally reputable among army surgeons of the past, and one of the most
commanding figures in history, medical or other, was Baron Larrey. For
more than fifty years he was an army surgeon, and for a great part of
that period he stood really closer to Napoleon than almost any of the
men whom the latter attached to his person by one or another of those
traits that made him such a remarkable figure. That one of the greatest
murderers and one of the greatest life-savers of all time should
have been so closely drawn to each other, constitutes one of the most
noteworthy incidents of history. Alike in many respects, so unlike in
so many others, it is one of the most creditable features of Napoleon's
career that he should have accorded to Larrey that recognition which
he early gave and never withdrew. Never was such tribute more signally
deserved nor worthily bestowed. Though he passed through twenty-six
campaigns, "from Syria to Portugal, and from Moscow to Madrid," and
though his wonderful courage never failed him under the most trying
surroundings of carnage and conflict, it may still be questioned
whether it did not take a higher degree or order of courage to face
Napoleon in his tent, or tell him plain truths in the Tuilleries.

The history of campaigning affords innumerable incidents illustrating
heroism under fire, or equally trying circumstances, and it is
difficult and perhaps unjust to single out a few for individual
mention. Bravery is confined to no epoch and to no race; it is simply
a God-given trait, not by any means possessed by all men. Take, for
instance, one incident in the career of Larrey. During the landing of
the English on the shores of Aboukir Bay, when General Silly had his
knee crushed by a bullet, Larrey appreciated that immediate amputation
was imperative, and gaining consent performed it, in three minutes,
under the enemy's fire. Just as he was finished the English cavalry
charged upon them; in his own words, "I had scarcely time," he said,
"to take the wounded officer on my shoulders and carry him rapidly
toward our army which was in full retreat. I spied a series of ditches
across which I passed, while the enemy had to go around by a more
circuitous route. Thus I had the happiness to reach the rear guard
of our army before this corps of dragoons reached us. I arrived at
Alexandria with this honorable, wounded officer, where I completed his
cure."

Perhaps under no circumstance did Larrey's courage and zeal show to
better advantage than in the awful retreat from Moscow. For example,
after the terrible battle of Borodino, Larrey made two hundred
amputations, practically with his own hands, where there were neither
couches nor coverings of any kind, when the cold was so intense that
the instruments often fell from the benumbed fingers of the surgeons,
and when food consisted of horse flesh, cabbage stalks and a few
potatoes. And all this while the savage Cossacks were hovering around
equally ready to kill both surgeons and patients. Soon after came the
passage of the Beresina, with its attendant horrors. General Zayonchek,
over sixty years of age, had his knee crushed, and was in need of
immediate amputation, which Larrey performed under the enemy's fire,
amid the falling snow, with no shelter except a cloak, held by two
officers over the patient while the operation was being performed. The
General recovered, and died fourteen years later as Viceroy of Poland.

It was after this passage of the Beresina by the Imperial Guard that
it was discovered that all the requisites for the sick and wounded had
been left behind and on the other side. Larrey at once recrossed the
river, and found himself amidst a furious, struggling crowd, in danger
of being crushed to death, when suddenly the soldiers recognized him.
Immediately they took him up in their arms, crossed the river with him,
crying, "let us save him who saved us," and forgot their own safety
in their regard for him whose merciful kindness they had so often
experienced.

Another incident in Larrey's career: Ever faithful to Napoleon, his
adored master, through victory or reverse, Larrey stood one night with
a small group of medical men gazing over the field of Waterloo, and
upon the wounded and dying who lay groaning around him. Suddenly they
were charged by a squadron of Prussian Lancers, at whom Larrey fired
his pistols and galloped away, but was overtaken by the Prussians, who
shot his horse, sabred him, and left him for dead. After a while he
recovered his senses, and tried to make his way across lots to France,
but was again captured by another detachment of cavalry, who robbed
him of everything, and then took him to headquarters, where it was
ordered that he be shot. Think of such a fate for one who had saved so
many lives! But the order would have been carried out promptly had not
one of the Prussian surgeons recognized Larrey, having attended his
lectures several years previously. Accordingly he was brought before
Bülow, and finally before Marshall Blücher, whose son had been wounded
and captured by the French in the Austrian Campaign, and whose life had
been saved by Larrey's exertions. You may imagine that it did not take
long to reverse that order for execution.

Praise from Napoleon was most rare, but of Larrey he made this remark
in his will, along with a bequest of 100,000 francs, "He is the most
virtuous man I have ever known."

Let us mention a few other instances. For example, Surgeon Thomson, who
during the Crimean war, after the battle of the Alma, volunteered, with
his servant, John McGrath, to remain behind on the open, unsheltered
field, with five hundred Russians so wounded as to be disabled or even
at the point of death. For three days and nights these two Englishmen
remained practically alone upon that field, covered only with dead and
dying, among foreign foes, none of them able to help themselves, or
even to speak in a language that could be understood.

At the battle of Inkerman Assistant Surgeon Wolesley had established
his field hospital in that awful place of slaughter, the Sandbag
Battery. When its defenders were reduced to 150 men, and were forced to
leave it, most of them retreated in one direction to find, only thirty
paces away, a Russian battalion blocking their path. There was not one
competent officer left, so this surgeon took command. Seizing a bayonet
because he had no sword, he spoke hurriedly to the men, and explained
that their next fight was not merely for victory, but for their own
lives; then he led them in a charge that tore so fiercely through the
Russian detachment that but half of them reached the other side alive.

During the South African campaign the papers recorded (but how few read
of it?) the fate of Surgeon Landon, who was shot through the spine
while ministering to the wounded on Majuba Hill. Paralyzed below the
waist, he had himself propped up, and continued his work as best he
could until his strength failed, when he said, "I am dying; do what you
can for the wounded."

It may be of interest to devote here a few minutes to the consideration
of conditions obtaining at the time of our Revolutionary War. In
1776 the barber surgeon still had a place in the armies of the world
and was even then regarded as scarcely more than a menial. Never
was he accorded the respect or the honors of a gentleman, nor was
he allowed to carry a sword. On the other hand, he was subjected to
corporal punishment, and could be caned by his colonel, or almost
anyone else, whenever such an act was provoked. It may be said that
the English troops were somewhat better equipped than were the hired
Hessians, while the French, who came to our aid, brought with them
some far better men, who were in many respects a revelation during our
revolution and an inspiration to our own so-called surgeons. But our
colonial and general governments dealt very stingily with our army
medical department, and their professional equipments were of the most
meagre; in fact, the history of surgery of those days, either in the
army or in civil life, is practically the history of a few prominent
individuals, most of whom had spent the time and money required for
study abroad, and who had come home bringing back with them the best
of their day, such as it was. For instance, there were the Warren
brothers, in Boston, of whom the elder, Joseph, started Paul Revere on
his famous ride. He was elected President of the Provincial Congress,
and just before the battle of Bunker Hill was made Major General of the
Continental forces, a position which he preferred to that of Physician
General, which he had been offered. During the battle he fought with
a musket, as though a private, and was shot down just as the conflict
ended. The younger brother, John, lived to achieve fame and reputation,
and transmitted them to his posterity.

During the war some colonial regiments even came into camp without any
surgeon, or the slightest provision for disease or injury. In 1776
Congress ordered that there should be one surgeon and five assistants
to each 5,000 enlisted men, the former being paid $1.66 per day,
the latter $1 a day. Imagine the attention that could be bestowed
upon 5,000 soldiers by six men whose services were thus compensated.
Camp hygiene, hospital corps, and ambulance service were undreamed
of; nevertheless John Warren, then only twenty-three years of age,
accomplished a great deal in building up a medical corps, while as much
more was done by Benjamin Church, of Boston, who was styled Director
General and Chief Physician, and who was paid $4 a day. Unfortunately
Church was detected in traitorous correspondence with the enemy,
was court-martialed, imprisoned for a year, then allowed to leave
the country, and was probably lost at sea. He was succeeded by John
Morgan, of Philadelphia, who had to fight the politicians as well as
the foreign enemy and, failing to satisfy them, was dismissed from the
service, though acquitted from all blame. Thus you see that even in
those days the politicians made it hard to secure adequate and proper
care for our sick and wounded soldiers. Everywhere at that time were
unrest, excitement, and suspicion, and their demoralizing effects
showed in every department of military as of civil government. After
Morgan came Shippen, who held office from 1777 to 1781, under whose
guidance affairs in the medical department improved very much. Smallpox
had been perhaps the greatest scourge of the soldiers, as well as of
the people in general, but this was kept in subjection by the practice
of inoculation, which had been generally accepted in this country by
nearly all men from Washington down.

A word or two must also be said about that remarkable man, Benjamin
Rush, with his many-sided, versatile, erratic, obstinate and querulous
character, who nevertheless constituted in his day the most prominent
figure in the profession; who served two years in Congress; who signed
the Declaration of Independence; and who, in the same year, got his
first army medical experience. It was perhaps not strange that, with
his peculiar temperament, he failed to come under the influence of
Washington's peculiar personal magnetism, and that their personal
relations were not at all to Rush's credit, since he endeavored in many
ways to belittle his Commander-in-Chief, and suffered therefor a rather
ignominious exposure.

The temptation is always to place most stress upon accounts of heroism
which happens to be most publicly performed. While this is not
unnatural it is often an injustice, since an act of courage may be
performed in the lime-light of publicity, with a regard for notoriety,
that would be lost were it done in private. It perhaps is not kind
to think that anyone would ever be more courageous in public than in
private, and yet it is to be feared that human nature is not always
free from temptation of this kind. But the real silent heroes of
military or civil medical life are those who engage in duties which
nevertheless have even more of danger about them than spectacular
performances upon the battle field. Take for instance, the work done by
Major Reed and Dr. Carroll, who devoted themselves for months to the
study of yellow fever. Many a man will stand upon the field of battle
permitting himself to be fired upon, but how many will deliberately
submit to being bitten by insects believed to be carriers of the germs
of yellow fever. Dr. Carroll had this quiet kind of bravery, and
allowed himself to be bitten by a mosquito that twelve days previously
had filled himself with the blood of a yellow fever patient, and in
consequence suffered from a severe attack, barely escaping with his
life. Dr. Lazear permitted the same experiment upon himself, but was
not at that time infected; but some days later while in the yellow
fever ward he was bitten by a mosquito, made careful note of the fact,
acquired the disease in its most hideous form, and died a martyr to
science, as true a hero as ever died upon fortress or man-of-war.
Others, too, willingly exposed themselves, but there was at that time
no other fatality to record. But realizing the value of the service
rendered, the indisputable proof of the nature of the disease, and
the method by which it is carried, the value of the demonstration
becomes inestimable, since a true prophylaxis was demonstrated, and a
means furnished of ridding the community of this fearful pestilence.
Moreover, it was shown how unnecessary it is to destroy valuable
property, it being only necessary to kill the mosquitoes, and do away
with their breeding places. Major Reed died a few years after he had
led in this fight against the dread disease, but no monument, or other
testimonial which can be erected to the memory of Reed, Carroll and
Lazear can adequately express the value of the service which they have
rendered to the world.

"Peace hath her victories no less than war." This epigram is as true
of the conflicts in which the medical profession engage as of any
other. This same sentiment has been put in other words. It is said,
"That peace hath higher tests of manhood than battle ever knew." For
instance, in New York there is a simple tablet commemorating, in loving
remembrance, the death of eighteen young physicians who, one after
another, attended a ship load of emigrants sick of typhus fever on
Quarantine Island. They fought their good fight and were buried without
martial music, adding eighteen names to the innumerable list of victims
who have fought the silent battle of dealing with disease, public
gainers only in this, that someone has been thoughtful enough to record
their names in this semi-public fashion.

Taken again the case of Dr. Franz Muller, of Vienna, who contracted
the bubonic plague while working in the laboratory with its germs.
Just so soon as he realized that he himself was infected he locked
himself in an isolated room, and pasted upon the window pane a sheet
of paper containing this message, "I am suffering from plague. Do not
send a doctor to me, as in any event my end will come in four or five
days." He refused to admit those who were anxious to do for him, wrote
a letter to his parents which he placed against the window, so that it
could be copied from the outside, then burned the original, fearing
that if sent through the mail it might carry the elusive germ. Was not
this equal to any instance of valor under the excitement or the stress
of battle and cannonade? Could anyone more worthily win a Victorian
Cross, or any other emblem of courage and heroism?

Many of you have been in, or will go to Havana. It will be worth your
while to make a pilgrimage to the cemetery there, where were buried
sixteen young medical students who lost their lives under peculiar
circumstances, which afford as well an illustration of Spanish tyranny
and injustice. In 1871 one of the professors in the medical school
died, and was followed to his grave by the students whom he had taught,
and who loved him. Unfortunately they committed an indiscretion
by scribbling with a pencil in a public place some criticism on
the government; in consequence they were reported, arrested and
court-martialed. The written paragraphs were evidence sufficient, and
the Governor General ordered the ranks of students to be decimated.
There were 160 students all told, and in accordance with this sentence
sixteen of them were next day shot without any further ceremony. Of
these the youngest was not quite sixteen years old, and his father
offered his entire fortune for his life, but without avail. Later the
citizens of Havana erected a monument of white marble, at no small
cost, to commemorate this sacrifice.

There comes over me, as I prepare these words to read to you, a
feeling of their inadequacy, and of lack of personal justice to many
of my auditors. Brought up in civil life, with but a smattering of
military training, I am rehearsing incidents of which you may read
as easily as I, while at the same time I do not forget that from
the lives of many of my auditors there might be drawn just as many
illustrations of courage, fortitude, endurance and personal valor as
any that the Surgeon General's library records. Unfortunately I am not
familiar with them. They are, happily in one respect, too numerous to
mention, and again are not yet public property, because modesty is
ever the accompaniment of these other traits which we all admire so
much. Hence, gentlemen, if I seem to you to disregard or forget many an
incident in your lives or the careers of your friends, ascribe it to my
ignorance rather than to my intent, and to the fact that I have never
seen a battle, and that my fights with disease have not been fought
in camps, but within the walls of the quiet sick room or hospital
ward. Nevertheless I am never happier than when I can try to compel a
wider public recognition of what you are constantly doing and of your
valorous deeds.

Next to those general improvements in the service which have come about
through natural causes, and as results of a better appreciation of its
needs, and of a generally improved state of the profession, nothing
has come from outside during the past fifty years which has been so
helpful and advantageous as the support afforded by the Red Cross, and
the introduction of skilled nurses; in fact the greatest help which
the medical service of the army and navy can enjoy is that which comes
from this volunteer and outside source. By the way, I wonder how many
of you recall, or are familiar with, the beginnings of the Red Cross
movement? So important has it become that its history should be well
known to all. In June, 1859, was fought the bloody battle of Solferino,
at the conclusion of which some 36,000 French, Sardinian and Austrian
soldiers lay dead or dying on the field. The medical corps was, of
course, absolutely inadequate to the work thrown upon them, and as
usual thousands of wounded men had to care for themselves as best they
could. A Swiss traveler, Henri Dunant, viewing the scenes, and being
profoundly impressed by them, not only assisted in the work of relief,
but wrote a book entitled, "A Souvenir of Solferino," in which he urged
more humane, widespread and speedy aid to the wounded. M. Moynier,
president of the Society of Public Utility, of Geneva, a man of
independent means; Dr. Appia, a wise physician, and M. Ador, an eminent
lawyer of Geneva, also became interested in the movement. The attention
of the General of the Swiss Army was called to it and his co-operation
enlisted. In this way came about, in 1863, the formation of a permanent
society for the relief of wounded soldiers. At a meeting held in
October in the same year men from many countries joined in discussing
the subject, and an international conference was held, which resulted
in calling an international convention, to be held at Geneva in the
autumn of 1864.

Such was the beginning of the Red Cross movement, which has now
extended all over the world, and has afforded an opportunity for all
races, creeds and nationalities to care for those who are made victims
of war or pestilence, or who suffer from any other great disaster
with which private charity is unable to cope. It marks a step in the
evolution of mankind, and has now achieved such universal recognition
that national governments and individual potentates are glad to join
hands in the great work.

A more concrete application of the same idea has been the comparatively
recent formation of ambulance corps and later of nursing bureaus,
within our own service, and the employment of trained nurses. This has
not been in all respects an easy matter to bring about, nevertheless it
has redounded to the credit and to the welfare of all concerned. Never
at any time were the sick and injured, either in private or in military
practice, so well cared for as now, and America should lead the world
to-day, as ever, in the adequacy of its provisions and the perfection
of its methods. In private this is notably the case in ordinary
hospital work, as seen by all travelers, upon the continent and in
Great Britain, who take pains to make comparisons with the way in
which things are done there and in our own country. Although Florence
Nightingale immortalized herself by showing what woman could do on
the battle field and in military camps, it has remained for Americans
to improve upon the lessons which she taught, while at the same time
revering her for her wonderful devotion to her self-imposed duty and
her enthusiasm. In its performance the lessons of the Crimean and the
Civil War, for instance, have left their impressions upon history in
such a way as may never be erased, and certainly no one was ever more
entitled to the designation of "angel of the sick room" than was Miss
Nightingale.

Wars of conquest bring about curious results and in unexpected ways.
While greed, lust and fanaticism have been the three great impelling
and underlying motives for most of the wars which man thrusts upon his
fellow-men, one far nobler motive has been the occasional and the only
just cause of strife, namely, the desire for liberty; still this is
always secondary and the product of some other man's or people's greed.
As only by the cataclysms of the natural world has it been prepared for
man's habitation, so by some wars have come benefits unforeseen, with
an amelioration of the condition of mankind in general, which could
not have been secured by any less drastic measures. It is, however, a
sad commentary on man's intelligence that most honor is paid to those
who have taken the most lives rather than to those who have saved
them. No school boy in the remotest districts but is brought up with
some trifling knowledge of the world's heroes, so-called, though they
were in reality the world's wholesale murderers. Yet you may find
many persons, credited with higher education, who are still densely
ignorant of the benefits conferred by those two greatest discoveries
in the world's history (both of Anglo-Saxon origin), _anaesthesia_ and
_antisepsis_, who will talk entertainingly and at length of Darius,
Caesar, Hannibal and the more modern military lights, yet who never
heard of Morton nor of Lister. Yet if to-day you inquire what is doing
in the various parliaments of the world you learn that the talk is
ever of more numerous and more powerful engines of destruction, and
that those in power have no time to devote to improvements in the army
or navy medical service, and that it is even now impossible to secure
anything like adequate attention to our needs in this direction.

Means of taking human life must be constantly at hand; means of saving
it are of small importance until the emergency has arisen; and then the
blame for inadequate provision of both means and men falls not where
it belongs, on the politicians who would not look ahead, but upon the
administration of the medical department, who work to the point of
desperation and despair in times of peace, who keep perpetual vigil,
with scant recognition of the sacredness of their purpose, and scant
aid in its accomplishment.

Are the lessons of the South African, the Spanish-American and the
Russo-Japanese wars to be forgotten almost before they have been
recited? Are we prepared to-day to give adequate care and attention
to our soldiers and sailors were war in sight? You well know that we
are not; every military or naval surgeon knows we are not; the medical
profession generally knows it; and our legislators have been told it
until we are tired of repeating it. Yet, what is the result? The same
indifference on their part, the same ignorance of what it all means;
and on the part of the public the same blindness and fatuous confidence
that "everything is all right."

For instance, if an adequate medical service is to be built up for war
there should be one officer to every 100 of enlisted men. Estimating
that an army of at least 400,000 men would be required were we engaged
with a first-class power--and what other would dare to engage with
us?--this means 4,000 army surgeons. Of these at least one-fourth
should be regular and experienced medical officers. In other words,
there should be for such an army at least 1,000 medical officers in
the regular service, and also at least 3,000 volunteer surgeons,
professionally and physically equipped for such work. Should anyone
object that this exceeds all the provisions of time past, the reply is
ready and all sufficient, namely, that in time past all such provisions
have been utterly inadequate; that the conditions of modern warfare
have undergone an entire change, that a sick, wounded or disabled man
is an encumbrance, and that it behooves us to prevent sickness, and to
cure the disabled man as quickly as possible. Furthermore, advances in
medicine and surgery have been so great that far more is now expected
of the medical corps than ever before, and it is a duty which we owe
to those who incur the dangers of fighting for us that we should care
for them. We are, therefore, under the very highest moral obligation
to give them our best, and enough of it. It must be a small inducement
that we offer to men to fight our battles if we permit them to feel
that they are not objects of our solicitude when sick or wounded.

There is another feature which we cannot disregard. So long as army
regulations require that a man educated in advanced science spend much
of his valuable time in acting as bookkeeper or clerk, there will
be less inducement to enter the service, and it will consequently
not attract men of highest proficiency. That which is required of
you is complicated and exacting. You must be good bookkeepers,
good sanitarians, and equally good surgeons, physicians and even
obstetricians. Above all, you are expected to be able to keep all the
men under your supervision ready for the "firing line" at a moment's
notice. You have received the highest compliment which the State can
pay when you have been adjudged versatile and competent enough to fill
all these rôles and do all these things.

Moreover, as you gain promotion other things will be expected of you,
even, I hope, the filling of the chairs in this modern Military Medical
School. It is in a way the West Point of the medical corps, and it
would seem as though there should not be the slightest difficulty in
replenishing vacancies in its faculty by detail from your ranks. The
collections and the literary labors of your corps constitute to-day
treasures exceeded in value by but few if any in this, the Nation's
Capital. The library, the museum and the archives of the medical
department have been models from which all the nations of the earth
have copied.

In this connection there occurs to me, by way of contrast, the story of
a French surgeon's experiences when he undertook to teach anatomy in a
conquered and reconstructed country.

After the French occupation of Egypt, Mehemet Ali took it into his head
to introduce European civilization into Africa, and imported all sorts
of artists, scientists and medical men, among them a practitioner of
Marseilles, a true Bohemian in the modern acceptance of the expression,
who presented himself in most seedy apparel, saying, "I am a doctor
of medicine, with plenty of courage, but no clothes; I want to try
my fortune." This man was Dr. Clot, who rapidly became a favorite
of the Viceroy. He soon learned Arabic so as to speak it fluently,
and in six months not only received an army commission, and became a
Bey, but took the chair of anatomy in the newly organized school of
medicine. Conditions were all against him. Mussulman fanaticism and
the prohibitions of the Koran opposed all anatomical pursuits, and so
soon as he proposed a dissection there was a general explosion. By
Mohammedan ceremonial one who even touches a dead body is thereby
rendered "unclean" for seven days. The Ulemas, the Muftis, and all of
the other fanatics, demanded of the Viceroy the closure of the school,
and declared dissection a sacrilegious profanation. Mehemet refused
this, and ordered Clot Bey to commence his demonstrations. Then one
day happened the following incident: The professor, scalpel in hand,
standing alongside the cadaver, began to open the thorax, when one
of the students, either from sheer fanaticism, or more bold than the
others, jumped upon him and stabbed him with a poignard. The blade
slid over the ribs, and Clot Bey, perceiving that he was not seriously
hurt, applied a piece of plaster to the wound, observing as he did
so, "We were speaking of the disposition of the sternum and the ribs,
and I now can illustrate to you why a blow directed from above has so
little chance of penetrating the cavity of the thorax." He continued
his lectures, and turned out some skilful practitioners. He became an
officer of almost every order in the world, and acquired more than
sixty decorations, although he never wore but one, the red rosette of
his own country. (_Med. Times and Gazette_, September 19, 1868.)

While just such an experience may never be duplicated again, the
Philippines, or some other country yet to fall under our rule, may
afford an opportunity for a similar display of _sang froid_.

While no one may see far into the future, the maxim, "In time of
peace prepare for war," is as true of the medical department as of
any. Were it a state secret no one would breathe it here, but it is
lamentably true and publicly known that even now we are not prepared
as we should be. The awful lessons of the Spanish War have been
forgotten. West Point officers have until comparatively recently
received no instruction in camp sanitation. Some of us worked hard a
while ago to have at least elementary instruction in it introduced
into their curriculum. As an illustration I believe that to-day they
are taught more about horse's feet and how to keep them in good
condition, than about those of their men. Line officers, especially
volunteer, have never been too ready to locate their camps where water
and drainage were the best, and the awful mortality of the Spanish War
was mainly due to preventable disease, while this was due to stupid
and inexcusable disregard, on the part of officers of the line (mainly
volunteer) of the advice of their medical officers.

But, after all, gentlemen, the discouragements you will meet with will
be far fewer than those with which your predecessors had to contend,
while the pleasant side of your lives will be far pleasanter than was
theirs. In fact, I think your lives have in many respects fallen in
pleasanter places than have ours. Discipline and order protect you to
a large extent from quackery and idiocy. The fads of the day disappear
before the appearance of the flag and the sound of the drum. So-called
Christian Science finds no place in your curriculum, and it will be
long, I trust, before the army chaplain tinctures the military hospital
with sectarian therapeutics or an Emanuel church cult. If by entering
the army one may escape disgusting influences of this character, then
it may become such a refuge that it shall thereby be made both inviting
and invincible.

It is pleasing to those of us who co-operated in the movement, to have
the assurances of the Surgeon General that the establishment of the
Medical Reserve Corps has been of actual benefit to the regular Army
Medical Department. While the military rank to which its members found
themselves suddenly elevated was not so lofty as to cause any attacks
of vertigo, none having been up to the present day reported, it at
least gives us satisfaction to realize that help may thus be afforded
from private life, and that a closer rapport has been effected.

And now it is well nigh as difficult a task to appropriately conclude
these remarks as to begin them. Men come and go; a few leave imprints
of their footsteps; the vast majority make no impression that lingers.

    "Some when they die, die all; their mouldering clay
    Is but an emblem of their memories;
    The space quite closes up through which they passed."

Fain would I believe that many of you would make enduring records. Yet
each can do his best, and I doubt not each will do it. You have so
much to encourage you, so comparatively little to hamper or hold back.
Glorious is your work, glorious may be your fulfillment of it. We have
lived in a goodly time; you will enjoy one still more goodly. With
scientific progress, whose like the world has never known, and with an
altruism which makes the world constantly better, you will be able to
do things never done by your predecessors.

    "'Tis coming up the steeps of time,
    And this old world is growing brighter!
    We may not see its dawn sublime,
    Yet high hopes make the heart throb lighter!
    Our dust may slumber underground
    When it awakens the world in wonder;
    But we have felt it gathering 'round!
    We have heard its voice of distant thunder.
    'Tis coming! Yes, 'tis coming!

    "'Tis coming now, that glorious time
    Foretold by seers and sung in story,
    For which, when thinking was a crime,
    Souls leaped to heaven from scaffolds gory!
    They passed. But lo! the work they wrought!
    Now the crowned hopes of centuries blossom,
    The lightning of their living thought
    Is flashing through us, brain and bosom;
    'Tis coming! Yes, 'tis coming."




XI

THE EVOLUTION OF THE SURGEON FROM THE BARBER


If one attempt to scan the field of the history of medicine, to take
note of all the fallacies and superstitions which have befogged men's
minds, and brought about what _now_ seem to be the most absurd and
revolting views and practices of times gone by, and if one search
deliberately for that which is of curious nature, or calculated to
serve as a riddle difficult of solution, he will scarcely in the tomes
which he may consult find anything stranger than the close connection,
nay, even the identity maintained for centuries, between the trade of
the barber and the craft of the surgeon. Even after having studied
history and the various laws passed at different times, he will still
miss the predominant yet concealed reason for this state of affairs.
This will be found to be, in the words of Paget, the "maintenance of
vested rights as if they were better than the promotion of knowledge."
He will wonder also why women were licensed to practise surgery in the
fourteenth century and prevented in the nineteenth, or why specialties
were legally recognized in the sixteenth century only to lose their
dignity and identity a little later.

In thus attempting to consider the relations which have existed in
time past between barbers and surgeons I must ask you to remember
that there was a time when bleeding was deemed necessary for the cure
of almost all ailments, and that after the Church had condemned the
shedding of blood by any of her officials it was most natural to turn
for assistance to the barbers, who were supposed to be dexterous with
sharp instruments, with basins and with towels. Thus it happened that
when the barbers found themselves permitted to perform this sole act
they naturally ventured further and practised many parts of minor
surgery independently of the ecclesiastics.

Moreover there persist to-day in Europe many relics of the old customs,
and the barber surgeon is still a common figure in Germany, and
particularly in Russia, where the really educated surgeons are still
too few for a vast and widespread population. It must be remembered
also that the Church gradually imbued men's minds with a horror of a
dead body, and of the profanation which followed having anything to
do with it, and surrounded the study of anatomy with every possible
obstacle and obloquy; even to such an extent that to be known as having
dissected a human body was to be exposed to indignity, assault and even
death. It was, therefore only intense yearning for knowledge, on the
part of earnest men, which then permitted anatomical instruction to be
given or encouraged.

During the middle ages the greatest medical school in the world was
situated at Salernum (or Salerno), but a short distance from Naples.
This is not the place in which to discuss its history, although it
became famous above almost every other institution of learning of any
kind, and though, by one of the freaks of history, even the site of the
buildings is now lost and no one seems to know just where they stood.
In his time, namely, in 1240, the Emperor Frederick II was the great
patron of this college; his decrees concerning the regulation of the
study and practice of medicine deserve attention to-day. A part of one
of his enactments reads as follows: "Since it is possible for a man to
understand medical science only if he has previously learned something
of logic, we ordain that no one shall be permitted to study medicine
until he has given his attention to logic for three years. After these
three years he may if he wishes proceed to the study of medicine." And
again: "No surgeon shall be allowed to practise until he has submitted
certificates in writing, of the teachers of the faculty of medicine,
that he has spent at least one year in that part of medical science
which gives skill in the practice of surgery, that in the college he
has diligently and especially studied the anatomy of the human body,
and is also thoroughly experienced in the way in which operations are
successfully performed and healing afterwards brought about."

When first we hear of medical men in Great Britain they were commonly
spoken of as _leeches_, as among the Danes and Saxons; later the
clergy introduced books from Rome, and almost every Monastery had
some brother possessed of more or less knowledge of the medicine of
the day. The College of Salernum later gave great impetus to the study
of medicine, even before the days of William the Conqueror, which was
strengthened by the influence emanating from Naples, and particularly
from Montpellier. For centuries the Catholic clergy were almost the
only persons with sufficient education to study and practise physic;
which profession became in time so lucrative that many of the monks
abandoned their monasteries, neglecting their religious duties, and
applied themselves to the study of medicine. To such an extent was this
true that in 1163 the Council of Tours forbade monks staying out of the
monastery for more than two months at a time, or teaching or practising
physic. In taking this action the Council only repeated what had been
ordained by decree of Henry III in 1216, and by the second Council of
Lateran in 1139. No restraint was at first placed upon the secular
clergy, and many of the Bishops and other church dignitaries gained
both money and honor by acting as physicians to Kings and Princesses.

Next to the clergy the Jews possessed the largest share of learning.
Their nomadic life permitted an intercourse with the different nations
of the world, which was denied to most others, and there were many
who studied medicine and practised, not only among those of their
own race but amongst Moors and Christians alike. The priests became
extremely jealous of Jewish physicians and of lay surgeons, and
endeavored to secure through Rome a formal excommunication of all who
committed themselves to the care of a Jew, while by canon law no Jew
might give medicine to a Christian. But so celebrated were the Jewish
physicians, and so superior to everything else was men's desire for
life and strength, that even the power of Rome could not exclude them
from practice. Still less could the clergy restrain the lay surgeons
from the performance of their craft, and though it would appear that at
first, in England, the priests were not disposed to separate surgery
from medicine, the Pope became jealous of so much interruption to
the duties of the clergy and looked upon the manual part of surgery
as detracting from clerical dignity. Accordingly were made numerous
attempts to debar priests from the performance of surgical operations.
In 1215 the ecclesiastics were prohibited by Pope Innocent III from
undertaking any operation involving the shedding of blood, while by
Boniface VIII at the close of the thirteenth century, and Clement V,
about the beginning of the fourteenth century, surgery was formally
separated from physic and the priests positively forbidden to practice
it. It is to the Church then that we owe this absolute abandonment of
surgery to an illiterate and grasping laity. For some time, however,
the priests kept their hold upon surgery by instructing their servants,
the barbers, who were employed to shave their own priestly beards,
in the performance of minor operations. It was these men, who were
in some degree qualified by the instruction of the clergy, who first
assumed the title of barber surgeons, and who gradually formed a great
fraternity.

In France it was in the reign of Louis XIV that the hairdressers
were formally separated from the barber-surgeons, the latter being
incorporated as a distinct medical body. In London it was in 1375 that
the Company of Barbers were practically divided into two sections,
containing respectively those who practiced shaving, and those who
practiced surgery. In 1460 the surgeons were finally incorporated by
themselves as the Guild of Surgeons and took their place as one of the
liveried companies of the city of London. Similar separation occurred
in the original great Guild of Weavers, who divided into the Woollen
Drapers and Linen Armourers, the latter afterwards becoming the wealthy
and powerful Company of Merchant Tailors.

To trace the history of the London Company of Barbers a little more
fully, it was first formed in 1308 and incorporated in 1462 by a
charter. In one of the statutes of Henry VIII it was enacted that:
"No person using any shaving or barbery in London shall occult (i. e.
practise) any surgery, letting of blood or other matter except only
drawing of teeth." In 1540 Parliament passed an act allowing the United
Companies of Barbers and Surgeons each to have yearly the bodies of
four criminals for dissection. In 1518 the barbers and surgeons were
united in one company; the former being restricted from all operations
except tooth drawing, and the latter having to abandon shaving and hair
dressing.

It is interesting also to note that in Oxford, for instance, the
Barbers, Surgeons, Waferers and Makers of "Singing bread" were all of
the same fellowship, from 1348 to 1500; when, at last, the Cappers,
or knitters of caps, were united to them, in 1551, the barbers and
waferers abrogated their charter and took one in the name of the city,
until 1675, when they received a charter from the University.

The London Guild of Surgeons appears to have been first a mere
fraternity which had incorporated itself, and to have originated from
an association of the military barber surgeons who had been trained
in the hundred years war with France, 1337 to 1444. Its membership,
however, was select, and when the physicians declined an alliance
with it, it amalgamated with the barber companies in 1540. The United
Company of Barbers and Surgeons was peculiar in that strangers and
those who were not free men were admitted, while the journeymen of
the craft formed a subordinate body within the company. In 1745 the
surgeons separated from the barbers and formed a surgeon's company
which rapidly acquired influence. By a foolish blunder it forfeited
its charter in 1796 but was subsequently incorporated by George III,
in 1800, as the Royal College of Surgeons in London; a body which
has since maintained its identity, grown tremendously in wealth and
strength, and having become one of the licensing bodies of England,
has acquired the finest collection of books and specimens in the world
and has numbered the brightest intellects which the English surgical
profession has contained.

In Dublin the Barber Surgeons were incorporated as a guild by charter
granted by Henry VI, in 1446. In 1576 they were amalgamated with the
independent surgeons, and by Queen Elizabeth with the barber surgeons
and wig-makers. This confraternity was dissolved in 1784 and the
College of Surgeons founded immediately afterwards. In Edinburgh the
barbers and surgeons were united in 1505, to be separated at about the
same time as elsewhere in Great Britain.

During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries on the continent
medicine and surgery were abruptly separated, and the latter was
almost entirely in the hands of the barbers. For hundreds of years
the dissection of corpses and the embalming of those who could afford
it, were in the hands of first the butchers and later of the barbers.
The greatest contempt was everywhere shown for one who attempted any
surgery. If for instance a nobleman while being bled by a barber
received the slightest harm the poor barber was heavily fined, while,
should the gentleman die, the culprit was given into the hands of the
dead man's relatives to be dealt with as they desired. Throughout the
monasteries and whenever the influence of the Church was felt it was
forbidden to the monks, who had the monopoly of knowledge, to perform
any surgical operation since the Church abhorred the shedding of
blood.[8]

[8] I leave it to defenders of the Faith to reconcile this abhorrence
with the persecutions of heretics and the tortures of the Inquisition
permitted by the same Church.

For hundreds of years the monks were not allowed to wear a beard;
this necessitated the employment of tonsors ("tonsorial-artists"
they call themselves to-day) to whom was left also the performance
of anything that partook of the nature of an operation, such as
bleeding, bandaging, etc. This calling, was however, recognized as a
most inferior one, and the barbers, like the bathkeeper, the shepherd
and the hangman, were not considered of good repute. Consequently,
such an one was not eligible for membership in any other guilds or
fraternities. In 1406 the Emperor Wenzel was rescued from prison, in
Prague, by the daughter of a bathkeeper; in gratitude he made her his
mistress, and declared both barbers and bathkeepers to be respectable;
but having lost his position his decree had no weight, and not until
1548, in Augsburg, were they really made eligible to the guilds. At
this time their most dignified labor was the sharpening of instruments.
In 1696 Leopold I. decreed their profession to be an art, and gave it a
position above that of the apothecary so that in their most dignified
occupation they were elevated to the making of ointments and plasters.

As surgery has for the profession of barber surgery to thank the
existence upon man of a beard, so the European continent may thank
the Crusaders of the eleventh century for having necessitated the
existence of the bathkeeper, because of the leprosy which they brought
home from the East. During the Crusades, as is well known, there were
founded numerous Orders having for their original purpose the care and
protection of pilgrims and injured soldiers. The three most celebrated
Orders were the Knights of St. John, the Knights Templar and the
Teutonic Order. Were this the place it would be most interesting to go
into a history of these religio-medico-military Orders, and show how
from most devout purposes and humble origin they grew into despotic
and tyrannical associations of great power, which it finally took all
the force of Church and State to suppress. As the then humble and
enthusiastic members of these Orders returned from the Holy Land they
established hospitals for the care of lepers, who became very numerous
in Europe. For instance it is stated that in France, in 1225, there
were two thousand hospitals for this purpose, while the King Louis the
Great founded, in 1260, a special hospital for those made blind by
Egyptian ophthalmia. It is well known also that during the middle ages
there was the greatest neglect of the ordinary canons of cleanliness
both among the upper and lower classes. The number of hospitals and
cloisters dedicated to the lepers being insufficient, bath houses were
built and bathkeepers were engaged in order, so far as possible,
to prevent the spread of leprosy. At this time the bathkeeper was
permitted to bathe and cup, later also to bleed, although the bleeding
was required to be done in the bathkeepers' own house, since he was
not usually permitted to enter a patient's house. As bathing became
less necessary for purposes already mentioned the bathkeeper took to
imitating the barber, though much later, and not until about 1750 in
some countries, were they permitted to do this publicly, and only after
having passed the examinations to which the barber was also subjected.
In Prussia they were only allowed to treat wounds and chronic diseases,
and so it came about that by the beginning of the eighteenth century a
really conscientious and efficient barber surgeon was supposed to have
served an apprenticeship in large hospitals, to have witnessed the work
of noted surgeons and to have served in the Army or Navy. He was also
supposed to be something of a linguist and to know a little botany;
particularly was he expected to be conversant with anatomy, although
there was a sad lack of cadavers--which was atoned for by the use of
carcasses of animals, for the main part swine.

Eckardt, writing at this time of the sixteen different virtues of a
barber, enumerated, first of all, fear of God; then that he should be
careful, prudent, temperate, and ready to use both hands with equal
dexterity; he claimed that "Arrogance seems most prevalent among
barbers, as a common saying would imply 'barbers are proud animals.'"
He expressed his surprise also at the envy and malice between
bathkeepers and barbers, and advised them both to consult physicians
and other masters.

The customs of the time must be blamed for this lamentable condition of
affairs. The boy who was destined to become a barber was apprenticed
at a time when he had scarcely learned to write. If he could write
legibly and read a little Latin no one dared refuse him. He learned
to shave and went from house to house for this purpose, spending the
little time remaining in sharpening knives, spreading plasters, picking
lint, taking care of children, doing all menial duties, and using the
same light as the housemaid because it would have been disrespectful
to his master's wife to use any other. After years of this work he
was gradually taken to visit patients and then was taught how to
bleed, cup, apply leeches, extract teeth and clysters. His master
knowing nothing of anatomy could give him no instruction, though by
the laws of apprenticeship he was bound to do so. Before concluding
this apprenticeship he was supposed to pass an examination, which his
master's laziness usually permitted him to escape. He then presented
the master with some silver instruments and was dismissed with an
injunction to be thankful that such a miserable specimen of God's
creatures had ever been taught to shave a beard or spread a plaster.
He now became a journeyman, still living at the house of his master,
and was not allowed to marry; after a while he received a paltry sum
as wages, got his dinners free and began to dabble on his own account.
Study was out of the question; these men could not understand what
little they did read and served the community mainly as bearers of
tales. After some years of activity as journeyman they could become
masters by applying to the authorities, presenting certificates, and
passing an examination before the physicians of the district.

Prussia was the first country to appreciate the necessity of regulating
medical practice, and the barbers and bathkeepers were placed under the
control of the Medical College founded, in 1685, by Prince Frederick
William. In 1724 this institution attained its greatest activity,
having a subordinate school in each province. In 1725 King Frederick
William issued a famous edict which did much to regulate medical
affairs throughout the kingdom, and directed among other things that
barbers and bathkeepers should "lead a religious, temperate, retired
and sober life, in order to be at their best whenever their services
were required." When their business was not sufficiently good they
assumed other cares, as, for instance, one man was surgeon, municipal
judge and post-master all at once. They were extremely envious of
each other and often dabbled in medicine without permission. It was
not until 1779 that the bathkeepers were permitted to rank in Prussia
with the barbers, and were allowed to use more than four basins, the
bathkeepers' guild being incorporated with that of the barber.

There being no temptation to enter these ranks it is not strange
that so late even as 1790 good surgeons were rare in Germany; not
one in fifty of the barbers really knowing the first principles of
the work they were supposed to perform. It came to such a pass that
surgeons were compelled to shave and perform other duties of the
hairdresser, for no surgeon, however skilled, was allowed to practice
as such, unless he was the proprietor of a head-shaving and bathing
establishment, with assistants and apprentices, and belonged to the
barbers' guild, or unless he was favored by Royal exemption. It was
the general lament in Germany, all through the 18th century, that
German surgeons were educated in barber shops. Even by the middle of
that century the practice of surgery was not considered an honorable
business, and those who practiced it were not permitted to carry a
sword, neither was a surgeon admitted into society nor tolerated among
physicians; moreover when unsuccessful he was bitterly and relentlessly
pursued. Under existing conditions the Reichstag either could or would
do nothing to alleviate the distressing condition. The physician
boasted of his education and treated the surgeon and his craft with
disdain, holding that surgery sustained the same relation to medicine
that geometry does to higher mathematics and physics. All this time,
however, while the physician contented himself with disdaining surgeons
he made no attempt to elevate the craft nor to himself study and adorn
it. Even by the beginning of the nineteenth century there were scarcely
any physicians in Europe who could diagnose a surgical case, while
dentistry they claimed called for no more skill than that sufficient
for tooth extraction. It was even claimed that so long as the people
generally were neglectful of their teeth the physician, or even the
surgeon, should be ashamed to concern himself with dentistry.

Von Siebold, in his day, deplored the position of the surgeon; his
large military experience had shown him the difficulties with which he
had to contend before he could enter society, while his ambitions and
high motives were scorned. Even the peasantry were bitterly opposed
to all operations. So intense were their feelings that he repeatedly
removed his patients to other towns before performing operations.
Nevertheless it was true that there were the best of reasons for lack
of confidence in any barber who dropped his razor for the purpose of
treating a fracture, a hernia or an obstetric case. The State required
a barber surgeon to call in a physician in all complicated surgical
cases. In such a case the physician demanded the control of the case
and reserved to himself the right to judge of what was required. He
would not even consider a surgeon who had obtained the doctorate as
his equal. Such consultations resulted in little but quarrels and
disagreeable scenes. If a village contained no physician the surgeon
treated also internal diseases, though he was not allowed to use strong
medicines. Every district had its special surgeon who, alone, had
charge of several villages where he had the right to keep journeymen
and apprentices and to do shaving and cupping. In the Prussian capital
city only twenty German and six French surgeons were allowed to
practice in 1725, besides the court and private surgeons.

Until 1808 every German surgeon carried on a medico-legal business
which was later separated from his surgery. In 1782 there were three
classes of surgeons; from the lower one might be promoted to a higher
after an examination. In Austria, in 1805, there were doctors of
surgery who were required to show a general knowledge of medicine and
who had the same rights as the physicians; there were also medical
surgeons who could practice under restrictions, and bathkeepers for
minor surgery. After the year 1773 barbers and bathkeepers were both
spoken of in Austria as surgeons; this was to break up the disputes
between them. According to an official feebill holding good in Prussia
in 1815, the highest fee that could be charged for an operation was for
lithotomy in adults, the maximum limit being about M. 140 ($35), while
the majority of operations ranged from M. 20 to M. 50 ($5.00 to $13.00
expressed in U. S. money). Of course this was at a time when the value
of money was much greater than now.

As already made plain, it was the Church which by its decrees brought
about the separation of surgery from medicine, a condition not existing
during the palmy days of Greece and Rome. Even the University of
Paris at one time refused to admit a student who had not foresworn the
study of surgery, while the denouncement of anatomy and surgery alike
was promulgated by both papal bulls and clerical decrees. While many
of the physicians considered surgery too burdensome a study, and many
others had a severe prejudice against it, the principal cause operating
to keep them apart was probably the fact that for surgeons there was
absolutely no social position. In 1774 Mederer was made Professor of
Surgery in Freiburg, in Breisgau; he delivered his opening address
on the wisdom and necessity of combining medicine and surgery. As a
result he was persecuted by the public, insulted by students, abused by
surgeons and constantly threatened with personal assault. He maintained
his position, however, and fought against the prejudice. Twenty-two
years later, when he left Freiburg, he referred in his last lecture to
his early experience. By this time public opinion had been so changed
that the students serenaded him and humbly apologized for what their
predecessors had done. Mederer could then see the success of his
efforts in that the constitution of France contained a clause combining
medicine and surgery, and the Royal Sanitary Commissioners of Vienna
had unanimously resolved in favor of such union.

The movement begun by Mederer was continued by men like Richter, Von
Siebold, Loder and others. In 1797, or over a hundred years ago, the
Electoral Academy of Erfurt offered a prize for the best essay on
the subject "Is it necessary and possible to combine medicine and
surgery theoretically as well as practically?" Fourteen papers were
submitted, of which twelve were in favor of union. Nevertheless the
Academy awarded the prize to the only writer who had opposed such
union. His reasons for such opposition were most puerile, as were all
the arguments subsequently advanced against it. Nevertheless a great
step was taken in advance, when the guilds and fraternities of barbers
and bathkeepers were abolished, in which good work Vienna, in 1783,
took the lead. It was then declared that shaving was the business of
the hair-dresser, and that barber surgeons must attend lectures in
surgery and anatomy. Bavaria followed in 1804, and four years later,
in Prussia, no one was permitted to practice surgery without having
studied medicine. The rules of 1786 regulating the respective positions
and duties between physicians and surgeons were annulled in 1808, and
by 1811 the barber license was no longer essential for the practice of
surgery, the privileges of the barber, as such, being abolished, while
for his trade only a common license was needed.




XII

THE STORY OF THE DISCOVERY OF THE CIRCULATION

A STUDY OF THE TIMES AND LABORS OF WILLIAM HARVEY[9]

[9] Address delivered at the Annual Commencement of the Medical
Department of the University of Chicago, (Rush Medical College), June
13, 1906.


History in general is but a record of the succession of great events
or epochs which have moulded the world's affairs. That which is of the
greatest import in the life of the individual may count for little in
the lives of his contemporaries, and yet it must be said that in the
events of to-day there has occurred a great epoch in the life of each
of you, presumably the most important as yet in your personal records.
This day is then in your personal histories one of the greatest
importance. It is desirable, therefore, that your lives be so moulded
and influenced by it that you may long hence look back to it and recall
its significance.

I do not know what advice I can give you which will be more fruitful
of results, than that among your studies you include that of the
lives of the great men who have moulded destiny and made the world's
history. Their lives were modified by little things, as have been and
will be yours, and yet out of small matters grew for them and for us
some of the most far reaching effects. Select the really great men of
whom you best happen to know and analyze their characters that you may
appreciate how they have become great; while if they have, as all great
men have, traits of smallness, study even wherein they are small, and
how such faults may be avoided.

History runs as does a fairly steady stream, save that every now and
then some event abruptly diverts its course or influences its current.
It has been so, for instance, with the history of medicine. For the
first sixteen hundred years of the Christian era men engaged in the
crude practices of our profession, utterly ignorant of the course of
the blood, as well as of its purposes. Then appeared upon the scene a
man who did his own thinking, who was willing to free himself from the
shackles of the past, to observe nature and to reason therefrom. In
this way came suddenly upon the world, as it were, an appreciation of
the Circulation of the Blood, than which perhaps no event in medical
history has been of greater importance or reflected more credit upon
its demonstrator.

It is my purpose, then, to-day to try to tell you, in a semipopular
way, how William Harvey came to make this great discovery, as well as
to give you some idea of the difficulties under which he worked, and of
the men and influences that surrounded him, believing that rather than
spend a half hour in humorous platitudes which may provoke a smile,
but which are quickly forgotten, it is much better to try to implant
something which may linger a while in your memories, and sufficiently
impress you with the value of observation and inductive reasoning,
since if you become thus fully impressed you will be spared in the
future many sad errors of speech and even of thought.

Before telling the story of Harvey's life and work let us study for a
few moments the general condition of affairs in Europe, in order that
we may better understand the men whose influence surrounded him, as
well as the spirit of the times and men's habits of thought.

Among the monarchs reigning in various parts of Europe during Harvey's
time there were, for instance, in that part of the Empire of the West
which was called Germany, Rudolph II, Matthias and Ferdinand. In
Sweden reigned King Sigismund, Charles IX, the great monarch Gustavus
Adolphus, and Queen Christine. In Prussia the throne had been occupied
by Joachim, George William and Frederick William, as electors, this
being before the days of the Prussian kings. In Russia the Czars Boris
Godunow, Michael Theodore and Alexis had occupied the throne.

France had but recently passed through the inhuman butchery of the
massacre of St. Bartholomew and its accompanying persecution of the
Huguenots, under Charles IX, who expressed the hope that not a single
Huguenot would be left alive to reproach him with the deed, but who
died himself soon after the massacre, which is said to have caused
him bitter remorse. Charles had been succeeded by his brother Henry
III, a weak, fickle and vicious monarch, whose weakness caused him
to be embroiled in civil strife, which was only concluded by his own
assassination at the hands of a Dominican friar. Then came Henry IV, he
of Navarre, afterwards surnamed The Great, who fought the famous battle
of Ivry in 1590, and who reigned for twenty-one years, the greatest
and most popular sovereign who ever occupied the throne of France.
Notwithstanding his noble qualities he did not succeed in preserving
his court from many of the contaminations of the age, and in his reign
it is said that no less than 4,000 French gentlemen were killed in
duels, chiefly arising out of quarrels about women. He was succeeded by
Louis XIII, who was still on the throne when Harvey died.

In Harvey's own country James I was occupying the throne when Harvey
appeared upon the scene. He was that royal pedant whom the Duke of
Sully pronounced "the wisest fool in Europe." After his death, and when
Charles I ascended the throne during his twenty-fifth year, in 1625,
Harvey was preparing to publish his great work. It was this Charles I
who retained as a favorite the worthless scoundrel Buckingham, whose
misconduct in Spain prevented the proposed marriage of the king with
the Spanish Infanta and brought about the Civil War. It was because
of the cost of this war, and of the king's disputes with Parliament
regarding the matter, that England was rent between the conflicts of
the Cavaliers and the Roundheads, two of the consequences of this
intestine strife being the execution of the Earl of Strafford and of
Archbishop Laud. The troubles thus engendered finally cost the life of
the king himself, who was beheaded in 1649. Harvey even lived to see
the first half of the short tenure of office of Cromwell as the Great
Protector, and was perhaps fortunate in dying before began the reign of
that odious profligate Charles II.

It is worth while to enquire for a moment what was doing on this side
of the ocean at this period which we have now under consideration. In
1607 Virginia was settled by the English, in 1614 New York, by the
Dutch, in 1620 Massachusetts and, three years later, New Hampshire,
by the English Puritans; in 1624 New Jersey, by the Dutch, in 1627
Delaware by Swedes and Finns, in 1630 Maine, by the English, in 1634
Maryland, by Irish Catholics, in 1635 Connecticut, by English Puritans.
Thus it will be seen that the active period of Harvey's life was
synchronous with the beginnings of our colonial activities. Very little
knowledge of what was going on in the then world of science was brought
to this country at this period of its existence, however, and it was
many years before in these colonies there were any exhibitions of
scientific interest save in extremely scattered and sporadic cases.

Among Harvey's literary associates were a number of celebrated English
poets, for example,--Marlowe (1593), Spenser (1598), Beaumont (1615),
Shakespeare (1615), Herbert (1635), Ben Jonson (1637), Massinger
(1639). Lord Bacon died a year or two after the appearance of Harvey's
book, while Baron Napier, the inventor of logarithms, had passed away.
His contemporaries in Italy, where he had studied, included Tasso
(1595) and Galileo (1645). Rubens had died in 1640, Michael Angelo in
1564 and Titian in 1576. In France, Calvin, the practical murderer of
Servetus, had passed away in 1564, Beza died in 1605, Descartes in
1650, Pascal in 1662 and Gassendi in 1655. Portugal had produced but
one great figure in the 16th century, namely Camoens, who died in 1579.
In Spain, Loyola, the ascetic and fanatic founder of the Jesuits, had
joined the great majority in 1556; but Cervantes did not die until
1616, Lope de Vega in 1635, Velasquez in 1660 and Calderon in 1667.

In Germany some great figures had but recently disappeared. Paracelsus
died in 1541, Copernicus in 1543, Luther in 1546, Hans Holbein in
1554, and Melancthon in 1560. Mercator, who introduced a new method of
cartography, died in 1594, Tycho Brahe in 1601, Keppler in 1631, Van
Dyck in 1641, Grotius, the great scholar, in 1645, Rembrandt in 1668
and Spinoza in 1677.

In philosophy, scepticism was the prevailing doctrine in the time of
Harvey. It had been founded a hundred years previously by Montaigne,
and continued by Charron, the chaplain of Queen Margaret of Navarre,
who died in 1603, and who declared all religion to be opposed to human
reason;--a remarkable attitude for a chaplain to assume. Opposed to the
scepticism of Harvey's day was the mystic, Cabalistic or supernatural
philosophy especially represented by Böhme, a peasant shoemaker,
uneducated and yet wonderfully gifted. He had been the philosophical
colleague of that great Meistersinger, Hans Sachs. Later philosophers
and thinkers, yet belonging to Harvey's time, were Pascal, the great
Jansenist, who discovered the variations of atmospheric pressure at
different levels, and Malebranche, who figures prominently in the
history of philosophy.

Descartes, who died in 1650, held the pineal gland to be the seat of
the soul. He was the discoverer of the laws of refraction of light
and furnished the explanation for the rainbow. He attained greatest
eminence in mathematics, physics and philosophy, and was one of
the inventors of modern algebra. One of his greatest opponents was
that noble Jew, Spinoza, whose colleagues had expelled him from the
Sanhedrim to the sound of the trombone.

The Italian Dominican Campanella, who died in 1639, considered
the foundation of knowledge to be supernatural revelation and its
perception by the senses. In spite of these views he came before The
Inquisition on a charge of heresy and of cooperation with the Turks,
was tortured by the rack, and imprisoned for thirty years.

The mystic or Cabalistic notions of Harvey's day have just been
mentioned. Under them we may recognize many degenerate products and
amalgamations of the real doctrines of Paracelsus. The doctrines of
the Rosicrucians, as well as of Zoroaster and the Cabala, were revived
and made to do strange work. There was, for instance, that Sir Kenelm
Digby, who died in 1605, a King's chamberlain, who posed among the
English as a so-called Rosicrucian. It was he who suggested the famous
"_sympathetic powder_," which was to be applied to the weapon by which
a wound had been inflicted, after which the _weapon_ was anointed and
dressed two or three times a day, while the wound itself was carefully
bound up with dressings and left alone for a week. This was perhaps
much the better course, but it will show what strange notions prevailed
in those days.

What it meant to run counter to ecclesiastical policy and theological
dogma appears not only in such tragedies as terminated the lives
of Bruno and many other martyrs to science, but in such facts as
these; for instance, when in 1624, just when Harvey was preparing to
publish his work, some young chemists in Paris, seeing the benefit
of the experimental method, broke away from Aristotle and the canons
of theological reasoning, the faculty of theology appealed to the
Parliament of Paris, which latter prohibited all such researches, under
the severest penalties.

This was the time too when such exhibitions as the following were
altogether too frequent;--One Quaresimo, of Lodi, came out with
a ponderous work entitled "A Historical, Theological and Moral
Explanation of the Holy Land," in which he devoted great space to the
question of The Dead Sea and the salt pillar supposed to represent
Lot's wife, dividing a long chapter upon the subject into three parts,
dealing with the method and the locality of this transformation and the
question of the existence at that time of her saline remains. Thus,
with his peculiar powers of reasoning, he was able to decide the exact
point where the saline change took place, and finally showed that the
statue _was still in existence_.

Lord Bacon was also an older contemporary of Harvey, having been born
in 1561 and dying in 1626, shortly after the appearance of Harvey's
great work. His services to analytic science need no description here,
but it is worth while to remember that Harvey, like many others, must
have come under his influence and have profited by his teachings in
logic and analysis.

At about the time when Harvey made known his discovery Bacon was
publishing his views of the laws of transmission and reflection of
sound. Great man as he was, with a keen foresight into the value of
the recent inventions of the compass, gun-powder and printing, he
nevertheless was himself so narrow, in some respects, that he placed
but little value upon the discovery of Copernicus. He, however, paved
the way for one in some respects still greater, namely Isaac Newton,
who, however, had scarcely attained man's stature when Harvey died.

How much we owe to the two great Bacons of history one cannot indicate
in this short résumé. Roger Bacon (1214-1292) seems to have been the
first great thinker along truly scientific lines. He was more than a
mere chemist while, as White says, more than three centuries before
Francis Bacon _advocated_ the experimental method Roger Bacon had
_practised_ it, and in many directions. He did more than anyone else
in the middle ages to direct thought into fruitful paths, and only
now are we finding out how nearly he reached some of the principal
doctrines of modern philosophy and chemistry. Most important of all,
his methods were even greater than his results, and this at a time
when "theological subtilizing" was the only passport to reputation for
scholarship.

It was Avicenna, the Arabian, who perhaps first announced substantially
the modern theory of geology, accounting for changes in the earth's
surface by suggesting a stone-making force, but the presence of fossils
in the rocks had been always a thorn in the sides of the theologians.
It was Leonardo da Vinci, that versatile genius in science and art,
who, previous to Harvey's generation, suggested true notions as to the
origin of fossils, while, in Harvey's time, Bernard Palissy, another
artist, vehemently contended for their correctness. Still, even at
Harvey's death, neither geology nor paleontology had come anywhere near
scientific accuracy.

The _Academia dei Lyncei_, so-called from its seal, which bore the
image of a fox, was founded in Rome in 1603. In France The Academy
of Science was not founded until 1665, in Germany The Society of
Naturalists and Physicians in 1652, and the British Royal Society in
1665.

In matters of general interest it may be worth while to say that in
architecture the general style of The Renaissance was changed for the
more substantial Barocco, while the more formal and limited style of
church music had given away to musical drama, i. e., opera, albeit
in very crude form. The first newspaper had appeared at Antwerp in
1605, the first German paper being published in Frankfort in 1615, and
The London Weekly News making its first appearance in 1620. Tobacco,
which had been brought over by Raleigh in 1560, had come into quite
general use, while coffee, tea and chocolate had gained in public
esteem. When coffee was first introduced in England it sold for about
$28 a pound. The first coffee house appears to have been established
in Constantinople, in the middle of the 16th century, while the first
coffee house in London was not opened until a century later.

The barbers still retained their ascendency, and the bath keepers had
scarcely lost their position next to the barbers. It was not until
Harvey had reached a ripe age that the barbers were required in Germany
to pass an examination, in which they had to prove not only their
knowledge but the legitimacy of their birth, and the fact that they
had studied for three years and had worked for three years more as
apprentices.

Anatomy was studied quite generally, sometimes upon human bodies. A
dissecting room had been established in Dresden in 1617, in which
stuffed bears, at that time a great rarity, were preserved with other
curiosities. In 1623 Rolfink, at Jena, arranged for public dissection
upon the bodies of all executed malefactors, delegates being present
thereat from various other institutions. It is worth while to mention
that in Frankfort, for instance, during the expiration of 65 years, but
seven dissections were made, and that these were always accompanied
by a celebration which lasted several days. Vienna did not possess a
skeleton in 1668, and Strassburg did not have one until 1671. Yet it is
of interest to remember that the anatomical plates, like those often
published to-day, which are meant to be lifted off in layers, existed
even at this period. On the other hand, botanical gardens and chemical
laboratories existed in several of the universities,--in Strassburg,
for instance, in 1619,--in Oxford in 1622.

Fabricius Hildanus, the father of German surgery, or, as he has
been sometimes called, the Ambroise Paré, of Germany, was also a
contemporary of Harvey's. His real name was Fabry and he was born in
Hilden, but he latinized his name into that form usually adopted to-day.

Scultetus was another famous surgeon of the same period.

William Gilbert, 1540-1603, had been the talented physician of Queen
Elizabeth, and was among the first to study the experimental method.
With the appearance of his book upon the magnet, in 1600, began the
science of electricity and magnetism. He was the first to teach the
fact that the earth itself was a great magnet and he distinguished
between magnetic and electric reactions. Later the great Dutch
anatomist, Ruysch, afforded corroboration of Harvey's views by
another method, when he invented and practised those beautiful minute
injections of the vascular system which made him so famous, and built
up that great collection of specimens which Peter the Great bought for
Russia at an expense of about $75,000.

Contemporary with Harvey also was Swammerdam, one of the most versatile
men of his time, famous as naturalist, savant, physiologist, linguist
and poet. It was during the fifteenth century that astronomy began to
assume an importance and degree of accuracy never hitherto known. This
was due very largely to the independence of thought and the researches
of Copernicus, who was born in Cremona in 1477, and who studied
medicine in Krakau and astronomy in Vienna. He lived to the age of 70
and was the real father of the heliocentric theory, now known as the
Copernician system, which he substituted for the previous Ptolemaic
theory, thus reversing the ancient idea that the sun circled about
the earth. Copernicus demonstrated the phases of the moon, but his
opponents claimed that if this doctrine were true Venus would exhibit
the same phenomena; to which he replied that it was true, though he
knew not what to say to these objections, but that God was good and
would in time furnish answer to them. It was Galileo's crude telescope
which, in Harvey's younger day, in 1611, furnished this answer and
revealed the phases of Venus. To illustrate how the views of Copernicus
were received we might add here that Martin Luther paid his compliments
to him by declaring that Copernicus was a fool who wished to stand
astronomy upon its head.

Copernicus was succeeded by Galileo, who was born in 1554 in Pisa,
and died 1642. He may be called the creator of dynamic astronomy
and mechanics, as well as one of the most brilliant exponents of
experimental and inductive reasoning. He was of noble birth and was, in
fact, the torch bearer of physics at the period of The Renaissance. He
gave up speculation and substituted for it the habit of observation,
reaping a large harvest of surprising facts, any one of which might
have immortalized him. He not only established the movements of the
earth on its own axis as well as around the sun, which Copernicus
had shown, but he discovered the weight of the atmosphere and first
calculated the law of gravity. He and his successors were governed
always by that aphorism which is to-day as true as ever: "Experience is
deceptive and judgment difficult."

In 1615 when he was before The Inquisition, at Rome, and when its
theologians had examined statements extracted from his letters, they
solemnly rendered their decision in these words: "The first proposition
that the sun is the centre and does not revolve about the earth is
foolish, absurd, false in theology and heretical, because expressly
contrary to The Holy Scripture. The second proposition that the earth
is not the centre, but revolves about the sun, is absurd, false in
philosophy and, from a theological point of view, at least, opposed to
the true faith." This for a pronunciamento from the _infallible_ Church!

Galileo and Bruno have by some writers both been made to stand in an
unpleasant light because of their recantation or shifting position
before The Inquisition. Bruno was the greatest philosopher and sceptic
of the latter part of the 16th century, and had outlined, withal
somewhat vaguely, that which is now known as the nebular hypothesis.
He was murdered by The Inquisition in 1600, and the views which he
enunciated seem to have been buried with him, not to reappear until
long after his sad fate had been consummated. He had, for instance,
contended for the truths of the Copernican doctrine, but it was not
until ten years after his martyrdom that Galileo proved it with his
telescope. That both these great men yielded in some respects to the
influences of The Inquisition and renounced some of their scientific
"heresies" is largely to be excused by the fact that they were both
old, broken in health from the sufferings which they had endured, as
well as from their disappointments, and that they had been, under
these circumstances, handed over to that Inquisition which knew no
mercy. Galileo could well remember the _auto da fê_ in the Piazza
dei Fiore, in Rome, the scene of Bruno's martyrdom, as well as the
tragic end of many another who had dared to have the courage of his
convictions. Let us, then, not judge him harshly, but be grateful
even that the enormous power of The Inquisition did not and could not
suppress the truth.

Galileo's discovery of the satellites of Jupiter, the rings of Saturn,
his experiments with the pendulum, his construction of the telescope,
as well as of the thermometer, and many other deeds, have stamped him
as one of the great figures in the history of progress and science. It
is most interesting to note that this contemporary of Harvey's, like
himself, was given to inductions obtained from experimental studies.
Another great astronomical light of Harvey's time was Keppler, who was
driven from one place to another by religious fanaticism, until he
ended his life in 1630. It was he who formulated the great principle
which underlies the motions of the planets, and who gave to the world
his so-called "laws," which so materially advanced the science of
astronomy. It was he who really discovered that comet which was later
given Hailey's name, whose periodic return he first foretold.

Such was the spirit of the times in which Harvey lived, and such
the influences which surrounded his teachers before him and himself
in turn. It makes a long preface to a consideration of what Harvey
himself accomplished, but it is not without its interest because men
and their deeds must be judged largely by their environment. Now, to
speak more particularly of Harvey himself, and what was known of the
circulation when he undertook his investigations.

The liver had been considered, from time immemorial, as the principal
factor in the production and movement of the blood. The ancients
supposed that here the veins took their origin and that through them
the blood flowed to all parts of the body, returning to its source by
an undulating movement or series of alternate waves. The arteries had
been supposed to contain only vital spirits, whose great reservoir was
the heart, although Erasistratus had admitted that in certain cases
blood might escape into the arterial channels. Later Galen showed that
the arteries always contained blood, and he knew that blood was poured
into the right side of the heart by the great veins, but believed that
only a little of it passed from the right ventricle into the lungs, the
greater part of it passing through hypothetical pores in the septum
and thus into the left ventricle. This opinion, like Galen's in other
respects, remained unchanged until the middle of the 16th century.
It was also known that valves existed within the veins, and that if
an artery were tied on a living animal blood would cease to flow and
pulsation be checked below the ligature, while if a vein were tied it
shrunk above the ligature and became distended below.

Three men before Harvey's time came very near to discovering the secret
that made him famous; in fact, they made such advances on what was
already known that history should accord them a distinguished place.
One was _Columbus_, who was born at Cremona in 1490, and died in 1559.
He was first a pupil and prosector and then a friend of Vesalius, the
great anatomist. Later he succeeded him at The University of Padua
and unfortunately, after gaining his position, ungratefully turned
upon his old teacher. He was, however, for his day a good anatomist
and especially a good osteologist. It was he who first demonstrated
experimentally that blood passes through the lungs into the pulmonary
veins and that the latter connect with the left ventricle. He thus
practically established the fact of the lesser circulation. He
suffered, however, as did Servetus, from the prevailing notion that
spirits and blood were mixed together. From Padua Columbus went to
Pisa, and then to Rome. He wrote with elegance and correctness of style
and even described the vessels which penetrate the bone cells, the
ossicles of the ear, the minute anatomy of the teeth, the ventricles
of the larynx, as well as those valves which prevent the return of
blood from the lungs to the heart. In fact, he narrowly missed the
significance of the actual facts of the case, simply failing in his
final analysis and assembling of those facts which he had already
demonstrated.

_Cesalpinus_, who lived a little later, came still nearer the mark,
having accepted the teachings of Columbus regarding the course of
the blood through the lungs. He added that the ultimate arterial
branches connect with those of the veins, and he taught that blood
and vital spirits, from which the ancients could never separate
themselves, passed from the arteries into the veins during sleep, as
was demonstrated by the swelling of the veins and the diminution of the
pulse at that time.

A little later came _Michael Servetus_, who figures principally in
history as a theologian and a victim of theologians, since he perished
a martyr to Calvin's jealousy. He was, in effect, a wisely and widely
educated man who did a great deal for science, one of the offences
attributed to him being an edition of Ptolemy's geography, in which
Judea was described as a barren and inhospitable land instead of one
"flowing with milk and honey." This simple statement of a geographical
fact was made a tremendous weapon of offence by Calvin, who replied
that even if Servetus had only quoted from Ptolemy and, although
there were ample geographical proofs, it nevertheless "unnecessarily
inculpated Moses and grievously outraged The Holy Ghost." Servetus
dared to deny the passage of the blood through the septum of the heart,
and contended that that which comes into the right side was distributed
to the lung and returned to the left ventricle. He published his views,
however, in a religious treatise on Errors concerning The Trinity, a
most unfortunate place in which to inject such an important fact,
since it gave his enemies a still greater opportunity to vent and
ventilate their spleen. Had he been able to leave out that notion of
vital spirits, which prevailed with all his predecessors, he might
actually have made the great discovery left for Harvey to enunciate.
I have not been able to refer to original documents in this matter,
but it is claimed by some that his description of the circulation was
contained in another religious work concerning the Restitution of
Christianity, which was printed in Nuremberg in 1790.

Such was the actual state of knowledge concerning the movements of the
blood and the functions of the heart when Harvey published his great
work. It behooves us now to proceed with a short account of Harvey's
own life and researches.

_William Harvey_ was born at Folkestone on the first of April, 1578. He
was the eldest son of a prosperous merchant who raised a large family
and who occupied the highest positions of honor in his own town. The
son William was born to his second wife, by whom he had seven sons and
two daughters. All of these children were helped to remunerative or
honorable positions. They became merchants or politicians or secured
prominence in some way, but William was the only one to study medicine.
He was sent to the King's school at Canterbury, in 1588, and he was
admitted at Caius, in Cambridge, in 1593, where he graduated in arts
in 1597. The following year he went to Padua, which then had one of
the greatest medical schools of the time, and he obtained his medical
diploma in 1602, when twenty-four years of age. Returning to England he
received a doctor's degree at Cambridge, and shortly afterward married
a daughter of a London physician and entered upon the practice of
medicine in London.

In the great city his practice as a physician seems to have been from
the outset successful, and his knowledge and ability procured him
various valuable appointments. He was made a Fellow of The College
of Physicians in 1607. This Royal College of Physicians was given a
grant of incorporation by Henry VIII in 1518, at the intercession of
Chambers, Linacre and Ferdinand Victoria, the King's Physicians, it
being under the patronage of Cardinal Wolsey. The first meetings were
held at Linacre's house which he bequeathed to the corporation at his
death. Until this College was founded practitioners of medicine were
licensed to practise by the Bishop of London or by the Dean of St.
Paul's.

A few years later Harvey was appointed Physician-Extraordinary to King
James I, and later yet, after the publication of his great treatise
and its dedication to the King, he was made Physician-in-Ordinary to
Charles I, whom he attended during the Civil Wars.

It must have been about 1615 when Harvey first began expounding his
views on the circulation of the blood, during lectures which were
delivered at The College of Physicians, but it was not until thirteen
years later, i. e., in 1628, that his great work DE MOTU CORDIS
was published in Latin, as was customary among scholars, and at
Frankfort-on-the-Main, since that was then the great center of the book
publishing trade.

The treatise was dedicated to King Charles I, in a manner which to us
would seem servile, and yet which was according to a custom followed
by nearly all of the scholars of the day, who desired to attract not
only the attention of royalty, but, in most instances, their benevolent
assistance. It is worth while to quote at this point the first sentence
or two of his dedication:

           "To the
  Most Serene and Invincible
           CHARLES,
  of Great Britain, France and Ireland,
  KING: DEFENDER of the FAITH,
         Most Serene King,

"The heart of animals is the basis of their life, the principle of
the whole, the Sun of their Microcosm, that upon which all movement
depends, from which all strength proceeds. The King in like manner
is the basis of his Kingdom, the Sun of his World, the heart of the
Commonwealth, whence all power derives, all grace appears. What I have
here written of the movements of the heart I am the more emboldened to
present to your Majesty, according to the Custom of the present age,
because nearly all things human are done after human examples and many
things in the King are after the pattern of the heart."

The dedication was followed by a Proemium which one may hardly read
to-day without emotion. In it he sets forth the mystery that has
surrounded the subject of the motion and function of the heart, as well
as the attendant difficulties of the subject, speaking of his own early
despair that he would ever be able to clear up the subject. He even
said that at one time he found the matter so beset with difficulties
that he was inclined to agree with Fracastorius "that the movements of
the heart and their purpose could be comprehended by God alone." Only
later was this despair dispelled by a suggestion when, as he says: "I
began to think whether there might not be a movement in a circle" when
thus the truth dawned fully upon him.

We shall have to speak later of the opposition provoked by the
appearance of this work and its almost general rejection. It is
perhaps, however, but just to those who disputed Harvey's discoveries
to recall that no complete and actual demonstration of the actual
circulation was possible at that time, nor for many years after, and
until the introduction of the microscope, the common magnifying glass
of that day being the only lens in use. It remained for Malpighi to
demonstrate the blood actually in circulation in the lung of a frog
some three or four years after Harvey's death, in 1657. But Harvey
lived long enough to see his views gain general acceptance, and
though at first, and as the result of the opposition provoked by his
publication, his practice fell off mightily, he later regained his
professional position and rose to the highest eminence, being elected
in 1654 to the Presidency of the College of Physicians. To this
institution he proved a great benefactor, making considerable additions
to the building after its destruction in The Great Fire of 1666 and
its subsequent restoration. He also left a certain sum of money as a
foundation for an annual oration, to be delivered in commemoration
of those who had been great benefactors of the College. This oration
is still regularly delivered on St. Luke's Day, i. e., the 18th of
October, and is ordinarily known as the Harveian oration. In these
orations more or less reference to Harvey's work and influence is
always made.

This great man passed away on the 3d of June, 1657, within ten months
of his eightieth birthday, thus affording a brilliant exception to the
list of men who have rendered great service to the world and not lived
long enough to see it appreciated.

As one reads Harvey's own words, the wonder ever grows that it should
have remained for him, after the lapse of so many centuries, to not
only call attention to what had been said by Galen but apparently
forgotten by his successors, namely, that "the arteries contained blood
and nothing but blood, and, consequently, neither spirits nor air,
as may be readily gathered from experiments and reasonings," which
he elsewhere furnishes. He furthermore shows how Galen demonstrated
this by applying two ligatures upon an exposed artery at some distance
from each other, and then opening the vessel itself in which nothing
but blood could be found. He calls attention also to the result of
ligation of one of the large vessels of an extremity, the inevitable
result being just what we to-day know it must be, and the procedure
terminating with gangrene of the limb.

Not long before Harvey's own publication, Fabricius, he of
Aquapendente, had published a work on respiration, stating that, as
the pulsation of the heart and arteries was insufficient for the
ventilation and refrigeration of the blood, therefore were the lungs
fashioned to surround the heart. Harvey showed how the arterial pulse
and respiration could not serve the same ends, combating the view
generally held, that if the arteries were filled with air, a larger
quantity of air penetrating when the pulse is large and full, it
must come to pass that if one plunge into a bath of water or of oil
when the pulse is strong and full it should forthwith become either
smaller or much slower, since the surrounding fluid would render it
either difficult or impossible for air to penetrate. He also called
attention to the inconsistencies between this view and the arrangement
of the prenatal circulation; also to the fact that marine animals,
living in the depths of the sea, could under no circumstances take
in or emit air by the movements of their arteries and beneath the
infinite mass of waters, inasmuch as "to say that they absorb the air
that is present in the water and emit their fumes into this medium,
were to utter something very like a figment;" furthermore "when the
windpipe is divided, air enters and returns through the wound by two
opposite movements, but when an artery is divided blood escapes in one
continuous stream and no air passes."

Discussing further the views which he stigmatized as so incongruous
and mutually subversive that every one of them is justly brought
under suspicion, he reverts again to the statements of Galen, calling
attention to the fact that from a single divided artery the whole of
the blood of the body may be withdrawn in the course of half an hour
or less, and to the inevitable consequences of such an act; also that
when an artery is opened the blood is emptied with force and in jets,
and that the impulse corresponds with that of the heart; again that in
an aneurism the pulsation is the same as in other arteries, appealing
for corroboration in this matter to the recent statements of Riolan,
who later became his avowed enemy. Harvey also called attention to the
fact that while ordinarily there was a seemingly fixed relation between
respiration and pulse-rate, this might vary very much under certain
circumstances, showing that respiration and circulation were two
totally different processes. Harvey utilized also the results of his
researches in comparative anatomy and physiology, for early in his work
he called attention to the fact that every animal which is unfurnished
with lungs lacks a right ventricle.

In his Proemium he then proceeds to ask certain very pertinent
questions which can only be briefly summarized in this place. He asks:
First, why, inasmuch as the structure of both ventricles is practically
identical, it should be imagined that their uses are different, and
why, if tricuspid valves are placed at the entrance into the right
ventricle and prove obstacles to the return of blood into vena cava,
and if similar valves are situated at the commencement of the pulmonary
artery, preventing return of blood into the ventricle, then why, when
similar valves are found in connection with the other side of the
heart, should we deny that they are there for the same purpose of
prevention "here the egress" and "there the regurgitation of the blood?"

Secondly, he asks why, in view of the similarity of these structures,
it should be said that things are arranged in the left ventricle for
the egress and regress of spirits, and in the right ventricle for those
of blood?

Thirdly, he enquires why, when one notes the resemblance between the
passages and vessels connected with the opposite sides of the heart,
one should regard one side as destined to a private purpose, namely,
that of nourishing the lungs, the other to a more public function?
Furthermore, he enquires, since the lungs are so near, and in continual
movement, and the vessels supplying them of such dimensions, what can
be the use of the pulse of the right ventricle, which he had often
observed in the course of his experiments? He sums up his inability
to accept the explanations previously offered with a phrase which
reads rather strangely, even in original Latin: "Deus bone! Quomodo
tricuspides impediunt aëris egressum, non sanguinis." i. e., "Good God!
how should the mitral valves prevent the regurgitation of air and not
of blood?"

He then takes up the views of those who have believed that the blood
oozed through the septum of the heart from the right to the left side
by certain secret pores, and to them he replied "By Hercules, no such
pores can be demonstrated, nor, in fact, do any such exist." Again,
"Besides, if the blood could permeate the substance of the septum,
or could be emptied from the ventricles, what use were there for the
coronary artery and vein, branches of which proceed to the septum
itself, to supply it with nourishment?"

Further on in the treatise Harvey sets forth his motives for writing,
stating how greatly unsettled had become his mind in that he did not
know what he himself should conclude nor what to believe from others.
He says: "I was not surprised that Laurentius should have written that
the movements of the heart were as perplexing as the flux and reflux
of Euripus had appeared to Aristotle." He apologizes for the crime,
as some of his friends considered it, that he should dare to depart
from the precepts and opinions of all anatomists. He acknowledged
that he took the step all the more willingly, seeing that Fabricius,
who had accurately and learnedly delineated almost every one of the
several parts of animals in a special work, had left the heart entirely
untouched.

Passing more directly to the actual work of the heart, he shows that
not only are the ventricles contracted by virtue of the muscular
structure of their own walls, but further that those fibers or bands,
styled "Nerves" by Aristotle, that are so conspicuous in the ventricles
of larger animals when they contract simultaneously, by an admirable
adjustment, help to draw together all the internal surfaces as if
with cords, thus expelling the charge of contained blood with force.
Later on he says that if the pulmonary artery be opened, blood will
be seen spurting forth from it, just as when any other artery is
punctured, and that the same result follows division of the vessel
which in fishes leads from the heart. He furnishes a very happy simile
to prove that the pulses of the arteries are due to the impulses of
the left ventricle by showing how, when one blows into a glove all of
its fingers will be found to have become distended at one and the same
time. He quotes Aristotle, who made no distinction between veins and
arteries, but said that the blood of all animals palpitates within
their vessels and by the pulse is sent everywhere simultaneously, all
of this depending upon the heart.

It is in Chapter Five of the treatise that he gives, probably for the
first time, an accurate published account of just what transpires with
one complete cycle of cardiac activity. The passage need not be quoted
here, but deserves to be read by everyone interested in the subject,
as who should not be? One sentence, however, is worth quotation or,
at least, a summary, as follows: "But if the divine Galen will here
allow, as in other places he does, that all the arteries of the body
arise from the great artery, and that this takes its origin from the
heart; that all the vessels naturally contain and carry blood; that the
three semilunar valves situated at the orifice of the aorta prevent the
return of the blood into the heart, and that they were here for some
important purpose,--I do not see how he can deny that the great artery
is the very vessel to carry the blood, when it has attained its highest
triumph of perfection, from the heart for distribution to all parts of
the body."

His Chapter Six deals with the course by which blood is carried from
the right into the left ventricle, and here one must admire the large
number of experimental demonstrations which Harvey had undertaken upon
all classes of animals, for he speaks even of that which occurs in
small insects, whose circulation he had studied so far as he could with
the simple lens. Furthermore he described the prenatal circulation,
omitting practically nothing of that which is taught to-day, showing
that in embryos, while the lungs are yet in a state of inaction, both
ventricles of the heart are employed, as if they were but one, for
the transmission of blood. In concluding this chapter he again states
briefly the course of the blood, and promises to show, first, that this
may be so and, then, to prove that it really is so.

His Chapter Seven is devoted to showing how the blood passes through
the substance of the lungs from the right ventricle and then on into
the pulmonary vein and left ventricle. He alludes to the multitude of
doubters as belonging, as the poet had said, to that race of men who,
when they will, assent full readily, and when they will not, by no
matter of means; who, when their assent is wanted, fear, and when it is
not, fear not to give it. A little later on he says: "As there are some
who admit nothing unless upon authority, let them learn that the truth
I am contending for can be confirmed from Galen's own words, namely,
that not only may the blood be transmitted from the pulmonary artery
into the pulmonary veins and then into the left ventricle of the heart,
but that this is effected by the ceaseless pulsation of the heart and
the movements of the lungs in breathing." He then shows how Galen
explained the uses of the valves and the necessity for their existence,
as well as the universal mutual anastomosis of the arteries with the
veins, and that the heart is incessantly receiving and expelling blood
by and from its ventricles, for which purpose it is furnished with four
sets of valves, two for escape and two for inlet and their regulation.

Harvey then noted a well-known clinical fact, that the more frequent
or forcible the pulsations, the more speedily might the body be
deprived of its blood during hemorrhage, and that it thus happens that
in fainting fits and the like, when the heart beats more languidly,
hemorrhages are diminished and arrested. The balance of the book is
practically devoted to further demonstration and corroboration of
statements already made. A study of this work of Harvey's illustrates
how much respect even he and his contemporaries still showed for the
authority of Galen. It shows still further how nearly Galen came
to the actual truth concerning the circulation. Had the latter not
adopted too many of the notions of his predecessors concerning the
nature of the soul (Anima) and the spirits (Pneuma) of man, he might
himself have anticipated Harvey by a thousand years, and by such
announcement of a great truth have set forward physiology by an equal
period. Independent and original as Harvey showed himself, he seems to
have failed to get away from the notion of the vapors and spiritual
nature of the blood which he had inherited from the writings of Galen
and many others. Nevertheless he also alludes to this same blood as
alimentive and nutritive. We must not forget, however, that this was
years before Priestly's discovery of oxygen and that Harvey had, like
others, no notion of the actual purpose of the lungs, believing that
the purification and revivification of the blood was the office of the
heart itself.

Along with its other intrinsic merits Harvey's book possesses a clear
and logical arrangement, the author first disposing of the errors of
antiquity, describing next the behavior of the heart in the living
animal, showing its automatic pumplike structure, its alternate
contractions and the other phenomena already alluded to, thus piling
up facts one upon another in a manner which proved quite irresistible.
The only thing that he missed was the ultimate connection between the
veins and the arteries, i. e., the capillaries, which it remained for
Malpighi to discover with the then new and novel microscope, which he
did about 1657, showing the movement of the blood cells in the small
vessels, and confirming the reality of that ultimate communication
which had been held to exist. Malpighi discovered the blood corpuscles
in 1665, but it remained for Leeuwenhoek, of Delft, in 1690, by using
an improved instrument to demonstrate to all observers the actual
movements of the circulating blood in the living animal. One historian
has said that with Harvey's overthrow of the old teachings regarding
the importance of the liver and of the spirits in the heart "fell the
four fundamental humors and qualities" while Daremberg exclaims: "As
in one of the days of the creation, chaos disappeared and light was
separated from darkness."

It remains now only to briefly consider how Harvey's great discovery
was received. To quote the words of one writer: "So much care and
circumspection in search for truth, so much modesty and firmness in
its demonstration, so much clearness and method in the development of
his ideas, should have prepossessed everyone in favor of the theory
of Harvey; on the contrary, it caused a general stupefaction in the
medical world and gave rise to great opposition."

During the quarter of a century which elapsed after Harvey's
announcement there probably was not an anatomist nor physiologist
of any prominence who did not take active part in the controversy
engendered by it; even the philosopher Descartes was one of the first
adherents of the doctrine of the circulation, which he corroborated by
experiments of his own.

Two years after the appearance of Harvey's book appeared an attack,
composed in fourteen days by one Primerose, a man of Scotch descent,
born and educated in France, but practising at Hull, in which he
pronounced the impossibilities of surpassing the ancients or improving
on the work of Riolan, who already had written in opposition to Harvey,
and who was the only one to whom the latter vouchsafed an answer. It
was Riolan who procured a decree of the Faculty of Paris prohibiting
the teaching of Harvey's doctrine. It was this same Riolan who combated
with equal violence and obstinacy the other great discovery of the age,
namely,--the circulation of the lymph.

One of the earliest and fiercest adversaries of Harvey's theory was
Plempius, of Louvaine, who, however, gave way to the force of argument
and who finally publicly and voluntarily passed over to the ranks of
its defenders in 1652, becoming one of Harvey's most enthusiastic
advocates.

Harvey's conduct through the controversy was always of the most
dignified character; in fact, he rarely ventured to reply in any
way to his adversaries, believing in the ultimate triumph of the
truths which he had enunciated. His only noteworthy reply was one
addressed to Riolan, then Professor in the Paris Faculty and one of
the greatest anatomists of his age, to whose opinion great value was
always attached. Even in debating or arguing against him, Harvey always
spoke of him with great deference, calling him repeatedly The Prince of
Science. Riolan was, however, never converted, though whether he held
to his previous position from obstinacy, from excess of respect for the
ancients, or from envy and jealousy of his contemporary, is not known.

Another peculiar spectacle was afforded by one Parisunus, who died in
1643, a physician in Venice, who, like Harvey, had been a pupil of
Fabricius of Aquapendente, who had been stigmatized by Riolan as an
ignoramus in anatomy, but who joined with others in declaring that he
had seen the heart beat when perfectly bloodless, and that no beating
of the heart and no sounds were to be heard as Harvey had affirmed.

With the later and more minute studies into the structure and function
of the heart we are not here concerned. The endeavor has been rather
to place before you the sentiments, the knowledge and the habits of
thought of the men of Harvey's time, with the briefest possible epitome
of what they knew, or rather of how little they knew, to account for
this later slavish adherence to authority by unwillingness to reason
independently, or to observe natural phenomena intelligently, still
less to experiment with them. It is, then, rather the brief history
of an epochal discovery than an effort to trace out its far-reaching
consequences that I have endeavored to give.

Here must close an account which perhaps has been to you tedious, and
yet which is really brief, of Harvey's life and labors. He lived to see
his views generally accepted and to enjoy his own triumph, a pleasure
not attained by many great inventors or discoverers. Lessons of great
importance may be gathered from a more careful study of this great
historical epoch, but they must be left to your own powers of reasoning
rather than to what I may add here. I commend it to you as a fertile
source of inspiration, and a line of research worthy of both admiration
and imitation. Few men have rendered greater service to the world by
the shedding of blood than did Harvey, in his innocent and wonderful
studies of its natural movement. Perhaps it might be said of him that
he was the first man to show that "blood will tell." What he made it
tell has been thus briefly told to you.

I know not how I may better close this account than by quoting the
concluding words of his famous book, and especially repeating the lines
which he has quoted from some Latin author whom I have not been able to
identify. His paragraph and his quotation are as follows:

"Finally, if any use or benefit to this department of the republic of
letters should accrue from my labors, it will, perhaps, be allowed that
I have not lived idly, and, as the old man in the comedy says:

    'For never yet hath anyone attained
    To such perfection, but that time, and place,
    And use, have brought addition to his knowledge;
    Or made correction, or admonished him,
    That he was ignorant of much which he
    Had thought he knew; or led him to reject
    What he had once esteemed of highest price.'"




XIII

HISTORY OF ANAESTHESIA AND THE INTRODUCTION OF ANAESTHETICS IN
SURGERY[10]

[10] Commemorative Address delivered at the Medical Department,
University of Buffalo, October 16, 1896.

IN COMMEMORATION OF THE SEMI-CENTENNIAL OF THE INTRODUCTION OF ETHER AS
AN ANAESTHETIC AGENT


Fifty years ago to-day--that is to say, on the 16th of October,
1846,--there occurred an event which marks as distinct a step in human
progress as almost any that could be named by the erudite historian.
I refer to the first demonstration of the possibility of alleviating
pain during surgical operations. Had this been the date of a terrible
battle, on land or sea, with mutual destruction of thousands of human
beings, the date itself would have been signalized in literature and
would have been impressed upon the memory of every schoolboy, while the
names of the great military murderers who commanded the opposing armies
would have been emblasoned upon monuments and the pages of history. But
this event was merely the conquest of pain and the alleviation of human
suffering, and no one who has ever served his race by contributing to
either of these results has been remembered beyond his own generation
or outside the circle of his immediate influence. Such is the irony
of fate. The world erects imposing monuments or builds tombs, like
that of Napoleon, to the memory of those who have been the greatest
destroyers of their race; and so Cæsar, Hannibal, Genghis Khan, Richard
the Lion-hearted, Gustavus Vasa, Napoleon and hundreds of other great
military murderers have received vastly more attention, because of
their race-destroying propensities and abilities, than if they had ever
fulfilled fate in any other capacity. But the men like Sir Spencer
Wells, who has added his 40,000 years of life to the total of human
longevity, or like Sir Joseph Lister, who has shown our profession
how to conquer that arch enemy of time past, surgical sepsis, or like
Morton, who first publicly demonstrated how to bring on a safe and
temporary condition of insensibility to pain, are men more worthy in
our eyes of lasting fame, and much greater heroes of their times, and
of all time,--yet are practically unknown to the world at large, to
whom they have ministered in such an unmistakable and superior way.

This much, then, by way of preface and reason for commemorating in this
public way the semi-centennial of this really great event. Because
the world does scant honor to these men we should be all the more
mindful of their services, and all the more insistent upon their public
recognition.

Of all the achievements of the Anglo-Saxon race, I hold it true that
the two greatest and most beneficent were the discovery of ether and
the introduction of antiseptic methods,--one of which we owe to an
American, the other to a Briton.

The production of deep sleep and the usual accompanying abolition of
pain have been subjects which have ever appeared, in some form, in
myth or fable, and to which poets of all times have alluded, usually
with poetic license. One of the most popular of these fables connects
the famous oracle of Apollo, at Delphi, whence proceeded mysterious
utterances and inchoate sounds, with convulsions, delirium and
insensibility upon the part of those who approached it. To what extent
there is a basis of fact in this tradition can never be explained, but
it is not improbable from what we now know of hypnotic influence.

From all time it has been known that many different plants and herbs
contained principles which were narcotic, stupefying or intoxicating.
These properties have especially been ascribed to the juices of
the poppy, the deadly nightshade, henbane, the Indian hemp and the
mandrágora, which for us now is the true mandrake, whose juice has
long been known as possessing soporific influence. Ulysses and his
companions succumbed to the influence of _Nepenthe_; and, nineteen
hundred years ago, when crucifixion was a common punishment of
malefactors, it was customary to assuage their last hours upon the
cross by a draught of vinegar with gall or myrrh, which had real or
supposititious narcotic properties. Even the prophet Amos, seven
hundred years before the time of Christ, spoke of such a mixture as
this as "the wine of the condemned," for he says, in rehearsing the
iniquities of Israel by which they had incurred the anger of the
Almighty: "And they lay themselves down upon the clothes laid to pledge
by every altar, and they drink the wine of the condemned in the house
of their God," (Chap. II, verse 8), meaning thereby undoubtedly that
these people, in their completely demoralized condition, drank the
soporific draught kept for criminals. Herodotus mentions a habit of the
Scythians, who employed a vapor generated from the seed of the hemp
for the purpose of producing an intoxication by inhalation. Narcotic
lotions were also used for bathing the people about to be operated
upon. Pliny, who perished at the destruction of Herculaneum, A. D.
79, testified to the soporific power of the preparations made from
mandrágora upon the faculties of those who drank it. He says: "It is
drunk against serpents and before cuttings and puncturings, lest they
should be felt." He also describes the indifference to pain produced
by drinking a vinous infusion of the seeds of eruca, called by us
the rocket, upon criminals about to undergo punishment. Dioscorides
relates of mandrágora that "some boil down the roots in wine to a
third part, and preserve the juice thus procured, and give one cyathus
of this to cause the insensibility of those who are about to be cut
or cauterized." One of his later commentators also states that wine
in which mandrágora roots have been steeped "does bring on sleep and
appease pain, so that it is given to those who are to be cut, sawed or
burnt in any parts of their body, that they may not perceive pain."
Apuleius, about a century later than Pliny, advised the use of the
same preparation. The Chinese, in the earlier part of the century,
gave patients preparations of hemp, by which they became completely
insensible and were operated upon in many ways. This hemp is the
cannabis Indica which furnishes the _Hasheesh_ of the Orient and the
intoxicating and deliriating _Bhang_, about which travelers in the East
used to write so much. In Barbara, for instance, it was always taken,
if possible, by criminals condemned to suffer mutilation or death.

According to the testimony of medieval writers, knowledge of these
narcotic drugs was practically applied during the last of the Crusades,
the probability being that the agent principally employed was this same
hasheesh. Hugo di Lucca gave a complete formula for the preparation of
the mixture, with which a sponge was to be saturated, dried, and then,
when wanted, was to be soaked in warm water, and afterward applied to
the nostrils, until he who was to be operated upon had fallen asleep;
after which he was aroused with the vapor of vinegar.

Strangely enough, the numerous means of attaining insensibility, then
more or less known to the common people, and especially to criminals
and executioners, do not appear to have found favor for use during
operations. Whether this was due to unpleasant after-effects, or from
what reason, we are not informed. Only one or two surgical writers
beside Guy de Chauliac (1498) refer in their works to agents for relief
of pain, and then almost always to their unpleasant effects, the danger
of producing asphyxiation, and the like. Ambrose Paré wrote that
preparations of mandrágora were formerly used to avert pain. In 1579,
an English surgeon, Bulleyn, affirmed that it was possible to put the
patient into an anaesthetic state during the operation of lithotomy,
but spoke of it as a "terrible dream." One Meisner spoke of a secret
remedy used by Weiss, about the end of the XVII Century, upon Augustus
II., king of Poland, who produced therewith such perfect insensibility
to pain that an amputation of the royal foot was made without
suffering, even without royal consent. The advice which the Friar gave
Juliet regarding the distilled liquor which she was to drink, and which
should presently throw her into a cold and drowsy humor, although a
poetic generality, is Shakespeare's recognition of a popular belief.
Middleton, a tragic writer of Shakespeare's day, in his tragedy known
as "Women beware Women," refers in the following terms to anesthesia in
surgery:

    "I'll imitate the pities of old surgeons
    To this lost limb, who, ere they show their art,
    Cast one asleep; then cut the diseased part."

Of course, of all the narcotics in use by educated men, opium has
been, since its discovery and introduction, the most popular and
generally used. Surgeons of the last century were accustomed to
administer large doses of it shortly before an operation, which, if
serious, was rarely performed until the opiate effect was manifested.
Still, in view of its many unpleasant after-effects, its use was
restricted, so far as possible, to extreme cases.

Baron Larrey, noticing the benumbing effect of cold upon wounded
soldiers, suggested its introduction for anesthetic purposes, and
Arnott, of London, systematized the practice, by recommending a
freezing mixture of ice and salt to be laid directly upon the part
to be cut. Other surgeons were accustomed to put their patients into
a condition of either alcoholic intoxication or alcoholic stupor.
Long-continued compression of a part was also practised by some, by
which a limb could, as we say, be made to "go to sleep." A few others
recommended to produce faintness by excessive bleeding. It was in 1776
that the arch-fraud Mesmer entered Paris and began to initiate people
into the mysteries of what he called _animal magnetism_, which was soon
named mesmerism, after him. Thoroughly degenerate and disreputable
as he was, he nevertheless taught people some new truths, which many
of them learned to their sorrow, while in the hospitals of France
and England severe operations were performed upon patients thrown
into a mesmeric trance, and without suffering upon their part. That a
scientific study of the mesmeric phenomena has occupied the attention
of eminent men in recent years, and that hypnotism is now recognized
as an agent often capable of producing insensibility to pain is simply
true, as these facts have been turned to the real benefit of man by
scientific students rather than by quacks and charlatans.

In 1799, Sir Humphrey Davey, being at that time an assistant in the
private hospital of Dr. Beddoes, which was established for treatment
of disease by inhalation of gases, and which he called The Pneumatic
Institute, began experimenting with nitrous oxide gas, and noticed its
exhilarating and intoxicating effects; also the relief from pain which
it afforded in headache and toothache. As the results of his reports, a
knowledge of its properties was diffused all over the world, and it was
utilized both for amusement and exhibition purposes. Davey even wrote
as follows of this gas:

As nitrous oxide, in its extensive operation, appears capable of
destroying physical pain, it may probably be used with advantage during
surgical operations in which no great effusion of blood takes place.

It is not at all unlikely that Colton and Wells, to be soon referred
to, derived encouragement, if not incentive, from these statements of
Davey. Nevertheless, Velpeau, perhaps the greatest French surgeon of
his day, wrote in 1839, that "to escape pain in surgical operations is
a chimera which we are not permitted to look for in our day."

Sulphuric ether, as a chemical compound, was known from the XIII
Century, for reference was made to it by Raymond Lully. It was first
spoken of by the name of ether by Godfrey, in the Transactions of the
London Royal Society, in 1730, while Isaac Newton spoke of it as the
ethereal spirits of wine. During all of the previous century it was
known as a drug, and allusion to its inhalation was made in 1795 in a
pamphlet, probably by Pearson. Beddoes, in 1796, stated that "it gives
almost immediate relief, both to the oppression and pain in the chest,
in cases of pectoral catarrh." In 1815, Nysten spoke of inhalation of
ether as being common treatment for mitigating pain in colic, and in
1816 he described an inhaler for its use. As early as 1812 it was often
inhaled for experiment or amusement, and so-called "ether frolics" were
common in various parts of the country. This was true, particularly for
our purpose, of the students of Cambridge, and of the common people in
Georgia in the vicinity of Long's home. It probably is for this reason
that a host of claimants for the honor of the discovery appeared so
soon as the true anesthetic properties of the drug were demonstrated.

There probably is every reason to think that, either by accident or
design, a condition of greater or less insensibility to pain had been
produced between 1820 and 1846, by a number of different people,
educated and ignorant, but that no one had the originality or the
hardihood to push these investigations to the point of determining the
real usefulness of ether. This was partly from ignorance, partly from
fear, and partly because of the generally accepted impossibility of
producing safe insensibility to pain. So, while independent claims
sprang up from various sources, made by aspirants for honors in this
direction, it is undoubtedly as properly due to Morton to credit him
with the introduction of this agent as an anesthetic as to credit
Columbus with the discovery of the New World, in spite of certain
evidences that some portions of the American continent had been touched
upon by adventurous voyagers before Columbus ever saw it.

The noun "anesthesia" and the adjective "anesthetic" were suggestions
of Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, who early proposed their use to Dr.
Morton in a letter which is still preserved. He suggests them with
becoming modesty, advises Dr. Morton to consult others before adopting
them, but, nevertheless, states that he thinks them apt for that
purpose. The word anesthesia, therefore, is just about of the same age
as the condition itself, and it, too, deserves commemoration upon this
occasion.

As one reads the history of anesthesia, which has been written up by
a number of different authors, each, for the main part, having some
particular object in view, or some particular friend whose claims he
wishes especially to advocate, he may find mentioned at least a dozen
different names of men who are supposed to have had more or less to
do with this eventful discovery. But, for all practical purposes, one
may reduce the list of claimants for the honor to four men, each of
whose claims I propose to briefly discuss. These men were Long, Wells,
Jackson and Morton. Of these four, two were dentists and two practising
physicians, to whom fate seems to have been unkind, as it often is,
since three of them at least died a violent or distressing death, while
the fourth lived to a ripe old age, harassed at almost every turn by
those who sought to decry his reputation or injure his fortunes.

Crawford W. Long was born in Danielsville, Ga., in 1816. In 1839
he graduated from the Medical Department of the University of
Pennsylvania. In the part of the country where Long settled it was a
quite common occurrence to have what were known as "ether frolics"
at social gatherings, ether being administered to various persons to
the point of exhilaration, which in some instances was practically
uncontrollable. Long's friends claim that he had often noticed that
when the ether effect was pushed to this extent the subjects of the
frolic became oblivious to minor injuries, and that these facts, often
noticed, suggested to his mind the use of ether in surgical operations.
There is good evidence to show that Long first administered ether
for this purpose on the 30th of March, 1842, and that on June 6th
he repeated this performance upon the same patient; that in July he
amputated a toe for a negro boy, but that the fourth operation was
not performed until September of 1843. In 1844 a young man, named
Wilhite, who had helped to put a colored boy to sleep at an ether
frolic in 1839, became a student of Dr. Long's, to whom Long related
his previous experiences. Long had never heard of Wilhite's episode,
but had only one opportunity, in 1845, to try it, again upon a negro
boy. Long lived at such a distance from railroad communication (130
miles) as to have few advantages, either of practice, observation or
access to literature. Long made no public mention of his use of ether
until 1849, when he published An Account of the First Use of Sulphuric
Ether by Inhalation as an Anesthetic in Surgical Operations, stating
that he first read of Morton's experiments in an editorial in the
_Medical Examiner_ of December, 1846, and again later; on reading
which articles he determined to wait before publishing any account of
his own discovery, to see whether anyone else would present a prior
claim. No special attention was paid to Long's article, as it seemed
that he merely desired to place himself on record. There is little,
probably no reasonable doubt as to Long's priority in the use of ether
as an anesthetic, although it is very doubtful if he carried it, at
least at first, to its full extent. Nevertheless Long was an isolated
observer, working entirely by himself, having certainly no opportunity
and apparently little ambition to announce his discovery, and having
no share in the events by which the value of ether was made known to
the world. Long's strongest advocate was the late Dr. Marion Sims, who
made a strong plea for his friend, and yet was not able to successfully
establish anything more than has just been stated. As Dr. Morton's
son, Dr. W. J. Morton, of New York, says, when writing of his father's
claim: "Men used steam to propel boats before Fuller; electricity to
convey messages before Morse; vaccine virus to avert smallpox before
Jenner; and ether to annul pain before Morton."

But these men are not generally credited with their introduction by
the world at large and, he argues, neither should Long or the other
contestants be given the credit due Morton himself. In fact, Long
writes of his own work that the result of his second experiment was
such as to make him conclude that ether would only be applicable in
cases where its effects could be kept up by constant use; in other
words, that the anesthetic state was of such short duration that it was
to him most unsatisfactory. Sir James Paget has summed up the relative
claims of our four contestants in an article entitled Escape from Pain,
published in the _Nineteenth Century_ for December, 1879. He says:

"While Long waited, and Wells turned back, and Jackson was thinking,
and those to whom they had talked were neither acting nor thinking,
Morton, the practical man, went to work and worked resolutely. He gave
ether successfully in severe surgical operations; he loudly proclaimed
his deeds and he compelled mankind to hear him."

Horace Wells was born in Hartford, Vt., in 1815. In 1834 he began to
study dentistry in Boston, and after completing his studies began to
practise in Hartford, Ct. He was a man of no small ingenuity, and
devised many novelties for his work. In December, 1844, he listened to
a lecture delivered by Dr. Colton, who took for his subject nitrous
oxide gas, the amusing effects of which he demonstrated to his audience
upon a number of persons who visited the platform for that purpose.
Wells was one of these. Wells, moreover, noticed that another young
man, who bruised himself while under its influence, said afterward that
he had not hurt himself at all. Wells then stated to a bystander that
he thought that if one took enough of that kind of gas he could have a
tooth extracted and not feel it. He at once called upon a neighboring
dentist friend and made arrangements to test the anesthetic effects
of the gas upon himself the next morning. Accordingly Colton gave
him the gas, and Riggs, the friend, extracted the tooth; and Wells,
returning to consciousness, assured them both that he had not suffered
a particle of pain. He began at once to construct an apparatus for its
manufacture. Dr. Marcey, of Hartford, then informed Wells that while
a student at Amherst he and others had often inhaled nitrous oxide as
well as the vapor of ether, for amusement, and suggested to Wells to
try ether. After a few trials, however, it was found more difficult
to administer, and Wells accordingly resolved to adhere to gas alone.
This was in 1844, two years after Long's obscure experiments, of which,
of course, they were ignorant. In 1845, Wells visited Boston for the
purpose of introducing his discovery, and among others called upon his
former partner, Morton, trying to establish the use of the gas. He soon
became discouraged, however, and returned to Hartford, resuming his
practice. There he continued to use gas for about two years, but failed
to secure its introduction into general surgery, owing to prejudice and
ignorance on the part of dentists and physicians alike.

Wells's claims have been advocated by many of his fellow-citizens, and
in Bushnell Park, in Hartford, stands a monument erected by the city
and the state, dedicated to Horace Wells, "who discovered anesthesia,
November, 1844."

C. T. Jackson was born in Plymouth, Mass., in 1805. He graduated
in the Harvard Medical School in 1829, after which he went abroad,
where he remained for several years, made the acquaintance of the
most distinguished men, experimented in general science, electricity
and magnetism and even devised a telegraphic apparatus, similar to
that which Morse patented a year later. Returning, in 1835, he opened
in Boston a laboratory for instruction in analytical chemistry, the
first of its kind in the country. He also made quite a reputation
as a geologist and mineralogist and received official appointments
from Maine, Rhode Island, New Hampshire and other states. In 1845 he
discovered and opened up copper and iron mines in the Lake Superior
district. In 1846 and 1847 he was much aroused by Morton's experiments
with sulphuric ether, and claimed even that he had suggested the use
of ether to Morton, claiming also that he had himself been relieved
of an acute distress by inhalation of ether vapor, and that it was
from reflection on the phenomena presented in his own case that the
possibility of its use for relief of pain during surgical operations
suggested itself to him. This led to a triangular conflict for the
priority of discovery between Wells, Jackson and Morton, each claiming
the honor for himself. Wells health soon gave way. He went abroad and
got recognition from the French Institute and the Paris Academy of
Sciences, which did not, however, endorse his claim as discoverer nor
accept nitrous oxide as an anesthetic. Wells returned to find that
Morton was on the tide of popular favor, the public having endorsed
ether as the only reliable anesthetic. His mind became unbalanced, and
in a fit of temporary aberration he ended his own life in a prison
cell, in New York city in 1848.

Wells being out of the way, Jackson became Morton's most violent
opponent, and the two indulged in a most bitter fight and unseemly
discussion. A few years later, Jackson, who, as remarked, had an
extensive acquaintance abroad, visited Europe and presented his claim
to the credit of the discovery of ether before various individuals
and learned bodies, and so well did he work upon the French Institute
as to be recognized as the discoverer of modern anesthesia. A select
committee of the House of Representatives, to whom in 1854 Congress
referred the matter, announced the following conclusions:

"First, that Dr. Horace Wells did not make any discovery of the
anesthetic properties of the vapor of ether which he himself considered
reliable and which he thought proper to give to the world. That his
experiments were confined to nitrous oxide, but did not show it to be
an efficient and reliable anesthetic agent....

"Second, that Dr. Charles T. Jackson does not appear at any time to
have made any discovery in regard to ether which was not in print in
Great Britain some years before.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Fifth, that the whole agency of Dr. Jackson in the matter appears to
consist entirely in his having made certain suggestions to aid Dr.
Morton to make the discovery."

In 1873, Jackson's mind gave way, and after seven years of confinement
in an asylum he died in 1880, at the age of 75, having been the
recipient of many honors from foreign potentates and learned societies.

William T. G. Morton was born in Charleston, Mass., in 1819. After a
disastrous experience in business he was sent to Baltimore in 1840 and
began the study of dentistry. In 1841 he entered the dental office of
Horace Wells as student and assistant, becoming a partner in 1842. In
1843 partnership was dissolved, Wells removing to Hartford, as before
stated. Morton, ambitious for a medical degree, entered his name as a
student in the office of Charles T. Jackson, in 1844, and the same
year matriculated in the Harvard Medical School, though he never
graduated. Having learned through Wells of the latter's successful use
of nitrous oxide gas, but not knowing how to make it, he sought the
advice of Dr. Jackson, who informed him that its preparation entailed
considerable difficulty, and inquired for what purpose he wanted it. On
Morton's replying that he wished to use it to make patients insensible
to pain, Jackson suggested the use of sulphuric ether, as Marcey had
suggested it to Wells two years previously, saying that it would
produce the same effect and did not require any apparatus. Jackson
also told Morton of the ether frolics common at Cambridge among the
students. That same evening, September 30, 1846, Morton administered
ether to a patient and extracted a tooth for him without pain. The
next day he visited the office of a patent lawyer, for the purpose of
securing a patent upon the new discovery. This lawyer ascertained that
Jackson had been intimately connected with its suggestion, and came
to the conclusion that a patent could not safely issue to either one
independently of the other. But Jackson being a member of the State
Medical Society, against whose ethical code it is to patent discoveries
that pertain to the welfare of patients, and fearing the censure of
his colleagues, agreed at once to assign his right over to Morton,
receiving in return a 10 per cent. commission upon all that the latter
made out of it. Morton, as a dentist, having no more compunction then
than dentists have now upon the securement of a patent,--in other
words, being actuated by no fine ethical scruples,--secured the patent,
and then called upon Dr. J. Mason Warren, one of the surgeons in the
Massachusetts General Hospital. Warren promised his coöperation and
appointed the 16th of October, 1846, for the first public trial. Upon
this occasion the clinic room was filled with visitors and students,
when Morton placed the young man under the influence of his "letheon,"
as he called it then; after which Warren removed a tumor from his neck.
The trial was most successful. Another took place on the following
day, and on November 7th an amputation and an excision of the jaw were
made, both patients being under the influence of letheon and oblivious
to pain. At this time the nature of the anesthetic agent was kept a
secret, the vapor of ether being disguised by aromatics, so as not to
be recognized by anyone present.

True to the highest traditions of their craft, the staff of the
Massachusetts General Hospital now met and declined to make further
use of a drug whose composition was thus kept secret. It was then that
Morton revealed the exact nature of it as sulphuric ether, disguised
with aromatic oils. In a report made by the commissioner of patents, it
was set forth that:

"For many years it had been known that the vapor of sulphuric ether,
when freely inhaled, would intoxicate as does alcohol when taken
into the stomach, but that the former was much more temporary in its
effects. But notwithstanding the records of its effects to this
extent, which were familiar to so many, no surgeon had ever attempted
to substitute it for the palliatives in common use previous to surgical
operations. That, in view of these and other considerations, a patent
had been granted for the discovery."

In 1846 an English patent was obtained.

Morton soon began the attempt to sell office rights, as do the dentists
of to-day, while the medical profession was then, as ever, antagonistic
to patents, holding them to be subversive of general good. His patent
was soon opposed and then generally infringed upon. Litigation followed
without end, and the government stultified itself by refusing to
recognize the validity of the patent issued by itself. And so, without
any compensation to the discoverer, ether soon came into general use
in this country as abroad. While receiving many congratulations from
friends and humanitarians, Morton's success aroused the jealousy of
some of his professional brethren, among them one Dr. Flagg, who
commenced a terrible onslaught upon the new application of ether and
its promoter. By his machinations a meeting of Boston dentists was
called and a committee of twelve appointed to make a formal protest
against anesthesia. This committee published a manifesto in the
_Boston Daily Advertiser_, in which all sorts of untoward effects
and unpleasant results were attributed to the new anesthetic. This
proclamation was spread broadcast, and did Morton, for the time, very
much harm. Equally obstreperous was Dr. Westcott, connected with the
Dental College in Baltimore. He made fun of Morton's "sucking bottles,"
as his inhalers were dubbed; and in various of the medical and secular
journals of the day, bitter, often foolish and absurd, attacks were
made. The editors of the _New Orleans Medical and Surgical Journal_
said:

"That the leading surgeons of Boston could be captivated by such an
invention as this, heralded to the world under such auspices and upon
such evidences of utility and safety as are presented by Dr. Bigelow,
excites our amazement. Why, mesmerism, which is repudiated by the
savants of Boston, has done a thousand times greater wonders, and
without any of the dangers here threatened. What shall we see next?"

These and similar statements created a very strong prejudice against
Morton, who, in December, 1846, sent to Washington, to a nephew of
Dr. Warren, to endeavor to urge upon the government the advantages
of employing ether in the army during the Mexican war, then in
progress. The chief of the Bureau of Medicine and Surgery reported
that the article might be of some service for use in large hospitals,
but did not think it expedient for the department to incur any
expense by introducing it into the general service; while the acting
surgeon-general believed that the highly volatile character of the
substance itself made it ill-adapted to the rough usage it would
necessarily encounter upon the field of battle, and accordingly
declined to recommend its use.

In January of 1853, Morton demonstrated at the infirmary in Washington,
before a congressional committee and others, the anesthetic effect of
ether, which he continued through a dangerous and protracted surgical
operation. This was the result of a challenge to compare the effects
of nitrous oxide and those of ether, the advocates of the former not
putting in an appearance.

The balance of Morton's life seems to have been spent in continued
jangles. The government, having repudiated its own patent, was
repeatedly besought by memorials and through the influence of members
of Congress to bestow some testimonial upon or make some money return
to Morton for his discovery. Several times he came near a realization
of his hopes in this respect, when the action of some of his enemies
or the termination of a congressional session, or some other accident,
would doom him again to disappointment. The pages of evidence that were
printed, the various reports issued through or by government officers,
the memorials addressed from various individuals and societies, if all
printed together, would make a large volume; but all of these were
of no avail. Morton spent all his means, as he spent his energies
and time, in futile endeavor to get pecuniary recognition of his
discovery, but was doomed to disappointment. He seemed alike a victim
of unfortunate circumstances and of treachery and animosity upon the
part of his opponents. Especially did the fight wage warm between
him and his friends and Jackson. Plots to ruin his business were
repeatedly hatched and his life was made miserable in many ways. Mere
temporary sops to wounded vanity and impaired fortune were the honorary
degrees and the testimonials that came to him from various institutions
of learning and foreign societies. In 1850 both Morton and Jackson
received from the French Academy prizes valued at 2,500 francs each.
Finally, Morton fell into a state of nervous prostration, suffered from
anxiety and insomnia, and in a fit of temporary aberration exposed
himself in Central Park, New York, became unconscious, and was taken
to St. Luke's hospital, dying just as he reached the institution, on
the 15th of July, 1868. In Mount Auburn cemetery, in Boston, there
stands a beautiful monument to William T. G. Morton, bearing this
inscription: "Inventor and revealer of anesthetic inhalation, before
whom in all time surgery was agony; by whom pain in surgery was averted
and annulled; since whom science has control of pain."

Again, in the Public garden in Boston there was erected, in 1867, a
beautiful monument to the honor of the discoverer of ether, upon whom
at that time they could not decide. Upon the front are these words:
"To commemorate that the inhaling of ether causes insensibility to
pain, first proven to the world at the Massachusetts General hospital,
in Boston, October, A. D. 1846." Upon the right side are the words:
"'Neither shall there be any more pain.'--Revelations." Upon the left:
"'This also cometh forth from the Lord of Hosts, which is wonderful in
counsel and excellent in working.'--Isaiah." And upon the other: "In
gratitude for the relief of human suffering by the inhaling of ether,
a citizen of Boston has erected this monument, A. D. 1867. The gift of
Thomas Lee."

Summing up, then, the claims of our four contestants in the light of
a collected history of the merits of each, it would appear that Wells
first made public use of nitrous oxide gas for limited purposes, but
failed to introduce it into general professional use. That Long, in
an isolated rural practice, a few times used ether, with which he
produced probably only partial insensibility to pain, and that he had
apparently discontinued its use before learning of Morton's researches.
That Jackson made no claim to the use of the agent on his own part,
but simply of having suggested it to Morton. And, finally, that
Morton quickly accepted the suggestion, made careful and scientific
use thereof, but especially, and above all other things, first
_demonstrated_ to the world at large the capability and the safety
of this agent as an absolute, reliable and efficient anesthetic. So,
though Morton permitted his cupidity to run away with finer ethical
considerations, and attached a higher pecuniary than humanitarian value
to sulphuric ether, he, nevertheless, must be generally credited with
having, to use the modern expression, "promoted" its introduction,
and having shown to the world at large what an inestimably valuable
therapeutic agent had been added to our resources for the control of
pain.

The synthetic compound known as chloroform was discovered independently
by three different observers between 1830 and 1832. These were
respectively Guthrie, of Sackett's Harbor, N. Y.; Soubeiran, of France,
and Liebig, of Germany. The honor of introducing it to the profession
as an anesthetic for surgical purposes is universally accorded to James
Y. Simpson, then of Edinburgh.

Yet claim was at one time advanced in favor of Surgeon-Major Furnell,
of the Madras Army Medical Corps, who in the summer preceding the
announcement of Simpson's brilliant discovery experimented with what is
known as chloric ether, which is not an ether at all, but a solution of
chloroform in alcohol. It is said that he found that it would produce
the same results as sulphuric ether, with less unpleasant sensations,
and suggested its use to Coote, a well-known London surgeon. However,
such claims as those made in favor of Furnell are no more entitled
to recognition than are those of Wells or Long in the matter of
the introduction of ether to the public; for although individual
observations were favorable to the compound, it never came to public
notice on this surmise.

Sir James Y. Simpson was born in 1811, took the degree of doctor of
medicine in 1832 and advanced rapidly in his professional career until,
in January, 1847, he was appointed one of her majesty's physicians in
Scotland. Having already obtained a large reputation, particularly in
midwifery and gynecology, he directed his special attention toward the
use of anesthetics in childbirth, and he had quickly recognized the
value of sulphuric ether when introduced the previous year. He sought,
however, for a substitute of equal power, having less disagreeable odor
and unpleasant after effect. Upon inquiry of his friend Waldie, Master
of Apothecaries Hall of Liverpool, if he knew of a substance likely to
be of service in this direction, Waldie, familiar with the composition
of chloric ether, suggested its active principle chloroform; with
which Simpson experimented, and, upon the 4th of November, 1847,
established its anesthetic properties. These he first made known to
the Medico-Chirurgical Society of Edinburgh in a paper read November
10th. Three days later a public test was to have been made at the Royal
Infirmary, but Simpson, who was to administer the chloroform, being
unavoidably detained, the operation was done as heretofore without an
anesthetic, and this patient died during the operation. You can readily
see that had this occurred under chloroform it would have been ascribed
to the new drug, which would then and there have received its death
blow. As it was, the first public trial took place two days later and
the test was most successful.

One would think that such a boon as Simpson had here offered to the
world would have been gratefully--not to say greedily--accepted by
all. Simpson's position was such as to give the new anesthetic every
advantage that his already great reputation could attach to it, and it
became at once the agent in common use in midwifery practice. But the
Scotch clergy of his day still possessed altogether too much of the old
fanatic spirit of the church of the middle ages. One is never allowed
to forget, in scanning the history of medicine, how bitterly the church
has opposed, until recently, every advance in our science and our art.
It was in A. D. 995, for instance, that the son of one of the Venetian
Doges was married, in Venice, to a sister of the emperor of the Eastern
Roman Empire. At the marriage feast the princess produced a silver
fork and gold spoon, table novelties which excited both amusing and
angry comment. But the Venetian aristocracy took up with this new table
fad, and forks and spoons as substitutes for fingers soon became the
fashion. But the puissant church disapproved most strongly even of this
arrangement, for priests went so far as to say, "to use forks was to
deliberately insult the kind Providence which had given to man fingers
on each hand." It was this same spirit that led the Scotch clergy to
attack Simpson most vehemently and denounce him from their pulpits as
one who violated the moral law, for they said: "Is it not ordained in
Scripture, 'in sorrow shalt thou bring forth children?' and yet this
man would introduce a substance calculated to mitigate this sorrow."
We of to-day can scarcely imagine the rancor with which these attacks
were made for many months. Finally, however, these fanatic defenders
of the faith were routed by a quotation from the same Scriptures in
which they claimed to find their authority; for Simpson, most adroitly
turning upon them with their own weapons, called their attention to
the first chapter of Genesis, in which an account of Eve's creation
appears, and reminded them that when Eve was formed from the rib of
Adam, the Lord "caused a deep sleep to fall upon" him. So weak was
their cause that with this single quotation their opposition subsided
and within a week or two the entire Scotch clergy was silenced. Sir
James Simpson received from his own government that which was never
accorded to Morton: that is, due recognition of the great service
he had rendered humanity. He died in 1870, and upon his bust, which
stands in Westminster Abbey, are the following words: "To whose genius
and beneficence the world owes the blessings derived from the use of
chloroform for the relief of suffering."

It is scarcely necessary that I delay you now with an account of all
of the other ethereal anesthetic agents which have from time to time
been advocated since the memorable days to which I have devoted most
of my time to-night. Two only are at present ever thought of--namely,
bichloride of methylene and bromide of ethyl!--and these are used by
only a few, though each has its advantages. It is well known that
nearly all of the ethers have more or less of anesthetic property,
coupled with many dangers and disadvantages. Sulphuric ether and
chloroform hold the boards to-day as against any and all of their
competitors.

Nitrous oxide gas, as already mentioned, was known to and used by
Wells, in Hartford. With the advent of ether this gas fell at once into
disuse, to be revived some fifteen years after the death of Wells,
mainly through the use of Dr. G. Q. Colton. Since this time its use
has been quite universal, although confined for the main part to the
offices of dentists. Its great advantages are ease of administration
and rapidity of recovery, making it especially useful for their
purposes, while the difficulties attendant upon prolonged anesthesia by
it makes it less useful for the surgeon.

I will spend no further time upon it nor upon the subject save to do
justice to modern anesthesia by a very different method and by means of
a very different drug, which is to-day in so common use that we almost
forget to mention the man to whom we owe it. I allude to _Cocaine_ and
its discoverer, Koller.

Cocaine is now such a universally recognized local anesthetic that
there is the best of reason for referring to it here--the more so
because it affords another opportunity to do honor to a discoverer, who
has rendered a most important service to not only our profession, but
to the world in general.

This principal active constituent of cocoa leaves was discovered about
1860 by Niemann, and called by him cocaine. It is an alkaloid which
combines with various acids in the formation of salts. It has the
quality of benumbing raw and mucous surfaces, for which purpose it was
applied first in 1862 by Schroff, and in 1868 by Moreno. In 1880, Van
Aurap hinted that this property might some day be utilized. Karl Koller
logically concluded from what was known about it that this anesthetic
property could be taken advantage of for work about the eye, and made a
series of experiments upon the lower animals, by which he established
its efficiency and made a brilliant discovery. He reported his
experiments to the Congress of German Oculists, at Heidelberg, in 1884.
News of this was transmitted with great rapidity, and within a few
weeks the substance was used all over the world. Its use spread rapidly
to other branches of surgery, and cocaine local anesthesia became
quickly an accomplished fact. More time was required to point out its
disagreeable possibilities, its toxic properties and the like, but it
now has an assured and most important place among anesthetic agents,
and has been of the greatest use to probably 10 per cent. of the
civilized world. To Koller is entirely due the credit of establishing
its remarkable properties.

       *       *       *       *       *

 Transcriber's Notes

 Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected, but the
 variations in spelling, punctuation, accents and hyphenation remain
 as in the original.

 Chapter IX

 The paragraph originally read: "This recognition of our profession was
 accorded much more unstintingly nearly two thousand years ago, at a
 time when it was much less deserved, when Cicero wrote (_De Natura
 Deorum_) "_Homines ad inibus dando._" (Men are never more godlike than
 when giving health to mankind)."

 The missing line in the Latin quotation has been restored.

 Italics are represented thus _italic_.