Robert Means Lawrence

Quackery and the love of being quacked, are in human nature as weeds are in our fields.

Dr. J. Brown, Spare Hours.

The word quack, meaning a charlatan, is an abbreviation of quack-salver. To quack is to utter a harsh, croaking sound, like a duck; and hence secondarily, to talk noisily and to make vain and loud pretensions.[202:1] And a salver is one who undertakes to perform cures by the application of ointments or cerates. Hence the term quack-salver was commonly used in the seventeenth century, signifying an ignorant person, who was wont to extol the curative virtues of his salves. Now we see, said Francis Bacon, in "The Advancement of Learning,"[202:2] the weakness and credulity of men. For they will often prefer a mountebank or witch before a learned physician. And therefore the poets were clear-sighted in discerning this extreme folly, when they made Esculapius and Circe brother and sister. For in all times, in the opinion of the multitude, witches, old women and impostors have had a competition with physicians.

According to one authority, the term quack is derived from an ancient Saxon word, signifying small, slender and trifling, and hence was applied to shallow and frivolous itinerant peddlers, who foisted upon a credulous community such wares as penny-plasters, balsam of liquorice for coughs, snuffs for headaches, and infallible eye-lotions.[203:1]

It has also been maintained that quack is a corruption of quake, and that quack-doctors were so called because, in marshy districts, patients affected with intermittent fever, sometimes vulgarly known as the quakes, were wont to be treated by ignorant persons, who professed to charm away the disease, and hence were styled quake-doctors.

In William Harrison's "Description of the Island of Britain," occurs the following curious passage: "Now we have many chimneys, and yet our tenderlings complain of reumes, catarres and poses; then had we none but reredores, and our heads did never ake. For, as the smoke in those days was supposed to be a sufficient hardening for the timber of the house, so it was reputed a far better medicine to keep the good man and his family from the quacke or pose, wherewith as then very few were acquainted." A writer in "Notes and Queries,"[203:2] remarked that the word quacke, in the foregoing extract, probably signified a disease rather than a charlatan, and possibly the mysterious affection known as "the poofs," from which good Queen Bess suffered one cold winter. This quacke appears to have been a novelty and therefore fashionable, affected by the tenderlings of that era, "as the proper thing to have." The quack-doctor, continues the writer above mentioned, must have been a fashionable style of man, not meddling much with the poor, and familiar with boudoirs, curing the new disease with new and wondrous remedies.

May not the word quacke, asks Stylites, another enquirer, as above used, mean quake or ague? For an ague-doctor must have had much employment, and if successful, great renown, in those days of fens, marshes and undrained ground.

In an anniversary discourse delivered before the New York Academy of Medicine, November 7, 1855, Dr. John Watson remarked that the numbers and pretensions of the illegitimate sons of Esculapius were as great in ancient as in modern times. And they were quite as wont to receive the patronage of the upper classes. The Emperor Nero thus favored the shrewd Lydian practitioner, Thessalus, who maintained that all learning was without value.

And if we may believe the statements of Pliny and Galen, the Roman quacks equalled, if they did not exceed, in ignorance and arrogance, the vast horde of handicraftsmen, bone-setters, herniotomists, lithotomists, abortionists, and poison-venders, who overran Southern Europe throughout the Middle Ages.

The inhabitants of ancient Chaldea, in common with many primitive peoples of later times, cherished the belief that all diseases were caused by demons. Medicine was merely a branch of Magic, and the chief healing agents were exorcisms, incantations, and enchanted beverages. There were, properly speaking, no physicians. Sometimes, wrote FranÇois Lenormant, in "Chaldean Magic," disease was regarded as an effect of the wickedness of different demons, and sometimes it appears to have been considered as the work of a distinct malevolent being, who exercised his power upon man.

According to the old Shamanic belief, which was the primeval religion of all mankind, every physical ailment is caused by a little devil which enters the body and can be expelled therefrom only by means of magic.

Abundant traces of this doctrine, says Charles Godfrey Leland in "Gipsy Sorcery," appear in our highest civilization and religion among people who gravely attribute every evil to the Devil, instead of to the unavoidable antagonisms of nature. "If," continues this writer, "a pen drops from our fingers, or a penny rolls from our grasp, the former, of course, falls on our new white dress, while the latter, nine times out of ten, goes directly to the nearest grating, crack or rat-hole."

In the religion of the ancient Copts, the Devil was believed to have inherited from his ancestors all the power attributed by ignorance and superstition to certain superior beings. He it was who originated all diseases, and by a singular contradiction, he likewise cured them, either directly or through the agency of the magicians and quacks who followed in his train.[206:1]

According to a widespread doctrine of antiquity, innumerable demons were ever active in endeavoring to inflict diseases upon the bodies of human beings.

No medical practitioner, however skilful, could successfully cope with these supernatural beings. Their evil designs could be checked only by experts in occult science. It has been said that whoever humors the credulity of man, is sure to prosper. The modern quack exemplifies this. "The Devil, the Christian successor of the ancient evil spirit, has exerted a great influence on the medical views of all classes of people. He and his successors were considered 'the disturbers of the peace' in the health of humanity. The Devil was able to influence each individual organ in a manner most disagreeable to the owner of the same."[206:2] Although the hideous portrayals of the Evil One, with horns, hoofs, pitchfork, and tail, appealed strongly to the imagination, they were wholly fanciful. If Satan were to appear in human form, as for example in the guise of a charlatan (says William Ramsey in "The Depths of Satan," 1889), we might expect him to assume the appearance, dress and demeanor of a gentleman.

Indeed, although the idea of the embodiment of evil is naturally repellent, a study of the Devil's personality, as represented in theology, romance, and popular tradition, reveals much that is interesting. In the rÔle of a medical pretender, however, he deserves no more sympathy than any other quack.

In England, says William George Black, in "Folk-Medicine," the Devil has long represented much of the paganism still existing, and seems to have been regarded almost as the head of the medical profession. He has enjoyed the reputation of being able to inflict and cure diseases, not only those of his own production, but also natural diseases, since he knows their origin and causes better than physicians can. For, wrote the learned Dutch practitioner and demonologist, Johann Wier (1515-1588), physicians being younger than the Devil, must necessarily have had less experience.

James Grant, in the "Mysteries of All Nations" (page 1), remarks that the doctrine of devils is of great antiquity, probably dating from the Creation.

The immediate descendants of Adam and Eve must have learned from them, or by tradition, the circumstances connected with the temptation, fall, and expulsion from the Garden of Eden. Therefore it seems highly probable that the serpent was regarded, at a very early period, as something more than an ordinary earthly reptile.

In the Dark Ages popular opinion credited the Devil with a vast amount of erudition; and he was, moreover, reputed to be well versed in medical science and magical arts. Whenever a man of genius had accomplished some task which appeared to be above the powers of the human mind, it was commonly believed that the Devil either had performed the work or had at least rendered some assistance.[208:1]

Burton quotes from the German philosopher, Nicholas Taurellus (born 1547), as follows: "Many doubt whether the Devil can cure such diseases as he hath not made; and some flatly deny it. Howsoever, common experience confirms to our astonishment that magic can work such facts, and that the Devil without impediment can penetrate through all the parts of our bodies, and cure such maladies by means to us unknown."

Again, says Burton, many famous cures are daily performed, affording evidence that the Devil is an expert physician; and God oftentimes permits witches and magicians to produce these effects. Paracelsus encouraged his patients to cultivate a strong imagination, whereby they should experience beneficial results.... Therein lies the secret in a nutshell. If a man has confidence in the treatment prescribed by a charlatan, he may be benefited thereby. The Devil is a charlatan. Therefore, if God permit, even diabolical remedies may be efficacious, if the patient's faith in them is strong enough. It is not so much the quality as the strength of the faith, says Dr. McComb in "Religion and Medicine," that is of vital moment, so far as the removal of a given disorder is concerned.

The Christians of the early centuries accepted the pagan doctrine of demonology without modification. The belief in demoniac possession and the belief in witches were later developments from this same doctrine. In the third century originated a new order of ecclesiastics, whose members were known as exorcists. The expulsion of evil spirits was their special function. But in addition to the official exorcists, many sorcerers and magicians assumed to cure the possessed, as well as those suffering from other diseases. The idea of good and evil demons assumed in the Middle Ages a specifically Christian character, which resembled the ancient Babylonian doctrine except that the good demons were replaced by angels and saints, whereas the evil spirits were embodied in the Devil. Both saints and devils were thenceforth destined to play their part in the domain of medicine.

Martin Luther, as is well known, was a firm believer in the doctrine which held that the Devil was the originator of all diseases. No ailment, maintained the great reformer, comes from God, who is good, and does good to every one. It is the Devil who causes and performs all mischief, who interferes with all play and all arts, and who brings about pestilences and fevers. Luther believed that he himself was compelled, when his physical condition was out of order, to have a scuffle with the Evil One, and thereby obtain the mastery over him.[210:1]

Tatian, the Syrian writer, of the second century, declared that the profligacy of demons had made use of the productions of nature for evil purposes. The demons, he wrote, do not cure, but by their art make men their captives.

In that age, everybody, of whatever class or station in life, believed in the existence of demons, who were thought to be omnipresent, infesting men and the lower animals, as well as trees and rivers. At the time of the Reformation the same belief prevailed and was an important factor in influencing men's actions.[210:2]

A belief in the personality of the Evil One is amply warranted by Scripture. What is not warranted, says a writer in "Social England,"[210:3] by anything in Holy Writ, is the medieval conception of Satan, ruling over a kingdom of darkness, in rivalry with God.

Ignorance is guided by terror, rather than by love. To the undisciplined mind, whatever is supernatural or unexpected, makes a stronger appeal than the familiar phenomena of daily life. We cannot understand the motives and acts of our forefathers, wrote Henry C. Lea, in a "History of the Inquisition of the Middle Ages," unless we take into consideration the mental condition engendered by the consciousness of a daily and hourly personal contact with Satan.

Charlatans were not unknown in the fifth century b. c. For the great Hippocrates inveighed against those who relied on amulets and charms as curative agents. In his view, the physician should possess a mind of such serenity and dignity as to be superior to superstition, for the latter is incompatible with a knowledge of the truth.[211:1]

The Romans of old, who drove nails into the walls of the Temple of Jupiter, in the hope of warding off the Plague, employed thereby a quack remedy.

Indeed, for more than six hundred years, they had no physicians, but employed theurgic methods of treatment by means of prayers, charms, and prescriptions from the ancient Sibylline Books, which were reputed to date from the reign of Tarquin the Proud, in the sixth century b. c. These volumes were kept in a stone chest, under ground, in the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus at Rome. The ancient Romans possessed only the rude surgery and domestic medicine of the barbarians, until the importation of scientific methods from Greece. Cato the Censor (b. c. 234-149) disliked physicians, partly because they were mostly Greeks, and partly because he himself, although venerated as a model of Roman virtue, was an outrageous quack, who thought himself equal to a whole college of physicians.[212:1]

From a very early time, and for many centuries, medical pretenders and empirics were known as "magicians." Practitioners of this class throve exceedingly during the reigns of several Roman emperors. They strove to work upon the imaginations of the people by sensational curative methods. Inasmuch, wrote Dr. Hugo Magnus, as whatever is curious and unusual, has always possessed a special fascination for humanity, the incredible remedies of the magicians found everywhere hosts of believers. And as the most nonsensical theories, if well tinged with the miraculous, find eager credence, there developed a rude form of psycho-therapy. For by the employment of extraordinary and even loathsome substances, many of which had no value as material remedies, they sought to impress curative ideas upon the minds of their patients, and doubtless very often with success. Inventive genius must have been sorely taxed among the magicians, in their endeavors to originate sensational prescriptions. The voluminous works of Alexander of Tralles, Quintus Serenus Samonicus, Marcellus Empiricus, and of many others, show how close was the union between medicine and magic. An enumeration of uncouth remedies formerly in vogue would fill huge pharmacopoeias, and belongs to the domain of Folk-Medicine. Let one or two examples suffice here.

For the removal of those hardened portions of the epidermis, usually occurring upon the feet, and vulgarly known as corns, Pliny the Elder, in his "Natural History," recommends the sufferer, after observing the flight of a meteor, to pour a little vinegar upon the hinge of a door.

And Sextus Placitus Papyriensis, a nonsensical medical writer of the fourth century, advises, for the cure of glaucoma, that the affected eye be rubbed with the corresponding organ of a wolf.

Dr. Theodor Puschmann, in his "History of Medical Education," quotes an old writer[213:1] who inveighed against those practitioners who were wont to fill the ears of their patients with stories of their own professional skill, while depreciating the services of others of the fraternity. Such unscrupulous quacks sought also to win over the patient's friends by little attentions, flatteries and innuendoes. Many, said this philosopher, recoil from a man of skill even, if he is a braggart. "When the doctor," he continues, "attended by a man known to the patient, and having a right of entry into the house, advances into the dwelling of the sick man, he should make his appearance in good clothes, with an inclination of the head; he should be thoughtful and of good bearing, and observe all possible respect. So soon as he is within, word, thought and attention should be given to nothing else but the examination of the patient, and whatever else appertains to the case."

In England, during the earliest times, the administration of medicines was always attended with religious ceremonial, such as the repetition of a psalm. These observances however were often tinctured with a good deal of heathenism, the traditional folk-lore of the country, in the form of charms, magic and starcraft. It is evident, wrote the author of "Social England,"[214:1] from the cases preserved by monkish chronicles, that the element of hysteria was prominent in the maladies of the Middle Ages, and that these affections were therefore peculiarly susceptible to psychic treatment. The Angles and Saxons brought with them to England a belief in medicinal runes and healing spells, and the cures wrought by their medical men were attributed to the magic potency of the charms employed. Some interesting information on contemporary manners is contained in a "Book of Counsels to Young Practitioners" (a. d. 1300). The use of polysyllabic and unintelligible words is therein recommended, probably as a goad to the patient's imagination.

Medical charms, wrote a shrewd philosopher of old, are not to be used because they can effect any change, but because they bring the patient into a better frame of mind.[215:1]

An interesting account of the manners and methods of itinerant charlatans of the period is found in "English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages" (fourteenth century), by the noted writer and diplomat, M. Jean Jules Jusserand. These Bohemian mountebanks went about the world, selling health. They selected the village green or market-place as headquarters, and spreading a carpet or piece of cloth on the ground, proceeded to harangue the populace. Big words, marvellous tales, praise of their own distinguished ancestry, enumeration of the wonderful cures wrought by themselves, statements of their purely altruistic motives and benevolent designs, and of their contempt for filthy lucre, these were characteristic features of their discourses, which preceded the exhibition and sale of infallible nostrums.

The law, wrote M. Jusserand, distinguished very clearly between an educated physician and a cheap-jack of the cross-ways. The court-doctor, for example, had the support of an established reputation. He had studied at one of the universities, and he offered the warranty of his high position. The wandering herbalist was less advantageously known. In the country, indeed, he was usually able to escape the rigor of the laws, but in the cities and larger towns he could not ply his trade with impunity. The joyous festivals of Old England attracted many of these hawkers of pills and elixirs, for on such occasions they met the rustic laborers, whose simplicity rendered them an easy prey. These peasant-folk pressed around, open-mouthed, uncertain whether they ought to laugh or to be afraid. But they finished usually by buying specimens of the eloquently vaunted cure-alls.

In medieval times, we are told, it was difficult to distinguish quacks from skilled practitioners, because the latter were inclined to be superstitious. In the year 1220 the University of Paris, with the sanction of the Church and municipality, issued a statute against unlicensed practitioners, and in 1271 another, whereby Jews and Jewesses were forbidden "to practice medicine or surgery on any Catholic Christian." All so-called chirurgeons and apothecaries, as well as herbalists, of either sex, were enjoined from visiting patients, performing operations, or prescribing any medicines except certain confections in common use, unless in the presence and under the direction of a physician, the penalties being excommunication, imprisonment, and fine.[216:1]

Never before, says Roswell Park, M.D., in "An Epitome of the History of Medicine," were there so many sorcerers, astrologers and alchemists, as existed at the close of the Dark Ages. These were mostly restless adventurers, of a class common at all periods of history, who chafed under the yoke of authority. Such individuals, in enlisting in the army of charlatans, were not usually actuated by philanthropic motives. Whatever benevolent sentiments they may have entertained, were in behalf of themselves. Many of them lived apart, as recluses, and were, in modern parlance, cranks, who lacked mental poise. Yet they were usually shrewd, and more or less adepts in occult science.

The power of auto-suggestion was evident in the cures of medieval ailments wrought by the methods of faith-healing. Prayer and intercession were the chief means employed, but these were often supplemented by the use of concoctions of medicinal herbs from the monastery garden.

The resources of therapeutics were, moreover, derived from a strange mixture of magic, astrology, and alchemy. A contemporary manual of "Hints to Physicians" advised the doctor, when called to visit a patient, to recommend himself to God, and to the Archangel Raphael. Then, after having refreshed himself with a drink, he was to praise the beauty of the country and the liberality of the family. He was also cautioned to avoid expressing a hasty opinion of the case, because the patient's friends would attach the more value to the physician's judgment, if they were obliged to wait for it.[218:1]

Paracelsus devoted much attention to chemistry as a science distinct from alchemy. Indeed he may be regarded as the founder of medical chemistry.[218:2] He extolled the merits of certain medicines now recognized as among the most valuable in the modern pharmacopoeia. Chief among these was the tincture of opium, to which he gave its present name of laudanum, a contraction of laudandum, something to be praised.

The eccentric German alchemist and philosopher, Henry Cornelius Agrippa (1486-1535), described a prosperous charlatan of his day as "clad in brave apparel, and having on his fingers showy rings, glittering with precious stones; a fellow who had gotten fame on account of his travels in far countries, and by reason of his obstinate manner of vaunting with stiff lies the merits of his nostrums. Such an one had continually in his mouth many barbarous and uncouth words."

Towards the close of the sixteenth century, France was invaded by a horde of mountebanks in showy and fantastic garb, who went from one town to another, loudly and with brazen effrontery proclaiming in the market-places their ability to cure every kind of ailment. And the people, then as now easily duped, lent willing ears to these wily pretenders, and bought freely of their marvellous pills and pellets.[219:1]

The prevalence of quackery in England is shown by a preamble to a statute of Henry VIII, as follows: "Forasmuch as the science and cunning of Physic and Surgery are daily, within this Realm, exercised by a great number of ignorant persons, of whom the greater part have no insight in the same, nor in any other kind of learning. Some also ken no letters on the book; so far forth that common artificers, as smiths, weavers and women, boldly and accustomably take upon them great cures, in which they partly use scorcery and witchcraft, and partly apply such remedies to the disease as being very noxious and nothing meet; to the high displeasure of God, great infamy to the Faculty, and the grievous damage and destruction of divers of the King's people, most especially of them that cannot discern the cunning from the uncunning."

Probably Dr. Gilbert Skeene, of Aberdeen, Scotland, had in mind such pretenders, when he wrote, in a treatise on the Plague, published in 1568, that "Medicineirs[219:2] are mair studious of their ain helthe nor of the common weilthe."

A statute of the thirty-fourth year of Henry VIII (1543) contains the statement that although the majority of the members of the craft of chirurgeons had small cunning, yet they would accept large sums of money, and do little therefor; by reason whereof their patients suffered from neglect.

At about this period, many were the marvellous remedies which were advertised, and keen was the rivalry among empirics, in their efforts to outdo their brethren in the selection of high-sounding names for their vaunted panaceas. Among the latter were to be found such choice nostrums as rectifiers of the vitals, which were warranted to supply the places of all other medicines whatsoever.

Other pleasing remedies rejoiced in the names of vivifying drops, cephalic tinctures, gripe-waters, and angelical specifics.

"The Anatomyes of the True Physition and Counterfeit Mounte-banke" (imprinted at London, 1605) contains an enumeration of some of the classes of people wherefrom recruits were drawn to swell the ranks of charlatans in England some three centuries ago. Such were:

Runagate Jews, the cut-throats and robbers of Christians, slow-bellied monks, who have made escape from their cloisters, simoniacal and perjured shavelings, busy Sir John lack-Latins, thrasonical and unlettered chemists, shifting and outcast pettifoggers, light-headed and trivial druggers and apothecaries, sun-shunning night-birds and corner-creepers, dull-pated and base mechanics, stage-players, jugglers, peddlers, prittle-prattling barbers, filthy graziers, curious bath-keepers, common shifters and cogging cavaliers, bragging soldiers, lazy clowns, one-eyed or lamed fencers, toothless and tattling old wives, chattering char-women and nurse-keepers, long-tongued midwives, 'scape-Tyburns, dog-leeches, and such-like baggage. In the next rank, to second this goodly troupe, follow poisoners, enchanters, wizards, fortune-tellers, magicians, witches and hags. Now, if you take a good view of these sweet companions, you shall find them, not only dolts, idiots and buzzards; but likewise contemners and haters of all good learning.

For the greater part of them disdain book-learning, and never came where learning grew.... They are such as cannot abide to take any pains or travel in study. They reject incomparable Galen's learned Commentaries, as tedious and frivolous discourses, having found through Paracelsus's Vulcanian shop, a more short way to the Wood.... Others are so notoriously sottish, that being over head and ears in the myrie puddle of gross ignorance, yet they will by no means see or acknowledge it.

For to give an instance in the most absolute, exquisite and divine frame of man's body, if they can shew a rude description thereof, hanging in their chamber, and nickname two or three parts, (so as it would make a horse to break his halter to hear them) they think themselves jolly fellows, and are esteemed great anatomists in the eyes of the Vulgar ...

Now it is the honestest and safest course for good and learned physicians, to have no society with these barbarians, enemies to all antiquity, humanity and good learning, lest they hear the old saying, like will to like. As was said of the Devil dancing with the collier.[222:1]