Psychotherapy. James Joseph Walsh
and took the pay for it in tractors. Nothing was more common than to sell horses and carriages to buy them. But the worst (or the best) of it was, yellow fever was raging in New York, and Perkins thought he could cure the fever with the tractors and fell a victim to the fever himself.
Success of Quackery.—Always in the history of quackery and, indeed, in the history of all therapeutics, the appeal is to the cures that have been effected. This is the only evidence, of course, that can be adduced for the development of therapeutics, and yet the history of medicine makes it clear how carefully supposed cures must be analyzed if they are really to mean anything. Mesmer could adduce thousands of cured cases. Perkins could do the same. Every quack in history, from Galen's weaver, who became a leech, down to the last street corner nostrum vendor, does the same thing. When on the strength of supposed cures, then, a new system of therapeutics is introduced, it is much more likely than not that there is no foundation for the claims made. We have had ever so many more experiences of disappointment after the introduction of remedies which cured at the beginning of their history, than we have had of remedies that maintain themselves after prolonged experience. It is the attitude of scepticism and suspended judgment until after a remedy or method of treatment has been tried on many different kinds of cases in varying circumstances that constitutes the only efficient safeguard against repeating the unfortunate errors of old times in the matter of drugs and remedial measures. If the public could be made to realize this, they would be much less easily taken in.
What the quacks cure are not always imaginary ills, but often ills that are very real, at least to the patients, and the symptoms of which are relieved by the confidence aroused in the new remedy and the representations of the supposed discoverer, who, in spite of the exaggerated claims which he makes, somehow succeeds in catching the trust of patients. Very often this process initiated by the quack is really only the beginning of the cure.
In most people a vicious circle of pathological subsidiary causes is formed when anything becomes the matter. Patients are persuaded that a serious illness is ahead of them. This keeps them from exercising as much as before. Becoming overcareful of their diet, they reduce it below the normal limit for healthy activity. This causes them to have less energy for work and disturbs their sleep. Then a host of minor symptoms, supposed to be due to the disease, whatever it is or they think it is, but really consequent upon the unhealthy habits that have formed, begin to develop. Just as soon as confidence in their power to regain health is restored to these people, a virtuous circle, to use the Latin word virtue in its etymological sense, of strength and courage, is formed. Everything conspires to stimulate the patients; they live more naturally, the subsidiary symptoms consequent upon their bad habits disappear and the disappearance of each one of them means for the patients a new assurance of triumph over disease. They attribute every improvement to the remedy they happen to be taking, though most of them are due to the changes in their habits, their diversion of mind, and the new energy released by their sense of encouragement.
An excellent example of how some of these mental persuasions in quackery act, and of how the cure is often really due to the physician who previously treated the case, though it is credited to the quack, may be found in the story that Hilton tells in his "Rest and Pain":
When this patient was first seen by a surgeon, he was thought to be laboring under some disease of the bladder and kidneys, for he had severe lumbago, pain over the bladder, and offensive urine. There had been no suspicion of anything wrong as regards the spine. He was a master painter and a house decorator, and was monstrously conceited, thinking himself right and everybody else wrong. When I explained to him, after careful examination, that the spine was the cause of the symptoms, he was not satisfied with my opinion and without my knowledge consulted Sir Benjamin Brodie, who also assured him that his spine was diseased and told him that he must rest it by lying down. To this he then assented. As he could not be controlled in his own house, I persuaded him to go to Guy's Hospital, where he had got nearly well; but he was very impatient, and would not remain long enough under my care to be quite cured. He returned home, gradually improved, and was getting quite well when some pseudo friend advised hydropathy and homeopathy—it did not matter which of the two—as "the thing" to cure him. After a few months he was perfectly restored, not by either hydropathy or homeopathy, but, no doubt, by nature. The man, however, feels convinced that hydropathy and homeopathy cured him. It so happens, gentlemen, that sometimes we do not get the degree of credit which perhaps belongs to us.
To Mr. Hilton's reflections one is tempted to add that many of these patients, after having been seriously ill, cannot bring themselves to think that they will gradually get well by the forces of nature. Even after they have improved very much they are still inclined to think that that improvement is illusory or will relapse because they have not been "cured," that is, actively treated, in some way so that a "cure" should result. When they are nearly well, because of properly directed rest and nursing, someone recommends some irregular form of treatment. They take it up and this gives them confidence that they are being cured. This state of mind makes the ultimate steps of their recovery more rapid than it otherwise would be. As a consequence, the irregular gets the credit. Immediately after this case Mr. Hilton tells the story of another case in which a "rubber" got all the credit for the cure. It is evident that the modern osteopath has only somewhat systematized what had been in existence generations ago.
All this tendency of human nature to respond to anything that is done for it, provided the promise of cure goes with it, is taken advantage of by the quack, sometimes unconsciously, for his own purposes. Results, as a rule, are secured, in spite of the remedies that he suggests, which in most cases do harm rather than good. Of the thousands of remedies that have been introduced by quacks, not one now remains, though every one of them produced wonderful cures on a great many patients at some time or other. It is the duty of the physician to secure just as good results honestly. He must influence the patient's mind favorably so as to bring about a modification of habits and a hopeful outlook on life, in spite of whatever ailment there may be. If he can do so he will have in his hands the best therapeutic measure that has been employed in all the history of medicine. It is the most universally applicable. It will cure, that is help, all forms of disease. It will relieve many of the symptoms of even incurable diseases. It will occasionally arouse the resistive vitality of the patient to such an extent that even apparently incurable diseases will be overcome. This is the lesson that the modern student of medicine must draw from the history of quackery.
CHAPTER VII
NOSTRUMS AND THE HEALING POWER OF SUGGESTION
A striking illustration of the power of the mind to bring about the cure of ailments and symptoms of every sort is found in the history of the many nostrums and remedies that have worked wonders for a time and later proved to be inert or even harmful. The ordinary definition of a nostrum includes the idea of secrecy. At all times in the world's history fortunes have been made out of such remedies. They appeal not only to the uneducated, but also to those who are supposed to be well informed, and this in spite of the fact that generally the remedies are claimed to do good for nearly every form of disease, and it must be evident to anyone, after a moment's serious thought, that the one idea of their inventor is not to benefit patients, but to make money.
With the multiplication of newspapers and magazines, there has been a great increase in these secret remedies and of their users. Apparently all that is needed for many people who are ailing, or think they are ailing, is to be told in a more or less impressive way that some remedy will cure, and then it proceeds to do them good. There is a general impression abroad that some of these remedies represent great discoveries in medicine, and the feeling of most of those who take them is that the inventor has found a new and wonderful remedy. During all the centuries such secret remedies have come and gone, and not one of them has proved to be of lasting value. Just as soon as its composition is no longer a secret it begins to fail. It is, therefore, evident that its effect was entirely due to influence on the mind and not at all to any influence on the body.
The stories of the origin of these remedies bear a striking similarity. There are two variants on the theme: either the inventor is supposed to be an earnest student of science, devoting himself to profound research for many years and finally finding some wonderful secret of nature hitherto hidden from men; or else the remedy has been discovered by happy accident, and some chronic sufferer pronounced