Part 19 (2/2)
Doctors must have found their profession an extremely risky one. No allowance was made for what is nowadays known as a ”professional error”. A doctor's hands were cut off if he opened a wound with a metal knife and his patient afterwards died, or if a man lost his eye as the result of an operation. A slave who died under a doctor's hands had to be replaced by a slave, and if a slave lost his eye, the doctor had to pay half the man's market value to the owner. Professional fees were fixed according to a patient's rank. Gentlemen had to pay five shekels of silver to a doctor who set a bone or restored diseased flesh, commoners three shekels, and masters for their slaves two shekels. There was also a scale of fees for treating domesticated animals, and it was not over-generous. An unfortunate surgeon who undertook to treat an ox or a.s.s suffering from a severe wound had to pay a quarter of its price to its owner if it happened to die. A shrewd farmer who was threatened with the loss of an animal must have been extremely anxious to engage the services of a surgeon.
It is not surprising, after reviewing this part of the Hammurabi Code, to find Herodotus stating bluntly that the Babylonians had no physicians. ”When a man is ill”, he wrote, ”they lay him in the public square, and the pa.s.sers-by come up to him, and if they have ever had his disease themselves, or have known anyone who has suffered from it, they give him advice, recommending him to do whatever they found good in their own case, or in the case known to them; and no one is allowed to pa.s.s the sick man in silence without asking him what his ailment is.” One might imagine that Hammurabi had legislated the medical profession out of existence, were it not that letters have been found in the a.s.syrian library of Ashur-banipal which indicate that skilled physicians were held in high repute. It is improbable, however, that they were numerous. The risks they ran in Babylonia may account for their ultimate disappearance in that country.
No doubt patients received some benefit from exposure in the streets in the sunlight and fresh air, and perhaps, too, from some of the old wives' remedies which were gratuitously prescribed by pa.s.sers-by. In Egypt, where certain of the folk cures were recorded on papyri, quite effective treatment was occasionally given, although the ”medicines”
were exceedingly repugnant as a rule; ammonia, for instance, was taken with the organic substances found in farmyards. Elsewhere some wonderful instances of excellent folk cures have come to light, especially among isolated peoples, who have received them interwoven in their immemorial traditions. A medical man who has investigated this interesting subject in the Scottish Highlands has shown that ”the simple observation of the people was the starting-point of our fuller knowledge, however complete we may esteem it to be”. For dropsy and heart troubles, foxglove, broom tops, and juniper berries, which have reputations ”as old as the hills”, are ”the most reliable medicines in our scientific armoury at the present time”. These discoveries of the ancient folks have been ”merely elaborated in later days”. Ancient cures for indigestion are still in use. ”Tar water, which was a remedy for chest troubles, especially for those of a consumptive nature, has endless imitations in our day”; it was also ”the favourite remedy for skin diseases”. No doubt the present inhabitants of Babylonia, who utilize bitumen as a germicide, are perpetuating an ancient folk custom.
This medical man who is being quoted adds: ”The whole matter may be summed up, that we owe infinitely more to the simple nature study of our people in the great affair of health than we owe to all the later science.”[269]
Herodotus, commenting on the custom of patients taking a census of folk cures in the streets, said it was one of the wisest inst.i.tutions of the Babylonian people. It is to be regretted that he did not enter into details regarding the remedies which were in greatest favour in his day. His data would have been useful for comparative purposes.
So far as can be gathered from the clay tablets, faith cures were not unknown, and there was a good deal of quackery. If surgery declined, as a result of the severe restrictions which hampered progress in an honourable profession, magic flourished like tropical fungi. Indeed, the worker of spells was held in high repute, and his operations were in most cases allowed free play. There are only two paragraphs in the Hammurabi Code which deal with magical practices. It is set forth that if one man cursed another and the curse could not be justified, the perpetrator of it must suffer the death penalty. Provision was also made for discovering whether a spell had been legally imposed or not.
The victim was expected to plunge himself in a holy river. If the river carried him away it was held as proved that he deserved his punishment, and ”the layer of the spell” was given possession of the victim's house. A man who could swim was deemed to be innocent; he claimed the residence of ”the layer of the spell”, who was promptly put to death. With this interesting glimpse of ancient superst.i.tion the famous Code opens, and then strikes a modern note by detailing the punishments for perjury and the unjust administration of law in the courts.
The poor sufferers who gathered at street corners in Babylon to make mute appeal for cures believed that they were possessed by evil spirits. Germs of disease were depicted by lively imaginations as invisible demons, who derived nourishment from the human body. When a patient was wasted with disease, growing thinner and weaker and more bloodless day by day, it was believed that a merciless vampire was sucking his veins and devouring his flesh. It had therefore to be expelled by performing a magical ceremony and repeating a magical formula. The demon was either driven or enticed away.
A magician had to decide in the first place what particular demon was working evil. He then compelled its attention and obedience by detailing its attributes and methods of attack, and perhaps by naming it. Thereafter he suggested how it should next act by releasing a raven, so that it might soar towards the clouds like that bird, or by offering up a sacrifice which it received for nourishment and as compensation. Another popular method was to fas.h.i.+on a waxen figure of the patient and prevail upon the disease demon to enter it. The figure was then carried away to be thrown in the river or burned in a fire.
Occasionally a quite effective cure was included in the ceremony. As much is suggested by the magical treatment of toothache. First of all the magician identified the toothache demon as ”the worm ”. Then he recited its history, which is as follows: After Anu created the heavens, the heavens created the earth, the earth created the rivers, the rivers created the ca.n.a.ls, the ca.n.a.ls created the marshes, and last of all the marshes created ”the worm”.
This display of knowledge compelled the worm to listen, and no doubt the patient was able to indicate to what degree it gave evidence of its agitated mind. The magician continued:
Came the worm and wept before Shamash, Before Ea came her tears: ”What wilt thou give me for my food, What wilt thou give me to devour?”
One of the deities answered: ”I will give thee dried bones and scented ... wood”; but the hungry worm protested:
”Nay, what are these dried bones of thine to me?
Let me drink among the teeth; And set me on the gums That I may devour the blood of the teeth, And of their gums destroy their strength-- Then shall I hold the bolt of the door.”
The magician provided food for ”the worm”, and the following is his recipe: ”Mix beer, the plant sa-kil-bir, and oil together; put it on the tooth and repeat Incantation.” No doubt this mixture soothed the pain, and the sufferer must have smiled gladly when the magician finished his incantation by exclaiming:
”So must thou say this, O Worm!
May Ea smite thee with the might of his fist.”[270]
Headaches were no doubt much relieved when damp cloths were wrapped round a patient's head and scented wood was burned beside him, while the magician, in whom so much faith was reposed, droned out a mystical incantation. The curative water was drawn from the confluence of two streams and was sprinkled with much ceremony. In like manner the evil-eye curers, who still operate in isolated districts in these islands, draw water from under bridges ”over which the dead and the living pa.s.s”,[271] and mutter charms and l.u.s.trate victims.
Headaches were much dreaded by the Babylonians. They were usually the first symptoms of fevers, and the demons who caused them were supposed to be bloodthirsty and exceedingly awesome. According to the charms, these invisible enemies of man were of the brood of Nergal. No house could be protected against them. They entered through keyholes and c.h.i.n.ks of doors and windows; they crept like serpents and stank like mice; they had lolling tongues like hungry dogs.
Magicians baffled the demons by providing a charm. If a patient ”touched iron”--meteoric iron, which was the ”metal of heaven”--relief could be obtained. Or, perhaps, the sacred water would dispel the evil one; as the drops trickled from the patient's face, so would the fever spirit trickle away. When a pig was offered up in sacrifice as a subst.i.tute for a patient, the wicked spirit was commanded to depart and allow a kindly spirit to take its place--an indication that the Babylonians, like the Germanic peoples, believed that they were guarded by spirits who brought good luck.
The numerous incantations which were inscribed on clay tablets and treasured in libraries, do not throw much light on the progress of medical knowledge, for the genuine folk cures were regarded as of secondary importance, and were not as a rule recorded. But these metrical compositions are of special interest, in so far as they indicate how poetry originated and achieved widespread popularity among ancient peoples. Like the religious dance, the earliest poems were used for magical purposes. They were composed in the first place by men and women who were supposed to be inspired in the literal sense; that is, possessed by spirits. Primitive man a.s.sociated ”spirit” with ”breath”, which was the ”air of life”, and identical with wind. The poetical magician drew in a ”spirit”, and thus received inspiration, as he stood on some sacred spot on the mountain summit, amidst forest solitudes, beside a' whispering stream, or on the sounding sh.o.r.e. As Burns has sung:
The muse, nae poet ever fand her, Till by himsel' he learn'd to wander, Adown some trottin' burn's meander, An' no think lang: O sweet to stray, an' pensive ponder A heart-felt sang!
Or, perhaps, the bard received inspiration by drinking magic water from the fountain called Hippocrene, or the skaldic mead which dripped from the moon.
The ancient poet did not sing for the mere love of singing: he knew nothing about ”Art for Art's sake”. His object in singing appears to have been intensely practical. The world was inhabited by countless hordes of spirits, which were believed to be ever exercising themselves to influence mankind. The spirits caused suffering; they slew victims; they brought misfortune; they were also the source of good or ”luck ”. Man regarded spirits emotionally; he conjured them with emotion; he warded off their attacks with emotion; and his emotions were given rhythmical expression by means of metrical magical charms.
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