In the latest Age of Invention newsletter, Anton Howes considers the medicinal knowledge of our ancestors and suggests that the mockery we usually heap on them is at least somewhat misplaced:
Portrait of Aelius Galenus or Claudius Galenus, generally known as Galen of Pergamon from The Lancet.
Engraving by Georg Paul Busch via Wikimedia Commons.
We’re very used to mocking the obscure-sounding remedies of our distant ancestors. It’s hard to take them seriously when their go-to remedies were to remove some blood or take a horoscope. Or, if you were wealthy, to swallow concoctions containing emeralds, sapphires, or obscure animal parts. With the benefit of hindsight, the trajectory of medical improvement seems obvious and linear, as we became attuned to the benefits of hygiene, introduced anaesthetics, and identified the real causes of disease.
But in some ways hindsight is misleading. Our ancestors may not have always understood why things worked, but they were often surprisingly good at finding things that actually did work — but which were discarded prematurely by the onward march of science, when everything we thought we knew was put to the test. Some sixteenth-century alchemy actually got results. The mechanical ventilation of confined spaces, albeit invented by following the erroneous idea that noxious airs caused disease, appears to have inadvertently saved lives. And long before germ theory became the dominant model of disease, many cities on the Mediterranean had special areas or islands — Lazarettos — to quarantine arrivals from plague-ridden ports.
Even the most outrageous of remedies could have something to them. Physicians once prescribed mercury to treat syphilis, effectively the HIV/AIDS of the early modern world, which in the late eighteenth century may have affected one in five Londoners. But mercury, albeit poisonous, appears to have worked along the same lines as chemotherapy, hopefully killing the disease before the cure killed the patient. It could be effective, though probably only under certain conditions. In the 1880s mercury was switched out for bismuth salts, which worked similarly — bismuth is a heavy metal, but far less toxic to humans than it was to the disease. Even the anti-syphilitic wonder drugs of the early twentieth century, Salvarsan and Neosalvarsan, were toxic compounds of arsenic, albeit far less unpleasant. Treating the disease successfully was often a matter of picking the right poison.
Syphilis, along with a host of other bacterial diseases, was finally conquered with the use of newly-discovered antibiotics like penicillin in the 1940s. But antibiotics actually have a much longer history — even if nobody understood how exactly they had worked.
