(Routledge Library Editions. History of Medicine - 12.) Porter, Roy - Wear, Andrew - Problems and Methods in The History of Medicine-Routledge (2019)
(Routledge Library Editions. History of Medicine - 12.) Porter, Roy - Wear, Andrew - Problems and Methods in The History of Medicine-Routledge (2019)
HISTORY OF MEDICINE
Volume 12
Edited by
ROY PORTER AND ANDREW WEAR
First published in 1987 by Croom Helm Ltd
This edition first published in 2019
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© 1987 Roy Porter and Andrew Wear
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PROBLEMS
AND METHODS
IN THE HISTORY
OF MEDICINE
CROOM HELM
London • New York • Sydney
© 1987 Roy Porter and Andrew Wear
Croom Helm Ltd, Provident House, Burrell Row,
Beckenham, Kent BR3 lAT
Croom Helm Australia Pty Ltd, Suite 4, 6th Floor,
64-76 Kippax Street, Surry Hills, NSW 2010, Australia
Acknowledgements ix
Introduction 1
I The French Connection 13
1. Toby Gelfand The Annales and Medical
Historiography: Bilan et
Perspe~tives 15
2. J.-P. Goubert Twenty Years On: Problems
of Historical Methodology in
the History of Health 40
3. Colin Jones Montpellier Medical Students
and the Medicalisation of
18th-Century France 57
4. Fran~oise Loux Popular Culture and
Knowledge of the Body:
Infancy and the Medical
Anthropologist 81
II Medical History and Historical Demography 99
5; Arthur E. Imhof Methodological Problems in
Modern Urban History
Writing: Graphic
Representations of Urban
Mortality 1750-1850 101
6. E.A. Wrigley No Death Without Birth:
The Implications of English
Mortality in the Early
Modem Period 133
III Computers and the History of I:o.stitutions 151
7. Anne Digby Quantitative and Qualitative
Perspectives on the Asylum 153
8. Guenter B. Risse Hospital History: New
Sources and Methods 175
IV The Qualitative and the Quantitative· 205
9. Michael MacDonald Madness, Suicide, and the
Computer 207
10. Andrew Wear futerfaces: Perceptions of
Health and Illness in Early
Modem England 230
Index 256
Acknowledgements
Note
ix
Introduction
1
Introduction
2
Introduction
3
Introduction
4
Introduction
5
Introduction
6
Introduction
and refine what they can achieve. Two chapters in this volume,
those by Guenter Risse and by Anne Digby, do just that, describ-
ing and evaluating strategies that they themselves adopted in
research projects for which the availability of the computer has
made in-depth analysis possible to a degree that proved far too
daunting to scholars in the pre-computer age.
It has long been known that the Edinburgh Infirmary possesses
extraordinarily fine records, admission registers and especially
patient case histories; but the very richness of this kind of material
has paradoxically hitherto hindered rather than forwarded the
idea of constructing histories that centred on the patient as the
focus of a hospital's activities. 29 What sort and class of patient
was principally admitted? What were the characteristic complaints
from which they were suffering? How were they treated? How
long did they stay? How many recovered? How many died? Most
hospital histories hitherto have typically ducked such questions,
given a few juicy extracts out of minute books, or simply repeated
data out of annual reports or printed rules. By putting a computer
to work Risse demonstrates that we can obtain a statistical profile
of the Infirmary that tears off many of the veils of the impres-
sionistic and the ideological; and in so doing, he has shown how
hospital records can thenceforth profitably be used as major
indices not just of hospital practice but of community health and
sickness. 30
If hospital accounts have been dogged with ignorance and pre-
judice, how much more does that judgement apply to asylum
histories. Emotive images of these ('museums of madness')31
litter the pages of histories of psychiatry almost in inverse propor-
tion to our ignorance of their operation. Yet for many mental
hospitals, impressive records do actually survive, and Digby
demonstrates,· in her account of the strategies she adopted in her
computer-based study of the York Retreat, how sensitive
programming and careful evaluation of print-outs can modify the
most ingrained stereotypes, and open up new questions for
research. 32 Did, for example, the Victorian asylum 'silt up' with
patients who, once admitted, never got out? A superficial glance
at the figures seems to confirm this emotive stereotype.
Sophisticated computer analysis, however, shows that the great
majority of patients remained short-stay, and that a small core of
chronic cases all too readily distorts the picture.
Qualitative and quantitative evidence must ultimately mesh
because both relate· to the same objects: people. The artificial
7
Introduction
Notes
8
Introduction
9
Introduction
10
Introduction
11
I
15
Toby Gelfand
16
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
17
Toby Gelfand
18
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
19
Toby Gelfand
Figure 1.1: Annales publications in history of medicine (by decade). Hatched area
represents special numbers
30 # articles
20
15
10
5
8
6
1929 40 50 60 70 80 Yr.
20
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
21
Toby Gelfand
22
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
23
Toby Gelfand
24
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
25
Toby Gelfand
26
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
27
Toby Gelfand
28
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
29
Toby Gelfand
20 # articles
15
10
DEM.
EPID.
BIO-
5 . ANTHRO
p E
s T
y H
c N IDEAS
H 0
L
30
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
31
Toby Gelfand
the French sense, i.e. the 17th and 18th centuries; nine with the
19th century; and four with the 20th century. 40 If one leaves
aside two articles published in 1947 and 1952 and the work on
history of ideas and psychiatry already seen to be outside the
mainstream, the 19th-century component is reduced to just two
articles - both on the cholera epidemics. 41
The AnnaLes virtual exclusion of 'modern' history in the Anglo-
American sense of the word is confirmed in the two special
numbers: that of 1969 contains one tongue duree article, four
ancient/mediaeval/early modern, one 18th century, and one
18th-19th century; that of 1977, its misleading title reference to
the 18th and 19th centuries notwithstanding, devotes eight of ten
articles to the Old Regime; one other deals with the consulate and
empire and only one article - by Jacques Leonard on nursing
sisters - ventures into the post-Napoleonic 19th century.
Jacques Leonard is clearly one of the leading current exponents
of the social and cultural history of medicine in 19th-century
France. His links with the AnnaLes tradition are somewhat
ambiguous but he shares a preference for a quantitative empirical
approach to economic and social history and he has made frequent
contributions as a reviewer to the AnnaLes. 42 Yet the complete
absence of references to the AnnaLes in the bibliographical essay on
secondary sources in Leonard's recent study of 19th-century
French medicine (La medecine entre Les savoirs et Les pouvoirs (1981))
serves further to confirm that the journal has had little to offer in
this respect. Given Leonard's own background as an historian, it
is somewhat surprising to find that nearly half of his 29 citations
are to books by medical doctors and ten to works written before
1960. Whoever has dealt with medicine in post-revolutionary
France, clearly it has not been the AnnaLes.
Why have the AnnaLes shunned 19th"century medicine and with
it so much of importance for understanding modern culture? Why
do the names and scientific upheavals associated with Louis
Pasteur, Claude Bernard, and Jean-Martin Charcot, to take only
the three best-known French medical symbols of the century, not
appear? In principle, the answers are self-evident. Such subjects
are the stuff of traditional events history, the rapid history of
short-term change preoccupied with personalities, politics, and
conscious ideas. Much of the material reviewed in the preceding
pages constitutes the AnnaLes response and alternative to that kind
of history.
It is time, however, to call in question the AnnaLes neglect of
32
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
33
Toby Gelfand
3.4
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
Notes
35
Toby Gelfand
36
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
37
Toby Gelfand
38
Medical Historiography: Bilan et Perspectives
1958), 3-45. Chevalier's brilliant precedent none the less had curiously
little direct impact upon medical historiography in the Anna/es. Perhaps
Braudel' s severe critique of Chevalier's Classes laborieuses et classes
dangereuses aParis dans la premiere moitii du XIXe siecle (Paris, 1958), in which
the cholera material also appeared, was responsible. Braudel found
Chevalier guilty on three main counts: demographic 'imperialism',
excessive reliance on literary sources, and limiting his discussion to the
19th century. See Braudel, Ecrits sur l'histoire (Paris, 1969), 220-35.
42. See Matthew Ramsey, 'Review essay: history of a profession,
Annales style: the work of Jacques Leonard', Journal of Social History, 17
(1984), 319-38. For Leonard's objections to Foucault's approach to
history, see his essay 'L'historien et le philosophe' in M. Perrot (ed.),
L 'Impossible Prison (Paris, 1980), 9-28.
43. See H.L. Wesseling, 'The Annales School and the writing of con-
temporary history', Review, 1 (1978), 185-94.
44. Braudel, 'Histoire et sciences sociales. La longue durie (1958)' in
Ecrits sur l'histoire (Paris, 1969), 41-83, esp. p. 46.
45. Ibid., p. 233. Braudel wrote the review of Chevalier's book in
1960.
46. Ibid., p. 309 ('L'Histoire des civilisations: le passe explique le pre-
sent', 1959).
47. Ibid., p. 24 ('Preface, la Mediterranee et le monde Mediterraneen
a l'epoque de Philippe II', 1949).
48. Braudel acknowledges this chronological limit to the longue-durie in
an example taken from the history of disease. See Civilisation matirielle, vol.
1, 67-8.
49. Wesseling, pp. 192-4.
50. See Pierre Nora, 'Present' inJ. Legoff, R. Chartier andJ. Revel
(eds.), La Nouvelle Histoire (Paris, 1978), 467-72.
51. Leonard, in Perrot (ed.), L 'Impossible Prison; Corbin, Les jilles de
noce, Misere sexuelle et prostitution aux 19e et 20e siecles (Paris, 1978); Corbin,
Le miasme et la Jonquille. L 'odorat et l'imaginaire social XVIIIe-XIXe siecles
(Paris, 1982); Faure, Ginese de l'hOpital modeme: les hOpitaux civils de Lyon de
1802 (Lyon, 1981). J .-P. Gaubert 'La conquete de l'eau. Analyse histori-
que du rapport a l'eau clans le France contemporaine' (these d'etat
soutenue 3 fev. 1984). In addition Marc Ferro and Jean-Paul Aron have
made a film on the history of medicine that deals with modern transfor-
mations of old problems and with problems created by new technologies.
39
2
Twenty Years On: Problems of
Historical Methodology in the History
of Health*
]. -P. Gaubert
40
Problems of Historical Methodology
41
]. -P. Goubert.
42
Problems of Historical Methodology
43
J.-P. Goubert
44
Problems of Historical Methodology
medical act, executed if possible by a duly qualified midwife, that
is, by a man, a surgeon or even a doctor of medicine.
Getting to know the history of a society well, studying its social
and cultural subdivisions, locating its economic cleavages, con-
fronting the analysis of learned discourse with the facts, recon-
structed patiently as with a puzzle: all these concerns, these works
of detail, this taste for organising materials and questions and
making them match each other, can and must save the historian
from being too much himself, too much of his own time, too
removed, in a word, from his ancestors, close or distant.
45
J. -P. Gaubert
Advantages and limits of the sources consulted
The historian may well ask himself if these aids were appreciated
or not, if they were effective, in view of the rates of mortality that
have been calculated. He may even venture into bolder
hypotheses, as to whether the alliance formed at that period
between the State and Medicine did riot succeed that between the
State and the Church, and whether a certian laicisatioii of
knowledge about the body did not follow from this.
Two types of archival spurce of considerable interest present
themselves. The first type has to do with mortality. The areas of
deficit (in the balance of baptisms against burials) can be located
year after year and placed on a chart; the designations of illnesses
can be translated into modem terms whenever mentioned. Thus,
the course taken by epidemics can be established at the provincial
level. 11 ·
46
Problems of Historical Methodology
47
j.-P. Gaubert
Methodological difficulties
The central difficulty that the historian comes up against, with the
Anc£en Regime in particular, is that there was neither actor nor spec-
tator of the scenes he is reconstituting. What is at stake in his
profession is also to tell the story, by achieving a coherent picture
of the scenes he presents, working from the· archival and printed
material he has assembled and criticised.
More precisely, the problems the researcher meets with when
he studies public health in Brittany 20 years before the Revolution
are of several orders: some have to do with the diversity of the
country, consisting of the normal dichotomies (sacred/profane,
rural/urban, scientific/popular, illness/health) and in specific ones
(Celtic/Roman, pagan/Christian, sea/land ... ). T-0 see more
clearly into all this, the historian needs to be guided by the light
cast by the notions, concepts and methods worked out by different
types of'specialists': historical demographers, historians of the life
sciences and historical anthropologists.
48
Problems of Historical Methodology
49
]. -P. Goubert
habitual smallpox with its regular cycles, but also and especially
a virulent epidemic of bacillary dysentery that spread in 1779 not
only through Brittany but through the whole of the west of
France. 15 Nor should one forget the epidemic of exanthematic
typhus that was imported from the American Colonies by the
Royal Navy in 1758.
Without a doubt, for the poorest and the abandoned a deficient
and unbalanced diet facilitated the undermining of health by
transmissible disease, particularly in the countryside in the
interior of Brittany. It isn't an accident that twice between 1770
and 1789 crises of subsistence and epidemics coincided. Depriva-
tion, unemployment, the lack of cash to pay for remedies and
medicines (supposing they were effective anyway) created a
vicious circle found today in certain under-developed countries.
Infectious illnesses, which today are harmless, ravaged fragile
organisms such as young children, pregnant women and the old.
They also fostered the development of fatal complications for
many others, when pulmonary tuberculosis, for instance, endemic
in many rural areas, revived in hard times. In a country where the
principal cereals (rye and buckwheat) were slow growing, because
their quality depended on autumn heat, the little ice age of the
period from 17 50 to 1800 played a harmful role.
To this climatic conjuncture was added the naval-military con-
juncture that engendered certain epidemics along the roads of
Brittany. Finally, the non-central position of Brittany with regard
to the main roads and the great markets served to push it a little
further into the 'circle' of depression and ill-health. In this
perspective the surplus of deaths, of epidemic and frumentary
crises, constituted the epiphenomena particular to an immobilist
society in which only the 'urban nuclei' followed the general
pattern of evolution. A society, and particularly that of Brittany
at the end of the Ancien Regime, engenders its own kind of mor-
tality.
50
Problems of Historical Methodology
51
]. -P. Goubert
52
Problems of Historical Methodology
weapon', the common idea was to reinforce the health and the
'defence' of the patient against the 'attack' of disease.
Finally, a certain number of remedies of vegetable origin (infu-
sions, vermifuges, syrup based on 'simples') were common to the
old learned medicine and to the popular practice at the end of the
18th century. In the same way, the use of alcohols and spices,
recommended for 'driving out' disease, belonged to an old fund
oflearned medicine, the latter being humoral and belonging to the
classical tradition. But under the pen of many 'enlightened'
doctors, this way of doing things was relegated to an obscure, if
not obscurantist past; or else it was assimilated to dangerous
popular practices.
In order tb better separate the grain from the chaff, that is,
'true' medicine from 'false', doctors came to speak a language in
which professionalist ideology swept away historical realities.
From this perspective, learned medicine cast aside the old belief
in a 'universal remedy', which henceforth was seen as 'scan-
dalous', replacing it with a trust in 'specific remedies', which
alone were capable, it claimed, of effectively combatting the
different 'types' of disease.
Nevertheless, while it is true that enlightened doctors were so
insistent on delineating for themselves a 'professional field' for the
exercise of their art, they were aware that the medicine they prac-
tised had become far removed from the. sacred medicine practised
as much by sorcerers as by saints, necessary intercessors between
the world of men and the forces of Nature. This is why they
condemned witches who tied and untied the knot, forbidding or
permitting a marriage to be made and to be fertile. For the same
reason, they cast the shadow of suspicion over the 'matrons' who
posed a serious challenge to midwives and surgeons, indeed to not
a few doctors.
Similarly again, they could not tolerate the cult of healing
saints: St Meen who cures 'madness' or St Guery who puts an end
to sterility. According to our 'good doctors', it was better to.come
and consult them and cast these practices of the dark ages into
oblivion. Or else, at the limit, for some carefully distinguished
religion from medicine, the practice of certain Christian rituals
appeared admissible to them, but they contested their 'medical'
efficacity. Better still, they sometimes condemned certain religious
practices in the name of medicine and hygiene. Thus it was with
the practice of watching over the dead, when the family circle,
enlarged to include neighbours and friends, assembled to pray for
53
]. -P. Gaubert
a whole night by the death bed. In the same way, they protested
loudly against the practice of continuing to go to Sunday Mass
during an epidemic. Believing in contagion, they declared against
washing diseased limbs with water, even if it were holy, and, still
more, against all gatherings, which favoured the propagation of
certain diseases. ·
54
Problems of Historical Methodology
Notes
55
J. -P. Gaubert
56
3
Montpellier Medical Students and the
Medicalisation of 18th-Century France*
Colin Jones
•A briefer and more closely focused version of the present article was presented at
the 11 Oe Congres national des societes savantes in Montpellier in 1985 and has appeared
as 'La vie et !es revendications des etudiants en medecine a Montpellier au XVIIIe
siecle ', Actes du 11 Oe Congres national des sociitis savantes. Section d 'histoire des sciences et
des techniques, tome II ( 1985).
My revision of the paper for publication here was done while I was visiting
fellow at the Shelby Cullom Davis Center, Princeton University. I would like to
thank the Center and its director, Lawrence Stone, as well as another visiting
fellow, Mary Lindemann, whose unpublished seminar paper 'The medical worlds
of the eighteenth century' has been of great help in this revision.
57
Colin Jones
58
The Medicalisation of 18th-Century France
59
Colin Jones
culture that seemed to saturate the city: it was commonly said that
there were more doctors than patients in Montpellier, 12 and that
babies in their cradles here spouted medical Latin. It was,
Laennec held, a prejudice on the part of the public to set so much
store by a Montpellier education; but, he noted (in words that
underline the drift of the present argument), 'in medicine, we hold
our credit solely from the public; it's silly, I know; but it is a
silliness of the public, and it is only politic for a young doctor to
respect it.' 13
Materials that allow us to examine the educational experience
that the University of Montpellier offered in the 18th century are
not lacking, and indeed in the space here available I can only skim
over some of the most important sources. The archives of the
Medical Faculty in particular are in many areas exceptionally
rich, and contain a good deal of virtually untapped material on the
institutional life of the University in the 18th century. 14 They
may be complemented by materials from a wide variety of other
sources: the public documents to be found in departmental and
municipal archives, 15 academic correspondence arid private note-
books, 16 travel literature, 17 the almost wholly untapped source of
the memoirs and souvenirs. of former students; and so on. Such
documentation allows us to pass beyond the glitterati of 18th-
century Montpellier medicine to consider the general run of
medical students who, once trained, would people the French
provinces as practitioners. How, then, was the run-of-the-mill
doctor of provincial France trained in the 18th century? Did his
training change in the period leading down to the Revolution? In
what manner, if at all, did he march to the distant drums of
'medicalisation'? And what did that 'medicalisation' mean to
him?
60
The Medicalisation of 18th-Century France
years at the University, and it was such qualities that struck
travellers passing through Montpellier and that the public
authorities deplored. The students needed, fulminated the
Governor of Languedoc in 1772, a good dose of discipline, which
was absolutely essential 'for good order and for the public tran-
quility .'20 The student body, agreed the subdelegate of Mont-
pellier, was 'numerous, difficult to control and full of
troublemakers. ' 21 How justified were such charges? And were
they the whole story?
Students followed the courses given by their eight professors
each weekday in term except Wednesday, which was traditionally
a day off out of respect, it was said, for Hippocrates. The course
of studies lasted for three years, but in fact there were no examina-
tions for the first two and a half years. For this period, students
had only to register at the University once a term, and could even
absent themselves from Montpellier for much of the time. Hence,
with the exception of the last six months of their studies - when
they had to work long and hard to prepare for a demanding set
of written and viva voce examinations - most students had more
than enough time for distraction and amusement. It was a system
of education that the philosophe La Mettrie - himself a physician
- castigated in his usual caustic manner:
61
Colin Jones
62
The Medicalisation of 18th-Century France
intellectually progressive and more professional surgery, and
medical students clearly found it difficult to accept that their
erstwhile inferiors were well on the way towards becoming their
equals. Throughout the century., the two groups were at daggers
drawn. The University's botanical and anatomical demonstra-
tions were on occasion disrupted by their brawling. Even when
seemingly engrossed in night-time grave-digging, surgeons and
students fell on one another in gang fights, before the arrival of
the city watch sent them fleeing for the shadows. 33
63
Colin Jones
64
The Medicalisation of 18th-Century France
65
Colin Jones
66
The Medicalisation of 18th-Century France
officials proudly proclaimed that 'it was virtually for the Univer-
sity that [the lodge] had been established, and it was by the
University that it would be for ever perpetuated. ' 47
67
Colin Jones
68
The Medicalisation of 1Bth~Century France
69
Colin Jones
70
The Medicalisation of 18th-Century France
71
Colin Jones
72
The Medicalisation of 18th-Century France
more 'medicalised,' if one likes. Changing mentalites among their
putative clientele also meant that the medical profession could
view itself increasingly as the technicians of the booming new
culture of health maintenance. 74 This was a heady transforma-
tion, and among many medical practitioners it elicited a more
flexible and interventionistic approach, and a greater sensitivity to
the presentation of their medical services. 'Medicine is a
commodity that everyone wants,' quipped La Mettrie. 75 Medical
historians have in the past been perhaps too willing to write off the
philosophe-physician as a throwback to Moliere, but in the light of
the present argument it would be more appropriate to view him
as a prophet of the new trend of medical commercialism. Doctors
were in essence nothing but 'merchants in medicine,' 'kinds of
traders who all go hunting for gold and silver, though by different
and circuitous routes. ' 76 Medicine was in essence only a branch
of rhetoric: what the patient wanted to hear was always the key
consideration, in persuading him to part with his money in
exchange for the medical 'commodity' of health,
Perhaps because they have not been willing enough to consider
the changing pattern and volume of demand for medical services,
perhaps too because they have too often taken at face value doc-
tors' own estimates of their motivation as disinterested and above
sordid monetary considerations, medical historians have con-
sistently undervalued developments in 18th-century medicine that
bespeak a commercial approach to medicine and a greater sen-
sitivity to the market for their services. Even the Mesmerist cult
- perhaps the mosi: striking illustration of the new cult of health
and well-being - is often written off as an example of man's
constant ability to be duped, rather than analysed as a classic case-
study in medical entrepreneurship. 77 The growth of medical
journalism and, in particular, medical advertising and self-
publicity, are other features of the medical scene that have .not
been fully appreciated. 78 The emergence of private mad-houses
- not as widespread in France as in England, it is true, for many
monasteries were still willing to accept lunatics on presentation of
a royal lettre de cachet - is another development in which doctors
could amass fortunes: the career of asylum-manager Jacques
Belhomme, for example, is a most illuminating illustration of
medical 'playing-to-the-market. ' 79 Similar examples could
doubtless be found in the world of mineral spas and compound
remedies. 80 The efficacy of treatment for venereal disease knew
no great breakthrough in the 18th century: yet the constantly
73
Colin Jones
74
The Medicalisation of 18th-Century France
Notes
75
Colin Jones
76
The Medicalisation of 18th-Century France
77
Colin Jones
78
The Medicali'sation of 18th-Century France
49. ADH C 529.
50. Ibid.
51. AFMD94, Q163, S 17, S 127; ADHG 1322. See, for subrogation,
ADH G.1320.
52. ADH C 524, C 530.
53. ADH C 524; AFM C 91.
54. See the comment of F. Lebrun, Se soigner autrejois, 57.
55. L. Dulieu, La Mlde&ine aMontpellier, 3.
56. For a general discussion of this point, C. Jones, Charity and 'bien-
faisance': the treatment o.f the poor in .the Montpellier region, 17~0-.1815
(Cambridge, 1982), 124-8.
57. ADH HD B 87.
58. ADH HD E 8.
59. ADH HD E 12.
60. ADH C 555.
61. J.C. Chaptal, Mes souvenirs sur Napolion (1893), p. 16.
62.·AFM C 76, C 77.
63. AFM F 68, Q 159.
64. ADH G 1322; AFM Q 27.
65. Biographical material .on Bordeu in his Comspondance, vol. 1,
passim.
66. Willermoz correspondence (reference in note 25 above).
67. ADH HD E 9.
68. AFM Q53, S 18; and L. Dulieu, 'Pierre Chirac: sa vie, ses ecrits,
ses idees', Montpellier midical (1957).
69. Cited in P. Aries, L'Homme devant la mort (1977), 359. And, for
women, see the highly anecdotal, but interesting A. Cabanes, 'Les
femmes du monde aux cours de medecine' in his Moeurs intimes du passe,
5th series, esp. p. 311 ff.
70. ADH HD E 9.
71. 0. Huft-0n, "7ie Poor o.f eighteenth-century France, 1750-89 (Oxford,
1974).
72. For introductions to the burgeoning literature on 'dechrist-
ianisation,' see M. Vovelle, Pihl baroque et dlchristianisation au XVI/le siecle:
/es attitudes devant la mort d'apris les clauses des testaments (1977); and J.
Delumeau, 'Au sujet de la dechristianisation', Revue d'hiswire motlerne et
contemporaine, 22 (1975). See too J. McManners, Death and the Enlighten-
ment. Changing attitudes to death among christians and unbelievers in eighteenth-
century France (Oxford, 1981), esp. pp. 440-5.
73. Condorcet, in O.H. Prior (ed.), Esquisse d'un tableau historique des
progris de l'esprit humain (1933), 236.
74. Cf. the convergent arguments of M. Foucault in his Hiswire de la
sexualite. I. La volonte de savoir (1976).
75. La Mettrie, Ouvrage de Penelope.
76. La Mettrie, Ouvrage de Penelope.
77. Though see R. Damton, Mesmerism and the end o.f the Enlightenment
in France (Cambridge, Mass., 1968).
78. For an English example of the medical juice to be squeezed from
periodical literature, R. Porter, 'Lay medical knowledge in the eighteenth
century: the evidence of the "Gentleman's Magazine"', Medical Hist6ry,
79
Colin Jones
80
4
Popular Culture and Knowledge of the
Body: Infancy and the Medical
Anthropologist*
Franfoise Loux
81
Franfoise Loux
82
Infancy and the Medical Anthropologist
83
Franfoise Loux
state of research in France from this angle in the last few years.
What I would like to do instead is to list a number of both
theoretical and methodological problems occurring at the juncture
between the two disciplines. But first, let me begin with the data
of my own research to make myself clearer.
Before I start, however, let me just say a few words about the
overall framework of this research. I have been engaged in this
project for some 15 years .at the Centre d'Ethnologie Fran~aise, a
laboratory located in the Musee National des Arts et Traditions
populaires. It bears essentially on the body and its meaning in
French rural society towards the end of the 19th century.
On the basis of specific examples t3.ken in particular from the
domain of infancy, I have tried to show that there existed a
culture, a set of traditional knowledge pertaining to the body, with
its own coherence and mode of transmission, which, however,
doesn't imply that it is completely independent from learned
culture. It is this internal coherence that has caught my attention
in my research into the general signification of the body (especially
through proverbs), in my research on infancy and the meaning of
teething, as well as in my current research on the content of
popular medical recipes. I have also analysed the transmission of
knowledge pertaining to the body and nature in research still in
progress on mountain guides (not the books but the humans).
Finally, I am interested in the complex problem of the relation
between learned and popular as revealed through two research pro-
jects: one, just mentioned, on recipes in popular medicine; the other
on chap-books, and, more generally, on the literature popularising
medical advice and recipes in the 18th and 19th centuries.
Within this entire field of research, a certain amount of
material and methods represents, in my view, non-variable fac-
tors. I would like to insist on three points. First, I have conducted
a specific research project on proverbs, 9 . but I also use them a
great deal through the rest of my research. It is often said that
there is a paucity of material on traditional rural life. But in actual
fact, provided one knows how to interpret it and, especially, pro-
vided one doesn't confuse discourse and practice, there is more
material available than is generally thought. Thus all proverbs
pertaining to physicians are hostile. One shouldn't infer from this
84
Infancy and the Medical Anthropologist
85
Franf.oise Loux
work and vice versa, without there always being a direct relation,
a continuity, between them. I would even go so far as to venture
that there cannot be a one-to-one relation between materials of too
different a nature. Yet this confrontation with the field seems
indispensable to me.
Problems regarding a critical use of sources and of the contex-
tualisation of these sources also occur at the level of material
accumulated during field-work, espedally in relation to the con-
text of the investigation. The experience I have gained working on
folklorists' materials as well as through being critical of the manner
in which these have been gathered, without always locating them
precisely in the social context of their utterances, enables me
sometimes to be· more. rigorous in my approach when I return to
the field. It often takes several meetings before getting beyond the
polite vacuities of the first encounters. However, the vagueness of
some of the recollections also has a meaning. Thus terms such as
'always', 'in the olden days' are always meaningless for a historian;
for an anthropologist they must be interpreted in terms of attitudes
to the past; if, for instance, it is claimed that something has always
been known, what is thereby indicated is that this knowledge is so
old that it constitutes one's identity. Even in cases in which the
dating is mistaken, discovering the reasons and the functions of this
'mistake' is meaningful for the anthropologist.
In all aspects,. my research is therefore close to historical
research bearing on the same social categories and the same
period, but it none the less has its own specific character.
Let us now turn to more detailed examples.
Research on infancy
86
Infancy and the Medical Anthropologist
87
Franfoise Loux
that worms might penetrate into the brain through the fontanelle,
causing meningitis, or that draughts might cause a fatal inflamma-
tion of the brain.
For all these reasons, the dirtiness of the head was regarded as
a protective layer - a second skin - coming to reinforce the fon-
tanelle.
Besides, in this society, the body's wastes, as they symbolised
the body in its entirety, could not be disposed of in any casual
way. On the one hand, they could be used for witchcraft; on the
other, the disappearance of a part of the body prefigured that of
the whole, that is death. This is made evident, for instance, in the
restrictions bearing on washing clothes.
Here it is obvious that not to wash a child, or rather, to wash
him but little, constituted a protective practice. I say, to wash him
but little, because, in this society, one must also be aware of
nuances: what, from our present perspective, seems like a state of
real filthiness, admitted of fundamental nuances ranging from
negligence to preventive practice.
What I have tried to demonstrate with this example is that it
isn't enough to prove, even with the aid of statistics, that some
practices are harmful, to establish that they were intentionally so.
The intention can only be grasped from within, by analysing the
meaning of those practices.
88
Infancy and the Medical Anthropologist
89
Franfoise Loux
One of the more persistent debates is that .of the relative import-
ance each discipline grants to permanence and variation.
The historian, like the sociologist, tends to be more interested
in what is specific to a period, a social class, what distinguishes
them. Whether it is in the long term or not, he tries to spot periods
of transition, of rupture. In contrast, the anthropologist is more
concerned with what Levi-Strauss calls the non-variable, that is,
with continuity, with what endures or persists in a new form under
change.
This represents in my view two different but complementary
forms of approach to social change. Thus, the anthropologist
interested in non-variables is concerned to show that changes,
ruptures, are never radical, that they are preceded by slow
slidings. His contribution may help nuance the evolutions that
historians sometimes describe a little too much from the outside.
In the case of the ethnologist, the almost complete absence of
interest in duration, in dating, may lead to some imprecisions. In
this case, contact with history is particularly rewarding, at least as
far as ethnology in France is concerned, in that it forces one to be
precise and even to put into question, once again, the all-too-
nebulous notions of tradition, of traditional society.
The fact remains that in spite of changes, the non-variable
elements are always far more numerous than one would think at
first glance; it is anthropology's great contribution to have
brought them to light. For instance, where the historian only sees
90
Infancy and the A1edical Anthropologist
91
Franfoise Loux
92
Infancy and the Medical Anthropologist
93
Franfoise Loux
Rigour
94
Infancy and the Medical Anthropologist
I think that one must insist a great deal - and. this isn't done
sufficiently - on intuition, floating observation, such as Colette
Petonnet describes it, in relation to urban anthropology taking,
for example, the Parisian cemetery, Le Pere Lachaise. 22 She
spends long periods of time,. at different times of the day, wander-
ing through it, looking at the graves, speaking to strangers;
thereby without her really deciding to do it, the lines of force of
the terrain construct themselves gradually within her. At the
beginning of a piece of research, a long, necessarily vague, period
seems essential. This doesn't preclude rigour in the gathering and
critique of material, nor even the intervention of the quantitative
and the computer. I don't think there is any cause to make sharp
demarcations between these two aspects. But as the most reward-
ing research of these last years shows, the qualitative plays an
important and significant role in all valuable research.
Notes
95
Franfoise Loux
96
Infancy and the Medical Anthropologist
important role.
22. Colette Petonnet, 'L'Observation flottante, · l'exemple d'un
cimetiere parisien', L'Homme, XX/I (1983), 37-47.
97
II
101
Arthur E. Imhof
102
Figure 5.1: Mortality in Berlin 1721-1980. Data in promille (i.e. number of deaths per 1000 inhabitants).
~ ~
ro ro
60 ~---1-----------il---------+--------+----+60
1740 1758
1808
194 50
..,._____,..,o
r-----+30
20
20L-+---t--1-
10 .,....,- 10
.-..~~~~-f-~~~~~~+-~~~~~-+~~~~~~+-~~~~~__,1--~~--to
Source: Berliner Statistik, 31, (1977), 8, frontispiece; also continuation to 1980 on the basis of data from the
Statistichrs Landesamt, Berlin.
Arthur E. Imhof
1
¢ 1875-1877
<15°/o
15-20·1.
20-2s·1.
25-30%
>30°1.
ohne/sans/
without
lnform•tion
13.0 %
1780- 1899 14.98'/o
1780-1899 23.G •1.
1780-1899 22.9 ·1.
P: Philippsburg 1780-11199 29.3 ·1.
S: Schwalm 1780-1899 14.8 °lo
G: Gabe-Ibach 1780-1899 33.9 °lo
104
Methodological Problems
105
Arthur E. Imhof
J
,
80c- -- I B • Leipi1ar.,i ;l V
7Ql J FMAMJ J ASOND 7™AMJ J ASO'ND' I 9 • N~.rti~~rvi
10 • P1tkaiarvl
1845-1869 """"
13or-
120• - - - - -
110·-
100'
9of
sor- -
70 J FMAMJJASOND
10 • Pltkajii.rvi
: 1880 ~ = 2402
1870 -1894 ""'°'° :I 1 [!:] Haparand• -~ - --- ·
--- i
~~g~r-~.
11of -- - -
100 m,,,~=~=
= ~ ~ ~~~~::
[1
j
2@ Vuono
5 •
6 •
Mattila
Neder-Vojakala
"-...2.-
106
Methodological Problems
107
Arthur E. Imhof
Figure 5. 4: The mortality of iefants and small children in the rural and in the
urban parish of Nedertornea during the first five years of life. Top: 1845-1869
(in Haparanda town only 1855-1859). Bottom: 1870-1895 (in Haparanda
town only 1885-1889). The two columns on the left always denote neonatal
mortality per 1000 live births during months 0-12, the two columns on the
right, months 13-60. Note the different scaus. While neonatal mortality during
the first period was considerably higher in the rural areas than in the town, and
the opposite .ratio was true for infant mortality, during the second period neonatal
mortality had indeed decreased but now Jar more infants died during. the months
directly after: a result of increasing rural suckli"ng during the first year of life.
· 0 too •t...
350 70
1845-69
300 60
200 40
100 20
oU888~Hmmt __ +--~~'--11:1:---.
0 Country Town 12 Country Town 60 Months
0 too 0too 1870-95
300 60
200 40
100 20
0
0 Country Town 12 Country Town 60 Months
108
Methodological Problems
URBAN/URBAIN RURAL
PHILIPPSBURG ALTDORF,GABELBACH
•1. 1780-1809 HESEL, ZACHOW
40 (1780-1809:-Gabelbach)
32.7'1. 'I.
::j~(j1
30 48.4'1.
20
10 () Q nkl00'1.J~200
996
Sauglmgssterb\1chke1t Sterbetalle 0-1 Monat
Morta.lite infantile oeces 0-1 mars
Infant Morlallty Deaths 0-1 month
1810-1839
1840-1869
'I.
40
3L5'1. 'I.
36.4'1.
::~~·~·
30
~
20
10
10~
Qi.J.....O:..:..:n("°~1'"°'00"°•1""'.1-~- - O n{:l00°!.):
1627 517 1Gt.5 335
1870-1899
'I.
'·
109
Arthur E. Imhof
For quite some time 'social inequality when faced with disease, old
age, dying and death' has been one of the favourite subjects among
economic and social historians and historian-demographers. 4 But,
with the aid of Figure 5.6, I am not going to make the obvious
connections once again. What I want to do is to make one question
the central one, that is, the effect of such circumstances as prevailed
then on. the different social strata. Thus I do not mean to
demonstrate the fact or to explain why population class IV in Halle
on the Saale 1855-1875 suffered from a rate of still-births and
mortality of infants and small children twice as high as that for the
highest class (officials, doctors, lawyers, wholesale merchants), or
why deaths from illfections and other acute diseases were much more
frequent in the former class than with the latter. I want rather to
suggest that the people from stratum I, whether we like it or not,
have much more in common with us than those of stratum N. The
reason for this is not because we probably belong to a class more
closely related to them, but because of a profile regarding age of
death and a spectrum of causes of death much more similar to ours
than is the case with the lower stratum. At that time developments
started in the upper stratum that concerns us all today. Some of
these were the rise in the ratio of old people to the total population,
the small number of children, death from heart and circulatory
110
Methodological Problems
111
Figure 5.6: Social inequo,lity with reference to dying and death in the city of Halle on the Saale, 1855-1875. Top: Distribution of deaths in two
different social strata according to their age at death. Data in per cent (100 per cent = all deaths in the relevant stratum). Bottom: Distribution of
deaths in two different social strata according to their cause of death. Data in per cent (100 per cent = all deaths in the relevant stratum). In each
case left: Population stratum I: Senior officials, physicians, lawyers, clergymen, wholesale merchants. In each case on the right: Population stratum
IV: Service personnel, manual and factory workers, untrained employees.
Age
Population stratum I Population stratum IV
n: 2327 0:7128
~80
70
60
50
40
30
20
10
0
•,. 25 20 15 10 5 0 0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 .,•
1) still births 4) 1 until up to 5 years
2) 0 until up to one month 5) 5 until up to 10 years
3) 1 until up to 1 2 months
Spectrum of causes of death
Source: J. Conrad: Beitrag zur Untersuchung des Eiriflusses von Lebensstellung und Beruf auf die Mortalitiitsverhii.ltnisse, auf Grund des statistischen Materials at
Halle on the Saale 1855-74 (Jena, 1877), 59-60, 152.
Figure 5. 7: Above-average mortality among married women of childbearing age in the city of Philippsburg 1780-1899. Why? Distribution of
death-f of partners out of 909 first marriages on both sides 1780-1899 according to age and sex (bottom) as well as distribution of 5050 births
from these marriages according to the mother's age (top).
Philippsburg ··--
Births I Total of births
1sool Of these, deaths during infancy (0-12 monthsl
1400 L_ iljl Deaths of marriage partners from first marriages .on either side
1200 · Women died in childbed (0-41 days)
Deaths
1000 d 140
19 130
120
110
~K~.MH100
Daaths 2'
901
:rar- ii2l.o:al I I ll2'9_at
0 15- 19 20-24 25-29 30-)4 35-39 40-44 45-49
80
Age of .the mother 80
1 I I- I I I I I
70 70
60
50
:1
40
I I QI QI ~ Id I~ 40
30 30
t----+--+-
20 20
10 10
0 I 11 gJ1t1 F%ZI ~ ·f?Jl;:I F%ZI ~ ~ l?fll ~· W/I F%%11%1?J 11%%11 0
15-19 20-24 25-29 30-34 35-39 40-44 45-49 50-54 55-59 60-64 65-69 \'0-7" 75-79 80+
Age (years)
115
Arthur E. Imhof
smallpox and the waves of cholera since the 1830s. In both cases
it was a matter of infectious diseases causing epidemics that
appeared according to periodic rhythms. But the great difference
between them was the fact that smallpox decimated a marginal age
group of little social consequence (that is, babies and infants),
while cholera afflicted all age groups, including those most impor-
tant for the functioning of society, those in 'the best years of their
lives' and in positions of power. Although cholera demanded
numerically fewer victims it was an incomparably greater social
menace. Those empowered to use all kinds of measures acted with
corresponding swiftness and effectiveness. While smallpox had
been allowed for centuries to be rampant practically unchecked,
cholera was brought under control within a few generations.
Threats posed by fatal diseases to the whole of society have at all
times been less tolerated than those specific to marginal age
groups, be they, as then, concentrated within the youngest age
group or, as today, within the older and oldest age groups.
116
Methodological Problems
Scarlet fever:
Acute bile 32420
fever: -----=~~~§§;;;;;;§~d±d~~,~····=J~;;z:;::'~•:;~·=~--=~
Acute chest fever: 49
Spotted fever: 52 F
Hectic fever: 1 51
117
Arthur E. Imhof
Hepatomalacia
~~Ti~~e;~ttid~g~~!~:tl~~e~f the liver : - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chronic hepatitis
Acute hepatitis
Organic degeneration of the liver 1 ------------------
Blackness of the liver
Round-cell sarcoma of the liver
Carcinoma of the liver
Cirrhosis of the liver
Hepatic ulcer
.. -
I p
Consumption of the liver
Inflammation of the liver
lnduration of the liver
Hepatic obstruction
liver disease
Liver disease 19
Hepatic obstruction 4
lnduration of the liver 39
Inflammation in the liver 1
Liver consumption 3
Hepatitis 22
m Hepatic lesion · 1
a Debility of the liver 1
iB ·Suppuration of the liver 2
= ~;g:~~ ft~~;r~i~~~se 1
17
Enlargement of the liver 4
liver phthisis 1
o Liver abscess 3
• Chronic affection of the liver 9
• Cancer of the !iver 10
!illLiver ulcer 2
l!I Cirrhosis of the liver 2
o Carcinoma of the liver 1
• Round-cell sarcoma of the liver 1
• Blackness of the liver 1
o Organic degeneration of the liver 1
o Acute hepatitis 1
a Chronic hepatitis 1
m Ma!lgnant degeneration of the liver 1
11 Degeneration_ of the liver 1
• Hepatomalac1a 1
118
Methodological Problems
200
Teeth
150
n .. lil.,5
100
so
I Dentition fever lh
Breaking1 :n~-~·~·'..__.~~~~--'-~==!=ed~...LIJ..!=°....Ll::i... 600
through of the teeth """ ..J1ib_, .JL
Dentition convulsion
n ., t.b
soo
Dentition convulsions
n c lld
1750 1800
400
300
200
100
0
1720 1800 1850
119
Arthur E. Imhof
Figure 5.11: Distribution of deaths from 'old age' (designation of cause of death
'old age') in the Berlin parish of Dorotkeenstadt 1715-1875 each year (marked
by black columns). Data in absolute figures.
bOO
500
lfOO
300"
200
:LOO
0
l.720 l.750 l.1100 l.1150 1870
120
Methodological Problems
121
Arthur E. Imhof
122
Methodological Problems
Figure 5.12: &hematic representation of successive occidental ideas about life and
its duration: in Homeric-Old Testament times, during about 2000 years of the
New Testament-metaphysical epoch, as well as the post-metaphysical period of
today. .
Birth Death
*
o~-~2~0_ __.4o_ _ _s....o_ __.ao .years of life
o
h
>.2
~
l1•
g -a it! .;·~---------------------eel
N ~
(Passage)
*._______. :._____••------------ca
Resurrection
and
eternal life
g ~ g·~...::----------------------~
----1•---- --------------------·
LO
~~~ ?
., 0 G>
.v .s *0---------.....,-
~ i II)
~ :.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.~-
~"iii ~.LO
--------------, ?
~.[g
0 20 40 60 so 90 Years
123
Arthur E. Imhof
everywhere. It was part of the scheme of things. One had just got
used to it, just as one had got used to the coldness of winter or the
darkness of the night. Like the winter coldness and nightly
darkness it formed a natural part of the experience of those days
and the viewpoint connected with it. This, however, included also
the belief that a loss of health was a sign from Heaven to mend
one's ways while there was time. Prayers and penances were, of
course, the more suitable reactions to this rather than treatment
by orthodox medicine and medicaments or paramedical prac-
tices. 8 Diseases, therefore, had their place in this view of the
world, just as dying and death, which, at that time, did not signify
the end but only the passing over from existence in this life to that
beyond it.
The schematic representation of successive occidental ideas
about 'life' and its duration expresses even more poignantly the
enormous changes that occurred in the course of hundreds of years
(Figure 5.12). During the time of Homer and the Old Testament
our ancestors seem to have been very conscious of their mortality.
Only during the roughly two thousand years of the 'metaphysical'
epoch did Christian beliefs as proclaimed by the New Testament,
develop about resurrection and eternal life in heavenly bliss.
Although it is difficult to say how many amongst our ancestors
believed in this without reservations, it is likely that four of five
hypothetical lives were provided with the sign for infinity and only
one with a question mark. Nowadays, in the post-metaphysical,
secularised age, the proportion is the opposite. For four out of five
lives dying and death are identical with the end, and only one
person out of five may still believe in the Christian eternal life.
As studies on mortality always deal with the dying and death
of individuals it seems also appropriate to probe every time into
their world view and beliefs in order to understand what death
means to them. Is it not possible that in the metaphysical epoch,
which for many people has vanished only a short time ago, the
duration of a lifespan on earth would have been of far less impor-
tance than for us? This is not to say that people would not also
have felt attached to earthly life and have been afraid of dying and
death. 9 The comparative 'less' is meant in relation to us for
whom, after the loss of belief in eternal life·, the earthly phase of
life has become identical with life as such.
Against this background it is hardly adequate to direct our
investigations on mortality, for instance, as here, for the period
17 50-1850, solely towards finding out which groups, strata,
124
Methodological Problems
Afterword
125
Arthur E. Imhof
But now, after the presentation of the paper, after the discussions
are over, after the conference altogether, and thus no longer trying
to influence the participants from the very beginning, I may be
allowed to add some concluding remarks, merely as food for thought
for the reader. I could not express my aim better than by quoting
Ashish Bose, President of the Indian Association for the Study of
Population, when he addressed the Tenth Annual Conference of
his Society in Bangalore in May 1985:
126
Methodological Problems
127
Arthur E. Imhof
to go again into the details of the first and the last diagrams
(Figures 5.1 and 5.12). Regarding Figure 5.1, 'pure' historical
demographers as well as general historians have usually over-
looked or considered too little that the annual rates of mortality
had ebbed considerably, e.g. in Berlin during the first half of the
19th century, even before they decreased within the framework of
the demographic transition, from the early high figures down to
today's level. We shall surely have to explain in detail and, no
doubt, be able to do so with the help of historians of medicine and
of economics, what were the reasons for this: for instance, the
absence of plague and smallpox, the improvement of the infra-
structure whereby the state provided better supply possibilities
when there was a bad harvest, etc.
But if we have gone, as Goubert has taught us above, beyond
statistics and have concentrated on the then everyday world of our
ancestors, while intensively communicating with historians of
folklore or with historians of religious attitudes, very different
ideas will strike us on comtemplating this diagram. For many
generations it was one of the recurring experiences of our
ancestors that, at more or less short intervals, there appeared
'black peaks' in the population development, that is, that during
this or that year always far more people died than were born. As
most of our farming ancestors were living in 'deserts as far as
accessibility of physicians was concerned' and were helplessly
confronted with many infectious diseases leading to epidemics,
they took refuge in this or that particular Saint provided by
popular religion. Even today most of us know, at least from hear-
say, Saint Sebastian or Saint Rochus as the 'Plague Saints'. Now
my question is: what happened to those Saints when the plague
disappeared? Did they thereby lose their right to exist? Without
wishing to argue monocausally, it is at least worth considering
whether this development did not form one of the contributory
factors that lessened the influence of Christianity, and began, or
spread more quickly, the secularisation of our outlook? The
heavens began to be 'depopulated'.
From here we may continue immediately by looking at Figure
5 .12. In the lower half of the figure there is a variation of what we
have seen already in the first figure. For many centuries the ages
at death encompassed a wide range and, therefore, the length of
the total life-span differed considerably. Admittedly, it is likely
that many people at the time believed, as they were told by the
Christian Church through its teaching of the New Testament, in
128
Methodological Problems
129
Arthur E. Imhof
130
Methodological Problems
Notes
131
Arthur E. Imhof
132
6
No Death Without Birth: The
Implications of English Mortality in the
Early Modern Period
E. A. Wrigley
133
E.A. Wrigley
where over 90 per cent of each new cohort can expect to survive
beyond the end of their fifth decade, compared with only about 1
in 6 where e0 = 20, but one might well draw still more depressing
conclusions about the uncertainty of life in the past from some of
the more strongly highlighted descriptions of conditions in earlier
centuries.
In any case, the same line of reasoning iJiunediately suggests
that in pre-industrial western Europe mortality took a far less
heavy toll. The general warrant for this assertion lies in the wide
prevalence of the 'European' marriage pattern in Europe north of
the Alps and the Pyrenees and west of the Oder. The European
marriage pattern was unique, so far as is known, in that the
average age at first marriage for women was the mid-20s, and a
significant fraction of all women who survived to the end of the
child-bearing period never marned. This sets a comparatively low
upper level to fertility and, on the assumption that growth rates
must be close to zero, implies an equally modest level of mortality.
For example, if the average age at first marriage for women is 26
and 12 per cent of each cohort never marry, and assuming marital
fertility levels similar to those found in England in the 17th and
18th centuries with a mean age at maternity of 32 years, it can be
shown that a stationary population will result from an e0 in
women of 32.5 years. 4
A regime -of the .'European' type involves substantially less
destructive mortality rates than where e0 is 20 years. In these cir-
cumstances over 84 per cent of all 5-year-olds reach 20; and more
than three-fifths of the latter reach 50. The infant mortality rate
is about 220 per 1000 compared with almost 350 per 1000 in the
more severe alternative. In a stationary population with these
characteristics, the crude birth and death rates are about 32 per
1000. In England in the final quarter of the 17th century, when
the intrinsic growth rate was close to zero, the prevailing crude
birth and death rates were approximately at this level. 5
It is well outside the scope of this essay to attempt to deal in
extenso with the available evidence of the contrast between the
'European' demographic regime found in western Europe and·
that found in other parts of Europe, still less with extra-European
areas. However, as an illustration of the scale of the differences
between eastern and western European countries, consider the
data in Table 6.L The data in the top panel relate to the 1870s,
the earliest full decade for which national registration data exist
for the east European countries. Death rates in the 1870s were
134
The Implications of English Mortality
Table 6.1: Crude birth and death rates (CBR and CDR, respectively) in eastern
and western Europe (rates per 1000 total population).
Sources: For all data in the top panel and for Norway and Sweden in the
bottom panel, B.R. Mitchell, European historical statistics 1750-1975, 2nd rev.
edn (London, 1981), table B6. For data for England 1750-99; Wrigley and
Schofield, Population history of England, table A3 .3, 531-4.
about twice as high in the east as in the west, and birth rates were
also substantially higher. Rates of natural increase were lower in
the eastern countries, except in the case of Russia where the crude
birth rate exceeded 50 per 1000, an exceptional figure. Crude
rates are, of course, an imperfect guide to the underlying fertility
and mortality conditions, but the contrast is too marked to be
attributable to differences in, say, age structure. By the 1870s
some decline in mortality had already taken place in western
Europe, and indeed the first signs of a secular fall in fertility were
visible in places. For England, Norway and Sweden, however,
crude birth and death rates are also available for the second half
of the 18th century. These are set out in the lower panel of Table
6.1. Of the 15 decennial death rates for the three countries all
except two lay between 25 and 30 per 1000, somewhat higher than
their rates in the 1870s, but far lower than late 19th century rates
in eastern Europe (the two exceptions were both in Norway, in the
1750s and 1790s). The birth rates were normally between 30 and
35, little different from their rates in the 1870s (the exceptions
were England 1770-99 and Sweden 1750-9; all four cases lay
between 35 and 40).
135
E.A. Wrigley
Using the countries for which data are reproduced in Table 6.1
may overstate the extent of the contrast between east and west.
For example, crude birth and death rates in France in the later
18th century were substantially higher than in England, Norway
or Sweden. Decadal birth rates between 17 50-9 and 1790-9
ranged between 36.9 and 40.4 per 1000; the comparable death
rates between 33 ..3 and 36.3. 6 In eastern Europe, too, less
extreme cases may have existed. The late-19th century vital
registration data suggest, for example, that birth and death rates
in Rumania were lower than in Hungary, Russia or Serbia. But
the contrast between western and eastern Europe was marked and
the concomitants of the two regimes have wide historical
importance. 7
Since such heavy stress has often been put on the severity of
mortality in the past, it is worth noting that dealing in generalities
as I have just done may actually tend to convey too dark an
impression even in the case of west European countries. There are
two considerations that point to this conclusion so far as early
modern England is concerned. First, while in the whole sweep of
the historic past it is safe to assume an absence of significant
population growth, 8 in early modern· England it was unusually
rapid, either when compared with earlier periods or with other
European countries between the 16th and 19th centuries. 9 Over
the quarter-millenium from 1550 to 1800 the annual rate of
population growth was about 0.5 per cent per annum: at times it
approached 1.0'per cent per annum. Crude birth and death rates
were therefore up to 10 per 1000 per annum apart in the period.
In the main the difference from the stationary situation sketched
above 10 was due to the existence of higher levels of fertility than
those used for purposes of illustration, but in some degree the gap
arose because mortality was lower than implied by the e0
employed to illustrate the stationary case. Expectation of life at
birth was lower in the second half of the 17th century than in any
other comparable period from 1550 to 1850. 11
Second, mortality at any one time was far from uniform. There
were always major regional differences. Low-lying, marshy areas,
for example, were very much less healthy than well-drained
uplands. More importantly, there was in general a consistent and
strong relation between population density and mortality levels.
Urban populations, even in market towns of a very modest size,
suffered higher death rates than neighbouring rural areas. Large
towns such as York, Bristol, Norwich, Newcastle or, pre-
136
The Implications of English Mortality
137
E.A. Wriglry
138
The Implications of English Mortality
139
E.A. Wrigley
mortality was not necessarily at a high overall level. This was the
kind of circumstance that Malthus had in mind in referring to a
'Chinese' situation, where population was 'forced'. 21
The two possible situations are not symmetric. If a population
in an area in which environmental influences imposed high mort-
ality failed to produce large families it would die out. If a popula-
tion, living in an area in which the range and types of local
diseases and of other environmental influences on mortality
implied a much lower level of minimum mortality, had a higher
level of fertility than was 'necessary', it would not necessarily
disappear, or fail to survive for other reasons, though it might be
condemned to lower living standards and harsher conditions of life
than would otherwise be necessary because mort8lity had risen to
match fertility and population totals were larger than would other-
wise have been the case.
The matter can be set out diagrammatically. In Figure 6.l(a)
the background level of mortality is high, because, say, of the
prevalence of insect-borne and parasitic diseases. It is a condition
for the successful continuation of population in the area that fertil-
ity should match this level. It might perhaps be called the 'West
African' situation. (In all the diagrams in Figure 6.1 the levels of
fertility and mortality shown are intended to capture long-term
trends only: they do not therefore reflect the likelihood of notable,
and, in the case of mortality, occasionally violent short-term fluc-
tuation.) In Figure 6.l(b) we have the 'Chinese' case. The back-
ground level of mortality is far lower but fertility is high and
invariant, because, say, by social convention all women on or
before reaching sexual maturity must be married and are therefore
at risk to bear children throughout their fertile lives (though·
conventions about remarriage may modify this generalisation
somewhat). Figure 6.l(c) relates to a third possibility, the west
European case. The mortality graph reproduces the curve of
6.l(b), that is we assume that the background level of mortality
and the response of mortality to increasing population pressure
are the same in both cases. Fertility, however, is lower, because
women marry eight to ten years after menarche rather than in
rough coincidence with it, and also because a substantial fraction
of each cohort; ranging from a tenth up to a fifth or even a
quarter, never marry. The mere fact of a lower level of fertility
ensures that population growth will cease at a lower total than in
6. l(b ); the situation is inherently less 'fon;:ed'. But if fertility is
also responsive to increasing population pressure, as shown in the
140
The Implications of English Mortality
50
/
Rates
per 1,000
40
------------------
30
20
10
population
(a)
size
0
so~---------------------- ....../ ~
40
30
20
10
population
(b) size
0
50
1, /
40 /
30
12
20
10
population
(cl size
0
average
real
incomes
A
subsistence level
population
{d) size
141
E.A. Wrigley
142
The Implications of English Mortality
143
E.A. Wrigley
144
The Implications of English Mortality
universal marriage may have been mandatory. Only if a fairly long
life-span is attainable is a modest level of fertility feasible, such as
must follow from the practice oflate marriage and frequent celibacy.
It would be rash, however, to assume that only in western Europe
were the disease environment and agricultural practices such that
the platform level of mortality was low. The issue is not capable
of demonstration, at least in the present state of knowledge, but
it is likely that mortality regimes were frequently 'manufactured'
by the social customs, which exercised such a strong influence on
fertility levels, and thus indirectly on mortality. Societies that placed
a premium on early marriage and high fertility were thereby
unwittingly also placing an equal premium on high mortality. 29
The same point can be made in a different way. If marriage had
been early and universal in England and therefore fertility high,
there can be no doubt that mortality would have been equally high,
or virtually so. In one sense, therefore, the low level of death rates
in early modern England was the gift of the marriage practices of
the day. They were a necessary. if not a sufficient condition oflow
mortality.
It is more than simply a platitude to remark that death is the
inevitable consequence of birth. How early death followed birth was,
of course, much influenced by the types of disease prevalent in a
community; by the extent of social knowledge of ways of treating,
· avoiding or preventing disease; by a host of social customs that
affected the probability of contracting and combatting disease; 30
and by economic conditions. But the average lapse of time between
birth and death was also conditioned by the intensity of fertility
in the population. High birth rates could not fail, in most tradi-
tional societies, to be matched by equally high death rates, or, in
other words, by a brief interval between birth and death. Causa-
tion might run either way between the two, or in both directions.
The same was true of low rates in the two categories.
Accurate information is scarce or non-existent for most coun-
tries. Enough has been learned in the last 40 years to have over-
turned much of the received wisdom about population history, and
to encourage speculation, but far more information would be a
welcome aid in separating the wheat from the chaff in current
theorising. In that spirit it is reasonable to suggest, though difficult
to prove (in either the older or newer sense of the word) ~hat, in
seeking to understand the notably modest level of mortality in early
modern England, one should look as much to the circumstances
of birth as to those of death.
145
E.A. Wrigley
Notes
146
The Implications of English Mortality
6. L. Henry and Y. Blayo, 'La population de la France de 1740 a
1860', Population, numero special, 30 (1975), table 22, 109.
7. For works dealing with various aspects of the wider issues see 28,
below.
8. Or more precisely a rate of growth so slight on average that the
demographic characteristics of the population in question must have been
barely distinguishable from those of a stationary population.
9. There are estimates of population totals and population growth
rates for all the main west European countries between the mid-16th and
early 19th centuries in E.A. Wrigley, 'The growth of population in
eighteenth-century England: a conundrum resolved', Past and Present, 98
(1983), 121-50.
10. P. 134.
11. Detailed information about English crude birth and death rates, .
gross and net reproduction rates, and expectation of life at birth between
1541 and 1871 may be found in Wrigley and Schofield, Population history
of England, appendix 3, 527-35.
12. On the unhealthiness of marshy areas generally, and the especially
acute problems of malarial areas, see M.J. Dobson, 'Population, disease
and mortality in southeast England, 1600-1800' (unpub. D. Phil. thesis,
Oxford, 1982), chapters .8 and 9, 'The unhealthy marshlands', and
'Mosquitoes and malaria'.
The literature on urban mortality is enormous. Two issues of Annales
de dimographie historique, those of 1978 and 1962, contained substantial sec-
tions with a variety of articles on the subject (the sections entitled 'Etudes
de mortalite' and 'Villes du passe', respectively). Similarly, J. Meyer, A.
Lottin, J.P. Poussou, H. Soly, B. Vogler and A. van der Woude, Etudes
sur les villes en Europe occidentale, milieu du XVII' siecle a la veille de la revolu-
tion franfaise, 2 vols (Paris, 1983) contains some substantive discussion and
much bibliographical material. An important new aspect to the discussion
of the issue of urban mortality was opened by A. Sharlin, 'Natural
decrease in early modern cities: a reconsideration', Past and Present, 79
(1978), 126-38. But see R. Finlay, 'Natural decrease in early modern
cities', Past and Present, 92 (1981), 169-74; and A.M. van der Woude,
'Population developments in the northern Netherlands (1500-1800) and
the validity of the ''urban graveyard'' effect', Annales de dbnographie histori-
que (1982), 55-75.
13. E.A. Wrigley, 'Urban growth and agricultural change: England
and the continent in the early modern period', Journal of Interdisciplinary
History, XV (1985), table 2, 688.
14. The surviving Hartland parish registers begin in 1558. The family
reconstitution exercise was carried down to 1837, the date of inception of
a state system of vital registration. The logic of family reconstitution is
such that age-specific mortality can be most accurately measured for
children up to the age at which they leave home. Estimates of e0 derived
only from death rates up to age 15, however, are unlikely to be subject
to wide margins of error because the shape of the mortality curve above
15 years is closely related to its shape below that age. The proportions sur-
viving from birth to age 15, l15, for the successive half-centuries 1600-49
to 1750-99, were 830, 832, 791 and 871.
147
E.A. Wrigley
15. The model North tables were based on Swedish mortality data
between 1851 and 1890 (4 tables), Norwegian data between 1856 and
1880, and again between 1946 and 1955 (4 tables), and an Icelandic life
table for 1941-50. Coale and Dimeny, Regional model life tables, 14.
Evidence of the good fit between infant mortality rates and the rates for
the age groups 1-4, 5-9 and 10-14 in Hartland may be found in E.A.
Wrigley and R.S. Schofield, 'English population history from family
reconstitution: summary results 1600-1799', Population Studies, 3 7 (1983),
table 14, 179, and more generally 175-80.
16. Wrigley and Schofield, 'English population history from family
reconstitution', table 14, p. 179.
17. Ninth Annual Report of the Registrar General (London, 1849), 214. The
combined population of the two registration districts in 1841 was 31,934;
of Hartland 2,223.
18. The absence of any substantial improvement in expectation of life
at birth in the country as a whole before 1870 may be deceptive. There
were probably favourable changes in mortality rates in most types of com-
munity but compositional shifts in the population were increasing the pro-
portion living in the least healthy areas as the populations of the cities
grew rapidly. For an illuminating discussion of the issue, see R. Woods,
'The effects of population redistribution on the level of mortality in
nineteenth-century England and Wales', Journal of Economic History, xlv
(1985), 645-51.
19. For Scandinavia, for example, A. Brii.ndstrom and]. Sundin, 'In-
fant mortality in a changing society. The effects of child care in a Swedish
parish 1820-1894', in A. Brandstrom and J. Sundin (eds.), Tradition and
transition. Studies in microdemography and social change, no. 2 (Umea,
1981), 67-104; 0. Turpeinen, 'Infant mortality in Finland 1749-1865',
Scandinavian Economic History Review, xxvii (1979), 1-21: for Germany,
A.E. Imhof, 'Unterschiedliche Sauglingssterblichkeit in Deutschland, 18.
bis. 20. Jahrhundert - warum?', Zeitschrift for Bevolkerungswissenschajt, 7
(1981), 343-82, and Imhof, 'The amazing simultaneousness of the big
differences and the boom on the nineteenth century - some facts and
hypotheses about infant and maternal mortality in Germany, eighteenth
to twentieth century', in T. Bengtsson, G. Fridlizius, and R. Ohlsson
(eds), Pre-industrial population change, the mortality decline and short-term popula-
tion movements (Stockholm, 1984), 191-222. Knodel also identifies some
parishes, such as Werdum, where infant mortality was very low. J.
Knodel, 'Natural fertility in pre-industrial Germany', Population Studies,
xxxii (1978), 481-510. Low rates may also be found in individual parishes
in countries where infant mortality was generally high. For example, in
France Galliano's study of 18 parishes near Paris shows that the general
level of infant mortality during the period 1774-1794 was fairly high ( 177
per 1,000) but in Le Plessis, Chevilly, Thiais and Montrouge the rates
were 123, 124, 135 and 139 per 1,000, respectively. P. Galliano, 'La
mortalite infantile dans le banlieue sud de Paris a la fin du XVIIIe siecle
( 177 4-1 794) ', Annales de demographic historique ( 1966), table 1, 146-7.
20. Knodel's classic study of three Bavarian villages in the later 19th
century showed the striking differences obtaining between places where
babies were weaned at birth and those where breastfeeding over six
148
The Implications of English Mortality
149
E.A. Wrigley
150
III
'Let me not be mad!' pleads King Lear when torn adrift from
familiar circumstances. A semi-numerate historian, more used to
qualitative methods, felt similar feelings when faced with the
problems of deciding which categories of data on madness were
appropriate to select for computation, enduring the ensuing
tedium of preparing numerically accurate data sets, and experien-
cing the headaches of evaluating the results of simple computing
exercises, and relating these to other sources. 1 Why then might a
social historian of medicine embark on a quantitative exploration
of past aspects of a mental institution to complement an investiga-
tion using more traditional qualitative methods? The main advan-
tages appeared to be: a gain in precision in researching some key
issues; an improved ability to construct a dynamic rather than a
static view of an institution; and new insights not easily acquired
by more traditional methods of analysis.
153
Anne Digby
from all over the United Kingdom, western Europe, and the
eastern part of the USA. The Retreat's methods were widely
imitated in the asylums that were being created in such large
numbers in the early part of the 19th century. A mid-19th century
reformer summarised its achievement as having 'removed the
final justification for neglect, brutality and crude medical
methods. It proved that kindness was more effective than rigorous
confinement. ' 2
After the mid-19th century the Retreat became rather a symbol
of historical achievement than a current model in the world of
asylumdom. And modern commentators have reflected this in
dealing exclusively with the institution's earlier years. It seemed
interesting to work on the Retreat' s neglected archives not only to
test the validity of its early reputation against its actual practice,
but also to see what kind of institution it later became. Another
reason for attempting a more detailed, quantitative analysis was
that large hypotheses were being constructed about past asylums
on the basis of little data. 3 Those who had attempted to remedy
this had done so either by using small samples of patients (as a
response to the large numbers of inmates in public asylums), or
by analysing the total asylum population over relatively short
periods of time (a response to the availability of sources). The
Retreat was an ideal subject for a fuller investigation since the
number of patients was relatively small by computer standards
(only 2,011 patients were admitted during our period), and its
archives were exceptionally detailed and continuous.
Computation seemed one obvious method of processing the
large amount of data that it was possible to extract from the
Retreat's archives. These went back to the opening of the asylum
in 1796 and were in many instances continuous for long periods
thereafter, although becoming increasingly fragmentary by the
turn of the 20th century. The principal sources used for these
quantitative analyses were: the admissions certificates (a complete
series except for some missing ones in the early years and a lost
volume for 1908); admissions registers spanning the period from
1796 to 1879; a series of seventeen medical case books from the
1790s to the 1890s; and a useful summary volume giving from
1796 to 1910 a chronological survey of patients admitted, fees
paid, and duration of stay. 4
The topics chosen for quantification covered both social and
medical aspects of the asylum. Social areas investigated included
changes in the composition of the patient body, in religious
154
Perspectives on the Asylum
155
Anne Digby
156
Perspectives on the Asylum
157
Anne Digby
158
Perspectives on the Asylum
159
Anne Digby
160
Perspectives on the Asylum
161
Anne Digby
162
Perspectives on the Asylum
163
Anne Digby
164
Perspectives on the Asylum
165
Anne Digby
166
Perspectives on the Asylum
167
Anne Digby
168
Perspectives on the Asylum
169
Anne Digby
170
Perspectives on the Asylum
171
Anne Digby
Notes
172
Perspectives on the Asylum
173
Anne Digby
174
8
Hospital History : New Sources
and Methods
Guenter B. Risse
175
Guenter B. Risse
Why are all these sources important? Let me use examples from
my recent study concerning the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh to
illustrate them. 3 The annual hospital reports usually provide a
complete list of current contributors, thus revealing their number,
geographic location, and social status. At times, one can assess the
spectrum of donors and thus uncover the network of local leader-
ship concerned with philanthropic matters and institutional
governance. At Edinburgh, members of the nobility, profes-
sionals, prominent merchants, and even some local ship captains
provided financial assistance. 4 Moreover, money obtained from
subscriptions reveals the relative importance of this income in
relation to other, perhaps more stable, sources of hospital revenue.
At Edinburgh, for example, a subscription system appeared only
late, during the economic difficulties brought on by Britain's war
with France. By 1800, these contributions barely amounted to 6
per cent of the total income, compared with the 20 per cent
obtained from the sale of student tickets, 15 per cent for the care
176
Hospital History: New Sources and Methods
of sick seamen from the Royal Navy, and 10 per cent received as
rent from a property in Jamaica. 5
When available, such financial records can be quite revealing.
In the case of the Edinburgh Infirmary, one can find, on a yearly
basis, a number of treasurer's accounts that itemised sources of
both income and expense. This allows historians to not only assess
the overall fate of a hospital budget, but the relative position of
such items as building maintenance and repair, fuel bills in the
form of coal and candles, salaries, food and laundry costs, etc.
One puzzling development, which may have been unique for
Edinburgh, was the steady decrease of expenditures for drugs in
spite of rapidly growing admission rates. Whether the decline
reflects changing patterns of drug utilisation by physicians, both
in number and dosages, or is merely an artefact of greater institu-
tional self-sufficiency - the Infirmary had access to a 'physic
garden' and could therefore grow some of its own medicinal herbs
- needs further study.
Minutes of the meetings held by a hospital's board of governors
or managers usually disclose important information regarding
professional policy, financial matters, staff appointments, and new
regulations. From time to time, these documents allow glimpses
of personality conflicts, professional tensions (at Edinburgh the
struggle between attending physicians and surgeons), disruptive
behaviour by the staff (medical clerks and nurses), and sustained
efforts to balance budgetary matters (greater fundraising efforts).
Events such as written complaints, .official reprimands, periodic
inspections, hiring and firing of personnel, and legal actions
greatly help to flesh out the institutional affairs. 6
In turn, hospital statistics published in separate annual reports
or medical journals - during the 18th century the Edinburgh Infir-
mary published its figures for several decades in Scots Magazine -
are very revealing. Not only do they provide total admission and
discharge figures, but often record the occupancy rate as of January
1, or give various categories of patients' discharge from the institu-
tion. In the case of the Edinburgh Infirmary, the managers for
several years also characterised the patients as 'ordinary' (charitable,
non-paying) or 'supernumerary' (paying a daily fee), and also listed
separately soldiers, servants, and seamen. 7
Of even greater importance, when available, are general
registers of patients. This source provides a list of all the admitted
patients, thefr destination within the hospital, diagnoses, as well
as dates of admission and discharge, and the category of such a
177
Guenter B. Risse
178
Hospital History: New Sources and Methods
179
Guenter B. Risse
1. Genito-urinary diseases
Amenorrhoea Phymosis Diabetes Nephritis
Chlorosis Sibbens Bladder disease Painful bladder
Gonorrhoea Swollen testicles Dysuria Stone
Leucorrhoea Syphilis Enuresis Urinary
Lues venerea Anuria Gravel complaint
Menorrhagia Calculus Ischuria
2. Infectious diseases
Ague or intermittent fever Pertussis or whooping cough
Fever Scarlatina or scarlet fever
Hectic fever Smallpox
Measles Tabes
Mumps Typhus fever
3. Respiratory ailments
Angina Cough Inflammed breast Pneumonia
Asthma Catarrh Pectoral complaint Phthisis
Breast complaint Cynanche Pleuresy Sore throat
Breast pain Dyspnoea Pain (in) breast
Cold Haemoptysis Pain (in) side
5. Musculo-skeletal disorders
Atrophy Ischias Spasm of breast
Back pain Lumbago Stiff arm and joint
Diseased ankle, arm, Pain (in) arm, knee, leg Strained thigh
finger, hip, knee, leg Rheumatism Swollen wrist
or toe Rickets Tetanus
Sciatica Weak arm
6. Neurological-mental diseases
Atrophy Head complaint Hypochondriasis
Chorea Hemiplegia Hysteria
Concussion Lethargy Mania
Deafness Paralysis or palsy Melancholy
Epilepsy Phrenitis Nostalgia
Headaches Vertigo Senility
180
Hospital History: New Sources and Methods
9. Eye problems
Amaurosis Opacity (of) cornea
Cali go Ophthalmia
1. Surgical infections
Abscesses Sores Suppurations Phlegmons
Bone caries Sore (on) leg Swellings Ulcers
Fistulas Sore (on) foot White swellings Ulcer (on) leg
2. Traumatic conditions
Accident Dog bite Mortification of feet
Bruise or contusion Fracture (of) leg, arm Sprain (of) ankle
Burn finger, rib, skull, hand, thigh, wrist
Cut (on) leg, head, knee thigh, eye, foot, leg Wound
Discolouration (of) ankle, Luxation Wound or hurt foot,
arm, leg, spine, thigh head, scalp, throat
4. Surgical procedures
Amputation Lithotomy
Castration Trephined skull
181
Guenter B. Risse
182
Hospital History: New Sources and Methods
183
Gu.enter B. Risse
Total
1770 1775 1780 1785 1790 1795 1800 average
Medical diseases 82.4 81.3 72.0 81.0 73.6 69.1 71.2 75.8
Genito-urinary 40.3 20.4 26.3 22.8 31.6 29.1 24.6 27.9
Infectious 16.9 21.5 20.3 30.8 17.4 12.6 20.7 20.1
Respiratory 9.4 15.5 11.3 8.4 17.4 16.4 18.8 13.9
Digestive 7.1 8.1 11.3 7.4 11.8 7.8 7.6 8.7
Musculo-skeletal 10.6 13.1 9.6 10.0 9.4 13.0 12.4 11.1
N eurolo-mental 6.3 7.3 5.6 6.1 3.5 6.5 4. 7 5.7
Skin 5.1 10.1 5.6 5.6 3.2 5.8 2.5 5.4
Miscellaneous 3.9 3.5 9.6 8.4 5.3 8.5 8.3 6.8
Surgical diseases 13.0 16.8 23.0 18.3 25.0 29.6 17.3 20.4
Infectious 70.0 90.7 67.2 42.0 44.3 50.4 50.0 59.2
Trauma 12.5 6.5 15.d 38.6 29.5 30.4 25.0 22.5
Tumours 12.5 7.9 15.9 15.6 14.4 14.4 11:5
Surgical
procedures 2.5 1.3 4.4 2.2 4.3 2.4 2.6 2.8
Miscellaneous 2.5 1.3 5.3 1.1 6.0 2.4 7.8 3.8
184
Hospital History: New Sources and Methods
Medical 29.1
Genito-urinary diseases 42.3
Infectious diseases 24.7
Respiratory ailments 23.7
Diseases of the digestive system 27.3
Musculo-skeletal disorders 30.2
Neurological-mental diseases 34.2
Diseases of the skin 31.0
Miscellaneous medical conditions 30.4
Surgical 40.0
Surgical infections 42.8
Traumatic conditions 32.5
Tumours and cancers 38.0
Surgical procedures 55.1
Miscellaneous surgical conditions 38.2
185
Guenter B. Risse
The second part of this study about potential sources for ~he
history of hospitals focuses on a rare but rich source of data:
individual clinical histories. Certain institutions preserved ward
journals and ledgers· containing abbreviated or complete patient
cases. In the case of Edinburgh, such journals fell prey to the
ravages of time or were recycled during periodic paper shortages.
Fortunately, however, late-18th-century medical students directly
copied a fair number of cases from the official hospital records of
the teaching ward and then went on to preserve these casebooks
in their private libraries. Now available in several British and
American archives, the notebooks provide valuable information
about patient care and the progress of individual patients in an
18th-century institutional setting such as the Royal Infirmary of
Edinburgh. 17
Data cited in this portion of the Edinburgh study were
extracted from fourteen separate student casebooks containing a
total of 808 complete cases from the years 1771 to 1799 (Table
8.8). Each document contains approximately 50-60 clinical
histories that often provide the name, age, and occasionally
occupation and marital status of the individual patient. Admission
dates, statements about the duration of complaints prior to admit-
tance and treatment before hospitalisation are followed by a
description of the principal complaints and their relationship to
predisposing and precipitating causes. Initial dietary recommend-
ations, drug prescriptions, and physical measures such as fomen-
tations, bathing, or bloodletting are then noted, all written in
Latin. Virtually every day progress notes and new therapeutic
186
Table 8.8: Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh. Student casebooks 1771-1799.
188
Hospital History: New Sources and Methods
189
Gu.enter B. Risse
190
Hospital History: New Sources and Methods
Symptom
Pain 50
Heat (fever) 39
Cough 39
Swelling 50
Debility 52
Chills 39
Dyspnoea 39
191
Guenter B. Risse
Total Total
Diagnosis cases Males Females percentage
192
Hospital History: New Sources and Methods
Drug Prescriptions ( %)
Purgatives 523 (26.2)
Anodynes or pain 326 (16.3)
Emetics 278 (14.0)
Diaphoretics 217 (10.8)
Expectorants 162 ( 8.1)
Tonics 151 ( 7.5)
Diuretics 111 ( 5.5)
Mercurials 87 ( 4.3)
193
Guenter B. Risse
194
Hospital History: New Sources and Methods
195
Table 8.18: Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh. Student casebooks 1771-1799. Employment of physical measures in the various disease categories
(percentages).
197
Guenter B. Risse
Good 26.4 35 45 33 56 17 62
Fair 29.8 35 34 36 22 33 21
None 32.6 22 15 18 6 41 13
198
Hospital History: New Sources and Methods
Cured 56 59 52
Relieved 17 16 18
By desire 10 8 12
Dead 8 6 10
Circulatory disorders 34 20 22
Gastro-intestinal 56 20 6.5
Gynaecological 43 26
Infectious 72 7 8.5
Mental 56 24
Musculo-skeletal 64 17 2.5
Neurological 23 26 13
Respiratory 52 21 9
Skin 62 17
Tumours 18 27 9
Urinary 17 29
Venereal 89
199
Guenter B. Risse
'
for these figures was the selective admission of patients with more
serious or complicated ailments who would make better teaching
cases (Table 8.22).
Studying the reported discharge status in relation to the major
diagnostic categories is also quite informative. Not surprisingly,
the highest 'cured' rates correspond to the various 'fevers'
admitted to the teaching ward. In turn, the bulk of institutional
deaths occurred among individuals with significant bodily swell-
ings, usually reflecting circulatory disorders of cardiovascular or
respiratory origin (Table 8.23).
Although discharge labels were also subjective expressions of
institutional achievement subject to administrative and profes-
sional manipulation because of their public relations value, one
can again rank the various Edinburgh professors on the basis of
their cure rates. From the available evidence, it would appear that
William Cullen, John Gregory, and Thomas C. Hope had the
best statistics (Table 8.24), while the fate of James Gregory's
patients inexplicably changed from one year to the next.
Epilogue
200
Hospital History: New Sources and Metlwds
201
Guenter B. Risse
Notes
202
Hospital History: New Sources and Methods
203
IV
207
Michael MacDonald
208
Madness, Suicide, and the Computer
209
Michael MacDonald
210
Madness, Suicide, and the Computer
211
Michael MacDonald
212
Madness, Suicide, and the Computer
many colourful but tiny strokes, and the only way to see clearly
the pictures of mental illnesses that they depicted was to look at
them from a distance. Summarised in tabular form, the patterns
of symptoms were clearer than they were when one examined each
set of case notes in turn.
My hypothesis was that there were stereotypes of mental
disorder that were used by physicians and laymen to recognise
deviant behaviour. The notion that psychiatric abnormalities are
not random but can be organised coherently into meaningful
categories is, of course, as old as Western medicine itself, and it
was widely shared by physicians and medical writers in Napier's
day. The view that laymen as well as medical experts recognise
stereotypes of mental disorder is perhaps less obvious, but it has
been effectively defended by sociologists and usefully employed by
anthropologists. Most of the questions that I wanted to ask could
be reduced to a simple formula: what were the symptoms most
likely to be associated with a specific symptom or social variable?
I therefore coded almost everything in my tran~cripts of Napier's
case notes, had the coded data punched onto cards, taught myself
how to use the packaged programs available on Stanford Univer-
sity's monstrous IBM computer, and, finally, computed every
tabulation that I could think of. 10
The results were not entirely satisfying. The principal difficulty
was that there is a conflict between the historian's duty to the
evidence and the statistician's desire to achieve mathematically
exact results. Like most 17th-century documents, the Napier case-
books are imprecise, inconsistent and allusive. They were not kept
with the needs of a statistician in mind. Even such basic inform-
ation as the identities of the patients is often presented in ways that
introduce uncertainty into the computations. It is easy to make a
set of rules that provide a reasonable degree of assurance that John
Smith of Milton is the same person as John Smythe of Moulton,
but such identifications must always remain tentative. A much
more serious problem arose, however, out of the limitations of the
technique I employed to analyse symptoms, which was a variant
of a well-known procedure called 'content analysis'. A content
analysis of Napier's notes using the computer programs available
to me in 1975 required the reduction of words and phrases to
single numbers. But language cannot be stripped of its nuances
and recombined numerically. Words shift their meaning in differ-
ent contexts, and so even when I discovered a strong statistical
link between two coded symptoms, it was necessary to review all
213
Michael MacDonald
214
Madness, Suicide, and the· Computer
215
Michael MacDonald
216
Madness, Suicide, and the Computer
217
Michael MacDonald
218
Madness, Suicide, and the Computer
219
Michael MacDonald
220
Madness, Suicide, and the Computer
that suicide itself was evidence of insanity by that time. The act
was interpreted from the medical perspective and excused unless
it was compounded by a greater offence, such as a violent crime,
or was committed to escape the consequences of some other illegal
or antisocial action. 23
The secularisation of suicide was one aspect of a much broader
alteration in the mentalite of early modern England. After the
English Revolution, religious and magical beliefs that were based
on the venerable assumption that supernatural powers and forces
intervened frequently and pervasively in the lives of ordinary
people were increasingly repudiated by the educated elite. Polite
society condemned religious enthusiasm and mocked popular
superstitions. Intellectuals embraced scientism and deism, and
displayed, as Henry Halliwell complained as early as 1681, a
'hankering after the bare Mechanical causes of things'. 24 Many
educated men and women and most of the common people did
not, of course, share the avant-garde's addiction to scientific
explanations for events in this world, but the trend toward
secularism in the century after the Restoration is unmistakable.
Witchcraft prosecutions declined and then died out; most
physicians and orthodox clergymen ceased attributing mysterious
disorders to demonic possession; faith healing was abandoned to
the Catholics, the sectarians, and the Methodists. The medicalis-
ation of suicide verdicts provides an opportunity to learn more
about the timing and causes of the demystification of the world. 25
The shift in the treatment of suicides by juries might at first be
viewed simply as an example of the adoption by men of middling
rank of the secularist and scientific outlook of the governing
elite. 26 Guided by coroners who were by-and-large minor
gentlemen, juries embraced the values of their social superiors.
But further statistical analysis reveals a more complex and
dynamic picture. Examining the proportion of cases of felonious
suicide in which goods for forfeiture were reported to the crown,
one finds that the government's ability to enforce its prerogative
right to the chattels of felones de se eroded even faster than the
proportion of non compos mentis verdicts rose. Before the Civil War,
goods were reported in inquisitions on about 40 per cent of all
suicides. After 1660, the proportion of inquests in which goods
were reported fell steadily until it reached less than 10 per cent
between 1705 and 1714. Furthermore, the value of the goods
forfeited also dropped. In the 1660s the value of the goods of self-
murderers averaged about £6.14 but by the first decade of the 18th
221
Michael MacDonald
222
Madness, Suicide, and the Computer
223
Michael MacDonald
224
Madness, Suicide, and the Computer
research strategies.
Quantitative projects are also comparatively cheap when they
are carried out on microcomputers. Most researchers will find that
the minimal requirements for a relatively large project are a
powerful database management program and a computer with
512K of RAM and a hard disc. 31 In the United States, the price
tag for such equipment amounts to several thousand dollars. But
at the University of Wisconsin it costs almost as much to compile
statistics on a very large data set using the mainframe. If they can
purchase microcomputers, historians have more than a huge pile
of printout when their statistics have been computed. They will
also possess a machine on which they can keep their notes and
bibliography, write their books, and do other projects. Cheaper
and better machines and software have been developed at
astonishing speed. Schemes that underwrite all or part of the cost
of personal computers exist in some American universities, and it
would greatly assist the development of the profession if they were
more widespread. 'Knitting needles and filing cards', my wise
British supervisor cried as I took my leave of him in 197 4, and
during the months I spent in the Stanford Computer Center,
surrounded by preternaturally pallid men dressed in Bermuda
shorts and sandals, his advice rang changes in my mind. I did not
touch a computer between 1975 and 1984. Now, after more than
a year of experience with a microcomputer, I can say at last that
his words have a dying fall.
Notes
225
Michael MacDonald
226
Madness, Suicide, and the Computer
227
Michael MacDonald
228
Madness, Suicide, and the Computer
229
10
Interfaces: Perceptions of Health and
Illness in Early Modern England
Andrew Wear
230
Perceptions of Health and Illness
Introduction
231
Andrew Wear
methods and evidence. The period itself was eclectic in its views
of illness, treatments, and practitioners, and the project is open-
ended because it reflects an open-ended health-care system. It was
a time when medical orthodoxy did not control medical practice,
nor was illness depersonalised in institutions - people were ill at
home, and hospitals were few in number and small in capacity.
This makes it easier to look at illness from lay people's points of
view, for their ideas were often as authoritative as practitioners'
were. Also, the questions asked by medical sociologists, for
instance, about patient-doctor interaction and power, are posed
more easily in a period before the increase in the authority of the
medical profession.
The project is concerned with long-lasting structures of thought
and action, the tongue duree of the Annales, and with the world of
events such as changing religious views or medical doctrines (of
the kind that Gelfand has discussed in this book); and, given an
infusion of demographic analysis and contextualisation, it could
come close to the 'total history' practised by Jean-Pierre Goubert.
For the Anglo-American medical historian it gives new categories,
information and perspectives. My forthcoming book may perhaps
demonstrate this claim, but here I can only sketch in part of the
argument.
Essentially the study of perceptions of health and illness in a
society is a relatively new topic for medical historians. My
approach is close to Carlo Ginzburg's type of history in preserving
the voice of the individual in contrast to the anonymity sometimes
produced by the emphasis of the Annalistes on structure and quan-
tity . 1 The 'new' history, as characterized by Ginzburg, does
include aspects found also in the Annales school: methodological
eclecticism free from a central dogma together with an interest in
long-lasting structures whether of geography, demography,
economics, thought and action. But, more specifically, Ginzburg
points out that historians have been attracted by the example of
anthropologists away from old topics, towards areas of behaviour
and belief formerly seen by historians as being at best 'marginal
curiosities', together with an emphasis on 'lived experience' and
the close reading of evidence. 2 A study of people's perceptions of
illness in 17th-century England might be said to fit this type of
history. It is not concerned with the great men and events of
history nor with the progress of medicine but with a humbler type
of person and with more prosaic activities. A close reading of texts
such as diaries is one of its essential requirements.
232
Perceptions of Health and Illness
233
Andrew Wear
She hath also a pain in the place which she used to have
swellings in; and that that troubles me is that we fear that
it is my matter that I give her that causes it, it never coming
but after my having been with her. 8
234
Perceptions of Health and Illness
The humoural theory was easily understood and often used by the
public. It could give a graphic and vivid account of events in the
body, often in narrative form (note in Pepys' account the sense of
change over time and the liveliness of the language: 'the great
conflux of humours . . . , that did use to swell there, did in break-
ing .. .').
Pepys quickly moved from theory and the objectification of his
wife's symptoms to personal feeling:
and which [the cutting] my heart I doubt will not serve for
me to see done, and yet she will not have anybody else to see
it done; no, not her own maids; and therefore I must do it,
poor wretch, for her. Tomorrow night he is to do it. 11
In fact, Elizabeth Pepys' fear of the pain and her own and her
husband's worry about people knowing about the operation and
the condition, was enough to persuade (or to stop) Hollyard from
cutting:
235
Andrew Wear
The rite of passage into the world of death was controlled and
elaborated by that most pedagogic of institutions, the Church. In
some ways the question of the sacraments that separated
Protestants from Catholics was a mere epiphenomenon, and
despite the very different political; economic and religious systems
of, for instance, renaissance Roman Catholic Italy and 17th
236
Perceptions of Health and Illness
237
Andrew Wear
Luther was born at Isleb in the year 1483 and certainly died
there in the house of Count Mansfield where after supper
... he fell into his usual sickness, namely the stopping of
humors in the orifice of his belly, and died thereupon at five
of the clock in the morning . . . the said Count and his
Countess and many others being present and receiving great
comfort from his last exhortations; yet from his sudden
death the malicious Jesuits took occasion to slander him, as
if he died drunken; that by aspersions on his life and death,
they might slander the reformation of religion which he first
began. 18
238
Perceptions of Health and Illness
losing his or her lines then society could project its punishment,
hell. In 1459 Allessandra Strozzi wrote how comforted she was
that her dying son Matteo was given by God
She added that not everyone was so lucky: 'for whoever dies
suddenly or is murdered ... loses both body and soul'. 19
William Perkins, the famous Puritan theologian, echoed
popular beliefs when he tried to contradict them at the beginning
of the 17th century. He wrote that an incoherent death with
'ravings and blasphemings' and 'the writhing of the lips, the turn-
ing of the neck, the buckling of the joints and the whole body' was
due to natural causes and 'comes not of witchcraft and posses-
sions, as people commonly think'. 20 Perkins also tried to change
the meaning given to the act of dying:
239
Andrew Wear
desperately sick (if not dead) of a great swelling in his head that
he is now like a monster, his head as big as three heads: it may
be his hap to die a Roundhead against his will'. 22
Examples of this type are numerous for the early modern
period. The idea of illness as God given punishment together with
providentialism helped to give these meanings to dying. The focus
can be widened to see whole towns and countries, when gripped
by plague, ordering days of humiliation and prayer to take away
God's punishment.
The ill person or community did not, however, only have
available the single response of religion. Naturalistic causes of
illness were widely believed in. People could draw upon both types
of knowledge as they tried to make sense of what was happening
to themselves. 23 When Pepys had earache he wrote:
The two systems existed side by side, not just because of the
social power and pervasiveness of religion but because the efficacy
of both was uncertain. Religion was a matter of faith, but so, in
a sense, was belief in the effects of medicine. Henry Edmundson
in his jocular Comes Facundus in Via, The Fellow Traveller (1658)
expressed this sense of uncertainty when he discussed the question
of cure.
It is a great Question what does the cure, the Vulgar will tell
you the last thing they took did the cure, as the last thing
they did caused the disease; Some Physicians will ascribe it
to the rarity and dearnesse, others to the variety and
composition, others to the fitnesse and order etc. others
think it is not the Physick or Physicians, but Nature being
disburthened returns to her functions by degrees, and men
from weaknesse to a more cheerfull condition, from a long
240
Perceptions of Health and Illness
There was a surfett with oysters, which though they did not
nauseat my stomacke, mett with so much phlegme in my
stomacke, and being bound they lay corrupting in my
stomacke. 26
He ate little but 'dranke wine, strong beere pretty freely and that
carried them of, and my vomits had tincture of them (oysters) to
Tuesday'. 27 Josselin's imagination could make up a story of what
was taking place inside his body, and he used that story to make
241
Andrew Wear
242
Perceptions of Health and Illness
and a physician noted in 1619 how two of his patients 'feareth the
dropsy' and 'she. fears most consumption or dropsy' .30 What
came first - the labels dropsy, consumption, gangrene, etc., with
their overtones of dread, or the fear itself· - is a moot point.
Certainly, without the existence of a mentalite, a structure of
thought, that produced disease entities, fear would have had
nothing to relate to and take specific shape. But fear of disease,
disability and death seems to be universal and to underline differ-
ent theories and responses to illness. The problem for historians,
as I argued before, may be that to look at fear of illness or other
psychological factors is to say nothing that is specific to a historical
period. But in ignoring such emotions, historians depersonalise
illness, just as much as do the texts of doctors.
J osselin also had freedom to move between structures of
thought as well as within them. He understood his bad leg not
only be referring to naturalistic medical ideas but also to God:
A fine day after many sweet dews, the lord good to mee in
his word, yett his hand against mee in john (his son) and in
my leg. I own thy rod oh lord and kisse it, intreating thee
to show me favour in all things, tis to thee I commit my
soule. 31
243
Andrew Wear
244
Perceptions of Health and Illness
functions of these structures of thought may have to do with
psychological control (for .instance, of one's own body-images) or
with power (the rich able to achieve cleanliness in cities or
recreating the primeval .purity of the paradisical garden and so
governing the poor through the process of emti.lation). Maybe, but
this approach like that of Mary Douglas, which relates types of
thought to social structure, although interesting, is ultimately no
more than guess-work. 33 The ideas on health and illness were so
similar in different European societies (or perhaps the societies
were so similar) that the conclusions cannot be tested.
Another tack would be more useful. We are used to rapid
change in our ideas of illness because. of scientific medicine, its
discoveries and professional power and because of a pharm-
aceutical industry that creates a stream of new drugs. In the
period before this, people made their own drugs from minerals,
plants and animals. They might buy them from apothecaries, but
just as with buying care from physicians they could choose to rely
on self-help. Such a system necessarily recreated other aspects of
people's lives. Popular books on making medicines were also
cookery books. The humoural system itself was based ·on .the
universal sense .of touch (the qualities that in combination made
up the humours were hot, cold, dry and wet) whilst other causes
of disease were related to smells, taste or sight as were the methods
of telling good and bad food and water. A system of medicine that
had few specialist instruments, that was open to laypersons both
in knowledge and techniques reflected their conditions of life and
modes of experience. This allowed for self-diagnosis and treat-
ment, and for the patient to talk in equal terms with the doctor.
On this reading, the structures of thought about illness - whether
religious, naturalistic or concerned with order and disorder, etc.
- were reflections and extensions of other sources of experience
and life, and it is natural that they should belong to the tongue duree
since herbs, minerals, animals, the senses of, for instance, the
need to judge pure water (given a lack of official institutions· and
scientific techniques for doing this) had remained the same from
Greek times.
There was, of course, a great deal happening in the world of
events, and the history of health and illness in the period would
be incomplete without recognising this. The reactions of govern-
ments to plague, the histories of the Royal College of Physicians,
of the Society of Apothecaries, the entry onto the stage of exotic
figures like Valentine Greatrakes, the Irish healer, all add to the
245
Andrew Wear
Demographic history
246
Perceptions of Health and Illness
247
Andrew Wear
appear crude, it makes good sense in places; for example, the close
connection between an increase in marriages and the aftermath of
a mortality crisis (when bereaved spouses find new partners). 38
Moreover, the work of historians such as Peter Laslett and Arthur
Imhofl9 has used demography to throw light on the life of past
generations in such a way that we are aware that if we did not
possess it our sense of the social history of a period would be
diminished. Imhof, especially, has taken demography excitingly
near qualitative history by arguing that the strength of religious
attitudes to illness and death owed a great deal to the ever-present
expectation of death under the old mortality regime. Wrigley also
shows in this volume that demographic history can integrate
numbers with behavioural systems (marriage) and conditions of
life (the placement of towns, etc.).
However, for the early modern period it may be easier to join
demographic and general social history of medicine than to use
demographic results to throw light, as Imhof does for later
periods, on changes in behaviour related to the incidence of
specific illness. Historical demographers have found it difficult to
give any analysis of morbidity in the 17th century. As Wrigley and
Schofield point out, cause of death (let alone morbidity) was rarely
recorded consistently outside London and it is very difficult to
identify diseases (in modern terminology) from contemporary
descriptions. 40 This was even a problem at the time for John
Graunt who, when faced with disease labels that had gone out of
use was not always sure what the illness was in his terms. 41 Lack-
ing, thus, reliable figures on morbidity it is impossible to relate
changing medical and health ideas and practices to the increase or
decrease in the incidence of particular diseases (the exception is
plague, in which the death-rate can be so dramatic that a rough
estimate can be sufficient).
248
Perceptions of Health and Illness
249
Andrew Wear
250
Perceptions of Health and Illness
251
Andrew Wear
Notes
1. Carlo Ginzburg, The Cheese and the Womzs (London, Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1981), xx-xxii.
2. Carlo Ginzburg, 'Anthropology and History in the 1980s. A
Comment' in T. Rabb and R.I. Rotberg, The new History, the 1980s and
Beyond (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1982), 227.
3. I have deliberately used the terms mentalite, 'cognitive
frameworks', 'structures of thought' in a loose and interchangeable way,
and I have blurred .the distinction between the form and contents of
thought. If readers feel that there is a danger of reifying thought by using
such terms, I hope they will realise that much of this paper shows that
structures of thought only have a reality when put into practice.
4. Samuel Pepys, The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Robert Latham, William
Matthews (eds) (11 vols, London, Bell and Hyman, 1970-83), vol. 1,
213.
5. Ibid., p. 216.
6. Ibid., p. 279.
7. Richard Wiseman, Severall Chirurgicall Treatises (London, 1676),
Book 7, 33.
8. Pepys, Diary, vol. 4, p. 347.
9. Ibid., p. 383.
10. Ibid., p. 383-4.
11. Ibid., p. 384.
12. Ibid., p. 385.
13. Thomas Becon, The Sicke Mans Salve (London 1561), p. 305.
14. See the description of the death-bed scene of Lorenzo de Medici
in Janet Ross, Lives of the early Medici as told in their Correspondence (London,
Chatto and Windus, 1910), 336-9; the reports of the death of Elizabeth
in John Manningham, The Diary ofJohn Manningham, R.P. Sorlien (ed.)
(Hanover, R.I., University of Rhode Island, 1976), 207-8; reports of the
death of Charles II in Edward Maunde Thompson, Correspondence of the
Family of Hatton, (2 vols. Camden Society, New Series xxii-xxiii, 1878),
vol. 2 51-4.
15. Gene Brucker (ed.) The Society of Renaissance Florence. A Documen:tary
Study (New York, Harper Torchbooks, 1971), 46-7.
252
Perceptions of Health and Illness
16. John Evelyn, The Diary ofJohn Evelyn, E.S. de Beer (ed.) (6 vols,
Oxford, University Press, 1955), vol. 3, 208.
17. Elizabeth, Countess of Bridgewater, wrote in her ·'devotional
pieces' collected in 1663 of the death of her daughter Kate: 'her life and
death was nothing but sweetness, shewing us what we should perform on
our last day'. British Library, Egerton MS 607, fol. 126v.
18. Fynes Moryson, An Itinerary, ( 4 vols, Glasgow, James MacLehose;
1907), vol. 1, 15.
19. Brucker, The Society of Renaissance Florence, p. 48.
20. William Perkins, 'The Right Way of Dying Well', in A Golden
Chaine (London, 1612), 492.
21. Ibid., p. 492.
22. Nehemiah Wallington, British Library, Sloane MS 1457, fol. 71v.
23. See A. Wear, 'Puritan Perceptions of Illness in Seventeenth
Century England' in R. Porter (ed.) Patients and Practitioilers (Cambridge,
University Press, 1985), 55-99.
24. Pepys, Diary, vol. 4, 318-19.
25. Henry Edmundson, Comes Facundus in Via - The Fellow Traveller,
(London, 1658), 111-12.
26. R. Josselin, The Diary of Ralphjosselin 1616-1683, Alan Macfarlane
(ed.) (London, British Academy, 197 6), 566. Lucinda Beier has a chapter
onJosselin in R. Porter's Patients and Practitioners and I have a page or two.
See also Alan Macfarlane, The Family Life of Ralph josselin, An Essay in
Historical Anthropology (Cambridge, University Press, 1970).
27. Josselin, Diary, p. 566.
28. Ibid., p. 566, 572, 578, 582-3, 584.
29. Ibid., p. 584.
30. Anon., 'Diarium Practicum 1619-1622', British Library, Sloane
1112:1, p.lv.
31. Josselin, Diary, p. 585.
32. See H.C. Porter, The Inconstant Savage, England and the North
American Indian 1500-1660 (London, Duckworth, 1979); John Prest, The
Garden of Eden: The Botanical Garden and the Re-Creation of Paradise (New
Haven, Yale University Press, 1981); A. Wear, 'Perceptions of Health
and the Environment in the Settlement of North AIµerican in the Early
Seventeenth Century', Bulletin of the Society for the Social History of Medicine,
35, (1984), 11-13.
33. Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger (Routledge and Kegan Paul,
London, 1966) and Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology, (Barrie and
Rockcliff, London, 1970). There is a useful discussion of Douglas' ideas
as they relate to the history of science by David Oldroyd, 'Grid Group
Analysis for Historians of Science?', History of Science, 24 (1986), 145-71.
It is peculiar that historians of medicine have not taken up Douglas' ideas,
material from the history of medicine is much closer to Douglas' evidence
(pollution, hygiene) and the opportunity for seeing whether refutation of
her views is possible is far greater.
34. Just as structures of thought only exist when they are put into prac-
tice by people, so they change when people, groups, governments, etc.
choose to change them. The question of how the tongue duree changes has
been made to appear difficult by a tendency to idealise it.
253
Andrew Wear
35. E.A. Wrigley and R.S. Schofield, The Population History of England
1541-1871: A Reconstruction (London, Arnold, 1981); though the work
does assume that people's hopes and fears as reflected in the rise and fall
of prices, etc. do affect the birth rate.
36. Keith Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic (Harmondsworth,
Penguin Books, 1973), p. x.
3 7. Michael W. Flinn, The European Demographic System 1500-1820,
(Brighton, Harvester Press, 1981), p. 28.
38. Ibid., p. 34.
39. Peter Laslett, The World We Have Lost - Further Explored (London,
Methuen, 1983); Arthur Imhof, Die Verlorenen Welten (Munich, Beck,
1984).
40. Wrigley and Schofield, The Population History of England, pp. 667-9.
41. John Graunt, Natural and Political Observations . . . upon the Bills of
Mortality, 5th edn (London, 1676), 40: 'The Tyssick seems to be quite
worn away, but that is probable the same is entered as "Cough" or
''Consumption'''. However, new diseases also could be difficult to
understand see, for instance, pp. 37-8 the 'new disease called by our Bills
"The Stopping of the Stomach"'. Graunt wondered if this was the
'Green-sickness', or the 'Mother' or 'the Rising of the Lights'.
42. E.A. Wrigley, Population and History (London, Weidenfeld and
Nicolson, 1969), 77-8.
43. On the early history of demography and statistics see Karl Pear-
son, E. S. Pearson (ed.) The History of Statistics in the 17th and 18th Centuries
(London, 1978); I. Hacking, The Emergence of Probability, (Cambridge,
University Press, 1975); James H. Cassedy, 'Medicine and the Rise of
Statistics', in A.G. Debus (ed.) Medicine in Seventeenth Century England
(Berkeley, University of California Press, 1974), 283-312; Ulrich Trohler
'Quantification in British Medicine and Surgery 1750-1830',
unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of London, 1978, pp. 44-8. For a
general discussion of the growth of a sense of number see Alexander
Murray, Reason and Society in the Middle Ages (Oxford, University Press,
1978).
44. See Mary Dobson, 'Population, Disease, and Mortality in South-
east England 1600-1800'; unpublished D.Phil, Oxford University, 1982.
45. John Aubrey, Aubrey's Brief Lives, Oliver Lawson Dick (ed.)
(London, 1975), 231.
46. See, for instance, Peter Force (ed.), A plain Description of the Bar-
mudas now called Sommer !lands, reprinted in Tracts and Other Papers relating
Principally to the Origin, Settlement and Progress of the Colonies in North America,
4 vols, (Washington, 1836, reprint New York, Peter Smith, 1947), 111,
21 which describes three men left behind on the Island: the climate was
good 'and agreeable with our·constitutions of England, and for the victual
very wholesome and good: for the three men which were left there are very
fat and faire, not tanned or burned in the Sun so much as we which came
last, and they say themselves they never were sicke all the time of their
being there and one of them have been there three yeares and upwards'.
More 'significant' perhaps was Thomas Hariot's A Brief and True Report
of Virginia (London, 1588), which describes Raleigh's Roanake expedi-
tion. Hariot pointed out, p. 3v, that the expedition had been mainly
254
Perceptions of Health and Illness
living 'by drinking water and by the victual of the country, of which some
sorts were very strange unto us and might have been thought to have
altered our temperatures [i.e. temperatures, bodily constitutions] in some
sort as to have brought us into some grievous and dangerous diseases'.
However, despite this and having to live in winter in the open air and to
sleep on the ground, only four of the 108 died and three of them were
'feeble weake and sickly persons before ever they came thither'.
47. 'For the natives, they are near all dead of the smallpox, so as the
Lord hath cleared our title to what we possess', John Winthrop to Sir
Nathaniel Rich, May 22, 1634, in Everett Emerson (ed.) Letters from New
England (Amherst, University of Massachusetts Press, 1976), p. 116.
48. Everard Maynwaring, Tutela Sanitatis ... The Protection of Long Life
(London, 1663), p. 42.
49. Robert Wittie, &aTborough Spaw or a Description of the Nature and
Virtues of the Spaw at &aTborough in Yorkshire ... (London, 1660), p. 8.
50. Ibid.' p. 228.
51. Graunt, Natural and Political Observations, p. 21.
52. Ibid., p. 24.
I would like to· thank the Carnegie Trust for Scotland for a grant in
aid of the research for this chapter.
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