g a game--the game of life--with no
knowledge of its rules. They have not an idea of the laws of nature; if
they want to cure a man, they have no conception at all of true
scientific remedies. If they try anything they must try it upon bare
chance. The most useful modern remedies were often discovered in this
bare, empirical way. What could be more improbable--at least, for what
could a pre-historic man have less given a good reason--than that some
mineral springs should stop rheumatic pains, or mineral springs make
wounds heal quickly? And yet the chance knowledge of the marvellous
effect of gifted springs is probably as ancient as any sound knowledge
as to medicine whatever. No doubt it was mere casual luck at first that
tried these springs and found them answer. Somebody by accident tried
them and by that accident was instantly cured. The chance which happily
directed men in this one case, misdirected them in a thousand cases.
Some expedition had answered when the resolution to undertake it was
resolved on under an ancient tree, and accordingly that tree became
lucky and sacred. Another expedition failed when a magpie crossed its
path, and a magpie was said to be unlucky. A serpent crossed the path
of another expedition, and it had a marvellous victory, and accordingly
the serpent became a sign of great luck (and what a savage cannot
distinguish from it--a potent deity which makes luck). Ancient medicine
is equally unreasonable: as late down as the Middle Ages it was full of
superstitions founded on mere luck. The collection of prescriptions
published under the direction of the Master of the Rolls abounds in
such fancies as we should call them. According to one of them, unless I
forget, some disease--a fever, I think--is supposed to be cured by
placing the patient between two halves of a hare and a pigeon recently
killed.[7] Nothing can be plainer than that there is no ground for this
kind of treatment, and that the idea of it arose out of a chance hit,
which came right and succeeded. There was nothing so absurd or so
contrary to common sense as we are apt to imagine about it. The lying
between two halves of a hare or a pigeon was a priori, and to the
inexperienced mind, quite as likely to cure disease as the drinking
certain draughts of nasty mineral water. Both, somehow, were tried;
both answered--that is. Both were at the first time, or at some
memorable time, followed by a remarkable recovery; and the only
differe