The Aim of Medical Science

A large percentage of those who turn to faith-healers rather than depending on medical science have the erroneous expectation that competent doctors should be able to diagnose and cure, in a straightforward and speedy manner, whatever disease is presented to them. This is simply not true. Medical doctors do their best to make life longer, more comfortable, and more productive for their patients. They strive to cancel out and repair the effects of injuries and infections. Relief is their goal, and they seldom have the satisfaction of returning total recovery to their customers. Their promises are few, and with good reason. There is a point beyond which medical science—at least at present—cannot go. The normal attrition of later years, disease, and death are all part of the life process. We can combat the causes and the symptoms of some diseases. Specific medications and techniques attack bacteria and viruses and either remove the invading elements or arrest their attacks upon the orderly progress of life. But death—premature or not—often results simply and naturally from a series of failures of various smaller systems that are links in the life process and part of the support of our existence rather than from any catastrophic event. With the passing of years we break down, with, it is hoped, a certain amount of grace and with the support of friends and a social system that respects and accepts our increasing failures to perform as previously. Reaction time becomes greater, perceptions are less sensitive, and memory serves us less efficiently. Perhaps the accompanying lessened awareness is an unplanned but welcome mercy of nature that eases passage; certainly it seems to be an advantage, given the inevitability of death. I find no injustice in death, probably because I recognize the advantage to my species of a limited lifespan and the need for a great number of generations to improve the stock through selection. That process has enabled some of us to visit the moon and one of us to compose the “Moonlight Sonata.” To those who cannot summon up such a philosophy, death is an enemy. Disease and geriatric failures are his allies, seen as precursors to the end of life. It all seems so unfair, and faced with evidence of these failings, unable or unwilling to accept the medical facts, many people harken to joyful promises of cures for a multitude of ailments—biological changes that are actually inevitable and quite natural. They seek magic, and the promise of a miracle is held out to them—on a barbed hook.

16

Where Is the Evidence?

Most of us discover soon enough that the world is full of misinformation. Some of it is the result of ignorance or its sibling, carelessness. Some, unfortunately, is spawned by self-serving interest or malice. And much misinformation is either the result of wishful thinking—we want it to be true, and so it must be—or represents a kind of symbolic truth: it ain’t necessarily so, but it really ought to be.   (From Time-Honored Lies, by Tom Burnam.)

In researching this book, I began to relate every experience and fact I came upon to the faith-healing phenomena. News broadcasts, magazine articles, conversations, and correspondence all went into the hopper, and I tried to extract from them significant relationships in order to make sense of the bizarre data I had collected. Then I received a call from the manager of Alice Cooper, a rock star for whom the word “bizarre” might have been invented. Cooper’s real name is Vincent Furnier. Much like the Frankenstein monster/Boris Karloff relationship, Alice Cooper/Vince Furnier is aware of who’s who. Furnier can switch out of the Cooper character, pick up his golf clubs, and play nine holes without so much as two notes escaping his lips. He “disconnects” very smoothly. I traveled with Cooper’s remarkable show a few years ago, working special effects. His manager was calling to ask if I’d like to attend an upcoming concert near my home in Florida. I readily accepted, needing a break from investigating the faith-healing business and feeling that a different form of make-believe might be a welcome change. Now, as I saw the latest version of the show, with the stage lighting, the roaring loudspeakers, the screaming star, it suddenly struck me that what I was watching was not too different from the meetings of Peter Popoff, W. V. Grant, and David Paul. The litany and the dress were different, but the crowd was reacting in much the same fashion. They were there to see a star they recognized. He had a message, albeit incredible and wild, that they wanted to hear and accept. He was loud. He was colorful. He loved them, and made that plain. But no one questioned whether his real persona matched what they saw on stage. Another notion occurred to me. I thought of professional wrestling, with its blatant fakery, overacted dramas, ersatz blood, and phony injuries. The long hours of dedicated practice, the careful placing of each blow, the choreography—that, too, fit into this strange picture of human beings abandoning reason and entering a drama as actors, willy-nilly. The fans, in accordance with some unwritten but understood rule, will not allow themselves to wonder whether the blood, the moves, and the results are real; they are content to pretend. I see a strong parallel between the rock concert, the pro-wrestling scene, and faith-healing. The one obvious common thread is this: No one ever stops to ask the most important question: Is it for real? It is an uncomfortable, obscene, blasphemous, and impolite query that is just not tolerated.