Hahnemann: The Father of Homeopathy, Part 8

Dr. Samuel Hahnemann expected that his last years on Earth would be spent in Köthen. Widowed at age 75, two of his daughters, Louise and Charlotte, kept house for him. In his mind, his life’s work was done. He had completed his research, published everything needed to keep his medical system alive after his death, and now he whiled away his “dwindling” years by either attending to patients or teaching those who came to Köthen to learn from him. (See part 7.)

He refused to travel, with one notable exception: In June 1834, at age 79, he attended the one-year anniversary celebration of the first homeopathic hospital. Returning to Leipzig for such an occasion must have been deeply satisfying. He had left the city 15 years earlier after a court decision stripped him of the right to dispense his own medicines, and the trial also led to the persecution of all his students (see part 6). But now! The homeopaths of Leipzig had successfully opened a homeopathic hospital the previous year.

An entourage traveled with Hahnemann to Leipzig, and “he was enthusiastically welcomed with befitting ceremony by an address in Latin by (the hospital's) director.” Hahnemann had influenced the appointment of the director, and was glad that his strong opinions on the matter had been heeded. He had been the driving force behind ousting the first director, a man Hahnemann called a “half-homeopath,” who had allowed emetics, venesection, and other Old School treatments in addition to the homeopathic ones. Convinced that the man (and all those like him) would imperil the new doctrine, Hahnemann vociferously campaigned against this “silly confounder of Homeopathy and Allopathy” and won. Unfortunately, the conflict created a further divide in the homeopathic community, widening the rift created by Hahnemann’s book on chronic disease (see part 7). The ousted director continued to practice his version of homeopathy and had more tolerant names for the two types of practitioners: purists and liberals. It’s interesting to note that factions remain in the homeopathic community to this day—the purists, who practice according to strict Hahnemannian principles, and various others.

In October of that same year (1834), Hahnemann met Mèlanie d’Hervilly-Gohier, a French painter and poet, and his life took a sharp turn in a new direction. Mèlanie’s rationale for making the 2-week journey from Paris to Germany varies, depending on the biographer. One stressed that her ill health brought her to Köthen; she wanted to see if Hahnemann could cure a chronic ailment that had baffled her physicians in Paris. Hahnemann’s case files from her appointment describe “a kind of tic douloureux in the right hypogastrium.” And Mèlanie wrote about that time, “my health was impaired as a result of grief caused by the loss of several of my friends.” She had also been unable to paint for three years. Another biographer wrote that, after reading the French translation of the Organon of Medicine, Mèlanie was determined to claim its brilliant author for her own country. It’s true that after reading the Organon, she wrote, “the sun of true medicine had risen for me.” She had been interested in medicine since childhood, but since women were not allowed to attend medical colleges she pursued a career in the arts instead. But the Organon renewed her squelched interest in the topic and, by meeting Hahnemann, she could learn medicine in a new and inspiring way.

Mèlanie was the daughter of a French nobleman who was described as “intellectually unconventional” (Napoleon had given amnesty to the French aristocrats who survived the Revolution). She was educated at home, and is described as “highly precocious.” Her father allowed her to study what interested her, and she did not choose the typical lessons that prepared girls for marriage. Mèlanie had no intention of marrying, and was “the despair” of a vain mother, who reportedly threw a knife at 15-year-old Mèlanie in a fit of jealously over the girl’s spiritedness and good looks. Her father sent her to live with the family of her painting teacher, Guillaume Guillon-Lethière, a gifted “history” painter, and this arrangement accelerated her skill as a painter. She also became involved in the politics of the day and wrote poems, not all of which were political, but one of her few surviving poems was L’Hirondelle Athènienne (The Athenian Swallow), published in 1825, which was sold to raise money for the Greek War of Independence. Mèlanie was also a sportswoman who could ride, swim, and shoot a variety of guns.

She traveled to Germany alone, dressed in gentleman’s clothes, which was not unusual for the female painters of the day. They would often don trousers during their solitary jaunts into the countryside to paint landscapes. Additionally, Mèlanie was known to say, “I prefer going about with men, for no sensible word can be addressed to a woman.” But when she met Hahnemann, that fateful day in October, she wore her hair in the latest Parisian style and had on a dress that reportedly “shocked and excited” Hahnemann’s daughters. She was a tall, handsome woman with blue eyes and fair hair, and Hahnemann, though 79 years of age, was “lively and brisk; every movement full of life, his features sharp and animated.”

He found in Mèlanie a kindred spirit; she was intelligent, articulate, energetic, and well-read. She appreciated Hahnemann’s razor sharp intellect and unswerving integrity. Reports state that they became engaged only three days after they met. In any event, they were married 103 days after they met, following a courtship that was kept secret to avoid conflict with Hahnemann’s daughters, as well as his friends. He was more than twice her age, but their love, as soul mates, could not be denied. In one of her letters during the courtship, she writes, “you will always be my husband in my thoughts; no other man will ever lay a profane hand on me, no mouth other than yours will kiss my mouth. I give you my faith, and I swear to you eternal love and fidelity.”

It goes without saying that much of the world did not see the match in a positive light. One of Hahnemann’s detractors, a standard physician, reportedly said that he hoped the old man would finally be carried off; surely, he couldn’t long survive the physical demands of a marriage bed. Hahnemann’s assistant, Dr. Lehmann, called the match a “sacrifice” on the part of Mèlanie. And Hahnemann’s daughters were particularly distraught over it. They worried that their father had fallen into the hands of an adventuress, and worried that his mental faculties were slipping. They could not understand the depth of affection that had sprung up between the pair, and they also worried that their raison d’etre would be stripped from them after the marriage. In truth, it was. Hahnemann bought them another house after the wedding, so that he and Mèlanie could live peacefully together and not be disturbed by the daughters’ interference and jealousy. Mèlanie also wanted privacy, in which to share her husband’s bed without judgement. She wrote of the daughters, “they must believe, as does the whole world, that there’ll be no physical passion between us,” (for it was true that most of the world preferred to think of it as a “platonic” marriage). It wasn’t. In Hahnemann’s will, he wrote, “should my present wife bear me any children, then this child or children, as a matter of course, have the same claims on my property as the children of my first marriage.”

Mèlanie lived in Köthen with her new husband for about six months before she determined that she had to travel to Paris to “settle her own financial affairs there.” Hahnemann went with her and they never returned to Germany. His will, which he wrote before they left, split his assets between his children. Mèlanie had asked him to do so, to quiet the “adventuress” rumors, and his will included this statement: “On the eve of my departure to Paris, where, far away from the country in which I had to suffer so much, I probably shall remain, and where I hope to find with my beloved wife that peace and happiness for which my desired marriage will be a sufficient guarantee, I declare that I have divided nearly the whole of my property among my children solely on the particular wish and desire of my wife, which is proof of her noble disinterestedness.”

Hahnemann took with him only a small amount of money and his personal valuables, which included his medicines and his library. He further specified in his will that all that went with him to Paris would be Mèlanie’s, and that she would have “complete control” over his funeral arrangements.

Next time: The Hahnemann’s in Paris, part 1

Hahnemann: The Father of Homepathy - Part 7

In 1821, Dr. Samuel Hahnemann, 66 years old, moved away from Leipzig and his teaching position at the university to remove himself from the “pretensions of any apothecary.” [See part 6.] He was tired of the constant fighting—with the apothecaries, as well as with the physicians who had joined forces with them. Some of his followers accused him of giving up, but he knew that removal from the discord was what he required in order to finish his research, and he also wanted to practice homeopathy without restrictions. Hahnemann’s desire was fulfilled when Grand Duke Frederick of Anhalt-Köthen, whom Hahnemann had cured of a complicated disease, offered him sanctuary in his kingdom. [Germany at that time was divided into small but absolute kingdoms, with their own laws and customs.]

Hahnemann thought he had found a haven under the protection of Grand Duke Frederick but the reality was slightly different. Rural Köthen was only 43 miles from urban Liepzig, but the route between the two was neither well-paved nor well-marked; it was easy to get lost at crossroads—all of which made visiting Hahnemann an ordeal for his followers. Also, the Köthen townspeople did not welcome him with open arms. They called him “Evil Wizard,” and one of them threw a rock through his window the first week he was there. He wasn’t sure he could stay, and wrote a friend in Berlin, “I cannot live here quietly much longer because of the many chicaneries, and I must seek out a new place of abode.” But his position as the Grand Duke’s personal physician was too good an appointment to abandon. And, fortunately, once the townspeople came to know Hahnemann, they accepted him. The “Evil Wizard” became “The Hermit.”

Hahnemann reportedly spent his first few months in seclusion, seldom leaving his new home except to visit the Grand Duke professionally. If a former patient or one of his followers needed him, they had to visit him at his house—not easy, considering the roads—or write to him. Hahnemann promptly answered his mail, sometimes sending a needed medicine to a patient. Interestingly, six months after Hahnemann moved to Köthen, the authorities in Leipzig granted homeopaths, “under certain conditions,” the right to dispense their own medicines (see part 6). Despite that, Hahnemann continued living in Köthen with his “more perfect liberty.” He was happy to relinquish command of the ongoing battle to his younger followers, who had the stamina and drive to keep fighting. His abandonment of the battlefield did nothing to ease the Old School’s persecutions, so the new generals had their work cut out for them.

Hahnemann passed much time in his new home’s back garden, and on pleasant days took a drive in his carriage. But he was not idle. He now had the quiet, meditative time in which to finalize and perfect his new method, and this he did with renewed vigor and concentration. While in Köthen, he published the third, fourth, and fifth editions of his “Organon of Medicine,” and newer editions of his Materia Medica Pura as well. He also published his book on chronic disease, which has been called “that great monument to his genius.”

A year before the book was published, Hahnemann shared his findings on chronic disease with the two homeopathic physicians whom he trusted the most: Johann Ernst Staph and Gustav Wilhelm Gross. He wanted to be sure to pass on the information since he was 73 years old and believed “it was not improbable that I might be called into eternity before I could complete this book.”

“The Chronic Diseases: Their Peculiar Nature and Their Homeopathic Cure” was published in 1828. After long years of research, thousands of experiments, and the peace and quiet that gave him uninterrupted time for reflection, Hahnemann finally completed his compendium on Homeopathy. He had, for years, seen that there were some ailments that could not be permanently cured by Homeopathy and which he termed “the remains of some deep-seated chronic disease.” In this book, Hahnemann gave guidance on how to obliterate these ancient chronic diseases. But it introduced a complexity into prescribing that certain homeopathic physicians didn’t want to believe existed. The book caused a sharp divide in the homeopathic community. [An aside: The complexity is widely accepted today, but one must attain a very good homeopathic education with knowledgeable teachers in order to understand it. If one is a “lay practitioner,” it’s best to treat only acute disease and/or make first aid recommendations. One should never try to treat chronic ailments unless Hahnemann’s lessons on chronic disease are thoroughly understood.]

Hahnemann was living in Köthen when the 50th anniversary of his graduation from medical school rolled around (August 10, 1829). He had been in Köthen eight years, and by this time the townspeople had accepted him so thoroughly that he had had to hire an assistant to keep pace with his patients. As old as he was, he stayed very busy between his local patients, all those who wrote to him for help, and those who came to him as pupils. “The Hermit” was beloved, and everyone in the town pitched in to organize what would become an annual celebration. His friends wished for a reliable likeness of him and engaged portrait painter Schoppe, from Berlin, and sculptor Dietrich Jun, from Leipzig. From all parts of Germany and beyond, friends and former pupils came to honor Hahnemann at this Fest-Jubilee, and several gave him presents. The Duke and Duchess attended as well, and gave him a gold snuff box and a valuable antique drinking cup.

Hahnemann “gave thanks to God that he had been allowed to make so sublime a discovery and that he had been continued in bodily and mental vigor.” And he thanked his many friends. He wrote, “I can bear much joy and grief, but I was hardly able to stand the surprise of so many, and such strong proofs of the kindness and affection of my disciples and friends with which I was overwhelmed on the 10th of August.” The celebration also showed him that all his hard work had not been in vain. The seed of Homeopathy was now so deeply rooted, its growth so widely spread, that there was no stopping it.

Sadly, less than a year later, Hahnemann’s wife of 48 years died. She had been ailing for many years and refused all medications at the end. Hahnemann wrote, “After great suffering, fever, and pains, she at length gently fell asleep in our arms with the cheerfullest expression in the world, to wake up in eternity.” Their youngest daughter, Louise, whose husband had died, came to Köthen to give support during her mother’s last days and stayed. His daughter Charlotte had never married or moved away. The two daughters kept house for Hahnemann, the widower, who expected nothing more out of life than to make that final journey into eternity to join his wife.

It’s funny how reality often goes contrary to our expectations. Hahnemann's predictable life took an interesting turn, taking him completely by surprise. Until next time….

Hahnemann: The Father of Homeopathy - Part 6

Dr. Samuel Hahnemann was 57 years old when he earned the right to teach at Leipzig University by giving a brilliant thesis on Helleborism of the Ancients (see part 5). He did not reveal that he would be teaching homeopathy—there was no mention of homeopathic truths in his thesis—but that is exactly what he did. His plan was to teach malleable minds, since he had given up on reaching the closed-minded established physicians. He wrote, “No, it is only the young whose heads are not deluged to overflowing with a flood of everyday dogmas, and in whose arteries there runs not yet the stream of medical prejudice; it is only such young and candid natures, on whom truth and philanthropy have got a hold, who are open to our simple doctrine of medicine.”

Hahnemann gave two weekly lectures during his time as a professor in Leipzig (1812 – 1821). His classes were attended by students, some physicians, and by a few non-medical people as well, such as Baron Ernst Georg von Brunnow, a law student whose “bodily sufferings” Hahnemann’s remedies helped greatly. The lectures were well-attended at first, because Hahnemann was making wonderful cures in Leipzig. However, his lectures contained vociferous attacks on the old methods, leaving no doubt that he thought them antiquated, dangerous, and lazy. Perhaps if he had been more temperate in describing them, he might have attracted more adherents, but his strict code of truth did not allow him to whitewash the Old School’s ways.

[An aside: Baron von Brunnow gave up his career in law due to his delicate constitution and devoted his life to literary pursuits. He became an "ardent champion of the cause," and translated Hahnemann’s “Organon of Medicine” into French and assisted with the translation of Hahnemann’s Materia Medica into Latin. He was also a poet and a novelist.]

It was during these Leipzig years that Hahnemann, with a loyal group of students nicknamed The Provers' Union, experimented with medicines to the point of being able to publish a huge amount of information about them (see part 4 to better understand provings). This extensive symptom documentation has been the means of “removing much suffering from humanity,” because this bank of symptoms, when searched with a specific patient in mind, points the way to a well-selected remedy. [Homeopathic repertories have organized the symptoms so that they are easily searchable.]

We owe a debt of gratitude to one of Hahnemann’s “most zealous” students, Franz Hartmann, who was part of The Provers' Union and went on to become a renowned homeopath. He documented his time with Hahnemann in great detail, writing, “when I made Hahnemann’s acquaintance, his fame was widespread, and he performed cures which bordered on the incredible, and which established his reputation more and more permanently.” And wrote, “He took pleasure in conversing with me on the sciences, and was always most enthusiastic when on the subject of Materia Medica and therapeutics. I always took especial pains to add fuel to the fire, partly because his fiery zeal was entertaining, and partly because I acquired thereby such a knowledge of Homeopathy, and for many practical observations upon Homeopathy I am indebted to these explosions.” He also gives a detailed physical description of Hahnemann in these years, as “a small, thick-set man, constrained in his gait and bearing, with a bald head and a high, beautifully formed forehead.” And when in the midst of his fiery zeal, “the blood at such times crowded up to his head, the veins became turgid, the brow was flushed, his brilliant eyes sparkled, and he was obliged to take off his little cap to admit the cool air to his heated head.” But when outside the classroom and surrounded by those he trusted, he displayed “the mirthful humor, the familiarity and openness, the wit.” Hahnemann's choice of clothes also demonstrated the difference between his professional and his home life. In his classroom he dressed simply, in a dark coat. When entertaining friends at home, he preferred a “gaily figured” dressing gown.

In 1813, a typhus epidemic came to Leipzig and Hahnemann’s success in treating it silenced his critics for a time. He lost only two patients, whereas the other physicians lost many more than that. He gained many “followers,” but eventually the Old School once again tried to stop his progress. Baron von Brunnow (mentioned above) writes, “His flourishing practice and numerous adherents had become too alarming to his adversaries not to prompt them to take such active measures for his suppression as lay within their power.” Hahnemann was, once again, in trouble for dispensing his own medicines, just as he had been in Konigslutter (see part 5). The year was 1820, but Hahnemann got a small reprieve from the court proceedings because one of the heroes of the Napoleonic war, Field Marshal Prince Schwartzenberg, asked Hahnemann to help him recover from a life-threatening ailment. He initially asked Hahnemann to visit him in Vienna, but Hahnemann responded that “his many literary and scientific labors would not permit so long an absence from Liepzig.” So this celebrated war hero came to Hahnemann, which created quite a bit of jealousy amongst the other physicians.

Homeopathy helped Prince Schwartzenberg recover to some extent, but his hedonistic lifestyle had worn down his body and he eventually died. Brunnow wrote, “To the astonishment of all, the patient felt himself better from day to day, and he was seen driving about after a little time; but the powers of life had been too much weakened to permit of his recovery.” And, “Although the post-mortem proved that no medical skill could by any possibility have been successful in the case, yet the issue of it was very injurious to Hahnemann.” Prince Schwartzenberg’s physician claimed that Hahnemann’s refusal to employ “powerful measures” hastened the prince’s death, despite the fact that the physician had also continued to bleed him. In any event, his death caused the suspended legal processes against Hahnemann to resume with increased vigor, and he was ultimately ordered to stop dispensing his own medicines.

With the persecution of Hahnemann came the persecution of many of his students. To give one example, Christian Gottlob Hornburg, a medical student at the University of Liepzig, especially loved Hahnemann’s lectures and grasped the topic so thoroughly that he was able to achieve several astounding cures himself. He had already earned his baccalaureate, and was doing work towards his medical degree so, strictly speaking, he was not supposed to be seeing patients. Other medical students, who were not proponents of Homeopathy, also gave medical advice and escaped reproof, but because his cures were homeopathic, Hornburg was persecuted. He was fined, and the authorities even went so far as to take his homeopathic medicines from his home and publicly burn them. Worse, and in large part because he spoke so critically about the old methods, he was never awarded his medical degree. He tried in several universities and failed; the “powers that be” wanted to make an example of him. He eventually gave up trying to earn a degree, but never stopped practicing homeopathy. Unfortunately, his tormentors never stopped either, always looking for ways to punish him. In 1833, about fifteen years after his remedies had been publicly burned, he was condemned to two months’ imprisonment for treating a woman with pneumonia who later died at the hands of regular physicians. They knew she had worked with Hornburg and blamed her death on him. The news of this judgement devastated Hornburg. He was recovering from influenza when he learned of it, so not in perfect health, and the shock—and very possibly the imprisonment itself—caused him to go into a decline. He was dead six months later. Fortunately, many of those in Hahnemann’s Provers' Union sidestepped or survived the Old School’s persecution and carried on practicing homeopathy quite successfully, including Hartmann (mentioned above).

All Hahnemann ever wanted to do, always for the absolute good of humanity, was to dispense the simple medicines that he so thoroughly understood, that he himself had made so that he could guarantee their quality, and to share his new method with anyone who was open to learning it. But after nearly ten years of teaching at the University of Leipzig, his dream came to an end. This last battle was the final straw for Hahnemann, who was now 66 years old. He determined to move his family once again, and sent out enquiries to find a place in which he could attain the peace and quiet he needed to continue his research and practice homeopathy without the constant battles. In the spring of 1821, the Grand Duke Frederick of Anhalt-Coethen invited Hahnemann to become private physician to himself and his wife and, perhaps more importantly, gave him free reign to “practice according to the feelings of his heart.”

Next: Hahnemann’s Coethen years, part I