In Defense of the Disabled Man at the Bethesda Fountain (John 5:1–15)

A man has been lying at the Bethesda fountain for thirty-eight years when he has a miraculous encounter with Jesus. Throughout history, this man has been seen as lazy, unfaithful. Such unfavorable interpretations of this man rely not on the text but on physiognomy, wherein the man’s impaired body tells interpreters all they need to know about his moral character. Such interpretations originate in ableist biases, rather than unprejudiced readings of the text. I propose a disability-informed interpretation of John 5:1–15, aiming both to reread and rewrite the text. I first critique the reception of this text in history, then offer constructive suggestions using philological inquiry and reading the passage in the context of ancient humoral medicine. Finally, taking a cue from Wilda Gafney’s womanist midrash, I employ “sacred imagination” to re-tell the story. I hope to offer a new perspective on this passage that has been understood so harmfully.

From blocked flows to suppressed emotions: the life of a trope

Internal blockages and build-ups cause disease: traditionally, this principle seemed intuitive both to professionals and the laity, explained conditions as diverse as melancholy and scurvy (among many others), and justified the use of evacuative treatments to get rid of noxious matter. With the collapse of humoral medicine and the establishment of the concept of specific causation, one might have expected time-honoured tropes of obstruction to die off. They did not die off, but moved with the times and adapted to new conditions. Emphasis swung from the noxious character of retained substances to the harms of suppressed urges and emotions—harms including disabling maladjustments as a result of sexual inhibition, and cancer as a result of emotional inhibition. In both cases the causal mechanisms resemble traditional blockages. Theories of noxious inhibitions or psychological blocks, which have a familiar and perhaps even intuitive sound because they have so much history behind them, can easily lead patients into fanciful methods of prevention and treatment.

‘We could not answer to ourselves not doing it’: maternal obligations and knowledge of smallpox inoculation in eighteenth-century elite society

Most often depicted as the precursor to the much simpler and safer practice of Jennerian cowpox vaccination, the eighteenth-century practice of inoculating against smallpox with the live virus reveals much about the way in which pre-modern mothers and medics understood and made decisions about disease management in children. Examined from the perspective of those mothers who ultimately sanctioned its use and helped to advance the practice on English soil, despite a complex set of possible eventualities - from uncertain conferral of immunity to death - this article argues that provided an ‘English’ version of it was carried out in strict accordance with the age-old doctrines of humoral medicine, mothers deemed it an entirely rational act devoid of ‘risk’ in our modern sense. These findings run counter to established narratives asserting blanket professionalization and medicalization of childcare during this period, and they nuance the role Lady Mary Wortley Montagu played in introducing the practice she had encountered in Turkey.

Green Urine in Traditional Persian Medicine

The color of urine is an important factor in urine examination, which can help physicians differentiate various diseases. Today, it is known that certain dyes, drug intoxications, and diseases can induce green urine discoloration. In the view of traditional Persian medicine, which is based on humoral medicine, green urine discoloration is generally referred to the dominance of coldness in the body. In fact, it is considered to be a result of a special kind of humoral imbalance and fluid depletion or retention in the human body. Persian scholars believed that green urine could be an indicator of intoxication or a predictor of an imminent spasm or convulsion in pediatric patients. Further investigations could result in finding new diagnostic scales of urine color based on the teachings of traditional Persian medicine.

Caribbean ginger and Atlantic trade, 1570–1648

Ginger smuggled out of Asia flourished on the Caribbean islands of Hispaniola and Puerto Rico during the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. The oriental root, whose migration and transplantation Spanish sovereigns sought to stimulate, enjoyed more of a market in England and the Low Countries than in Castile. A differentiated demand for ginger in northern and southern Europe, documented in archival and literary sources, reflected the principles of humoral medicine and influenced trade. Ginger’s poor adaptation to the Spanish fleet system, exacerbated by armed conflicts, including the revolt of the Low Countries (1568–1648) and the Anglo-Spanish War (1585–1604), fomented rather than inhibited a continuum of prohibited practices from privateering to contraband, with English and Dutch merchant-privateers in the ‘Spanish’ Caribbean interested in ginger, sugar, and hides, among other commodities.

The Rise of Nervous Illness

It is much better, people think, for the nerves than the mind to be ill. The nerves are physical structures, and heal in the way that all organs of the body heal naturally. Disorders of the mind are frightening because they are so intangible, and, we think, may well lead to insanity rather than recovery. From time out of mind, people have privileged nervous illness over mental illness. From time out of mind, societies have had expressions for the varieties of frets, anxieties, and dyspepsias to which the flesh is heir. In France and England in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, one term was “vapours,” a reference from humoral medicine to supposed exhalations of the viscera that would rise in the body to affect the brain. A major apostle was London physician John Purcell, writing in 1702, of “those who have laboured long under this distemper, [who] are oppressed with a dreadful anguish of mind and a deep melancholy, always reflecting on what can perplex, terrify, and disorder them most, so that at last they think their recovery impossible, and are very angry with those who pretend there is any hopes of it.” He emphasized melancholia and anguish, and for him the “vapours” were something more than a mild attack of the frets. But this was not for everyone. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, now 60 and living in exile in Italy, described to her estranged husband in 1749 Italian health care arrangements, and how physicians visited rich and poor alike. “This last article would be very hard if we had as many vapourish ladies as in England, but those imaginary ills are entirely unknown here. When I recollect the vast fortunes raised by doctors amongst us [in England], and the eager pursuit after every new piece of quackery that is introduced, I cannot help thinking there is a fund of credulity in mankind . . . and the money formerly given to monks for the health of the soul is now thrown to doctors for the health of the body, and generally with as little real prospect of success.”