In this article, I examine Galen’s credentials as an ethical philosopher on the basis of his recently discovered essay Avoiding Distress (Peri alypias). As compensation for the scholarly neglect from which Galen’s ethics suffers, I argue that his moral agenda is an essential part of his philosophical discourse, one that situates him firmly within the tradition of practical ethics of the Roman period. Galen’s engagement with Stoic psychotherapy and the Platonic-Aristotelian educational model affirms his ethical authority; on the other hand, his distinctive moralising features such as the autobiographical perspective of his narrative and the intimacy between author and addressee render his Avoiding Distress exceptional among other essays, Greek or Latin, treating anxiety. Additionally, I show that Galen’s self-projection as a therapist of the emotions corresponds to his role as a practising physician, especially as regards the construction of authority, the efficacy of his therapy and the importance of personal experience as attested in his medical accounts. Finally, the diligence with which Galen retextures his moral advice in his On the Affections and Errors of the Soul – a work of different nature and intent in relation to Avoiding Distress – is a testimony to the dynamics of his ethics and more widely to his philosophical medicine.

Charles Singer’s retrospective diagnosis of Hildegard of Bingen as a migraine sufferer, first made in 1913, has become commonly accepted. This article uses Hildegard as a case study to shift our focus from a polarised debate about the merits or otherwise of retrospective diagnosis, to examine instead what happens when diagnoses take on lives of their own. It argues that simply championing or rejecting retrospective diagnosis is not enough; that we need instead to appreciate how, at the moment of creation, a diagnosis reflects the significance of particular medical signs and theories in historical context and how, when and why such diagnoses can come to do meaningful work when subsequently mobilised as scientific ‘fact’. This article first traces the emergence of a new formulation of migraine in the nineteenth century, then shows how this context enabled Singer to retrospectively diagnose Hildegard’s migraine and finally examines some of the ways in which this idea has gained popular and academic currency in the second half of the twentieth century. The case of Hildegard’s migraine reminds us of the need to historicise scientific evidence just as rigorously as we historicise our other material and it exposes the cumulative methodological problems that can occur when historians use science, and scientists use history on a casual basis.

Alexander of Tralles, writing in the late sixth century, combined his wide-ranging practical knowledge with earlier medical theories. This article shows how clinical experience is used in Alexander’s works by concentrating on his therapeutic advice on epilepsy and, in particular, on pharmacology and the group of so-called natural remedies. I argue that clinical testing is used not only for the introduction of new medicines but also as an instrument for checking the therapeutic effect of popular healing practices. On another level, this article discusses Alexander’s role as the author of a medical compendium; it suggests that by marking the cases of clinical testing with a set of recurrent expressions, Alexander leads his audience to reflect on his medical authority and personal contribution.

This paper introduces simulation-based re-enactment (SBR) as a novel method of documenting and studying the recent history of surgical practice. SBR aims to capture ways of surgical working that remain within living memory but have been superseded due to technical advances and changes in working patterns. Inspired by broader efforts in historical re-enactment and the use of simulation within surgical education, SBR seeks to overcome some of the weaknesses associated with text-based, surgeon-centred approaches to the history of surgery. The paper describes how we applied SBR to a previously common operation that is now rarely performed due to the introduction of keyhole surgery: open cholecystectomy or removal of the gall bladder. Key aspects of a 1980s operating theatre were recreated, and retired surgical teams (comprising surgeon, anaesthetist and theatre nurse) invited to re-enact, and educate surgical trainees in this procedure. Video recording, supplemented by pre- and post-re-enactment interviews, enabled the teams’ conduct of this operation to be placed on the historical record. These recordings were then used to derive insights into the social and technical nature of surgical expertise, its distribution throughout the surgical team, and the members’ tacit and frequently sub-conscious ways of working. While acknowledging some of the limitations of SBR, we argue that its utility to historians – as well as surgeons – merits its more extensive application.

Histories of the global smallpox eradication programme have tended to concentrate on the larger national formations in Africa and Asia. This focus is generally justified by chroniclers by the fact that these locations contributed a major share of the world’s annual tally of variola, which meant that international agencies paid a lot of attention to working with officials in national and local government on anti-smallpox campaigns in these territories. Such historiographical trends have led to the marginalisation of the histories of smallpox eradication programmes in smaller nations, which are presented either in heroic, institutional tropes as peripheral or as being largely shorn of sustained campaigns against the disease. Using a case study of Bhutan, a small Himalayan kingdom sandwiched between India and China, an effort is made to reclaim the historical experiences in small national entities in the worldwide smallpox eradication programme. Bhutan’s experience in the 1960s and 1970s allows much more in addition. It provides us with a better understanding of the limited powers of international agencies in areas considered politically sensitive by the governments of powerful nations such as India. The resulting methodological suggestions are of wider historical and historiographical relevance.

Despite a varied historical literature on the nineteenth-century royal dockyards, very little has been written about the health issues associated with naval shipbuilding or the healthcare facilities that were provided for dockworkers in the period. This article focuses mainly on the latter. Drawing on archival sources from the home dockyards, an examination is made of the duties and responsibilities of dockyard surgeons. These are found to have expanded considerably as healthcare provision became steadily more comprehensive. It is argued that as providers to a civilian workforce, the naval authorities were in the vanguard when it came to implementing perceived advances in medical practice. It is also contended, however, that while many dockworkers benefited as a result, this positive appraisal needs to be set against the more ambiguous aspects of the surgeon’s role. Although surgeons treated the sick and injured, their growing prominence in other dockyard matters, such as retirement and the policing of sickness, is shown to have created tension in their relationship with the workforce.

This article explores the ways in which risk and responsibility were conceptualised in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries by surgeons, their patients and the lay public. By this point surgery could be seen, simultaneously, as safe (due to developments in surgical science) and increasingly risky (because such progress allowed for greater experimentation). With the glorification of the heroic surgeon in the late Victorian and early Edwardian period came a corresponding, if grudging, recognition that successful surgery was supported by a team of ancillary professionals. In theory, therefore, blame for mistakes could be shared amongst the team; in practice, this was not always the case. Opening with an examination of the May Thorne negligence case of 1904, I will also, in the latter third of this piece, focus on surgical risks encountered by women surgeons, themselves still relatively new and, therefore, potentially risky individuals. A brief case study of the ways in which one female-run institution, the New Hospital for Women, dealt with debates surrounding risk and responsibility concludes this article. The origin of the risks perceived and the ways in which responsibility was taken (or not) for risky procedures will provide ways of conceptualising what ‘surgical anxiety’ meant in the 1890s and 1900s.

Historical accounts of colonial science and medicine have failed to engage with the Colonial Office’s shift in focus towards the support of research after 1940. A large new fund was created in 1940 to expand activities in the colonies described as fundamental research. With this new funding came a qualitative shift in the type of personnel and activity sought for colonial development and, as a result, a diverse group of medical and technical officers existed in Britain’s colonies by the 1950s. The fact that such variety existed amongst British officers in terms of their qualifications, institutional locations and also their relationships with colonial and metropolitan governments makes the use of the term ‘expert’ in much existing historical scholarship on scientific and medical aspects of empire problematic. This article will consider how the Colonial Office achieved this expansion of research activities and personnel after 1940. Specifically, it will focus on the reasons officials sought to engage individuals drawn from the British research councils to administer this work and the consequences of their involvement for the new apparatus established for colonial research after 1940. An understanding of the implications of the application of the research council system to the Colonial Empire requires engagement with the ideology promoted by the Agricultural Research Council (ARC) and Medical Research Council (MRC) which placed emphasis on the distinct and higher status of fundamental research and which privileged freedom for researchers.

In 1965 Jamaica was declared free of malaria by the World Health Organisation (WHO), thus ending centuries of death and suffering from the disease. This declaration followed the successful completion of the WHO’s Malaria Eradication Programme (MEP) on the island, initiated in 1958. This account first explores the antecedent control measures adopted by the government up to the MEP. These, as advocated by the previous malaria ‘experts’ who had reported on the disease on the island concentrated on controlling the vector and the administration of quinine for individual protection. Although Jamaica suffered no catastrophic epidemics of island-wide scope, malaria was a constant cause of mortality and morbidity. Major change came in the wake of the Second World War within the changing political context of national independence and international development. In 1957 the Jamaican government joined the global WHO programme to eradicate malaria. The Jamaican campaign exposes many of the problems noted in other studies of such top–down initiatives in their lack of attention to the particular circumstances of each case. Despite being described as ‘a textbook pattern’ of malaria eradication, the MEP in Jamaica suffered from a lack of sufficient preparation and field knowledge. This is most obviously illustrated by the fact that all literature on the programme sent to Jamaica in the first two years was in Spanish. That the MEP exploited the technological opportunity provided by dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane (DDT) with advantage in Jamaica is not disputed but as this analysis illustrates this success was by no means guaranteed.

Since 1974 the National Health Service (NHS) has been subject to successive reorganisations which have shaped and reshaped patterns of administration, clinical care and services. This paper uses two sources of oral evidence: a Witness Seminar with a group of administrators who attended the NHS National Administrators’ Training Scheme in the late 1950s and a collection of interviews with doctors and managers who have played key roles in the health services of Manchester and Salford between 1974 and 2007. It surveys the day-to-day interactions between doctors and administrators/managers in hospital settings and analyses what these reveal about relationships within the broader context of shifting organisational structures and management styles. It suggests that the evidence challenges the historical stereotyping of the two groups and that strong working relationships have been determined as much by the values of respect and association as by changes to structures or management styles.

After the passing of the 1902 Midwives Act, a growing proportion of women were delivered by trained and supervised midwives. Standards of midwifery should therefore have improved over the first three decades of the twentieth century, yet nationally this was not reflected in the main outcome measures (stillbirths, early neonatal mortality and maternal death). This paper shows that there was a difference in the risks associated with delivery by the different attendants, with qualified midwives having the best outcome, then bona-fide (untrained) midwives and lastly doctors, even when account is taken of the fact that doctors were called in cases of medical need and may have been booked where a problematic delivery was expected. The paper argues that the lack of improvement in outcome measures could be consistent with improving standards of care among both trained and bona-fide midwives, because increased attention to the rules stipulating when midwives called for medical help meant that a doctor was called into an increasing number of deliveries (including less complicated ones), raising the chance of unnecessary and dangerous interventions.

This article reconstructs the process of defining influenza as an infectious disease in the contexts of British medicine between 1890 and 1914. It shows how professional agreement on its nature and identity involved aligning different forms of knowledge produced in the field (public health), in the clinic (metropolitan hospitals) and in the laboratory (bacteriology). Two factors were crucial to this process: increasing trust in bacteriology and the organisation of large-scale collective investigations into influenza by Britain’s central public authority, the Medical Department of the Local Government Board. These investigations integrated epidemiological, clinical and bacteriological evidence into a new definition of influenza as a specific infection, in which a germ – Bacillus influenzae – was determined as playing a necessary but not sufficient role in its aetiology, transmission and pathogenesis. In defining ‘modern influenza’, bacteriological concepts and techniques were adapted to and selectively incorporated into existing clinical, pathological and epidemiological approaches. Mutual alignment thus was crucial to its construction and, more generally, to shaping developing relationships between laboratory, clinical and public health medicine in turn-of-the-century Britain. While these relationships were marked by tension and conflict, they were also characterised by important patterns of convergence, in which the problems, interests and practices of public health professionals, clinicians and laboratory pathologists were made increasingly commensurable. Rather than retrospectively judge the late nineteenth-century definition of influenza as being based on the wrong microbe, this article argues for the need to examine how it was established through a particular alignment of medical knowledge, which then underpinned medical approaches to the disease up to and beyond the devastating 1918–19 pandemic.