Let us begin with the facts of his life. His
name was Theophrastus Bombast von Hohenheim,
and he was the son of a doctor living in Einsiedeln
in the canton of Schwyz, named Wilhelm Bombast
von Hohenheim, natural son of a Grand Master
of the Teutonic Order. He was born in 1490.73
It was not uncommon for a man of that age who
was striving to make a name for himself, to assume
some nom de plume or de guerre; and with such a
family record as his own, it was no wonder that
on the threshold of his life the young Theophrastus
did so. In the light of his later achievements,
we can well imagine that he had some definite purpose
in mind, or at least some guiding principle of
suggestiveness, in choosing such a compound word
from the Greek as Paracelsus (which is derived
from “para,” meaning before, in the sense of superior
to, and Celsus, the name of an Epicurean
philosopher of the second century.) Celsus appears
to have had views of great enlightenment according
to the thought of his own time. Unhappily
only fragments of his work remain, but as he
was a follower of Epicurus after an interval of between
four and five centuries, it is possible to get
some idea of his main propositions. Like Epicurus
he stood for nature. He did not believe in
fatalism, but he did in a supreme power. He was
a Platonist and held that there was no truth which
was against nature. It is easy to see from his life
and work that Theophrastus Bombast von Hohenheim
shared his views. His intellectual attitude
was that of a true scientist—denying nothing prima
facie but investigating all.
“There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.”
74
His father moved in 1502 to Villach in Carinthia,
where he practised medicine till his death in
1534. Theophrastus was a precocious boy; after
youthful study with his father, he entered the
University of Basel when he was about sixteen,
after which he prosecuted chemical researches under
the learned Trithemius Bishop of Sponheim
who had written on the subject of the Great elixir—the
common subject of the scientists of that day,—and
at Wurzburg. From thence he proceeded
to the great mines in the Tyrol, then belonging to
the Fugger family. Here he studied geology and
its kindred branches of learning—especially those
dealing with effects and so far as possible with
causes—metallurgy, mineral waters, and the diseases
of and accidents to mines and miners. The
theory of knowledge which he deduced from these
studies was that we must learn nature from nature.
In 1527, he returned to Basel, where he was appointed
town physician. It was a characteristic
of his independence and of his mind, method and
design, that he lectured in the language of the place,
German, foregoing the Latin tongue, usual up to
that time for such teaching. He did not shrink
from a bold criticism of the medical ideas and
methods then current. The effect of this independence
and teaching was that for a couple of
years his reputation and his practice increased
wonderfully. But the time thus passed allowed
his enemies not only to see the danger for them that75
lay ahead, but to take such action as they could to
obviate it. Reactionary forces are generally—if
not always—self-protective, without regard to the
right or wrong of the matter, and Paracelsus began
to find that the self-interest and ignorance of
the many were too strong for him, and that their
unscrupulous attacks began to injure his work
seriously. He was called conjurer, necromancer,
and many such terms of obloquy. Then what we
may call his “professional” enemies felt themselves
strong enough to join in the attack. As he had
kept a careful eye on the purity of medicines in use,
the apothecaries, who, in those days worked in a
smaller field than now, and who found their
commerce more productive through guile than
excellence, became almost declared opponents.
Eventually he had to leave Basel. He went to
Esslingen, from which however he had to retire at
no distant period from sheer want.
Then began a period of wandering which really
lasted for the last dozen years of his life. This
time was mainly one of learning in many ways of
many things. The ground he covered must have
been immense, for he visited Colmar, Nurnberg,
Appengall, Zurich, Augsburg, Middelheim, and
travelled in Prussia, Austria, Hungary, Egypt,
Turkey, Russia, Tartary, Italy, the Low Countries
and Denmark. In Germany and Hungary he had
a bad time, being driven to supply even the bare
necessaries of life by odd—any—means, even to76
availing himself of the credulity of others—casting
nativities, telling fortunes, prescribing remedies
for animals of the farm such as cows and pigs, and
recovering stolen property; such a life indeed as
was the lot of a mediæval “tramp.” On the other
hand, as a contra he did worthy work as a military
surgeon in Italy, the Low Countries and Denmark.
When he got tired of his wandering life, he settled
down in Salsburg, in 1541, under the care and protection
of the Archbishop Ernst. But he did not
long survive the prospect of rest; he died later in
the same year. The cause of his death is not
known with any certainty, but we can guess that
he had clamorous enemies as well as strong upholding
from the conflicting causes given. Some said
that he died from the effects of a protracted debauch,
others that he was murdered by physicians
and apothecaries, or their agents, who had thrown
him over a cliff. In proof of this story it was said
that the surgeons had found a flaw or fracture in
his skull which must have been produced during
life.
He was buried in the churchyard of Saint Sebastian;
but two centuries later, 1752, his bones
were moved to the porch of the church, and a monument
erected over them.
His first book was printed in Augsburg in 1526.
His real monument was the collection of his complete
writings so far as was possible, the long
work of Johann Huser made in 1589–91. This77
great work was published in German, from printed
copy supplemented by such manuscript as could be
discovered. Then and ever since there has been a
perpetual rain of statements against him and his
beliefs. Most of them are too silly for words; but
it is a little disconcerting to find one writer of some
distinction repeating so late as 1856 all the malignant
twaddle of three centuries, saying amongst
other things that he believed in the transmutation
of metals and the possibility of an elixir vitæ, that
he boasted of having spirits at his command, one
of which he kept imprisoned in the hilt of his sword
and another in a jewel; that he could make any one
live forever; that he was proud to be called a
magician; and had boasted of having a regular correspondence
with Galen in Hell. We read in
sensational journals and magazines of to-day about
certain living persons having—or saying that they
have—communion in the shape of “interviews”
with the dead; but this is too busy an age for unnecessary
contradictions and so such assertions are
allowed to pass. The same indifference may now
and again have been exhibited in the case of men
like Paracelsus.
Some things said of him may be accepted as being
partially true, for his was an age of mysticism,
occultism, astrology, and all manner of strange and
weird beliefs. For instance it is alleged that he
held that life is an emanation from the stars; that
the sun governed the heart, the moon the brain,78
Jupiter the liver, Saturn the gall, Mercury the
lungs, Mars the bile, Venus the loins; that in each
stomach is a demon, that the belly is the grand
laboratory where all the ingredients are apportioned
and mixed; and that gold could cure ossification
of the heart.
Is it any wonder that when in this age after centuries
of progress such absurd things are current
Paracelsus is shewn in contemporary and later portraits
with a jewel in his hand transcribed Azoth—the
name given to his familiar dæmon.
Those who repeat ad nauseam the absurd stories
of his alchemy generally omit to mention his genuine
discoveries and to tell of the wide scope of his
teaching. That he used mercury and opium for
healing purposes at a time when they were condemned;
that he did all he could to stop the practice
of administering the vile electuaries of the mediæval
pharmacopœia; that he was one of the first
to use laudanum; that he perpetually held—to his
own detriment—that medical science should not be
secret; that he blamed strongly the fashion of his
time of accounting for natural phenomena by the
intervention of spirits or occult forces; that he deprecated
astrology; that he insisted on the proper investigation
of the properties of drugs and that they
should be used more simply and in smaller doses.
To these benefits and reforms his enemies answered
that he had made a pact with the devil. For reward
of his labours, his genius, his fearless struggle79
for human good he had—with the exception of
a few spells of prosperity—only penury, want, malicious
ill-fame and ceaseless attacks by the professors
of religion and science. He was an original
investigator of open mind, of great ability and application,
and absolutely fearless. He was centuries
ahead of his time. We can all feel grateful
to that French writer who said:
“Tels sont les services eminents que Paracelse a rendu à
l’humanité souffrante, pour laquelle il montra toujours le
dévouement le plus désintéressé; s’il en fut mal recompensé
pendant sa vie que sa mémoire au moins soit honorée.”
