Our art has had two or three lessons which have a deep meaning to those who are willing to read them honestly.  The use of water-dressings in surgery completed the series of reforms by which was abolished the “coarse and cruel practice” of the older surgeons, who with their dressings and acrid balsams, their tents and leaden tubes, “absolutely delayed the cure.”  The doctrine of Broussais, transient as was its empire, reversed the practice of half of Christendom for a season, and taught its hasty disciples to shun their old favorite remedies as mortal poisons.  This was not enough permanently to shift the presumption about drugs where it belonged, and so at last, just as the sympathetic powder and the Unguentum Armarium came in a superstitious age to kill out the abuses of external over-medication, the solemn farce of Homoeopathy was enacted in the face of our own too credulous civilization, that under shelter of its pretences the “inward bruises” of over-drugged viscera might be allowed to heal by the first intention.  Its lesson we must accept, whether we will or not; its follies we are tired of talking about.  The security of the medical profession against this and all similar fancies is in the average constitution of the human mind with regard to the laws of evidence.

My friends and brothers in Art!  There is nothing to be feared from the utterance of any seeming heresy to which you may have listened.  I cannot compromise your collective wisdom.  If I have strained the truth one hair’s breadth for the sake of an epigram or an antithesis, you are accustomed to count the normal pulse-beats of sound judgment, and know full well how to recognize the fever-throbs of conceit and the nervous palpitations of rhetoric.

The freedom with which each of us speaks his thought in this presence, belongs in part to the assured position of the Profession in our Commonwealth, to the attitude of Science, which is always fearless, and to the genius of the soil on which we stand, from which Nature withheld the fatal gift of malaria only to fill it with exhalations that breed the fever of inquiry in our blood and in our brain.  But mainly we owe the large license of speech we enjoy to those influences and privileges common to us all as self-governing Americans.

This Republic is the chosen home of minorities, of the less power in the presence of the greater.  It is a common error to speak of our distinction as consisting in the rule of the majority.  Majorities, the greater material powers, have always ruled before.  The history of most countries has been that of majorities, mounted majorities, clad in iron, armed with death treading down the tenfold more numerous minorities.  In the old civilizations they root themselves like oaks in the soil; men must live in their shadow or cut them down.  With us the majority is only the flower of the passing noon, and the minority is the bud which may open in the next morning’s sun.  We must be tolerant, for the thought which stammers on a single tongue today may organize itself in the growing consciousness of the time, and come back to us like the voice of the multitudinous waves of the ocean on the morrow.