Hippocrates

I was born on Kos, of an Asclepiad house. They may call me a founder; I would rather be known for keeping watch. I learned to sit by the bed, to ask quietly, to listen to breath, to look upon skin and eyes before I reached for remedies.

I kept notes day by day: fevers rising and falling, stools, urine, cough, sleep, sweat. From such sequences I judged the critical day when an illness would turn or end. I warned families gently, for a physician must know the end from the beginning; I described even the face of one near death, so that false hopes would not betray them.

I did not accuse the gods. I looked to seasons, prevailing winds, waters from springs and wells, food, labor, and custom. Towns by marsh or north wind breed different ailments than dry islands; a voyage teaches more than a shrine. Measure, diet, rest, and exercise often heal more surely than drugs.

Many treatises have been tied to my name—the Aphorisms, Prognostic, On Airs, Waters, Places, On the Sacred Disease among them. I did not write all that is called “Hippocratic,” yet their manner is my manner: observe, reason, do no needless harm, keep the sickroom’s secrets, honor one’s teacher. If you would question me, ask about the winds of a city, the habits of its people, and what they make of the body’s humors.