The Dilemma of Adventist Medicine

ADVENTIST medicine got off to a good start in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Aided by advanced concepts in the realms of nu­trition, sanitation, and hy­giene, combined with a per­sonal relationship to God that transcended the psychotherapeutic and psychiatric techniques of a later day, the denomination was in a strategic position to assume a positive leadership in medi­cine, psychiatry, and the basic sciences. A health institute was established in which healthful living was emphasized rather than the often-futile therapeutic proce­dures of the time. The value of wholesome, satisfying outdoor work, of nutritious food combinations, of rest, of creative living, of fresh air and sunshine, of a positive faith in a divine Providence, were emphasized. 

With all of this—still as sound as the everlasting hills and as modern as tomor­row's sunrise—there was an opportunity afforded for scientific research and develop­ment that would have placed Adventist medicine far in the vanguard of the medi­cal sciences. Instead of this, after some initial attempts at research by its first out­standing physician, controlled experimen­tal investigation was never established by the Adventist profession and never became a part of Adventist medical tradition. It remained for scientists of other institu­tions to search out, amplify, and verify the information we believe was given to us by divine revelation, the Adventist profes­sion being content, meanwhile, to look on and congratulate itself that it had the con­cept of many scientific principles far in ad­vance of the revelations of later scientific developments.

With a few outstanding exceptions, members of Adventist medical institutions have been relatively sterile in original re­search leading to contributions to the med­ical literature. This has led Dr. T. R. Flaiz to complain, "There is among our physicians an intellectual and scientific apathy that does not reflect large credit upon Adventist medicine in general." (Personal communication, Oct. 29, 1960.)

With the spirit of investigation and re­search so evident on every hand, with so much interest in the general profession in clinical and academic medicine, I have been led to inquire the reason for this ap­parent apathy. Why have we been so con­tent to be parasitic brain-pickers of other men's ideas? To be members of the audi­ence in graduate assemblies rather than original contributors to the pool of medi­cal knowledge? To be observers rather than investigators? To be followers rather than leaders? Why have we not developed a tradition of research and training throughout our many institutions where so many facilities and opportunities have been established? Why have we been con­tent to publish, if at all, in our own eso­teric literature instead of the more widely read periodicals of the general profession?

There must be a reason why an investi­gative spirit has not developed among us. Why we have not been trail blazers and highly respected scientists rather than dis­ciples of other scientists and "me-tooers." Perhaps the reason is not too obscure. It may be related to the history of other re­ligious institutions that have gained the world in fame and acclaim, but in so do­ing have lost their own souls to secularism. A case history may prove my point.

In my boyhood home town there existed, and still exists, a large sanitarium and hos­pital established by a fine Christian gentle­man, Dr. Henry Foster, of the Methodist persuasion, before our own health insti­tute was founded. Dr. Foster's main purpose was to establish a good institute for rest, recreation, and rehabilitation of returned foreign missionaries. A strong spiritual at­mosphere pervaded the sanitarium, where hydrotherapy, natural sulphur baths, and physical therapy were combined with cur­rent medical methods in treatment. Beau­tiful parks with streams, a lake, a sulphur-spring pavilion, a tabernacle, and other buildings delighted the eye. Then near the turn of the century, Dr. Foster died, and a change became slowly perceptible.

During his lifetime the medical staff had been composed of men of strong religious faith. One of them was my Sunday school teacher for a time in the local Methodist church. But gradually, as Dr. Foster's as­sociates passed away, they were replaced by up-and-coming men of the scholarly rather than the religious type. I spent twenty-four months off and on at this institution during medical school days, working in the laboratories, and so had a chance to ob­serve those newcomers.

They were an inspiring group—from the viewpoint of medicine and surgery. From Harvard, the University of Pennsylvania, Johns Hopkins, and Cornell universities they made a stimulating team for a young medical adolescent to behold. Much of my inspiration to become a researcher and teacher was derived from this group, to­gether with the decision to connect with a leading New York medical school and re­search center after graduation.

However, the changes in the institution were not all on the plus side. Seculariza­tion came in until its religious character was largely eclipsed. The newcomers "who knew not Joseph" were trained in the phi­losophies and sciences of the day and knew nothing of Him who "gave his only begot­ten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Religious services are still held in the chapel, but they are more of a form than a force.

The example of this fine Christian in­stitution could be multiplied many times by the examples of other formerly church-related institutions in America—Harvard, Yale, and Princeton, to name but a few. History makes it seem almost inevitable that with the development of high aca­demic standards, secularization must en­sue. But I challenge this idea. Such a de­velopment is not inevitable. It is encourag­ing to note that while there have been sus­picions of high scholarship, especially in science, on the part of some leaders, there is now a commendable trend in the op­posite direction.

Some years ago my good friend the late Elder Carlyle B. Haynes and I were dis­cussing this problem. I was advocating a stronger research program, greater empha­sis on academic medicine, et cetera. He re­marked that such emphasis usually results in secularization. To my objection that such did not have to be the case, he face­tiously said, "You are a hopeless, impracti­cal idealist." Perhaps, but I still maintain that high scientific and academic standards are not incompatible with Christian faith, and that original investigation does not necessarily eliminate Christian character. Nor do I believe that God places a pre­mium on ignorance or mediocrity.

Yet I believe it to be true that those who advocate such views are liable to be under suspicion as subversives. Ever since the J. H. Kellogg episode of about sixty years ago, the medical leadership has been re­garded with some distrust. Doubts as to motives have been expressed openly where no reason for distrust was present. What Canright did to the denomination as a whole, the Kellogg apostasy did to Advent­ist doctors—subjecting their motives to skepticism.

But living in the past is not constructive; recriminations and resentments are as poi­sons to the soul. The question is: Can a new academic tradition be instituted with­out the danger of secularism? Can the Adventist profession be trusted to re­main loyal to our religious principles if our institutions, including Loma Linda University, become more research-minded? I would be the last one to deny the ever-present danger of secularism, if not apos­tasy. I believe our medical institutions should ever be under the guidance and supervision of the denominational leader­ship, just as I believe our nation's military should be, as it is, under the control of civil authority. The School of Medicine of the Loma Linda University is becoming more research-minded, though not, in my opinion, so much from spontaneous com­bustion as from standards imposed from without. However, with greater maturity higher standards are developing, and it is to be expected that some will catch fire and redeem the time. When such occurs, let it be encouraged and not quenched by the cold water of disparagement and sus­picion.