In 6000 B.C. there were fewer humans on earth than now occupy New York and Tokyo. Earth's roughly 30 million prehistoric residents were scattered over vast expanses of the warmer parts of the planet, and few of them ever
ventured far from their birthplace. According to what little archaeological information and scientific conjecture is available, their microbial threats came primarily from parasites in their food and water or were carried by local insects.
Over the next 4,000 years the human population slowly increased and people congregated around rivers, ocean ports, and sites of rich food resources. Trade routes emerged, connecting the nascent urban centers, and the city's residents thrived off their merchants' exploits and the taxes they levied on their poorer rural subjects.
By the time the Egyptians ceased building pyramids, around 2000 B.C., there were several cities with thousands of inhabitants each: Memphis, Thebes, Urâthe religious or political capitals of empires. And by 60 B.C. the vast empires of Rome and China boasted urban centers of tens of thousands of people, which functioned as the hubs of trade and culture for the planet's 300 million residents.
By 5 B.C. Rome's 1 million residents consumed 6,000 tons of grains a week. After the fall of the Roman Empire, no city would again attain such a size for 1,800 years, when London would become the largest metropolis in history up to that time.
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Cities afforded the microorganisms a range of opportunities unavailable in rural settings. The more
Homo sapiens
per square mile, the more ways a microorganism could pass from one hapless human to another. People would pass the agent to other people in hundreds of ways every minute of every day as they touched or breathed upon one another, prepared food, defecated or urinated into bodies of water with multiple uses, traveled to distant places taking the microbes with them, built centers for sexual activity that allowed microbes to exploit another method of transmission, produced prodigious quantities of waste that could serve as food for rodent and insect vectors, dammed rivers and unwittingly left cisterns of rain water about to create breeding pools for disease-carrying mosquitoes, and often responded to epidemics in hysterical ways that ended up assisting the persistent microbes.
Cities, in short, were microbe heavens, or, as British biochemist John Cairns put it, “graveyards of mankind.”
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The most devastating scourges of the past attained horrific proportions only when the microbes reached urban centers, where population density instantaneously magnified any minor contagion that might have originated in the provinces. And microbes successfully exploited the new urban ecologies to create altogether novel disease threats.
Warfare, trade, the occasional need to put down local peasant uprisings during times of elevated taxation or famine, religious pilgrimages, and the seductive lure of the city for adventurous youth guaranteed that continuous
cycles of new microbial invasions would beset urban populations which generally lacked protective immunity.
The microbes' transmissive success was guaranteed among a city's poor, and every urban center had its marginalized neighborhoods where malnourished, immunodeficient people lived in high-density squalor. Urban poverty and disease went hand in hand not only because insufficient diets weakened people's immune systems but also because of their living conditions. If the Roman patricians occasionally suffered dysentery because of bacteria in the aqueducts, the plebeians downstream were guaranteed a doubled exposure due to the additional bacterial burden of the patrician's contaminated waste.
The life expectancy of ancient Rome's populace was far shorter than that of the Empire's citizens in rural Mediterranean or North African areas. Only about one of every three Roman residents saw the ripe old age of thirty, compared with 70 percent of their rural counterparts. Virtually nobody in the city lived to eighty, whereas about 15 percent of the pastoral citizens attained that goal.
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Ancient urbanites recognized some of these special hazards. Accounts going back 2,000 to 4,000 years tell of scourges carried by lice, bedbugs, and ticksâall disease-associated insects that the writers noted were more abundant in the dense housing conditions of the cities. Though their understanding of the relationship between these insects and specific diseases was muddy, writers in ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, India, and China all drew attention to the insect problem. Similarly, Galen in Athens and Herodotus in Rome recognized a connection between the expansion of their cities into marshy areas and the increase in malaria.
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Chinese records dating back to 243 B.C. also noted massive epidemicsâclaiming millions of livesâwhich arose constantly from the cities of China's far-flung empire.
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On the basis of historical accounts from Greece, Rome, Europe, and the post-Columbian Americas, twentieth-century scholars have tried to interpret which diseases plagued ancient urban centers. For example, during the Peloponnesian War of 430 B.C. a devastating epidemic hit Athens, probably imported by returning soldiers. Thucydides said of it, “No scourge so destructive of human life is anywhere on record. The physicians had to treat it without knowing its nature, and it was among them that the greatest mortality occurred.”
It was later thought that the epidemic, which Thucydides said caused illness in every Athenian and killed up to half the population, was either typhus, the plague, or smallpox.
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Hundreds of great global pandemics followed. Four diseases that seemed to William McNeill and other medical historians of the 1970s to have gained particular benefit from the urban ecology over the previous 2,000 years were pneumonic plague, leprosy (Hansen's disease), tuberculosis, and syphilis. As far as could be discerned
from historical records, these were rarelyâif everâseen prior to the establishment of urban societies, and all four exploited to their advantage human conditions unique to cities.
The world has experienced at least two great pandemics of bubonic/ pneumonic plague, a disease caused by the
Yersinia pestis
bacteriumâcarried by fleas which resided on rodents, particularly rats. Though the bacterium has never been eradicated, ideal ecological conditions for its rapid spread among
Homo sapiens
occurred only a handful of times in recorded human history. Once Y. pestis got into the human bloodstream, either via a flea or rat bite or by inhalation of the bacterium, it quickly made its way into the lymphatic system. There, the bacterium killed massive numbers of cells, giving rise to formation of often grotesque pustules and pus-filled boils. Bacteria produced in these infected sites then migrated to the liver, spleen, and brain, causing hemorrhagic destruction of the organs and demented behavior that during the Middle Ages was interpreted as intervention by Satan.
The occasional case of plague was seen during the twentieth century,
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but well before humanity had invented antibiotics to treat it, the disease had ceased to threaten further pandemics.
Sometime around 1346 the Black Death began on the steppes of Mongolia: infected fleas infested millions of rodents which, in turn, raided human dwellings in search of food. Why the disease emerged that particular year was never clear, though scientists in the 1980s speculated that the weather may have favored a rodent population explosion. The disease made its way rapidly across Asia, carried by fleas that hid in the pelts of fur traders, the blankets and clothing of travelers, and the fur of rodents that stowed away aboard caravans and barges crisscrossing the continent. Rumors of the Asian scourge preceded its arrival in Europe, and it was said that India, China, and Asia Minor were literally covered with dead bodies.
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The Chinese population plummeted from 123 million in 1200 to 65 million in 1393, probably due to the plague and the famine that followed.
It reached the prosperous European trading port of Messina, Sicily, in the fall of 1347 aboard an Italian ship returning from the Crimea, and immediately exploited the city's ecology. Rats from the plagued ship joined the abundant local rodent population. Ailing men from the ship passed the bacteria on to the Messina citizenry directly, exhaling lethal microbes with their dying gasps.
As the plague made its way across Europe and North Africa, each city anticipated its arrival and tried by a variety of means to protect itself. Travelers were barred entry, drawbridges were raised to seal the wealthy urbanites off from their less fortunate peasantry, great purges and outright slaughter of tens of thousands of Jews and alleged devil worshippers were staged. The city of Strasbourg alone savagely slew 16,000 of its Jewish residents, blaming them for spreading the Black Death.
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Some who had no scapegoats blamed the plague on their own lack of piety. The Brotherhood of Flagellants were Christian men who daily beat themselves to the edge of death to purge the sins that were responsible for their disease. All over Europe, these men, encouraged by crowds of crazed aristocrats and peasants alike, would thrash themselves with leather whips embedded with small iron spikes.
The terrorized European population did everything save what might have spared them: ridding their cities of rodents and fleas. The cities fell not only because of rat infestations but also due to both human population density and hygienic conditions. Bathing was thought to be dangerous, and few Europeans ever washed, making them fertile ground for flea and lice infestation.
The pneumonic form of the plague, which rarely spread in less populated rural areas, was easily transmitted inside the densely populated medieval cities. Once a rat-driven bubonic form took hold, pneumonic cases in humans soon appeared, spreading the disease with terrifying rapidity.
Each city would be in the grip of the disease for four or five months, until the susceptible rats and humans had died. The survivors would then face famine and economic collapse, caused by the sharp reduction in workforces.
The daily death rates were staggering: 400 in Avignon; 800 in Paris; for Pisa, 500; Vienna buried or burned 600 bodies per day; and Givry, France, 1,500 daily. By the end, London, with a pre-plague population of 60,000, had lost 35,000. Half of Hamburg's and two-thirds of Bremen's populations perished. Most historians believe that at least one-third of Europe's total human population (20 to 30 million people) died of the plague between 1346 and 1350.
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The highest per capita losses were consistently in the cities.
Over subsequent centuries, there were numerous outbreaks of urban plague in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East, though few spread far beyond the cities due to quarantines and to slow improvements in hygienic conditions.
In 1665, London suffered the Great Plague, a
Yersinia
epidemic that claimed over 100,000 lives in a year's time. The epidemic began a year earlier, probably in Turkey, and was carried by trading ships to Amsterdam and Rotterdam and on to London during the winter of 1664â65. By that summer as many as 3,000 of the city's residents perished each day.
The royal family and the aristocracy fled at the first sign of pestilence, taking up residence in the English countryside. The residents of London, the world's largest and most densely populated city, were left to fend for themselves. They lived in thatch-roofed, brick, and wood row houses: an ecology made in heaven for rats.
In considering the pestilence a generation later, Daniel Defoe recommended that city authorities in the future
⦠not let such a contagion as this, which is indeed chiefly dangerous to collected bodies of people, find a million of people in a body together, as was very near the case before ⦠. The plague, like a great fire, if a few houses only are contiguous where it happens, can only burn a few houses; or if it begins in a single, or, as we call it, a lone house, can only burn that lone house where it begins. But if it begins in a close-built town or city and gets a head, there its fury increases: it rages over the whole place, and consumes all it can reach.
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Shortly after the plague subsided, in 1666, London was overcome by a real fire that engulfed most of the city. McNeill believed it was the Great Fire which stopped the Great Plague, burning off the thatch roofs, which were replaced with tile and slate.
Leprosy, as it was then called, claimed only a fraction of the lives felled by the plague, but was no less feared. Throughout history leprosy was dreaded more for its disfiguring and crippling effects on the human body than for its slow capacity to kill.
By the 1970s leprosy would be referred to as Hansen's disease (named after Armauer Hansen, who in 1873 described the first definitive differential diagnosis of the disease) by those who wished to separate the bacterial ailment from the centuries of horror and prejudice that went with the word “leper.”
There was great debate in the latter half of the twentieth century about the age of the
Mycobacterium leprae
organism and how long it had been producing significant disease in human beings. Though the Bible referred to ancient Hebrews suffering disfiguring diseases often translated as leprosy, the usually meticulous records of Egyptian scribes bore no hint of it. Searching for evidence of bone damage produced by the gnawing bacteria, studies of skeletons revealed no sign anywhere in the world prior to A.D. 500, when apparently leprotic bones were buried in the graveyards of Cairo, Alexandria, and parts of England and France.