The ritual begins before you even swallow the pill. You sit in a pristine medical office where diplomas hang in alignment and speak with a doctor whose confident manner and pressed white coat radiate authority. She explains your treatment with empathy and confidence, describing how the medication will target your condition. She types out the prescription on her computer and sends it to your pharmacist. Even the pharmacy visit reinforces the gravity — the careful instructions about timing and dosage, the child-proof bottle with its official label. When the first pill hits your tongue, neural networks, primed by dozens of subtle cues suggesting relief is imminent, fire up, and feel-good neurotransmitters, like endorphins and dopamine, are released.
As researchers have documented, this elaborate theatre of health care — the clinical settings, the medical authority, the dispensing of treatment — may have as much therapeutic value as the active ingredients of conventional drugs themselves. This is the placebo effect in action, and it can be significant: In one study of almost 200 randomized clinical trials, about half of the typical overall treatment effects were attributed to placebo response, with much of the rest coming from the drug effect.
Yet, for many, the very word “placebo” still carries a whiff of flim-flammery. Two hundred years ago, placebos were seen as parlour tricks or props of scam artists and medical hucksters. Early researchers seemed to conjure therapeutic effects from items such as metal rods, “magnetized” trees and hickory ash, though few took those accounts seriously. In the Victorian Age, doctors used sugar pills as pacifiers to soothe patients’ minds and calm their feverish imagination — knowing it was unlikely anything good could come of pharmacologically inert substances.

