A Plea for Vegetarianism and Other Essays

Front matter

A PLEA FOR VEGETARIANISM AND OTHER ESSAYS, BY H. S. SALT.

A Plea for

Vegetarianism

Prefatory Note

Prefatory Note.

Two of the following Essays, viz., Nos. I. and VI., are reprinted from Time for February, 1883, and January, 1886. The rest have appeared at different times in the pages of the Food Reform Magazine, the Dietetic Reformer, and the Vegetarian Society's Annual.

"I have no doubt that it is a part of the destiny of the human race, in its gradual improvement, to leave off eating animals, as surely as the savage tribes have left off eating each other, when they came in contact with the more civilised."

H. D. Thoreau.

Chapter I: A Plea for Vegetarianism

A PLEA FOR VEGETARIANISM.

I preface this essay by the confession that I am myself a Vegetarian, and that I mean to say all the good I can of the principles of Vegetarianism. This is rather a formidable admission to make, for a Vegetarian is still regarded, in ordinary society, as little better than a madman, and may consider himself lucky if he has no worse epithets applied to him than humanitarian, sentimentalist, crotchet-monger, fanatic, and the like. A man who leaves off eating flesh will soon find that his friends and acquaintances look on him with strange and wondering eyes; his life is invested with a mysterious interest; his death is an event which is regarded as by no means distant or improbable. Some of his friends, who take a graver view of such dietetic vagaries, feel it to be their duty to warn him boldly and explicitly that he will undoubtedly die in a short time unless he amends his ways. Others content themselves with the more cautious assertion that he is undermining his health by slow degrees, and will inevitably fall a victim to the first severe attack of illness that may befall him. Others, again, are of opinion that though his bodily health may not suffer, yet his mental powers will be sapped by a fleshless diet, and he will soon sink into a state of hopeless idiocy and imbecility. On the other hand, there are some who readily admit the possibility of living without meat, but profess themselves, with a pitying smile of superior intelligence, utterly unable to imagine any reason for such abstinence.

In spite of these somewhat discouraging reflections, I think it will be worth our while to inquire if there be really such great absurdity in the idea of not eating flesh, or if it be possible that the Vegetarians have reason on their side, and that the present movement in favour of a reformed diet may contain the germ of an important change. However that may be, it can do no harm to my readers if they hear what can be said in favour of Vegetarianism; then, if they are not persuaded to adopt a fleshless diet, they will have a clear conscience, and be able to enjoy their beef and mutton all the more afterwards.

The first and most obvious advantage of a vegetarian diet is its economy. Flesh-meat is so much more expensive than cereals and vegetable products, that it must be accounted very extravagant and unbusinesslike to use it as a common article of food, unless, as is generally believed, its superior quality compensates in the long run for its dearness. But if Vegetarians find that they live in perfect health without meat, would they not be somewhat deficient in common-sense if they did not make the most of their pecuniary advantage? The humanitarians, sentimentalists, crotchet-mongers, and fanatics have therefore, at least, one point in their favour—the cost of their food is far less than that of the shrewd flesh-eater. I mention this point first as being the most plain and indisputable, not necessarily the most important; yet that it is also of great importance will scarcely be denied, in a country whose food supply is yearly becoming a matter of greater difficulty, and where thousands of people are in a state of abject poverty and want. Even in well-to-do households the price of meat is a source of constant complaint and vexation to the prudent housewife; yet she would laugh to scorn the bare idea of living without flesh, and, if she has ever thought of Vegetarianism, has thought of it only as an impious absurdity and dangerous hallucination of modern times, to be classed with Mormonism, Spiritualism, Anglo-Israelism, Socialism, and possibly Atheism itself. "What sort of a religion must that be?" was the remark of an old and faithful servant when she heard that her former master had become a Vegetarian—a remark typical of the attitude of society towards the Vegetarian movement.

Secondly: Is it not equally unquestionable that it is both more humane, and what, for want of a comprehensive word, I must call more "æsthetic," not to slaughter animals for food, unless it be really necessary to do so? If it can be shown that men can live equally well without flesh-food, or, rather, unless it can be shown that the contrary is the case (for the burden of proof must always rest with those who take on themselves the responsibility of wholesale slaughter), it must surely seem unjustifiable, on the score of humanity, to breed and kill animals for merely culinary purposes.

Cæteris paribus, there is therefore a moral advantage in a vegetarian diet; and the humanitarians and sentimentalists are only fulfilling a real duty in abstaining from animal food, if experience has shown it to be in their case unnecessary. And, if we assume for a moment that a fleshless diet is practicable, how cruel to animals, and how degrading to men, is the institution of the slaughter-house! Having no wish to dwell on what is morbid and unpleasant, I shall not pain the feelings of my readers by harping on the sufferings which their victims undergo, but shall content myself with remarking that those good people are mistaken who imagine that the slaughter of animals is painless and merciful. A society has lately been instituted (not by Vegetarians) with the object of introducing into our slaughter-houses more humane and sanitary methods of procedure. The mere existence of such a society is a proof that the system is not free from cruelty; but if anyone wishes for further proof, he has only to read, if he has nerve enough to do so, the account which the society has published of the present system of slaughtering.

But, as I said before, the practice of flesh-eating is not only cruel towards animals, but degrading to men—to those, at least, who have eyes to see, and ears to hear, the teaching of morality and good taste. A truly "æsthetic" eye would surely be shocked by the horrible display of carcases with which our butchers are wont to bedeck their shops; and it is indeed a strange predilection that induces even ladies to go in person to the market to buy their "butchers' meat," as that article is euphemistically entitled, and to ask anxiously the important question, "when was it killed?" A truly "æsthetic" ear would hardly be charmed by the lowing of cattle and bleating of sheep when they are driven hurriedly down our streets by an individual dressed in blue. A truly "æsthetic" palate and a truly "æsthetic" nose (if there be "æstheticism" in these senses) could hardly relish the flavour of "meat," however artfully mitigated and concealed by the skill of the cook. The greatest and most unerring argument in favour of Vegetarianism is, to my mind, the utter absence of "good taste" in flesh-eating, which is revolting to all the higher instincts of the human mind. "Methinks at meals some odd thoughts might intrude," says Byron; and if they do not intrude in most cases, it is only another proof of the wellnigh insuperable power of custom and prejudice.

It appears, then, that both on economic and moral grounds there are certain very distinct advantages in a vegetarian diet, provided only that such a diet can be shown to be physically practicable. This is, in reality, the cardinal point of the whole controversy; and we accordingly find that the possibility, or, at any rate, the advisability of Vegetarianism on physical grounds is most pertinaciously denied. The popular idea is, of course, that meat is the only food which gives strength, and that Vegetarianism is wellnigh impossible. "Don't you feel very weak?" is generally the first question asked of a Vegetarian, by a new friend or acquaintance; and if we press for a clearer explanation of this vague belief in the strength-giving qualities of meat, we find that it is composed of two distinct and sometimes contradictory notions—first, that meat is necessary to support bodily strength; secondly, that mental work cannot be done without it. "Vegetarianism," says one, "may be all very well for the rich and indolent, but the hard-working man must have his meat." "The labouring classes," says another, "may doubtless perform their merely bodily work on a vegetarian diet, but those who have to work with their minds need a more stimulating diet." The Vegetarian thus finds himself placed between Scylla and Charybdis, but neither argument, when carefully examined, will be found to be very formidable. To prove that the former is quite fallacious, one need only refer to the undeniable fact that in all countries the mass of the peasantry live in robust health without flesh-meat, for the simple reason that they cannot afford to get it. The latter supposition, for it is nothing more, that the intellectual classes stand in special need of flesh-meat, is equally unfortunate, in face of the positive evidence of Vegetarians that they can do their mental work as well, or better, without meat; and of the well-known fact that great writers have usually eaten little or no flesh-meat, especially when engaged on any literary work. The belief that meat alone can give strength may therefore be dismissed as a mere error, resulting from prejudice or thoughtlessness.

The objection of chemists and medical men to a vegetarian diet is based rather on the belief that meat is the most convenient form of food: they admit that Vegetarianism is possible, but deny that it is advisable: a vegetarian diet may be well enough, but a mixed diet is preferable. Such was the line of argument taken up by the scientific champions of flesh-eating, in the controversy on the "Great Food Question," to which a good deal of space was devoted a few months ago (1882) in the columns of the Echo. It is, of course, impossible for Vegetarians to prove to demonstration that such a theory is wrong; but it should be observed that it is a theory only: all the practical evidence that can be obtained goes to indicate that abstinence from flesh-food causes no physical deterioration, but rather the reverse. Indeed, those who have themselves made practical trial of Vegetarianism, although perhaps devoid of any technical knowledge of the digestive organs, cannot but smile at the arbitrary assertions and objections of learned men; nor can they be much interested by the information that flesh-meat is chemically superior, when they happen to have learnt by experience that they are much better without it. They adopt a rough-and-ready style of reasoning which is very disturbing to scientific minds; their boldness is "magnificent, but it is not war." They are like Diogenes, who, when learned men were demonstrating by subtle and flawless argument "that motion is impossible," was provoking enough to rise from his seat and move about. In short, it is abundantly evident that the "Great Food Question," whatever its ultimate solution may be, is not one that will be settled by the authority of chemists and physicians. Quot homines, tot sententiæ. We Vegetarians have no wish, on our part, to be dogmatic and interfering; but with regard to the physical aspect of Vegetarianism, which, as I said before, is the cardinal point of the whole question, we are at least justified by the facts of the case in asserting this much. There is overwhelming proof that Vegetarianism is possible; there is an utter absence of proof that it is in any way detrimental to perfect health. It is, therefore, at least worthy of more serious consideration than it has yet received; before it is ridiculed and condemned it should at least be tried.

But it must not be supposed that Vegetarians rely solely on personal experience and empirical proof—they, too, can appeal with confidence to the teaching of science and physiology. The fact that the structure of the human body is wholly unlike that of the carnivora, and that the apes, who are nearest akin to us in the animal world, are frugivorous, is a somewhat strong indication that flesh is not the natural food of mankind. And if it be said that man, unlike other creatures, is omni-vorous, and has therefore to seek not what is "natural," but what is best, then I readily accept the challenge, and reply that there is a strong concurrence of proof, on economic, moral, and physical grounds, that a vegetarian diet is the most suitable and beneficial. Among various advantages, it has one inestimable blessing; it is less stimulating than flesh-food, while it is equally nutritious. If people could only realise how much vice and violence is caused by over-stimulating food, they would soon recognise the importance of a non-stimulating diet. On the other hand, if they would only remember how much misery is caused by a lack of nutritious food, they would welcome a diet-system which, by its vast economic saving, would bring within our reach an abundance of cheap and wholesome nutriment. From whichever point one may regard this question, utilitarian or moral, it will appear more and more marvellous that men should persist in squandering their money and repressing their finest moral impulses, in order to supply themselves with the costly food which they stupidly imagine to be necessary for their physical health.

In addition to the serious arguments brought forward by the scientific opponents of Vegetarianism, there are, of course, many minor objections which are constantly cropping up when the subject is discussed in ordinary conversation, all of them more or less fallacious, and some exceptionally remarkable for the curious insight they give one into the mental state of those who advance them. Many and many a time have I been begged to explain "what would become of the animals" under a vegetarian régime, fears being sometimes expressed that they would drive mankind from off the face of the earth, at other times that they would themselves perish miserably in utter want and destitution! Many and many a time have I been reminded, not as a joke, but as a serious argument, that animals were "sent" us as food! I have no space here to notice these and similar difficulties; and, in truth, it is but a thankless task to answer them at any time, for they are hydra-headed monsters, and spring up as fast as one can cut them down. It is a mournful fact that when people have no wish to understand a thing, they can generally contrive to misunderstand it; and the hopelessness of pleading with those who will not or cannot comprehend is one of the first lessons learnt by Food Reformers, as, indeed, by reformers of all kinds. I once heard of a physician, of some local repute, who not only condemned the principles of Vegetarianism, but professed himself entirely unaware of the existence of Vegetarians. When informed that such persons do undoubtedly exist, he persisted in regarding them as impostors who maintained a spurious reputation by artifices such as those attributed to Doctor Tanner, or the "Welsh fasting girl," and gravely inquired, "Are you sure they do not eat meat by night?"

It has been the unambitious object of this paper to show that Vegetarianism is worth more serious consideration than this, and that it is not a mere foolish craze and hallucination. When charged with fanaticism and infatuation, the Vegetarian may well retort, in the words of Hamlet—

Ecstasy! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And make as healthful music. It is not madness That I have uttered: bring me to the test.

To bring a question to the test is, however, a process which to most people is particularly disagreeable. They greatly prefer the easier and more expeditious method of shaping their ideas in accordance with the time-honoured traditions of custom and "society;" and hence, on the subject of food, they cling firmly to the notion that the roast beef of England is the summum bonum of dietetic aspiration. I believe that time will prove this to be a fallacy, and that future and wiser generations will look back with amazement on the habit of flesh-eating as a strange relic of ignorance and barbarism.

Chapter II: Morality in Diet

MORALITY IN DIET.

I is strange that, among the many important subjects which at this time are demanding investigation from every thoughtful man, Vegetarianism has not attracted more general attention. For, though it cannot be classed among those vexed "questions of the day" which occupy the time of Parliament and agitate the surface of party politics, yet it may safely be asserted that there is no matter which more truly deserves full and patient inquiry than this question of diet, connected as it is with the deep underlying problems—How to live. How to improve and elevate, mentally and bodily, the lives of our fellow-countrymen. In all ages, from the days of Pythagoras to the days of Shelley, Vegetarianism has had its prophets and apostles; but they have for the most part stood alone and isolated, solitary lights amidst almost universal darkness. Now, at last, in this progressive age, when the morality of life is more widely studied, and the laws of health and economy are better understood, earnest and hard-working men should be induced at least to give fair and unprejudiced examination to a system which claims to be at once most moral, most wholesome, and most economical. For these are the three great advantages which the Vegetarian believes his way of living to possess; these are the three chief aspects under which Vegetarianism may be viewed; and surely, amidst all the clamour and din of conflicting theories and creeds, it is right that the voice of Vegetarianism should be heard, and that the cruelty and wastefulness of the system of flesh-eating should not be allowed to pass unchallenged. Obviously the same arguments will not have like weight with all; for while to the poorer classes it is the economic advantage of Vegetarianism that is of most pressing and immediate importance, to wealthier and more educated people the moral side of the question needs to be most forcibly stated. It is of this last that I now speak. My object is to show that only a bloodless diet is defensible on moral grounds.

There is a passage in Mr. Ruskin's works, where it is declared that a criterion of the morality of an action may be found in song. Actions are morally beautiful in proportion to their capability of becoming the subject of song. This is a standard from which no Vegetarian will ever shrink, which no flesh-eater will ever dare to accept. The fruits and cereals of a vegetarian meal might well find mention in the purest and most delicate poem. Could the same be said of the repast of a flesh-eater? What are the dainties which Porphyro, in Keats's "Eve of St. Agnes," heaps "with glowing hand" for his love, "in the retired quiet of the night"? They are "candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd, manna and dates," and other "delicates" which would rejoice the soul of a Vegetarian. What would have been the effect on the poem, if instead of these, he had heaped beef-steaks and mutton-chops? And why is it that the mere idea of such a change is at once disgusting and ridiculous? Again, would it not be admitted on all hands that fruits and herbs and corn would be a right and natural subject for the skill of a vegetarian poet? Yet what should we think, if some enthusiastic flesh-eater were to give vent to the poetry of his feelings in a "Song of the Slaughter-house," or "Ballads of the Butcher"? And why is it that, while the one subject would be innocent and elevating, the other would be loathsome and degrading?

This criterion, however, may be considered too fanciful, if we carry it to its logical conclusion. So we will not ask the supporters of the present system to of such subjects: we will merely beg of them to . For thought is surely the best and truest standard by which we may distinguish the right from the wrong. That action and system are the best which can best stand the scrutiny of thought. We will therefore venture to think about our diet, even though it be at the risk of shocking delicate-minded ladies and gentlemen, who vote it impolite and disgusting to refer to such matters as the slaughter of animals, and brand all such inquiry with the epithet "morbid," or "sentimental." We will cease to regard "beef," and "mutton," and "pork" as lifeless articles of food, but will remember that they have a close connection with living oxen, and sheep, and swine. We will request those who perpetuate the butcher's trade by eating flesh-meat to consider seriously what that trade is. Why is the very name butcher proverbial? Why is the slaughter-house unmentionable at polite dinner-tables? If the system of flesh-eating is defensible, why must its method of supply be concealed from all thought or reference? The obvious answer is that this trade is a degrading one, and not only socially but morally degrading. There are many occupations which gentlemen, for social and conventional reasons, would be ashamed to practise, such as shoe-blacking and chimney-sweeping. Yet there is no real or moral degradation in these, such as there is in the wanton slaughter of innocent animals. If our sweeps and shoe-blacks were suddenly to go on strike, and we were compelled to do such work for ourselves, a wise man, however refined, would never be ashamed to soil his hand with soot or blacking. But if, through a similar emergency, he lost the services of his butcher, he might well think twice before he polluted himself with blood.

If, then, it be a degrading occupation to kill animals, how can the habit of eating them be other than degrading? If we condemn the ignorant and brutal butcher who supplies the flesh, how can we acquit the refined ladies and gentlemen who demand it? Thoughtlessness alone enables people to endure such a system. From infancy they are taught to ignore what "meat" really is; until they hardly think of oxen and sheep in connection with beef and mutton.

And now contrast with this diet the life of a Vegetarian. Here there is no need of secrecy and sophistry to make the meal palatable, for the history of beans and lentils is not a record of blood and suffering, and we are not obliged to dismiss all thought as to the origin of our food, lest we should awaken reminiscences of the filth of the pigsty and the butchery of the shambles. There is nothing to conceal, for there is nothing to be ashamed of. It is the only diet which is entirely in keeping with the highest moral instincts of the most intellectual mind.

There are also indirect advantages in Vegetarianism, which can hardly fail to commend it to all those who know the value of temperance, both in food and drink. It is in general closely connected with frugality and simplicity of taste: with teetotalism it is specially allied, for moderation in drink is the natural result of moderation in food, and it is an undoubted fact that the craving for alcohol is enormously lessened by a vegetarian diet.

Here, however, it may perhaps be objected, that, although Vegetarianism may be desirable on abstract grounds of morality and good taste, nevertheless flesh-eating is, for physical reasons, a practical necessity of nature, and, being natural, cannot be immoral. This, of course, belongs rather to the physical than the moral question; and it remains for those who have satisfied themselves that Vegetarianism is desirable to determine further whether it is practicable. It is sufficient here to indicate the fact that medical men are not only not infallible, but liable to all the prejudices that affect the unprofessional mind; so that would-be Vegetarians need not be greatly alarmed by the stock arguments which are regularly produced by doctors, cooks, relatives, and other well-meaning persons, in the way of solemn warning and advice. The Vegetarian is assured that the impossibility of such a diet for man is clearly demonstrated by the formation of the teeth, and other structural evidence. Some nations and individuals may contrive to live on vegetable food, in spite of these physical hindrances; but at any rate in northern climates a flesh diet is necessary, for the sake of heat. And if some obstinate people even here persist in living in perfect health without animal food, still it is absolutely certain (and this is the final resource, the great irrefragable dogma of the flesh-eater) that meat is necessary to foster intellectual vigour, even where physical strength may be supported without it.

And thus the fellow-countrymen of Shelley are led to believe that the finest work cannot be done without the grossest food; and that while man's mortal body may be nourished on a pure and bloodless diet, it is the intellect—the spark that kindles the fire of poetry, music, science, and the arts—it is the intellect which requires to be fed on the loathsome carcases of slaughtered sheep and bullocks!

Let us, therefore, one and all, undismayed by sonorous warnings and dogmatic assertions, quietly and fearlessly ask our own consciences if the present system of diet is morally right and defensible; and if the answer be, as I have attempted to prove it must be, in the negative, let us not shrink from the consequent duty of attempting a reform. The experience of those who have honestly and seriously made trial of Vegetarianism gives overwhelming testimony in its favour. Its economical advantage is indisputably great; not less conspicuous, to those who make practical proof for themselves, is its physical superiority, insuring, as it does, a simpler, healthier, more enjoyable manner of life, and affording immunity, as Vegetarians very plausibly assert, from many of our worst diseases and epidemics.

The progress of all reforms is slow; and in the question of diet, as in all others, a national error takes centuries, as Sydney Smith has observed, "to display the full bloom of its imbecility"; yet a Vegetarian, without being over sanguine, may well comfort himself with the reflection that, in the case of flesh-eating, these conditions have now been amply fulfilled, and that the outlook is therefore not entirely devoid of encouragement. Centuries have passed; we see our upper classes rioting in degrading wastefulness, while our lower classes are sunk in degrading want, and both alike the victims of degrading, because unnecessary, disease. The failure of our diet system is com- plete; the bloom of its imbecility is displayed for all eyes to see. Is it too much to hope that we may soon cease to be blinded by prejudice and custom, and that the civilised world may, before many generations have passed, adopt the opinion of the philanthropist Howard, founded on a life-time of experience and observation? "I am fully persuaded as to the health of our bodies, that herbs and fruits will sustain nature in every respect far beyond the best flesh."

Chapter III: Good Taste in Diet

GOOD TASTE IN DIET.

I is a remarkable and lamentable fact that finds but few supporters among the classes known as "æsthetic" and "artistic;" among those, in short, who pride themselves on their so-called "good taste," and who might, therefore, have been especially looked to for favour and sympathy. For, setting aside for the present all considerations of morality and gentleness, I maintain that there are just as glaring faults of bad taste visible in our system of diet as in our dress, or furniture, or general household arrangements, all of which have been very severely and very properly criticised by the æsthetic school. How foolish and inconsistent it is to be vastly fastidious about the manner in which one's food is served up, and at the same time to be totally indifferent as regards the quality, from an æsthetic view, of the food itself! The highest art may be apparent in the decoration and arrangement of the table, but, if the food be gross in taste and smell, the result can hardly be gratifying to the truly æsthetic mind.

But, it may be asked, is it a fact that flesh-food is gross in taste and smell? One of the commonest objections of flesh-eaters to the reformed diet is that flesh-meat is "nice," and the guests at an æsthetic dinner-table have presumably no sort of suspicion that they are eating anything which is not "high art." Of course dietetic taste, like all other taste, is relative and subjective; there is no absolute criterion of "good taste," but each man must decide for himself what he considers "nice." It is therefore impossible to prove the superiority of the reformed diet, or to convince flesh-eaters that their taste is not immaculate. We can only trust to the results of experience, and the good taste which is gradually brought about by culture and education. All Vegetarians will emphatically deny that flesh-food is nice, and will assert that only a depraved and uncultivated taste can relish it; and if our æsthetic friends will give the matter a little serious consideration, they will very soon find themselves arriving at the same conclusion.

So far I have used the word æstheticism as merely equivalent to the actual perception by the senses, a meaning to which its modern votaries seem to wish to restrict it. But in real truth it cannot be thus limited, at any rate in dietetic questions, for we cannot wholly exclude the consideration of the origin of our food. However gratifying our flesh-meat may be to our immediate taste (a very gross and uncultured taste, as I have attempted to show), we cannot altogether forget its extremely unpleasant antecedents. However artistic the arrangement of the dinner-table, however immaculate the tablecloth and faultless the dinner-service, the disagreeable thought must surely sometimes occur to the artistic mind that the beef was once an ox, the mutton was once a sheep, the veal was once a calf, and the pork was once a pig. We may scrupulously make clean the outside of the cup and platter, but the recollection of the state of their interior will nevertheless cause some disquietude to our asthetic repose. In fact, though we may well be thankful for any reaction against the gross materialism and vulgarity of modern society, it may be doubted whether any class can be truly æsthetic which does not recognise in its creed the supreme importance of gentleness and humanity. The man who keenly sympathises with the suffering of dumb animals has a more truly æsthetic mind than many of our modern connoisseurs of "high art" who are inexpressibly pained by the sight of an ugly house or an inartistic piece of furniture, while they view with entire equanimity a system of diet which necessitates the very ugly trade of the butcher.