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THE
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THE
LOGIC OF VEGETARIANISM

_ESSAYS AND DIALOGUES_

BY
HENRY S. SALT

AUTHOR OF
"ANIMALS' RIGHTS, CONSIDERED IN RELATION TO SOCIAL PROGRESS"

_SECOND EDITION, REVISED_

LONDON
GEORGE BELL AND SONS
YORK HOUSE, PORTUGAL STREET
1906

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THE MORALIST AT THE SHAMBLES.

Where slaughter'd beasts lie quivering, pile on pile,
And bare-armed fleshers, bathed in bloody dew,
Ply hard their ghastly trade, and hack and hew,
And mock sweet Mercy's name, yet loathe the while
The lot that chains them to this service vile,
Their hands in hideous carnage to imbrue:
Lo, there!—the preacher of the Good and True,
The Moral Man, with sanctimonious smile!
"Thrice happy beasts," he murmurs, "'tis our love,
Our thoughtful love that sends ye to the knife
(Nay, doubt not, as ye welter in your gore!);
For thus alone ye earned the boon of life,
And thus alone the Moralist may prove
His sympathetic soul—by eating more."

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PREFACE

In preparing this "Logic of Vegetarianism" for a new edition, I have carefully re-read a sheaf of press opinions which greeted the first appearance of the book some seven years ago, with the hope of profiting by any adverse criticism which might point out arguments that I had overlooked. In this, however, I have been disappointed, for, apart from a few such objections as that raised in all seriousness by the _Spectator_—that I had not done justice to the great problem of what would become of the Esquimaux—the only definite complaint which I can find is that the representatives of flesh-eating whom I have introduced in the dialogues are deliberately made to talk nonsense. "It is easy," said one critic, "to confute an opponent if you have the selection of the arguments and the framing of the replies."

I ought not, perhaps, to have expected that the assurance given in my introductory chapter (p. 2) as to the authenticity of the anti-vegetarian pleadings would shield me from this charge; indeed, the _Vegetarian Messenger_, in a friendly review of the book, expressed doubt as to the policy of using dialogue at all, because, as it remarked, "the arguments against vegetarianism are often so silly that it looks as if the author had set up a man of straw in order to demolish him." Yet, as the _Messenger_ itself added, "there is not an argument against vegetarianism quoted in this volume which we have not, time after time, seen seriously brought forward by our opponents." Surely it would be a strange thing if food reformers had to avoid any terse presentment of their adversaries' reasoning for the very fact of its imbecility!

And there is this further question. If I have failed to include in my selection the effective arguments against vegetarianism, where and what are they? Looking through those cited in the press notices, I can discover none that seem to be formidable; but rather than again be suspected of unfair suppression, let me frankly quote the following specimens of the beef-eater's philosophy:

"The proof that man should eat meat is that he always has done
so, does now, and always will."

And again:

"Nobody will want to make out that he (the advocate of
vegetarianism) is wrong, but folk will just go on suiting
themselves as before. Shelley and Thoreau, Wagner and Edward
FitzGerald, were vegetarians, but, then, Wellington and
Gladstone partook of the roast beef of Old England, and were
none the worse."

There is a sublime simplicity about these statements which is most impressive, but I cannot think that any wrong is done to the case against vegetarianism by not including them in a discussion which purports to be a logical one.

H. S. S.

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CONTENTS

PAGE

PREFACE v

INTRODUCTORY 1

WHY "VEGETARIAN"? 4

THE _RAISON D'ÊTRE_ OF VEGETARIANISM 9

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF VEGETARIANISM 13

STRUCTURAL EVIDENCE 18

THE APPEAL TO NATURE 24

THE HUMANITARIAN ARGUMENT 29

PALLIATIONS AND SOPHISTRIES 35

THE CONSISTENCY TRICK 41

THE DEGRADATION OF THE BUTCHER 47

THE ÆSTHETIC ARGUMENT 51

THE HYGIENIC ARGUMENT 57

DIGESTION 62

CONDITIONS OF CLIMATE 67

FLESH MEAT AND MORALS 71

THE ECONOMIC ARGUMENT 77

DOUBTS AND DIFFICULTIES 83

BIBLE AND BEEF 89

THE FLESH-EATER'S KITH AND KIN 95

VEGETARIANISM AS RELATED TO OTHER 101
REFORMS

CONCLUSION 109

INDEX 115

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THE
LOGIC OF VEGETARIANISM

INTRODUCTORY

It is the special purpose of this book to set forth in a clear and rational manner the logic of vegetarianism. To the ethical, the scientific, and the economic aspects of the system much attention has already been given by well-accredited writers, but there has not as yet been any organised effort to present the _logical_ view—that is, the dialectical scope of the arguments, offensive and defensive, on which the case for vegetarianism is founded. I am aware that mere logic is not in itself a matter of first-rate importance, and that a great humane principal, based on true natural instinct, will in the long-run have fulfilment, whatever wordy battles may rage around it for a time; nevertheless, there is no better method of hastening that result than to set the issues before the public in a plain and unmistakable light. I wish, therefore, in this work, to show what vegetarianism is, and (a scarcely less essential point) what vegetarianism is _not_.

For though, owing to the propaganda carried on for the last fifty years, there has been an increasing talk of vegetarianism, and a considerable discussion of its doctrines, there are still very numerous misunderstandings of its real aims and meaning. In this, as in other phases of the great progressive movement of which vegetarianism is a part, to give expression to a new idea is to excite a host of blind and angry prejudices. The champions of the old are too disdainful to take counsel with the champions of the new; hence they commonly attribute to them designs quite different from those which they really entertain, and unconsciously set up a straw man for the pleasure of pummelling him with criticism. Devoid always of a sense of sympathy, and mostly of a sense of humour, they absurdly exaggerate the least vital points in their adversaries' reasoning, while they often fail to note what is the very core of the controversy. It is therefore of great concern to vegetarianism that its case should be so stated as to preclude all possibility of doubt as to the real issues involved. If agreement is beyond our reach, let us at least ascertain the precise point of our disagreement.

With a view to this result, it will be convenient to have recourse now and then to the form of dialogue, so as to bring into sharper contrast the _pros_ and _cons_ of the argument. Nor will these conversations be altogether imaginary, for, to avoid any suspicion of burlesquing the counter-case of our opponents by a fanciful presentment, I shall introduce only such objections to vegetarianism as have actually been insisted on—the stock-objections, in fact, which crop up again and again in all colloquies on food reform—with sometimes the very words of the flesh-eating disputant. It is not my fault if some of these objections appear to be foolish. I have often marvelled at the reckless way in which those who would combat new and unfamiliar notions step forth to the encounter, unprovided with intellectual safeguards, and trusting wholly to certain ancient generic fallacies, which, if we may judge from their appearance in all ages and climates, are indigenous in the human mind. Many of the difficulties which the flesh-eater to-day propounds to the vegetarian are the same, _mutatis mutandis_, as those which have at various times been cast in the teeth of the reformer by the apologists of every cruel and iniquitous custom, from slave-holding to the suttee.

To show the unreality of these sophisms, by clearing away the misconceptions upon which they rest, and to state the creed of vegetarianism as preached and practised by its friends rather than as misapprehended by its foes—such is the object of this work. To make "conversions," in the ordinary sense, is not my concern. What we have to do is to discover who are flesh-eaters by ingrained conviction, and who by thoughtlessness and ignorance, and to bring over to our side from the latter class those who are naturally allied to us, though by accident ranged in opposition. And this, once more, can only be done by making the issues unmistakable.

Incidentally, I hope these pages may suggest to our antagonists that vegetarians, perhaps, are not the weak brainless sentimentalists that they are so often depicted. It is, to say the least of it, entertaining when a critic who has just been inquiring (for example) "what would become of the animals" if mankind were to desist from eating them, goes on to remark of vegetarians that "their hearts are better than their heads." Alas, we cannot truthfully return the compliment by saying of such a philosopher that his head is better than his heart! It cannot be too strongly stated that the appeal of vegetarianism, as of all humane systems, is not to heart alone, nor to brain alone, but to brain and heart combined, and that if its claims fail to win this double judgment they are necessarily void and invalid. The test of logic, no less than the test of feeling, is deliberately challenged by us; for it is only by those who can think as well as feel, and feel as well as think, that the diet question, or indeed any great social question, can ever be brought to its solution.

WHY "VEGETARIAN"?

The term "vegetarian," as applied to those who abstain from all flesh food, but not necessarily from such animal products as eggs, milk, and cheese, appears to have come into existence over fifty years ago, at the time of the founding of the Vegetarian Society in 1847. Until that date no special name had been appropriated for the reformed diet system, which was usually known as the "Pythagorean" or "vegetable diet," as may be seen by a reference to the writings of that period. Presumably, it was felt that when the movement grew in volume, and was about to enter on a new phase, with an organised propaganda, it was advisable to coin for it an original and distinctive title. Whether, from this point of view, the name "vegetarian" was wisely or unwisely chosen is a question on which there has been some difference of opinion among food reformers themselves, and it is possible that adverse criticism would have been still more strongly expressed but for the fact that no better title has been forthcoming.

On the whole, the name "vegetarian" seems to be fairly serviceable, its disadvantage being that it gives occasion for sophistry on the part of captious opponents. In all controversies such as that of which vegetarianism is the subject there are verbalists who cannot see beyond the outer shell of a word to the thing which the word signifies, and who delight to chop logic and raise small obstacles, as thus:

VERBALIST: Why "vegetarian"?

VEGETARIAN: Why not "vegetarian"?

VERBALIST: How can it be consistent with vegetarianism to
consume, as you admit you do, milk, butter, cheese, and eggs,
all of which are choice foods from the animal kingdom?

VEGETARIAN: That entirely depends on what is meant by
"vegetarianism."

VERBALIST: Well, surely its meaning is obvious—a diet of
vegetables only, with no particle of animal substance.

VEGETARIAN: As a matter of fact, such is not, and has never
been, its accepted meaning. The question was often debated in
the early years of the Vegetarian Society, and it was always
held that the use of eggs and milk was _not_ prohibited. "To
induce habits of abstinence from the flesh of animals (fish,
flesh, fowl) as food" was the avowed aim of vegetarianism, as
officially stated on the title-page of its journal.

VERBALIST: But the word "vegetarian"—what other meaning can it
have than that which I have attributed to it?

VEGETARIAN: Presumably those who invented the word were the best
judges of its meaning, and what they meant by it is proved
beyond a doubt by the usage of the Society.

VERBALIST: But had they a right thus to twist the word from its
natural derivation?

VEGETARIAN: If you appeal to etymology, that raises another
question altogether, and here, too, you will find the
authorities against you. No one has a better right to speak on
this matter than Professor J. E. B. Mayor, the great Latin
scholar, and he states that, looking at the word etymologically,
"vegetarian" cannot mean "an eater of vegetables." It is derived
from _vegetus_, "vigorous," and means, strictly interpreted,
"one who aims at vigour." Mind, I am not saying that the
originators of the term "vegetarian" had this meaning in view,
but merely that the etymological sense of the word does not
favour your contention any more than the historical.

VERBALIST: Well, what _does_ "vegetarian" mean, then? How do you
explain it yourself?

VEGETARIAN: A "vegetarian" is one who abstains from eating the
flesh of animals, and whose food is _mainly_ derived from the
vegetable kingdom.

The above dialogue will show the absurdity and injustice of charging vegetarians, as the late Sir Henry Thompson did, with "equivocal terms, evasion—in short, untruthfulness," because they retain a title which was originally invented for their case. The statement that vegetarians have _changed_ the meaning of their name, owing to inability to find adequate nourishment on purely vegetable diet, is founded on similar ignorance of the facts. Here are two specimens of Sir Henry Thompson's inaccuracy. In 1885 he wrote:

"It is high time that we should be spared the obscure language,
or rather the inaccurate statement, to which milk and egg
consumers are committed, in assuming a title which has for
centuries belonged to that not inconsiderable body of persons
whose habits of life confer the right to use it."[1]

Footnote 1:

_Nineteenth Century_, May, 1885.

Observe that Sir Henry Thompson was then under the impression that the name "vegetarian" (invented in 1847) was "centuries" old! Nor, names apart, was he any more accurate as regards the practice itself, for it can be proved on the authority of a long succession of writers, from the time of Ovid to the time of Shelley, that the use of milk and its products has been from the first regarded as compatible with the Pythagorean or "vegetable" diet. The fact that some individual abstainers from flesh have also abstained from all animal substances is no justification of the attempt to impose such stricter abstinence on all vegetarians on peril of being deprived of their name.

Thirteen years later Sir Henry Thompson's argument was entirely changed. His assertion of the _antiquity_ of the name "vegetarian" was quietly dropped; in fact, its _novelty_ was now rather insisted on.

"They (the "vegetarians") emphatically state that they no longer
rely for their diet on the produce of the vegetable kingdom,
differing from those who originally adopted the name at a date
by no means remote."[2]

Footnote 2:

_Ibid._, June, 1898.

But our critic was again absolutely mistaken. There is no difference whatever between the diet of those who adopted the name at the date by no means remote and that of those who bear it now. Now, as then, there are some few vegetarians who abjure all that is of the animal, but the rule of the Society now, as then, is that the use of eggs and milk is permissible. At the third annual meeting, held in 1850, it was stated by one of the speakers that "the limits within which the dietary of the Vegetarian Society was restricted excluded nothing but the flesh and blood of animals."

To avoid any possible misunderstanding, let me repeat that it is no part of the case for vegetarianism to defend the _name_ "vegetarian" in itself; it may be a good name or a bad one. What we defend is our right to the title, an indefeasible historical claim which is not to be upset by any such unfounded and self-contradictory assertions as those quoted.

But it may be said that even if the title is historically genuine, it would be better to change it, as it evidently leads to misunderstanding. We should be perfectly willing to do this, but for two difficulties: first, that no other satisfactory title has ever been suggested, and secondly that, as the word "vegetarian" has now a recognised place in the language, it would scarcely be possible to get rid of it; at any rate, the substitute, to have the least chance of success, would have to be very terse, popular, and expressive. Take, for example, the name "flesh-abstainer," or "akreophagist," proposed by Sir Henry Thompson. The obvious objection to such terms is that they are merely _negative_, and give the notion that we are abstinents and nothing more. We do not at all object to the use of the term "flesh-abstainer" as explanatory of "vegetarian," but we do object to it as a substitute, for as such it would give undue prominence to our disuse of flesh food, which, after all, is merely one particular result of a general habit of mind. Let us state it in this way: Our view of life is such that flesh-eating is abhorrent and impossible to us; but the mere fact that this abstinence attracts the special attention of flesh-eaters, and becomes the immediate subject of controversy, does not make it the sum and substance of our creed. We hold that in a rational and humanised society there could be no question at all about such a practice as flesh-eating; the very idea of it would be insufferable. Therefore we object to be labelled with a negative term which only marks our divergence from other persons' diet; we prefer something that is positive and indicative of our own. And until we find some more appropriate title, we intend to make the best of what we have got.

The whole "Why 'vegetarian'?" argument is, in fact, a disingenuous one. The practical issue between "vegetarians" and flesh-eaters has always been perfectly clear to those who wished to understand it, and the attempt made by the verbalists to distract attention from the _thing_ in order to fasten it on the _name_ is nothing but sophistical. Of this main practical issue, and of the further distinction between the "vegetarian" or flesh-abstaining diet and the purely vegetable diet, I will speak in the following chapter.

THE _RAISON D'ÊTRE_ OF VEGETARIANISM

Behind the mere name of the reformed diet, whatever name be employed (and, as we have seen, "vegetarian" at present holds the field), lies the far more important reality. What is the _raison d'être_, the real purport of vegetarianism? Certainly not any _a priori_ assumption that all animal substances, as such, are unfit for human food; for though it is quite probable that the movement will ultimately lead us to the disuse of animal products, vegetarianism is not primarily based on any such hard-and-fast formula, but on the conviction, suggested in the first place by instinctive feeling, but confirmed by reason and experience, that there are certain grave evils inseparable from the practice of flesh-eating. The aversion to flesh food is not chemical, but moral, social, hygienic. Believing as we do that the grosser forms of diet not only cause a vast amount of unnecessary suffering to the animals, but also react most injuriously on the health and morals of mankind, we advocate their gradual discontinuance; and so long as this protest is successfully launched, the mere name by which it is called is a matter of minor concern. But here on this practical issue, as before on the nominal issue, we come into conflict with the superior person who, with a smile of supercilious compassion, cannot see _why_ we poor ascetics should thus afflict ourselves without cause.

SUPERIOR PERSON: But why, my dear sir—why should you
refuse a slice of roast beef? What is the difference
between roasting an ox and boiling an egg? In the latter
case you are eating an animal in embryo—that is all.

VEGETARIAN: Do you not draw any distinction between the
lower and the higher organisation?

SUPERIOR PERSON: None whatever. They are chemically
identical in substance.

VEGETARIAN: Possibly; but we were talking, not of
chemistry, but of morals, and an egg is certainly not
morally identical with an ox.

SUPERIOR PERSON: How or where does the moral phase of
food-taking enter the science of dietetics?

VEGETARIAN: At a good many points, I think. One of them
is the question of cannibalism. Allow me to read you a
passage from the "Encyclopædia Britannica": "Man being
by nature {?} carnivorous as well as frugivorous, and
human flesh being not unfit for human food, the question
arises why mankind generally have not only avoided it,
but have looked with horror on exceptional individuals
and races addicted to cannibalism. It is evident on
consideration that both emotional and religious motives
must have contributed to bring about this prevailing
state of mind."

SUPERIOR PERSON: Of course. Why read me all that?

VEGETARIAN: To show you that what you call "the moral
phase of food-taking" has undoubtedly affected our diet.
The very thought of eating human flesh is revolting to
you. Yet human flesh is chemically identical with animal
flesh, and if it be true that to boil an egg is the same
thing as to roast an ox, it follows that to butcher
an ox is the same thing as to murder a man. Such is
the logical position in which you have placed yourself
by ignoring the fact that all life is not _equally_
valuable, but that the higher the life the greater the
responsibility incurred by those who destroy it.

Or it may be that the superior person, instead of denying that morals affect dietetics, himself poses as so austere a moralist as to scorn the wretched half-measure of merely abstaining from flesh food while still using animal products. The result is in either case the same. The all-or-nothing argument is sometimes put forward in this fashion:

SUPERIOR PERSON: Well, as far as the right or wrong of
the question is concerned, I would not care to be a
vegetarian at all, unless I were a thorough one. What
can be the good of forswearing animal food in one form
if you take it in another?

VEGETARIAN: But surely it is rational to deal with the
worst abuses first. To insist on an all-or-nothing
policy would be fatal to any reform whatsoever.
Improvements never come in the mass, but always by
instalment; and it is only reactionists who deny that
half a loaf is better than no bread.

SUPERIOR PERSON: But in this case I understand that
it is quite possible to be consistent. There are
individuals, are there not, who live upon a purely
vegetable diet, without using milk or eggs? Now,
those are the people whose action one can at least
appreciate and respect.

VEGETARIAN: Quite so. We fully admit that they are in
advance of their fellows. We regard them as pioneers,
who are now anticipating a future phase of our movement.

SUPERIOR PERSON: You admit, then, that this extreme
vegetarianism is the more ideal diet?

VEGETARIAN: Yes. To do more than you have undertaken to
do is a mark of signal merit; but no discredit attaches
on that account to those who have done what they
undertook. We hold that "the first step," as Tolstoy has
expressed it, is to clear one's self of all complicity
in the horrible business of the slaughter-house.

SUPERIOR PERSON: Well, I must repeat that, were I to
practise any form of asceticism, I should incline to
that which does not do things by halves.

VEGETARIAN: Of course. That is invariably the sentiment
of those who do not do things at all.

Asceticism! such is the strange idea with which, in many minds, our principles are associated. It would be impossible to take a more erroneous view of modern vegetarianism; and it is only through constitutional or deliberate blindness to the meaning of the movement that such a misconception can arise. How can we convey to our flesh-eating friends, in polite yet sufficiently forcible language, that their diet is an abomination to us, and that our "abstinence," far from being ascetic, is much more nearly allied to the joy that never palls? Is the farmer an ascetic because, looking over into his evil-smelling pigsty, he has no inclination to swill himself from the same trough as the swine? And why, then, should it be counted asceticism on our part to refuse, on precisely the same grounds, to eat the swine themselves? No; our opponents must clearly recognise, if they wish to form any correct notion of vegetarianism, that it is based, not on asceticism, but æstheticism; not on the mortification, but the gratification of the higher pleasures.

We conclude, then, that the cause which vegetarians have at heart is the outcome, not of some barren academic formula, but of a practical reasoned conviction that flesh food, especially butchers' meat, is a harmful and barbarous diet. Into the details of this belief we need not at present enter; it has been sufficient here to show that such belief exists, and that the good people who can see in vegetarianism nothing but a whimsical "fad" have altogether failed to grasp its true purport and significance. The _raison d'être_ of vegetarianism is the growing sense that flesh-eating is a cruel, disgusting, unwholesome, and wasteful practice, and that it behoves humane and rational persons, disregarding the common cant about "consistency" and "all-or-nothing," to reform their diet to what extent and with what speed they can.

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF
VEGETARIANISM

But, it may be said, before entering on a consideration of this reformed diet, for which such great merits are claimed by its exponents, the practical man is justified in asking for certain solid assurances, since busy people cannot be expected to give their time to speculations which, however beautiful in themselves, may prove at the end to be in conflict with the hard facts of life. And the first of these questions is, What is the historic basis of vegetarianism? In what sense is it an old movement, and in what sense a new one? Has it a past which may serve in some measure to explain its present and guarantee its future?

Such questions have been dealt with fully from time to time in vegetarian literature.[3] I can here do no more than epitomise the answers. Vegetarianism, regarded simply as a practice and without relation to any principle, is of immemorial date; it was, in fact, as physiology shows us, the original diet of mankind, while, as history shows us, it has always been the diet of the many, as flesh food has been the diet of the few, and even to this day it is the main support of the greater part of the world's inhabitants. Numberless instances might be quoted in proof of these assertions; it is sufficient to refer to the people of India, China, and Japan, the Egyptian fellah, the Bedouin Arab, the peasantry of Russia and Turkey, the labourers and miners of Chili and other South American States; and, to come nearer home, the great bulk of the country folk in Western Europe and Great Britain. The peasant, here and all the world over, has been, and still is, in the main a vegetarian, and must for the most part continue so; and the fact that this diet has been the result, not of choice, but of necessity, does not lessen the significance of its perfect sufficiency to maintain those who do the hard work of the world. Side by side with the tendency of the wealthier classes to indulge more and more in flesh food has been the undisputed admission that for the workers such luxuries were unneeded.

Footnote 3:

As in "The Perfect Way in Diet," by Dr. Anna Kingsford; and
"Strength and Diet," by the Hon. R. Russell.

During the last half-century, however, as we all know, the unhealthy and crowded civilisation of great industrial centres has produced among the urban populations of Europe a craving for flesh food, which has resulted in their being fed largely on cheap butchers' meat and offal; while there has grown up a corresponding belief that we must look almost entirely to a flesh diet for bodily and mental vigour. It is in protest against this comparatively new demand for flesh as a necessity of life that vegetarianism, as a modern organised movement, has arisen.

Secondly, if we look back for examples of deliberate abstinence from flesh—that is, of vegetarianism practised as a _principle_ before it was denoted by a name—we find no lack of them in the history of religious and moral systems and individual lives. Such abstinence was an essential feature in the teaching of Buddha and Pythagoras and is still practised in the East on religious and ceremonial grounds by Brahmins and Buddhists. It was inculcated in the humanitarian writings of great "pagan" philosophers, such as Plutarch and Porphyry, whose ethical precepts, as far as the treatment of the lower animals is concerned, are still far in advance of modern Christian sentiment. Again, in the prescribed regimen of certain religious Orders, such as Benedictines, Trappists, and Carthusians, we have further unquestionable evidence of the disuse of flesh food, though in such cases the reason for the abstinence is ascetic rather than humane. When we turn to the biographies of individuals, we learn that there have been numerous examples of what is now called "vegetarianism"—not always consistent, indeed, or continuous in practice, yet sufficiently so to prove the entire possibility of the diet, and to remove it from the category of generous aspiration into that of accomplished fact.[4]

Footnote 4:

See the list of names cited in Mr. Howard Williams's "Ethics
of Diet," a biographical history of the literature of humane
dietetics from the earliest period to the present day.

But granting that there is historic basis for the vegetarian system, the question is asked whether, on ethnological evidence, it does not appear that the dominant races have been for the most part carnivorous, and the subject races vegetarian—a line of argument which always appeals strongly to the patriotic Briton.

PATRIOT: Come, now; it is all very well to talk of
philosophers and poets, and I have no doubt you can
point to such names among the founders of your creed,
but what I ask is, Were the founders of the British
Empire vegetarians? Were any great empires ever founded
by vegetarians? Was Julius Cæsar a vegetarian? Was
Wellington a vegetarian? Can you give me any instance of
vegetarianism as a fighting force?

VEGETARIAN: As regards the rank and file of conquering
armies, there are many such instances, both in ancient
and modern history. The diet of the Roman soldier was
not that of a flesh-eater, and the Roman Empire was
assuredly not won by virtue of flesh-eating, but by
the hardihood which could subsist on simple rations of
wheat, oil, and wine. So, too, the armies which built
up the earlier empires of Egypt and Assyria were, for
the most part, vegetarian. That is to say, while the
rulers and wealthy classes of fighting nations have been
carnivorous, the bulk of the soldiery, drawn from the
frugal peasant class, has been unaccustomed to such
luxuries. The idea that the flesh-eating races have
everywhere subjugated the vegetarians is quite illusory.

PATRIOT: But surely in India the flesh-eating Mohammedan
has always conquered the vegetarian Hindu?

VEGETARIAN: Not by any means always. It took him
centuries of fierce fighting to do so, with all the
advantages of religious fanaticism on his side, as
against an enemy weakened by internal dissension and an
enervating climate. But that Mohammedanism does not
depend on flesh food for its fighting qualities may be
seen from the case of that special ally and favourite of
yours, the Turk. Let me read you what the _Standard_
said of him some twenty years back: "From the day of his
irruption into Europe, the Turk has always proved
himself to be endowed with singularly strong vitality
and energy. As a member of a warlike race, he is without
equal in Europe in health and hardiness. He can live and
fight when soldiers of any other nationality would
starve. His excellent physique, his simple habits, his
abstinence from intoxicating liquors, and his normal
vegetarian diet, enable him to support the greatest
hardships, and to subsist on the scantiest and simplest
food." Have I said enough to show you that vegetarianism
_may_ be a fighting force?

It will be objected, perhaps, that when food reformers claim these fighting qualities for their diet they are proving just a little too much for their principles, as, for example, in the reference to the sanguinary Turk as a practical vegetarian. If the outcome of vegetarian diet is to be war and massacre, how is the system any better than that which it fain would supersede? This brings us back to the starting-point of the present chapter, the distinction between what may be called the old and the new vegetarianism. We have seen that, so far as the common practice is concerned, abstinence from flesh food is as old as history itself, and that rarer instances may be cited of practice and principle combined; but when we regard vegetarianism as a propagandist movement, a conscious endeavour to benefit not merely the individual man, but human society itself, we have to recognise that it is a _new_ movement. From a mere habit of the many, or piety of the few, it has become a reasoned principle, an organised system, with a name and nomenclature of its own: in vulgar language, it is an -_ism_, and, like other kindred -_isms_, a part of the great humanitarian impulse of the past hundred years.

The significance of this distinction is considerable. Modern "vegetarianism" is the same, yet not the same, as the "flesh abstinence" that dates from earlier times—the same in so far as the actual dietary is concerned, and in some fewer cases the same in principle, but different altogether in the spirit by which that principle is informed; and for this reason it would be ridiculous to judge vegetarianism as a whole by the character of those races who happen to have been abstainers from flesh, and who are merely quoted as proving the physical sufficiency of the diet. In a word, ethnical vegetarianism and ethical vegetarianism are two very different things.

It has also to be remembered that the modern vegetarian appeals not to humane instinct only, but to physiological facts, and that the movement has now become to a very large extent a scientific and hygienic one, thus again differing widely from the merely empirical and unconscious vegetarianism of earlier times. These several aspects of the system will be reviewed in succeeding chapters; it is enough here to repeat that vegetarianism as a practice is immemorial, as a precept is of great antiquity, but as an organised cult is one of the new revolutionary forces of modern times.

STRUCTURAL EVIDENCE

We have seen, then, that vegetarianism, though new as a propagandist doctrine, has its historical record; but if we wish thoroughly to understand its origin, we must go back beyond history to the more ancient and more durable evidence of the organic structure of Man. Here we come in conflict with what is, perhaps, the strangest of the many strange prejudices that oppose the humane diet—the superstition, so common among the uneducated, and connived at, if not shared, by some of the "scientific" themselves, that the verdict of comparative anatomy is fatal to the vegetarian claims. So far is this from being the case that the great naturalists, from Linnæus onward, give implicit judgment to the contrary, by classing mankind with the frugivorous family of the anthropoid apes. Thus Sir Richard Owen says:

"The apes and monkeys, which man most nearly resembles
in his dentition, derive their staple food from fruits,
grain, the kernels of nuts, and other forms in which the
most sapid and nutritious tissues of the vegetable
kingdom are elaborated; and the close resemblance
between the quadrumanous and the human dentition shows
that man was, from the beginning more especially adapted
'to eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden.'"[5]

Footnote 5:

"Odontography," chap. x., p. 471, 1840-1845. This sentence is
quoted only for what it is worth—viz., as proving that, in
Owen's opinion, man was originally frugivorous. If the whole
passage in "Odontography" be studied, it will be seen that
Owen cannot fairly be cited as a vegetarian authority,
because, after alluding to the fact that the apes occasionally
eat insects, eggs, and young birds, he sums up in favour of
what he calls "the frugivorous and mixed regimen of the
quadrumana and man." This point I have dealt with later in the
chapter.

And here is the more recent verdict of Sir Benjamin Richardson:

"On the whole, I am bound to give judgment on the
evidence of the teeth rather in favour of the vegetarian
argument. It seems fairest of fair to read from nature
that the teeth of man were destined—or fitted, if the
word destined is objected to—for a plant or vegetable
diet, and that the modification due to animal food,
by which some change has been made, is practically an
accident or necessity, which would soon be rectified if
the conditions were rendered favourable to a return
to the primitive state.... By weighing the facts that
now lie before us, the inference is justified that, in
spite of the very long time during which man has been
subjected to an animal diet, he retains in preponderance
his original and natural taste for an innocent diet
derived from the first-fruits of the earth."[6]

Footnote 6:

"Foods for Man," _Longman's Magazine_, 1888.

Yet, in spite of such testimony, and more of an equally authoritative kind, it is quite a common thing for some flesh-eating "scientist" to allege against vegetarianism the conformation of the human teeth or stomach.

SCIENTIST: But our teeth, my good friend, our teeth!
What can be the use of your talking about vegetarianism,
when we both of us carry in our mouths a proof of the
necessity of flesh-eating.

VEGETARIAN: But surely you do not hold the popular
fallacy that man's canine teeth class him among the
carnivora?

SCIENTIST: They prove at least that he is an eater of
flesh as well as of vegetables. Why else has he got such
teeth?

VEGETARIAN: Why has a gorilla got such teeth? "For the
purpose of combat and defence," Owen tells us, not of
food. And if a gorilla, with "canines" much more
developed than man's, is a frugivorous animal, why must
man with less developed "canines" be carnivorous?

SCIENTIST: Well, well; let us turn to the digestive
organs, then. Look at the immense difference between the
human stomach and that of the true herbivora. How can
mankind get the required nutriment from herbs, when we
have not the necessary apparatus for doing so?

VEGETARIAN: But it has never been argued by us, nor is
it in any way essential to our argument, that mankind is
_herbivorous_. What have the herbivora to do with the
question?

SCIENTIST: I have seen them quoted in your books as
instances of strength and endurance——

VEGETARIAN: To dispel the illusion that there is no
chemical nutriment in anything but flesh food; but that
is quite a different thing from asserting that man is
himself herbivorous. The point at issue is simple. You
charge vegetarians with flying in the face of Nature. We
show you, from your own authorities, that the structural
evidence, whatever that may be worth (it was you who
first appealed to it), pronounces man to have been
originally neither carnivorous, nor herbivorous, but
_frugivorous_. If you think otherwise, what do you make
of the apes?

The close similarity that exists between the structure of man and that of the anthropoid apes is the hard fact that cannot be evaded by the apologists of flesh-eating. In the conformation alike of brain, of hands, of teeth, of salivary glands, of stomach, we have indisputable proof of the frugivorous origin of man—indeed, it is not seriously questioned by any recognised authority, that man was a fruit-eater in the early stages of his development. As far as comparative anatomy throws light on the diet question, mankind and the apes are, so to speak, "in the same box," and he who would disprove the frugivorous nature of man, must also disprove the frugivorous nature of the anthropoid apes, a predicament of which the more intelligent of our opponents are keenly aware. And this brings us to the second branch of the subject of this chapter.

Whatever his original structure, it is argued, man has extended his resources in the matter of food, and has long been "omnivorous," while his middle position between the carnivora and herbivora indicates that he is naturally suited for a "mixed diet." _Omnivorous_, it will be noted, is the blessed word that is to bring comfort to flesh-eaters, and the inconvenient apes, whom the naturalists class as frugivorous, have somehow to be dragged in under the category of "omnivorous." But, first, a word about the meaning of this saving term.

Now, I wish to make it plain that vegetarians are not wedded to any _a priori_ theory that the lines of dietetic development are stringently limited by the original structure of man. If the flesh-eater appeals, as he so often does, to physical structure, with the intent of attributing carnivorous instincts to mankind, we confront him with an array of scientific opinion which quickly makes him wish he had let the subject alone; and if he insists on the "evolutional" rather than the "natural" aspect of the problem, we are equally ready to meet him on this newer ground. But we decline to fall victims to the rather disingenuous quibble that lurks in the specious application to mankind of the term "omnivorous."

For what, in the present connection, does the word "omnivorous" mean? It cannot, obviously, mean that man should, like the hog, eat _everything_, for, if so, it would sanction not only flesh-eating, but cannibalism, and we should have to class mankind (so Professor Mayor has wittily remarked) as _hominivorous_! It must mean, presumably, that man is fitted to eat not _everything_, but _anything_—vegetable food or animal food—implying that he is eclectic in his diet, free to choose what is good and reject what is bad, without being bound by any original law of nature.[7] To the name "omnivorous," used not in the hoggish sense, but in this rational sense, and not excluding, as the scientists would absurdly make it exclude, the force of _moral_ and other considerations, the vegetarian need raise no objection. Man is "omnivorous," is he? He may select his own diet from the vegetable and animal kingdoms? Well and good: that is just what we have always advised him to do, and we are prepared to give reasons, moral and hygienic, why, in making the selection, he should omit the use, not of all animal products, but of flesh. The scientists cannot have it _both_ ways. They cannot dogmatise on diet as a thing settled by comparative anatomy, and _also_ assert that man is "omnivorous"—_i.e._, free to choose what is best.

Footnote 7:

It has been well shown by Dr. J. Oldfield, in the _New Century
Review_, October 1898, that "omnivorism" in the hoggish sense,
is _not_ characteristic of progressive mankind. "The higher we
go in the scale of life, the more we find _selection_ taking
the place of omnivorism. The more complex the organism, the
greater its selective capacity. 'Selection,' then, rather than
'omnivorism,' should be the watch-cry of the human race
evolving upward."

But let us return to our monkeys.

SCIENTIST: You just now quoted the gorilla as a
frugivorous animal, but, on further consideration, I
cannot admit him to be so. He is omnivorous—like man. I
have Sir Richard Owen's authority for it.

VEGETARIAN: What! Does the ape rush upon the antelopes,
and rend them with those canine teeth of his? How
horrible!

SCIENTIST: Not exactly that; but it was stated by Sir
Henry Thompson that "Sally," the large chimpanzee once
so popular in the Zoological Gardens, was not
infrequently supplied with animal food.

VEGETARIAN: Well, and how does that prove that the
chimpanzee is not naturally frugivorous? I should
imagine that any one of us, if placed in a cage, and
stared at all the year round by a throng of gaping
visitors, might be liable to aberrations. Even a
vegetarian might do the same.

SCIENTIST: But in their wild state also the baboons are
known to prey on lizards, young birds, eggs, etc., when
they can get them. Perhaps you were not aware of this
when you called the apes frugivorous?

VEGETARIAN: I was quite aware of it, and in view of the
exceedingly small importance of these casual pilferings
as compared with their staple diet, I maintain that they
_are_, for all practical purposes, frugivorous. Indeed,
so far from this mischievous penchant of the apes being
an argument against vegetarianism, it is most suggestive
as explaining how the early savages may have passed,
almost by accident at first, from a frugivorous to a
mixed diet.

SCIENTIST: Well, at any rate, it indicates that apes
have a tendency to become omnivorous.

VEGETARIAN: Yes, if you like to express it so; and it
is still more evident that men have that tendency. But
the question is whether the tendency is rightly
interpreted as giving a sanction to _flesh-eating_. For
flesh-eating, as we use the term, means the breeding,
destroying, and devouring of highly-organised mammals,
and is a very different thing from the egg and lizard
hunting in which the monkeys sometimes indulge. If you
would confine your flesh-eating to a few insects and
nestlings, you would have a better right to quote the
example of the apes.

Has flesh-eating been a necessary step in man's progress? Without access to the flesh-pots, it has been asked, would not the race have remained in the groves with the orangs and the gorillas? I do not see that vegetarians need concern themselves to answer such speculations, which, interesting though they are, do not bear closely on the present issue. For though, as we have seen, the testimony of the past is in favour of a frugivorous origin, the problem of the present is one which we are free to solve without prejudice, and whether the past use of flesh food, by a portion of the world's inhabitants, has helped or hindered the true development of man is a matter for individual judgment. We may have our own opinion about it. But what we are concerned to prove is that flesh-eating can offer no advantages to us _now_.

THE APPEAL TO NATURE

Of the many dense prejudices through which, as through a snowdrift, vegetarianism has to plough its way before it can emerge into the field of free discussion, there is none perhaps more inveterate than the common appeal to "Nature." A typical instance of the remarkable misuse of logic which characterises such argument may be seen in the anecdote related by Benjamin Franklin, in his "Autobiography," of the incident which induced him to return, after years of abstinence, to a flesh diet. He was watching some companions sea-fishing, and observing that some of the fish caught by them had swallowed other fish, he concluded that, "If you eat one another, I don't see why we may not eat you"—a confusion of ichthyology and morals which is ludicrous enough as narrated by Franklin, but not essentially more foolish than the attempt so frequently made by flesh-eaters to shuffle their personal responsibility on to some supposed "natural law."

But let the carnivorous anthropologist speak for himself:

ANTHROPOLOGIST: Now, understand me! I think this
vegetarianism is well enough as a sentiment; I fully
appreciate your aspiration. But you have overlooked the
fact that it is contrary to the laws of Nature. It is
beautiful in theory, but impossible in practice.

VEGETARIAN: Indeed! That puts me in an awkward position,
as I have been practising it for twenty years.

ANTHROPOLOGIST: It is not the individual that I am
speaking of, but the race. A man may practise it
perhaps; but mankind cannot do so with impunity.

VEGETARIAN: And why?

ANTHROPOLOGIST: Because, as the poet says, "Nature is
one with rapine." It is natural to kill. Do you dare to
impugn Nature?

VEGETARIAN: Not at all. What I dare to impugn is your
incorrect description of Nature. There is a great deal
more in Nature than rapine and slaughter.

ANTHROPOLOGIST: What? Do not the beasts and birds prey
on one another? Do not the big fish eat the little fish?
Is it not all one universal struggle for existence, one
internecine strife?

VEGETARIAN: No; that is just what it is not. There are
_two_ principles at work in Nature—the law of
competition and the law of mutual aid. There are
carnivorous animals and non-carnivorous, predatory races
and sociable races; and the vital question is—to which
does man belong? You obscure the issue by these vague
and meaningless appeals to the "laws of Nature," when,
in the first place, you are quoting only part of
Nature's ordinance, and, secondly, have not yourself the
least intention of conforming even to that part.

ANTHROPOLOGIST: I beg your pardon. In what do I not
conform to Nature?

VEGETARIAN: Well, are you in favour of cannibalism, let
us say, or the promiscuous intercourse of the sexes?

ANTHROPOLOGIST: Good gracious, my dear sir! I must
entreat you——

VEGETARIAN: Exactly! You are horrified at the mere
mention of such things. Yet these habits are as easily
justified as flesh-eating, if you take "Nature" as your
model, without specifying _whose_ nature? The nature of
the conger and the dog-fish, or the nature of civilised
man? Pray tell me _that_, Mr. Anthropologist, and then
our conversation may not be wholly irrelevant.

The idea that the Darwinian doctrine of the "struggle of life" justifies any barbarous treatment of inferior races is ridiculed by so distinguished an authority as Prince Kropotkin, who points out that Darwin does _not_ teach this. "He proves that there is a struggle for existence in order to put a check on the inordinate increase of species. But this struggle is not to be understood in a crude and exclusive sense; there is a law of competition, but there is also—what is still more important—a law of mutual aid, and as soon as the scientist leaves his laboratory, and comes out into the open woods and meadows, he sees the importance of this law. Only those animals who are mutually helpful are really fitted to survive; it is not the strong, but the co-operative species that endure."[8] So, too, with reference to the strange notion that a guide for human conduct may be deduced from some particular animal instinct, taken at haphazard from its surroundings, a timely warning is addressed to such crude reasoners by Professor J. Arthur Thomson: "What we must protest against is that one-sided interpretation, according to which individualistic competition is Nature's sole method of progress.... The precise nature of the means employed and ends attained must be carefully considered, when we seek from the records of animal evolution support or justification for human conduct."[9]

Footnote 8:

_Humane Science Lectures_: Summary of address given by Prince
Kropotkin at Essex Hall, November 17, 1896.

Footnote 9:

"Study of Animal Life."