gratitude to mankind (only to be repaid in the form of beef and
mutton), because, by being brought within the peaceful fold of
civilisation, they have been spared all the harrowing fears and
anxieties of their wild natural life. This, however, is a
fallacy to which the great naturalists give no sort of sanction;
for it is obvious that, though the life of a wild animal is
liable to more sudden perils than that of our tame "livestock,"
it is not on that account a less happy one, but, on the
contrary, is spent throughout in a manner more conducive to the
highest health and happiness. Thus, Dr. Alfred Russel Wallace
says: "The poet's picture of nature red in tooth and claw, is a
picture the evil of which is read into it by our imagination,
the reality being made up of full and happy lives, usually
terminated by the quickest and least painful of deaths." And Mr.
W. H. Hudson: "I take it that in the lower animals misery can
result from two causes only—restraint and disease—consequently,
that animals in a state of nature are not miserable. They are
not hindered or held back.... As to disease, it is so rare in
wild animals, or in a large majority of cases so quickly proves
fatal, that, compared with what we call disease in our own
species, it is practically non-existent. The 'struggle for
existence,' in so far as animals in a state of nature are
concerned, is a metaphorical struggle; and the strife, short and
sharp, which is so common in nature, is not misery, although it
results in pain, since it is pain that kills or is soon
out-lived."
Let us proceed, then, to the great sophistical paradox that it
is better for the animals themselves to be bred and slaughtered
than not to be bred at all—that most comfortable doctrine which
of late years has been a veritable city of refuge, or grand old
umbrella, to the conscientious flesh-eater under stress of the
vegetarian bombardment. Hither flock the members of the learned
professions, academies, and ethical societies, and fortify their
souls anew with this subtle metaphysic of the larder.
SOPHIST: Of all the arguments for vegetarianism, none,
in my opinion, is so weak as the argument from humanity.
The pig has a stronger interest than anyone in the
demand for bacon.
VEGETARIAN: Indeed? And is that the view the pig himself
takes of it?
SOPHIST: It is the view _I_ take of it, speaking in the
interests of the pig. For where would the pig be if we
did not eat pork? He would be non-existent; he would be
no pig at all.
VEGETARIAN: And would he be any the _worse_ for that?
SOPHIST: Yes, for he would lose the joy of life. And not
the pig alone, but all animals that are bred for human
food. Their death is the little price they necessarily
pay for the inestimable boon of existence.
VEGETARIAN: Now, let me first point out to you that it
is not only flesh-eating that would be justified by
this argument. Vivisection, pigeon-shooting, slavery,
cannibalism, any treatment whatsoever of animals or of
mankind where they are specially bred for the purpose,
might be similarly shown to be a kindness. Do you really
mean that?
SOPHIST: I assume, of course, that the life is a happy
one, and the death as painless as possible.
VEGETARIAN: Neither of which conditions is in reality
fulfilled! For the wretched creatures that are bred
and fed for the shambles have none of the true joys of
life, but from the first are mere animated beef, pork,
and mutton, while their death is nothing better than a
prolonged and clumsy massacre.
SOPHIST: But it need not be so. It is a mere question of
police and proper supervision. It should be imperative
on all those who confer life on animals to ensure
absolute painlessness for the last moment.
VEGETARIAN: It "_should_ be"! So it seems that this
remarkable kindness of yours is, by your own showing,
not an actual but a hypothetical benefit. The animals
fulfil their part of the compact by being killed and
eaten, and you _might_ fulfil your part by killing them
painlessly—only you _don't_! Are you serious in talking
this stuff?
SOPHIST: This "stuff"? Let me remind you, sir, that
I have the authority of such eminent philosophers as
Sir Henry Thompson, Mr. Leslie Stephen, Professor D.
G. Ritchie, and Dr. Stanton Coit. Do you call their
academical reasoning "stuff"?
VEGETARIAN: What else can it be called? For, as a matter
of fact, quite apart from the conditions, good or bad,
under which the animals live and die, it is a pure
fallacy to say that it is a _kindness_ to bring them
into existence.
SOPHIST: How so, if life is pleasant?
VEGETARIAN: Because it is impossible to compare
existence with non-existence. Existence may, or may not,
be pleasant; but non-existence is neither pleasant nor
unpleasant—it is nothing at all. It cannot, therefore,
be an _advantage_ to be born, though, when once you
_are_ born, the good and the evil are comparable. The
whole question is a post-natal, not a prenatal one; it
begins at birth.
SOPHIST: Well, but supposing you were an animal, would
you not prefer——
VEGETARIAN: Oh, that is a very old question. You will
find it all in Hansard. It was asked by Sir Herbert
Maxwell when he defended the sport of pigeon-shooting in
the Debates of 1883. "He wanted to ask the hon. member
whether, if he were a blue-rock, he would rather accept
life under the condition of his life being a short and
happy one, and violently terminated, or whether he would
reject life at all upon such terms."
SOPHIST: Hear, hear! That is just what I say.
VEGETARIAN: Then you had better think over Mr. W. E.
Forster's reply, which puts the case in a nut-shell. He
said that Sir Herbert Maxwell "made one very amusing
appeal, by asking him [the member who introduced the
Bill] to put himself in the position of a blue-rock. But
this would be difficult, for the position was not a
blue-rock in existence, but a blue-rock before it was
born." Whereat the House laughed, and sophistry was for
the moment disconcerted.
But for the moment only; for there have since sprung up many
other professors of this metaphysic of the larder, though none
of them, with the exception of Dr. Stanton Coit, have had the
hardihood to expound their theory in detail—a wise reticence,
perhaps, when it is seen how Dr. Coit fared in his conscientious
but humourless essay on "The Bringing of Sentient Beings into
Existence."
"If the motive," he opined, "that might produce the
greatest number of the happiest cattle would be the
eating of beef, then beef-eating, so far, must be
commended. And while, heretofore, the motive has not
been for the sake of cattle, it is conceivable that,
if vegetarian convictions should spread much further,
love for cattle would (if it be not psychologically
incompatible) blend with the love of beef in the minds
of the opponents of vegetarianism. With deeper insight,
new and higher motives may replace or supplement old
ones, and perpetuate but ennoble ancient practices."[14]
Footnote 14:
The _Ethical World_, May 7, 1898.
The "Ox in a Tea-cup," be it observed, may henceforth become the
emblem of the concentrated humanity of the ethical societies!
"But we frankly admit," continues Dr. Coit, "that it
is a question whether the love of cattle, intensified
to the imaginative point of individual affection for
each separate beast, would not destroy the pleasure
of eating beef, and render this time-honoured custom
psychologically impossible. _We surmise that bereaved
affection at the death of a dear creature would destroy
the flavour._"[15]
Footnote 15:
_Ibid._
What a picture is conjured up by the sentence I have italicised—the
bereaved moralist, knife and fork in hand, swayed in different
directions by the call of duty and the scruples of affection! And
then Dr. Coit goes on to express a fear that mankind, if they adopted
vegetarianism, might become "less powerful in thought"! I respectfully
submit that, in view of the arguments quoted, there is not the smallest
possibility of _that_.
The plea that animals might be killed painlessly is a very
common one with flesh-eaters, but it must be pointed out
that _what-might-be_ can afford no exemption from moral
responsibility for _what-is_. By all means let us reform the
system of butchery as far as it can be reformed—that is, by the
total abolition of those foul dens of torture known as "private
slaughter-houses," and by the substitution of municipal
abattoirs, equipped with the best modern appliances, and under
efficient supervision; for there is no doubt that the sum of
animal suffering may thus be greatly lessened. There will be no
opposition from the vegetarian side to such reform as this;
indeed, it is in a large measure through the personal efforts of
vegetarians that the subject has attracted attention, whereas
the very people who make this prospective improvement an excuse
for their present flesh diet are seldom observed to be doing
anything practical to carry it into effect. But when all is said
and done, it remains true that the reform of the slaughter-house
is at best a palliative, a temporary measure which will
mitigate, but cannot possibly amend, the horrors of butchery;
for it is but too evident that, under our complex civilisation,
when the town is so far aloof from the country, and pastoralism
can only be carried on in districts remote from the busy crowded
centres, it is impossible to transport and slaughter vast
numbers of large and highly-sensitive animals in a really humane
manner. More barbarous, or less barbarous, such slaughtering may
undoubtedly be, according to the methods employed, but the
"humane" slaughtering, so much bepraised of the sophist, is an
impossibility in fact and a contradiction in terms.
THE CONSISTENCY TRICK
It is certain, then, that the practice of flesh-eating involves
a vast amount of cruelty—a fact which cannot be lessened or
evaded by any quibbling subterfuges. But, before we pass on to
another phase of the food question, we must deal more fully with
that very common method of argument (alluded to in an earlier
chapter) which may be called the Consistency Trick—akin to that
known in common parlance as the _tu quoque_, or "you're
another"—the device of setting up an arbitrary standard of
"consistency," and then demonstrating that the vegetarian
himself, judged by that standard, is as "inconsistent" as other
persons. Whether we plead guilty or not guilty to this ingenious
indictment depends altogether on the meaning assigned to the
term "consistency."
For, as anyone who tries to do practical work in the world will rapidly
discover, there is a true and there is a false ideal of consistency.
To pretend that in our complex modern society, where responsibilities
are so closely interwoven, it is possible for any individual to
cultivate "a perfect character," and stand like a Sir Galahad above his
fellows—this is the false ideal of consistency which it is the first
business of a genuine reformer to put aside; for no human being can do
any solid work without frequently convicting himself of inconsistencies
when consistency is stereotyped into a formula. On the other hand,
there is a true duty of consistency, which regards the spirit rather
than the letter, and prompts us not to grasp foolishly at the ideal,
like a child crying for the moon, but to push steadily _towards_ the
ideal by a faithful adherence to the right line of reform, and by
ever keeping in view the just proportion and relative value of all
moral actions. Let it be remembered that it is this latter consistency
alone that has any interest for the vegetarian. His purpose is not to
exhibit himself as a spotless Sir Galahad of food reformers, but to
take certain practical steps towards the humanising of our barbarous
diet system.
Herein will be found the answer to a class of questions frequently
put to vegetarians, as to how they find it "consistent with their
principles" to use this or that form of food or animal substance. It
depends entirely on what their principles are. If their aspirations
were of the Sir Galahad order, some of the "posers" would indeed be
formidable; but as they do _not_ aim at moral perfection, but merely
at rational progress, the charge of inconsistency hurtles somewhat
harmlessly over their heads. But here let the consistency man have his
say:
CONSISTENCY MAN: But what I want to know is this—how you
can think it consistent to use milk and eggs?
VEGETARIAN: Consistent with what?
CONSISTENCY MAN: Why, with your own principles, of
course.
VEGETARIAN: Or do you mean with your idea of my
principles? The two things are not always identical, you
know.
CONSISTENCY MAN: You condemn flesh-eating because of the
suffering it causes, but it seems to have escaped your
notice that the use of milk and eggs is also responsible
for much. It is strange that it has never occurred to
you——
VEGETARIAN: My good sir, it has occurred to us years
and years ago. The question is as old as the movement
itself. The cock-and-bull argument, I presume?
CONSISTENCY MAN: I ask, what would become of the
cockerels and bull-calves under a vegetarian _régime_?
At present your supply of milk and eggs is easy enough,
because the young males are killed and eaten by us
carnivorous sinners. But are you not, to a certain
extent, participators in the deed?
VEGETARIAN: Yes, frankly, to a certain extent (a very
limited extent) I think we are. We are content to get
rid of the worst evils first.
CONSISTENCY MAN: But is one sort of killing worse than
another?
VEGETARIAN: Immeasurably worse. Even if it were
necessary under the vegetarian system, to destroy some
of the calves at birth, as the superfluous young of
domestic animals are now destroyed, it would be
ridiculous to compare such restricted killing of
new-born creatures with the present wholesale butchery
of full-grown and highly-sentient animals in the
slaughter-house.
CONSISTENCY MAN: You say "if" it were necessary, but is
there any doubt of it?
VEGETARIAN: It is not by any means so certain as you
suppose that the slaughter of calves would be
unavoidable. Vegetarians use milk sparingly—far more so
than flesh-eaters—and a limited amount of milk is
obtainable without killing the calf. Nor is there any
reason, as Professor Newman has pointed out, why a
number of oxen should not be employed as formerly in
working the land. But I do not wish to take refuge in
future possibilities. I prefer to take the bull-calf
argument "by the horns," and admit that, under present
conditions, we are indirectly responsible. Call it
inconsistency, if you like. If it be inconsistency not
to postpone the abolition of the greater cruelties until
we also abolish the minor ones, we are willing to be
called inconsistent.
It may be noted, in passing, that the zeal with which
flesh-eaters urge this counter-charge of "inconsistency"
is designed, unconsciously perhaps, to hide an important
admission—viz., that where eggs and milk are used there
is no necessity for butchers' meat, or, in other words,
that vegetarianism is a perfectly feasible diet. "Eggs and
milk," says Dr. T. P. Smith, when objecting to their use by
vegetarians, "contain a much larger quantity of nutritive
material than an equal amount of meat, for which, therefore,
they may easily serve as substitutes."[16] If this be granted,
the rest is a mere battle of words.
Footnote 16:
_Fortnightly Review_, November, 1895.
But the cock-and-bull argument, with which may be linked the
objection to the use of leather, is only one of many departments
of the consistency trick. Another favourite method of convicting
vegetarians of inconsistency is to start from the false
assumption that vegetarianism is the same thing as Brahminism,
and that any destruction of even the lowliest forms of life is
therefore reprehensible. "As for the argument based on the
cruelty of slaughter-houses," says Mr. W. T. Stead, "I don't see
that it bears upon the question, unless you take the extreme
Hindoo doctrine as to the wickedness of taking sentient life,
even in the shape of lice and adders." That is to say, the
terrible and quite unnecessary cruelties inflicted on the most
highly-organised and harmless animals in the cattle-ship and
slaughter-house do not even "bear upon" the morality of diet,
unless we also abstain from killing the most noxious and
lowly-organised forms! Of the same nature is the foolish
"when-you-drink-a-glass-of-water" fallacy, which argues that, as
we necessarily swallow minute organisms in drinking, we need
have no scruples as to the needless butchery of a cow or a
sheep. The savages who in the good old times used to eat their
grandfathers and grandmothers might have justified their
dietetic habits on precisely similar grounds.
Nor is it only insects and "vermin" on whose behalf the
consistency man is concerned, for plants also have life, and
therefore if the vegetarian holds that "it is immoral to take
life" (which he does _not_), he must be inconsistent in
eating vegetables. As an instance of a common but strange
misunderstanding of the vegetarian principle on this subject, I
must here quote a passage from the "Science Jottings" of Dr.
Andrew Wilson. Note the triumphant tone of the unscientific
scientist as he rushes to his absurd conclusion:
"I have not yet finished with the food faddist. Suppose
I find a vegetarian who, more consistent than the run of
his fellows, will not touch, taste, nor handle milk,
eggs, cheese, or any animal product whatever. I think it
is still possible to show him that he is infringing the
code he lives by, in so far as its pretensions with the
sacredness of life are concerned. Plants, no less than
animals, are living things. Their tissues contain living
protoplasm, which is the essential physical basis of
life everywhere.... I am afraid that the consistent
vegetarian must no longer kill a cabbage if he is to
live up to the standard of morals he sets up as a kind
of fetish in his diet regulations; and to lay low the
lettuce, or pluck the apple from its bough, is really a
direct infringement of the code which maintains that
you have no right to kill any living thing for food.
Really this is a monstrous doctrine when all is said and
done."[17]
Footnote 17:
_Illustrated London News_, May 14, 1898.
It _is_ a monstrous doctrine; and what are we to think of a man
of science who attributes such absurdities to vegetarians, and
thereupon holds them up to public contempt as inconsistent, when
by making inquiry he might at once have learnt that the blunder
was on his own side? Once more, then, be it stated that it
is not the mere "taking of life," but the taking of life
_unnecessarily_ that the vegetarian deprecates, and that no
criticism of vegetarianism can be of any relevance if it ignores
the fact that all forms of life are not of equal value, but that
the higher the sensibility of the animal, and the closer his
affinity to ourselves, the stronger his claim on our humaneness.
Before leaving this question of "consistency," as affected by
the _gradations_ of our duty of humaneness to animals, a few
words may be said on the practice of fish-eating. It was
humorously suggested by Sir Henry Thompson, who, as I have
proved in the second chapter of this work, wrote in complete
ignorance of the facts and dates of the vegetarian movement,
that, as vegetarians have "added" milk and eggs to their diet
since their society was founded (a statement quite devoid of
truth), they may perhaps still further enlarge their dietary so
as to include fish. Here, again, Sir H. Thompson only showed his
unfamiliarity with the subject, for his novel proposition was in
fact an old one, which has been debated and rejected by the
Vegetarian Society in its adherence to its original rule of
excluding fish, flesh, and fowl, and nothing else, from its
dietary. So far, then, as organised vegetarianism is concerned,
those who eat fish are not within the pale of membership;
but looked at from the purely _humane_ standpoint, it must
be admitted that there is an immense difference between
flesh-eating and fish-eating, and that those unattached food
reformers, not few in number, who for humane reasons abstain
from flesh, but feel justified in eating fish, hold a perfectly
intelligible position. And I would further note that the very
fact of there having been some disposition, wise or unwise,
within the vegetarian ranks to recognise the comparative
harmlessness of fish-eating, corroborates what I have asserted
throughout—that the _raison d'être_ of vegetarianism has
not been a pedantic hard-and-fast crusade against "animal"
substances, but a practical desire to abolish the horrors of the
slaughter-house.
This, then, is our parting word to the professors of the
Consistency Trick. If they had charged us with the _real_
inconsistency—that is, with sacrificing the spirit to the
letter by overlooking graver cruelties while denouncing minor
ones—we should have been fully prepared to meet so serious an
accusation. But as they have not done this, but have merely
twitted us with not attempting everything at once, and with
allowing the subordinate evil to wait until the central evil has
been grappled with, we cheerfully admit the impeachment—coming
as it does (such is the humour of the situation) from those who
are themselves desirous of perpetuating _both_ kinds of
suffering, the greater and the smaller alike! We beg to assure
them that we would much rather be inconsistently humane than
consistently cruel.
THE DEGRADATION OF THE BUTCHER
But this question of butchery is not merely one of kindness or
unkindness to animals, for by the very facts of the case it is a
_human_ question of no slight importance, affecting as it does
the social and moral welfare of those more immediately concerned
in it. Of all recognised occupations by which in civilised
countries a livelihood is sought and obtained, the work which is
looked upon with the greatest loathing (next to the hangman's)
is that of the butcher—as witness the opprobrious sense which
the word "butcher" has acquired. Owing to the instinctive horror
of bloodshed, which is characteristic of all normal civilised
beings, the trade of doing to death countless numbers of
inoffensive and highly-organised creatures amid scenes of
indescribable filth and ferocity is delegated—in the large
towns, at any rate—to a pariah class of "slaughtermen," who are
thus themselves made the victims of a grievous social wrong.
"I'm only doing your dirty work. It's such as _you_ makes such
as _us_," is said to have been the remark of a Whitechapel
butcher to a flesh-eating gentleman who remonstrated with him
for his brutality; and the remark was a perfectly just one. To
demand a product which can only be procured at the cost of the
intense suffering of the animal and the deep degradation of the
butcher, and by a process which not one flesh-eater in a hundred
would himself under any circumstances perform or even witness,
is conduct as callous, selfish, and unsocial as could well be
imagined.
For butchery, as Sir Benjamin Richardson used to point out,
is essentially a "dangerous trade." It not only deadens
and destroys the moral sympathies, but it has the physical
effect of straining the nerves and weakening the heart of the
slaughterman, and thus naturally induces a tendency to have
recourse to drink. How often, too, in reading of some murderous
crime, has one seen it stated that the criminal was a butcher;
as, for instance, in the Austrian "ripper" case, when, as the
papers stated, a woman of the "unfortunate" class was killed by
a young butcher of herculean frame, by whom it is supposed a
previous victim had also been slaughtered. To have accustomed
one's self to a total disregard for the pleading terror of
sensitive animals and to a murderous use of the knife is a
terrible power for society to put into the hands of its lowest
and least responsible members.
The blame must ultimately fall on society itself, and not on the
individual slaughterman. No one had a better knowledge of this
subject than the late Mr. H. F. Lester, and this is his opinion: