A VIVISECTOR'S REMORSE
About the middle of the last century there died in Scotland in the
prime of life a physiologist, now almost forgotten, whose fate excited
at the time an unusual degree of compassionate interest. Born in
1809, John Reid received his medical degree when but twenty-one years
of age. A part of the two years following he spent in Paris, where
Magendie was at the height of his notoriety for the ruthless cruelty
of his vivisections. What attracted the young man we do not know, but
Reid seems to have become greatly interested in physiological
problems. Returning to Scotland, he pursued his investigations with
all the zeal of youth, and apparently with little or no regard for the
animal suffering he caused. For instance, of experiments which he
made to prove a certain theory, he tells us:
"I have exposed the trunk of the par vagum in the neck of at least
thirty animals, and in all of these the pinching, cutting, and even
stretching of the nerve WERE ATTENDED BY INDICATIONS OF SEVERE
SUFFERING. It was frequently difficult to separate the nerve from the
artery ON ACCOUNT OF THE VIOLENT STRUGGLES OF THE ANIMAL."[1]
[1] "Physiological Researches," by John Reid, p. 92. (In all
quotations the italics are the compiler's.)
Regarding the pain inflicted by him in certain other vivisections,
Reid is equally frank in his admissions:
"In repeated experiments upon the laryngeal nerves, we found in all
animals operated upon (except two dogs, which appeared CONSIDERABLY
EXHAUSTED BY GREAT PREVIOUS SUFFERING) ample ground for dissenting
from the statements of Dr. Alcock.... With the exceptions mentioned,
VERY SEVERE INDICATIONS OF SUFFERING ... ATTENDED THE PINCHING AND
CUTTING OF THE NERVE."[1]
[1] "Physiological Researches," p. 73.
Some physiological observers have remarked that among the more highly
organized species of animals the creature struggles against the
ligatures previous to a second operation more than it did at its first
experience. It is evident that in such cases, in animals as well as
among human beings, the memory of agony endured creates a mental
condition of terror and fear. But what effect would the emotion of
terror have upon the heart's action if certain nerves were first
severed? Brachet relates an experiment wherein he tortured a dog in
every conceivable way, yet the heart's action was not notably
quickened if such nerves were first divided. Reid determined,
therefore, to experiment for himself upon this emotion of TERROR
induced by memory of previous pain, and six dogs were selected for his
purpose. The nerves were first "cut in the middle of the neck, and a
portion of each removed." He then tells us the results:
"After the operation, the pulsations of the heart were reckoned when
the animal was lying or standing on the ground, and AFTER IT HAD BEEN
CARESSED FOR SOME TIME TO CALM ITS FEARS. It was then lifted up on
the table, on which it had been tied, and operated upon; and after
having been spoken to HARSHLY, the pulsations were again reckoned."
In every case Reid noted that the heart's action increased from 20 to
40 beats per minute on lifting the animal to the vivisection table,
whereon it had previously suffered torment. He adds:
"In those experiments it was particularly observed that the animals
made no struggles in carrying them to and from the table, and
consequently the increased excitation of the heart MUST HAVE ARISEN
FROM THE MENTAL EMOTION OF TERROR. In a seventh dog this was
conjoined with violent struggles. The pulsations, eight hours after
the operation, were 130; WHEN PLACED ON THE TABLE AND MADE TO
STRUGGLE, the pulsations were about 220; when he had been SUBJECTED TO
PAIN, and struggled more violently, they became so frequent that they
could not be accurately reckoned. These experiments...prove that
after the section of the vagi the pulsations of the heart may not only
be quickened by muscular exertion, but also by MENTAL EMOTIONS."[1]
[1] Reid, "Physiological Researches," pp. 168-171.
Objection is often made to the citation of vivisections which occurred
before the discovery of ether or chloroform. But in these experiments
of Reid--as in those of Brachet--the use of anaesthetics, even had
they been known to him, would have been a hindrance. HOW CAN ANYONE
EXPERIMENT ON THE "MENTAL EMOTIONS" OF AN ANIMAL WHILE IT IS
PROFOUNDLY INSENSIBLE TO ALL EXTERNAL INFLUENCES? The idea is an
absurdity. The biography of Reid thus refers to this very point:
"Allusion has been made to the infliction of suffering on living
animals.... This suffering was not merely incidental to dissections,
but in many of the experiments recorded WAS DELIBERATELY INFLICTED.
In many of the experiments, EVEN IF ANAESTHETICS HAD BEEN KNOWN at the
period of his observations, THEY COULD NOT HAVE BEEN EMPLOYED.... It
was essential to the settlement of the question that the animal should
be left TO EXHIBIT ALL THE PAIN IT FELT, AND SHOULD BE EXPRESSLY
SUBJECTED TO TORTURE."[2]
[2] "Life of John Reid," by Geo. Wilson, M.D., 1852, p. 153.
And precisely the same apology is put forward to-day. More than once,
by high scientific authority, the public has been comfortably assured
that nowadays "anaesthetics are always employed," in severely painful
experiments, EXCEPT "in those instances in which THE ANAESTHETIC WOULD
INTERFERE WITH THE OBJECT OF THE EXPERIMENT." Truly it is a broad
exception. For all we know, it is the laboratory's excuse, even for
the present-day repetition of the experiments of Magendie, Brachet,
and Reid. "The anaesthetic would interfere." But what was the value of
all this experimentation upon mind and body, this "mental emotion of
terror" in a dog, and this calming of its fear by caresses, followed
by the torment of the operation? There was no value so far as the
treatment of human ailments is concerned. Reid's experiments led to
no change whatever in medical practice. Reading of certain
experiments, one is constantly reminded of the old peasant's reply to
his grandchild, who had found a skull on what once was a battlefield.
Holding it in his hand, the old man told the story of the Battle of
Blenheim, and the awful suffering it had caused:
"`But what good came of it at last?'
Said little Peterkin;
`Why, that I cannot tell,' quoth he,
`BUT `TWAS A FAMOUS VICTORY!'"
At the early age of thirty-eight the physiologist seemed to see before
him the bright prospect of a long and happy life. He possessed
unusual physical strength, robust health, and a resolute and
courageous spirit. His home was happy. No one considered him a cruel
man; indeed, we are told, he was rather fond of animals. "In his own
house he always had pet dogs and cats about him, and he was as ready
as Sir Walter Scott to rise from any occupation to humour their
whims." In his profession he had made somewhat of a reputation, yet
higher honours and wider renown and increased financial prosperity
seemed almost certain to await him in the not distant future.
But one day, in November, 1847, he noted in himself the symptom of a
disease that gave cause for alarm. The pain at first was doubtless
insignificant, but the symptom occasioned anxiety because it would not
disappear. Some of his friends were the best surgeons of Scotland,
and he asked their advice. They were careful not to add to his
discouragement, and they suggested the old, old formula--"rest and a
change of scene." A year passed. The disease made constant progress,
and there came a time when of its malignant character there could be
no possible doubt. Finally, the vivisector recognized that it was not
merely death which confronted him, but death by the most mysterious
and agonizing of human ailments. In June, 1848, he wrote to a friend:
"I have a strong conviction that my earthly career will soon come to a
close, and that I shall never lecture again."
And then, gradually, to the ever-increasing agony of the body, came
the anguish of REMORSE. He remembered the trembling little creatures
which again and again he had lifted to their bed of torment, and "made
to struggle," that he might observe how the heart-beats of a mutilated
animal were quickened "from the emotion of terror"; and now, in the
gloom of horrible imaginings, TERROR held HIM with a grasp that would
never loosen or lessen while his consciousness remained. He
remembered the the evidence of "severe suffering" he had so often
evoked by the "pinching and cutting and stretching" of nerves; the
creatures he had first "caressed to calm their fears"--and then
vivisected; the eyes that so often had appealed for respite from
agony--and appealed in vain; and now, NATURA MALIGNA, to whom pity is
unknown, was slowly torturing him to death. He pointed to the seat of
his suffering as being "THE SAME NERVES on which he had made so many
experiments, and added: `THIS IS A JUDGMENT UPON ME FOR THE SUFFERING
I HAVE INFLICTED ON ANIMALS'"[1]
[1] "Life of John Reid," by Dr. G. Wilson, p. 273.
More than once during the last months of his life he recurred to the
same subject.
His biographer says:
"He could not divest his mind of the feeling that there was a special
Providence in the way in which he had been afflicted. He had devoted
peculiar attention to the functions of certain nerves, and had
inflicted suffering on many dumb creatures that he might discover the
office of those nerves; and HE COULD NOT BUT REGARD THE CANCER WHICH
PREYED UPON THEM--IN HIS OWN BODY--AS A SIGNIFICANT MESSAGE FROM
GOD."[2]
[2] Ibid., p. 250.
Again and again he repeated the conviction to which his mind
continually reverted in the midst of his torment. To him conscience
brought no message of Divine approbation, but only a sentence of
condemnation upon his past pursuits. Nor was Reid alone in this
feeling of apprehension and questioning. We are told by his medical
friend and biographer that many of his brother physicians were
startled by learning
"that Dr. Reid is doomed to die by a disease WHICH REPEATS UPON HIS
OWN BODY NOT IN ONE, BUT IN MANY WAYS, the pains which he had imposed
upon the lower animals."[1]
[1] Reid's "Life," p. 252.
Undoubtedly, friends of the tormented vivisector attempted to comfort
him with the assurance--so often repeated in our day--that his
experiments on living animals had been carried on "for the benefit of
sick and suffering humanity." But Reid was too honest a man to permit
himself to be thus deluded while under the very shadow of death. For
him the time had come when the specious apologies for the infliction
of torture--so current in our day--could be of no avail in lessening
the poignant feeling of Remorse. In the dying hour men speak the
truth about their actions. It was so with Reid.
"He confessed to having thought much of Scientific FAME in his
labours, and IT WOULD BE UNTRUE TO SAY THAT THE ALLEVIATION OF HUMAN
SUFFERING was the motive always before him when he inflicted pain on
the lower animals."[2]
[2] Ibid., p. 65.
An operation seemed to hold out hope of relief from his terrible
agony. It was deemed best to perform it--as Reid had experimented--
without anaesthetics, "that the sufferer, with every sensation and
faculty alive, might literally become an operator upon himself." In
the course of a second operation, Dr. Wilson tells us: "THE SAME
NERVES and bloodvessels which had been the subject of Dr. Reid's most
important inquiries WERE LAID BARE IN HIMSELF, BY THE SURGEON'S
KNIFE." But all remedial measures were in vain. The two years of
apprehension, suspense, recognition, despair, of slowly increasing
physical torment and the agony of remorse, came at last to an end.
In July, 1849, he found the long-wished-for peace.
Seventy years ago the religious sentiment of Scotland easily favoured
that doctrine of Divine displeasure which seemed probable to Reid and
his friends. In our day, however, we are less certain of being able
to interpret the "judgments of God"; and if we regard it as a
remarkable coincidence, it is as far as we may safely go.
Coincidences of some kind are a universal experience.
That notorious vivisector, Dr. Brown-Se'quard, devoted many years of
his life to experiments on the seat of all that is concentrated and
exquisite in agony--the spinal cord. It was a curious coincidence
certainly, that in his last days the vivisector was affected by a
disease of the spinal cord, which at one time compelled him to go on
all-fours like a beast. Even the remorse of Reid finds a parallel,
for toward the end of his life, Haller, one of the greatest
physiologists that ever lived, is said to have expressed in letters
deep regret for the suffering he had inflicted upon living animals.
We cannot doubt, however, that the experience of excruciating agony
affecting the very nerves upon which he had so often experimented must
have brought to the dying man a deeper realization of the pain he had
caused than he could otherwise have known. A noted surgeon, whose
finger was the seat of a felon, asked his hospital assistant to lance
it, at the same time cautioning him to be particularly careful to
cause as little pain as possible. "Why, I've often heard you tell
patients coming to the hospital not to mind the lancing--that the pain
to be felt was really nothing at all," replied the assistant.
"Ah, yes," rejoined the surgical sufferer, "but then, remember, I was
AT THE OTHER END OF THE KNIFE!" In watching the phenomena elicited by
experiments upon animals, there have been vivisectors who forget what
was felt "at the other end of the knife," and so became utterly
oblivious to the suffering they caused. A leading physiologist of
England once declared that he "HAD NO REGARD AT ALL" for the pain of
an animal vivisected, and that "he had no time, so to speak, for
thinking what the animal would feel or suffer"; that he never used
anaesthetics, "except for convenience' sake." Can such a man realize
the meaning of the word "PAIN"? Without sharp personal experience, can
anyone, adequately comprehend what it signifies?
Remorse may be evidence, not so much of exceptional delinquency as of
exceptional sensitiveness to ethical considerations. By the baser and
more degraded souls it is rarely experienced. The greatest criminals
usually meet their doom, untouched by any feeling of remorse. Perhaps
it does not greatly matter how this infinite regret is occasioned.
Sometimes--
"... pain in man
Has the high purpose of the flail and fan."
It separates and purifies. To one whose great suffering from disease
is long continued, there must come a clearer vision of the infinite
littleness of all transitory ambitions. Such supreme regret as that
which came to Reid has great value. The poor soul once so longed for
"fame"--which means only a little wider recognition to-day, and a
little more enduring remembrance by posterity than that which is
gained by the generality of mankind. Of that horde of torturers, avid
also for "fame," whose causation of unreckonable anguish brings into
their ignoble natures no thought of pity, no emotion of regret,
everyone comes at last to rest in that deep forgetfulness which he
deserves. Here, however, is the story of one whose penitence gives
reason for longer remembrance, who greatly erred and greatly
suffered, whose contrition atoned, whose example admonishes--JOHN
REID, physiologist.