DOES VIVISECTION PAY?
The question of vivisection is again pushing itself to the front. A distinguished American physiologist has lately come forward in defense of the French experimenter, Magendie, and, parenthetically, of his methods of investigation in the study of vital phenomena. On the other hand, the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals made an unsuccessful attempt, in the New York Legislature last winter, to secure the passage of a law which would entirely abolish the practice as now in vogue in our medical schools, or cause it to be secretly carried on, in defiance of legal enactments. In support of this bill it was claimed that physiologists, for the sake of "demonstrating to medical students certain physiological phenomena connected with the functions of life, are constantly and habitually in the practice of cutting up alive, torturing and tormenting divers of the unoffending brute creation to illustrate their theories and lectures, but without any practical or beneficial result either to themselves or to the students, which practice is demoralizing to both and engenders in the future medical practitioners a want of humanity and sympathy for physical pain and suffering." How far these statements are true will be hereafter discussed; but one assertion is so evidently erroneous that it may be at once indicated. No experiment, however atrocious, cruel and, therefore, on the whole, unjustifiable, if performed to illustrate some scientific point, was ever without "any beneficial result." The benefit may have been infinitesimal, but every scientific fact is of some value. To assert the contrary is to weaken one's case by overstatement.
Leaving out the brute creation, there are three parties interested in this discussion. In the first place, there are the professors and teachers of physiology in the medical colleges. Naturally, these desire no interference with either their work or their methods. They claim that were the knowledge acquired by experiments upon living organisms swept out of existence, in many respects the science of physiology would be little more than guesswork to-day. The subject of vivisection, they declare, is one which does not concern the general public, but belongs exclusively to scientists and especially to physiologists. That the present century should permit sentimentalists to interfere with scientific investigations is preposterous.
Behind these stand the majority of men belonging to the medical profession. Holding, as they do, the most important and intimate relations to society, it is manifestly desirable that they should enjoy the best facilities for the acquirement of knowledge necessary to their art. To most, the question is merely one of professional privilege against sentiment, and they cannot hesitate which side to prefer. In this, as in other professions or trades, the feeling of esprit de corps is exceedingly strong; and no class of men likes interference on the part of outsiders. To most physicians it is wholly a scientific question. It is a matter, they think, with which the public has no concern; if society can trust to the profession its sick and dying, they surely can leave to its feeling of humanity a few worthless brutes.
The opinion of the general public is therefore, divided and confused. On the one hand, it is profoundly desirous to make systematic and needless cruelty impossible; yet, on the other, it cannot but hesitate to take any step which shall hinder medical education, impede scientific discovery, or restrict search for new methods of treating disease. What are the sufferings of an animal, however acute or prolonged, compared with the gain to humanity which would result from the knowledge thereby acquired of a single curative agent? Public opinion hesitates. A leading newspaper, commenting on the introduction of the Bergh bill, doubtless expressed the sentiment of most people when it deprecated prevention of experiments "by which original investigators seek to establish or verify conclusions which may be of priceless value to the preservation of life and health among human beings."
The question nevertheless confronts society,—and in such shape, too, that society cannot escape, even if it would, the responsibility of a decision. Either by action or inaction the State must decide whether the practice of vivisection shall be wholly abolished, as desired by some; whether it shall be restricted by law within certain limits and for certain definite objects, as in Great Britain; or whether we are to continue in this country to follow the example of France and Germany, in permitting the practice of physiological experimentation to any extent devised or desired by the experimentalist himself. Any information tending to indicate which of these courses is best cannot be inopportune. Having witnessed experiments by some of the most distinguished European physiologists, such as Claude Bernard (the successor of Magendie), Milne-Edwards and Brown-Sequard; and, still better (or worse, as the reader may think), having performed some experiments in this direction for purposes of investigation and for the instruction of others, the present writer believes himself justified in holding and stating a pronounced opinion on this subject, even if it be to some extent, opposed to the one prevailing in the profession. Suppose, therefore, we review briefly the arguments to be adduced both in favor of the practice and against it.
Two principal arguments may be advanced in its favor.
I. It is undeniable that to the practice of vivisection we are indebted for very much of our present knowledge of physiology. This is the fortress of the advocates of vivisection, and a certain refuge when other arguments are of no avail.
II. As a means of teaching physiological facts, vivisection is unsurpassed. No teacher of science needs to be told the vast superiority of demonstration over affirmation. Take for instance, the circulation of the blood. The student who displays but a languid interest in statements of fact, or even in the best delineations and charts obtainable, will be thoroughly aroused by seeing the process actually before his eyes. A week's study upon the book will less certainly be retained in his memory than a single view of the opened thorax of a frog or dog. There before him is the throbbing heart; he sees its relations to adjoining structures, and marks, with a wonder he never before knew, that mystery of life by which the heart, even though excised from the body, does not cease for a time its rhythmic beat. To imagine, then, that teachers of physiology find mere amusement in these operations is the greatest of ignorant mistakes. They deem it desirable that certain facts be accurately fixed in memory, and they know that no system of mnemonics equals for such purpose the demonstration of the function itself.
Just here, however, arises a very important question. Admitting the benefit of the demonstration of scientific facts, how far may one justifiably subject an animal to pain for the purpose of illustrating a point already known? It is merely a question of cost. For instance, it is an undisputed statement in physical science that the diamond is nothing more than a form of crystallized carbon, and, like other forms of carbon, under certain conditions, may be made to burn. Now most of us are entirely willing to accept this, as we do the majority of truths, upon the testimony of scientific men, without making demonstration a requisite of assent. In a certain private school, however, it has long been the custom once a year, to burn in oxygen a small diamond, worth perhaps $30, so as actually to prove to the pupils the assertion of their text-books. The experiment is a brilliant one; no one can doubt its entire success. Nevertheless, we do not furnish diamonds to our public schools for this purpose. Exactly similar to this is one aspect of vivisection—it is a question of cost. Granting all the advantages which follow demonstration of certain physiological facts, the cost is pain—pain sometimes amounting to prolonged and excruciating torture. Is the gain worth this?
Let me mention an instance. Not long ago, in a certain medical college in the State of New York, I saw what Doctor Sharpey, for thirty years the professor of physiology in the University Medical College, London, once characterized by antithesis as "Magendie's infamous experiment," it having been first performed by that eminent physiologist. It was designed to prove that the stomach, although supplied with muscular coats, is during the act of vomiting for the most part passive; and that expulsion of its contents is due to the action of the diaphragm and the larger abdominal muscles. The professor to whom I refer did not propose to have even Magendie's word accepted as an authority on the subject: the fact should be demonstrated again. So an incision in the abdomen of a dog was made; its stomach was cut out; a pig's bladder containing colored water was inserted in its place, an emetic was injected into the veins,—and vomiting ensued. Long before the conclusion of the experiment the animal became conscious, and its cries of suffering were exceedingly painful to hear. Now, granting that this experiment impressed an abstract scientific fact upon the memories of all who saw it, nevertheless it remains significantly true that the fact thus demonstrated had no conceivable relation to the treatment of disease. It is not to-day regarded as conclusive of the theory which, after nearly two hundred repetitions of his experiment, was doubtless considered by Magendie as established beyond question. Doctor Sharpey, a strong advocate of vivisection, by the way, condemned it as a perfectly unjustifiable experiment, since "besides its atrocity, it was really purposeless." Was this repetition of the experiment which I have described worth its cost? Was the gain worth the pain?
Let me instance another and more recent case. Being in Paris a year ago, I went one morning to the College de France, to hear Brown-Sequard, the most eminent experimenter in vivisection now living—one who, Doctor Carpenter tells us, has probably inflicted more animal suffering than any other man in his time. The lecturer stated that injury to certain nervous centers near the base of the brain would produce peculiar and curious phenomena in the animal operated upon, causing it, for example, to keep turning to one side in a circular manner, instead of walking in a straightforward direction. A Guinea-pig was produced—a little creature, about the size of a half-grown kitten—and the operation was effected, accompanied by a series of piercing little squeaks. As foretold, the creature thus injured did immediately perform a "circular" movement. A rabbit was then operated upon with similar results. Lastly, an unfortunate poodle was introduced, its muzzle tied with stout whip-cord, wound round and round so tightly that it must necessarily have caused severe pain. It was forced to walk back and forth on the long table, during which it cast looks on every side, as though seeking a possible avenue of escape. Being fastened in the operating trough, an incision was made to the bone, flaps turned back, an opening made in the skull, and enlarged by breaking away some portions with forceps. During these various processes no attempt whatever was made to cause unconsciousness by means of anæsthetics, and the half-articulate, half-smothered cries of the creature in its agony were terrible to hear, even to one not unaccustomed to vivisections. The experiment was a "success"; the animal after its mutilation did describe certain circular movements. But I cannot help questioning in regard to these demonstrations, did they pay? This experiment had not the slightest relation whatever to the cure of disease. More than this: it teaches us little or nothing in physiology. The most eminent physiologist in this country, Doctor Austin Flint, Jr., admits that experiments of this kind "do not seem to have advanced our positive knowledge of the functions of the nerve centers," and that similar experiments "have been very indefinite in their results." On this occasion, therefore, three animals were subjected to torture to demonstrate an abstract fact, which probably not a single one of the two dozen spectators would have hesitated to take for granted on the word of so great a pathologist as Doctor Brown-Sequard. Was the gain worth the cost?
This, then, is the great question that must eventually be decided by the public. Do humanity and science here indicate diverging roads? On the contrary, I believe it to be an undeniable fact that the highest scientific and medical opinion is against the repetition of painful experiments for class teaching. In 1875, a Royal Commission was appointed in Great Britain to investigate the subject of vivisection, with a view to subsequent legislation. The interests of science were represented by the appointment of Professor Huxley as a member of this commission. Its meetings continued over several months, and the report constitutes a large volume of valuable testimony. The opinions of many of these witnesses are worthy of special attention, from the eminent position to the men who hold them. The physician to the Queen, Sir Thomas Watson, with whose "Lectures on Physic" every medical practitioner in this country is familiar, says: "I hold that no teacher or man of science who by his own previous experiments, * * * has thoroughly satisfied himself of the solution of any physiological problem, is justified in repeating the experiments, however mercifully, to appease the natural curiosity of a class of students or of scientific friends." Sir George Burroughs, President of the Royal College of Physicians, says: "I do not think that an experiment should be repeated over and over again in our medical schools to illustrate what is already established."[3] Sir James Paget, Surgeon Extraordinary to the Queen, said before the commission that "experiments for the purpose of repeating anything already ascertained ought never to be shown to classes." [363.] Sir William Fergusson, F. R. S., also Surgeon to her Majesty, asserted that "sufferings incidental to such operations are protracted in a very shocking manner"; that of such experiments there is "useless repetition," and that "when once a fact which involves cruelty to animals has been fairly recognized and accepted, there is no necessity for a continued repetition." [1019.] Even physiologists—some of them practical experimenters in vivisection—join in condemning these class demonstrations. Dr. William Sharpey, before referred to as a teacher of physiology for over thirty years in University College, says: "Once such facts fully established, I do not think it justifiable to repeat experiments causing pain to animals." [405.] Dr. Rolleston, Professor of Physiology at Oxford, said that "for class demonstrations limitations should undoubtedly be imposed, and those limitations should render illegal painful experiments before classes." [1291.] Charles Darwin, the greatest of living naturalists, stated that he had never either directly or indirectly experimented on animals, and that he regarded a painful experiment without anæsthetics which might be made with anæsthetics as deserving "detestation and abhorrence." [4672.] And finally the report of this commission, to which is attached the name of Professor Huxley, says: "With respect to medical schools, we accept the resolution of the British Association in 1871, that experimentation without the use of anæsthetics is not a fitting exhibition for teaching purposes."
It must be noted that hardly any of these opinions touch the question of vivisection so far as it is done without the infliction of pain, nor object to it as a method of original research; they relate simply to the practice of repeating painful experiments for purposes of physiological teaching. We cannot dismiss them as "sentimental" or unimportant. If painful experiments are necessary for the education of the young physician, how happens it that Watson and Burroughs are ignorant of the fact? If indispensable to the proper training of the surgeon, why are they condemned by Fergusson and Paget? If requisite even to physiology, why denounced by the physiologists of Oxford and London? If necessary to science, why viewed "with abhorrence" by the greatest of modern scientists?
Another objection to vivisection, when practiced as at present without supervision or control, is the undeniable fact that habitual familiarity with the infliction of pain upon animals has a decided tendency to engender a sort of careless indifference regarding suffering. "Vivisection," says Professor Rolleston of Oxford, "is very liable to abuse. * * * It is specially liable to tempt a man into certain carelessness; the passive impressions produced by the sight of suffering growing weaker, while the habit and pleasure of experimenting grows stronger by repetition." [1287.] Says Doctor Elliotson: "I cannot refrain from expressing my horror at the amount of torture which Doctor Brachet inflicted. I hardly think knowledge is worth having at such a purchase."[4] A very striking example of this tendency was brought out in the testimony of a witness before the Royal Commission,—Doctor Klein, a practical physiologist. He admitted frankly that as an investigator he held as entirely indifferent the sufferings of animals subjected to his experiments, that, except for teaching purposes, he never used anæsthetics unless necessary for his own convenience. Some members of the Commission could hardly realize the possibility of such a confession.
"Do you mean you have no regard at all to the sufferings of the lower animals?"
"No regard at all," was the strange reply; and, after a little further questioning, the witness explained:
"I think that, with regard to an experimenter—a man who conducts special research and performs an experiment—he has no time, so to speak, for thinking what the animal will feel or suffer!"
Of Magendie's cruel disposition there seems only too abundant evidence. Says Doctor Elliotson: "Dr. Magendie, in one of his barbarous experiments, which I am ashamed to say I witnessed, began by coolly cutting out a large round piece from the back of a beautiful little puppy, as he would from an apple dumpling!" "It is not to be doubted that inhumanity may be found in persons of very high position as physiologists. We have seen that it was so in Magendie." This is the language of the report on vivisection, to which is attached the name of Professor Huxley.
But the fact which, in my own mind, constitutes by far the strongest objection to unrestrained experiments in pain, is their questionable utility as regards therapeutics. Probably most readers are aware that physiology is that science which treats of the various functions of life, such as digestion, respiration and the circulation of the blood, while therapeutics is that department of medicine which relates to the discovery and application of remedies for disease. Now I venture to assert that, during the last quarter of a century, infliction of intense torture upon unknown myriads of sentient, living creatures, has not resulted in the discovery of a single remedy of acknowledged and generally accepted value in the cure of disease. This is not known to the general public, but it is a fact essential to any just decision regarding the expediency of unrestrained liberty of vivisection. It is by no means intended to deny the value to therapeutics of well-known physiological facts acquired thus in the past—such, for instance, as the more complete knowledge we possess regarding the circulation of the blood, or the distinction between motor and sensory nerves, nor can original investigation be pronounced absolutely valueless as respects remote possibility of future gain. What the public has a right to ask of those who would indefinitely prolong these experiments without State supervision or control is, "What good have your painful experiments accomplished during the past thirty years—not in ascertaining facts in physiology or causes of rare or incurable complaints, but in the discovery of improved methods for ameliorating human suffering, and for the cure of disease?" If pain could be estimated in money, no corporation ever existed which would be satisfied with such waste of capital in experiments so futile; no mining company would permit a quarter-century of "prospecting" in such barren regions. The usual answer to this inquiry is to bring forward facts in physiology thus acquired in the past, in place of facts in therapeutics. Thus, in a recent article on Magendie to which reference has been made, we are furnished with a long list of such additions to our knowledge. It may be questioned, however, whether the writer is quite scientifically accurate in asserting that, were our past experience in vivisection abolished, "it would blot out all that we know to-day in regard to the circulation of the blood, * * the growth and regeneration of bone, * * * the origin of many parasitic diseases, * * * the communicability of certain contagious and infectious diseases, and, to make the list complete, it would be requisite * * to take a wide range in addition through the domains of pathology and therapeutics." Surely somewhat about these subjects has been acquired otherwise than by experiments upon animals? For example, an inquiring critic might wish to know a few of the "many parasitic diseases" thus discovered; or what contagious and infectious diseases, whose communicability was previously unknown, have had this quality demonstrated solely by experiments on animals? And what, too, prevented that "wide range into therapeutics" necessary to make complete the list of benefits due to vivisection? In urging the utility of a practice so fraught with danger, the utmost precaution against the slightest error of overstatement becomes an imperative duty. Even so distinguished a scientist as Sir John Lubbock once rashly asserted in Parliament that, "without experiments on living animals, we should never have had the use of ether"! Nearly every American school-boy knows that the contrary is true—that the use of ether as an anæsthetic—the grandest discovery of modern times—had no origin in the torture of animals.
I confess that, until very recently, I shared the common impression regarding the utility of vivisection in therapeutics. It is a belief still widely prevalent in the medical profession. Nevertheless, is it not a mistake? The therapeutical results of nearly half a century of painful experiments—we seek them in vain. Do we ask surgery? Sir William Ferguson, surgeon to the Queen, tells us: "In surgery I am not aware of any of these experiments on the lower animals having led to the mitigation of pain or to improvement as regards surgical details." [1049.] Have antidotes to poisons been discovered thereby? Says Doctor Taylor, lecturer on Toxicology for nearly half a century in the chief London Medical School (a writer whose work on Poisons is a recognized authority): "I do not know that we have as yet learned anything, so far as treatment is concerned, from our experiments with them (i.e. poisons) on animals." [1204.] Doctor Anthony, speaking of Magendie's experiments, says: "I never gained one single fact by seeing these cruel experiments in Paris. I know nothing more from them than I could have read." [2450.] Even physiologists admit the paucity of therapeutic results. Doctor Sharpey says: "I should lay less stress on the direct application of the results of vivisection to improvement in the art of healing, than upon the value of these experiments in the promotion of physiology." [394.] The Oxford professor of Physiology admitted that Etiology, the science which treats of the causes of disease, had, by these experiments, been the gainer, rather than therapeutics. [1302.] "Experiments on animals," says Doctor Thorowgood, "already extensive and numerous, cannot be said to have advanced therapeutics much."[5] Sir William Gull, M. D., was questioned before the commission whether he could enumerate any therapeutic remedies which have been discovered by vivisection, and he replied with fervor: "The cases bristle around us everywhere!" Yet, excepting Hall's experiments on the nervous system, he could enumerate only various forms of disease, our knowledge of which is due to Harvey's discovery, two hundred and fifty years ago! The question was pushed closer, and so brought to the necessity of a definite reply, he answered: "I do not say at present our therapeutics are much, but there are lines of experiment which seem to promise great help in therapeutics." [5529.] The results of two centuries of experiments, so far as therapeutics are concerned, reduced to a seeming promise!
On two points, then, the evidence of the highest scientific authorities in Great Britain seems conclusive—first, that experiments upon living animals conduce chiefly to the benefit of the science of physiology, and little, if at all, at the present day, to the treatment of disease or the amelioration of human suffering; and, secondly, that repetition of painful experiments for class-teaching in medical schools is both unnecessary and unjustifiable. Do these conclusions affect the practice of vivisection in this country? Is it true that experiments are habitually performed in some of our medical schools, often causing extreme pain, to illustrate well-known and accepted facts—experiments which English physiologists pronounce "infamous" and "atrocious," which English physicians and surgeons stigmatize as purposeless cruelty and unjustifiable—which even Huxley regards as unfitting for teaching purposes, and Darwin denounces as worthy of detestation and abhorrence? I confess I see no occasion for any over-delicate reticence in this matter. Science needs no secrecy either for her methods or results; her function is to reveal, not to hide, facts. The reply to these questions must be in the affirmative. In this country our physiologists are rather followers of Magendie and Bernard, after the methods in vogue at Paris and Leipsic, than governed by the cautious and sensitive conservatism in this respect which generally characterizes the physiological teaching of London and Oxford. In making this statement, no criticism is intended on the motives of those responsible for ingrafting continental methods upon our medical schools. If any opprobrium shall be inferred for the past performance of experiments herein condemned, the present writer asks a share in it. It is the future that we hope to change. Now, what are the facts? A recent contributor to the "International Review," referring to Mr. Bergh, says that "he assails physiological experiments with the same blind extravagance of denunciation as if they were still performed without anæsthetics, as in the time of Magendie." In the interests of scientific accuracy one would wish more care had been given to the construction of this sentence, for it implies that experiments are not now performed except with anæsthetics—a meaning its author never could have intended to convey. Every medical student in New York knows that experiments involving pain are repeatedly performed to illustrate teaching. It is no secret; one need not go beyond the frank admissions of our later text-books on physiology for abundant proof, not only of this, but of the extent to which experimentation is now carried in this country. "We have long been in the habit, in class demonstrations, of removing the optic lobe on one side from a pigeon," says Professor Flint, of Bellevue Hospital Medical College, in his excellent work on Physiology.[6] "The experiment of dividing the sympathetic in the neck, especially in rabbits, is so easily performed that the phenomena observed by Bernard and Brown-Sequard have been repeatedly verified. We have often done this in class demonstrations."[7] "The cerebral lobes were removed from a young pigeon in the usual way, an operation * * which we practice yearly as a class demonstration."[8] Referring to the removal of the cerebellum, the same authority states: "Our own experiments, which have been very numerous during the last fifteen years, are simply repetitions of those of Flourens, and the results have been the same without exception."[9] We have frequently removed both kidneys from dogs, and when the operation is carefully performed the animals live for from three to five days. * * Death always takes place with symptoms of blood poisoning."[10] In the same work we are given precise details for making a pancreatic fistula, after the method of Claude Bernard—"one we have repeatedly employed with success." "In performing the above experiment it is generally better not to employ an anæsthetic,"[11] but ether is sometimes used. In the same work is given a picture of a dog, muzzled and with a biliary fistula, as it appeared the fourteenth day after the operation, which, with details of the experiment, is quite suggestive.[12] Bernard was the first to succeed in following the spinal accessory nerve back to the jugular foramen, seizing it here with a strong pair of forceps and drawing it out by the roots. This experiment is practiced in our own country. "We have found this result (loss of voice) to follow in the cat after the spinal accessory nerves have been torn out by the roots," says Professor John C. Dalton, in his Treatise on Human Physiology.[13] "This operation is difficult," writes Professor Flint, "but we have several times performed it with entire success;" and his assistant at Bellevue Medical College has succeeded "in extirpating these nerves for class demonstrations."[14] In withdrawal of blood from the hepatic veins of a dog, "avoiding the administration of an anæsthetic" is one of the steps recommended.[15] The curious experiment of Bernard, in which artificial diabetes is produced by irritating the floor of the fourth ventricle of the brain, is carefully described, and illustrations afforded both of the instrument and the animal undergoing the operation. The inexperienced experimenter is here taught to hold the head of the rabbit "firmly in the left hand," and to bore through its skull "by a few lateral movements of the instrument." It is not a difficult operation; it is one which the author has "often repeated." He tell us "it is not desirable to administer an anæsthetic," as it would prevent success; and a little further we are told that "we should avoid the administration of anæsthetics in all accurate experiments on the glycogenic function."[16] It is true the pleasing assurance is given that "this experiment is almost painless"; but on this point, could the rabbit speak during the operation, its opinion might not accord with that of the physiologist.
There is one experiment in regard to which the severe characterization of English scientists is especially applicable, from the pain necessarily attending it. Numerous investigators have long established the fact that the great sensory nerve of the head and face is endowed with an exquisite degree of sensibility. More than half a century ago, both Magendie and Sir Charles Bell pointed out that merely exposing and touching this fifth nerve gave signs of most acute pain. "All who have divided this root in living animals must have recognized, not only that it is sensitive, but that its sensibility is far more acute than that of any other nervous trunk in the body."[17] "The fifth pair," says Professor John C. Dalton, "is the most acutely sensitive nerve in the whole body. Its irritation by mechanical means always causes intense pain, and even though the animal be nearly unconscious from the influence of ether, any severe injury to its large root is almost invariably followed by cries."[18] Testimony on this point is uniform and abundant. If science speaks anywhere with assurance, it is in regard to the properties of this nerve. Yet every year the experiment is repeated before medical classes, simply to demonstrate accepted facts. "This is an operation," says Professor Flint, referring to the division of this nerve, "that we have frequently performed with success." He adds that "it is difficult from the fact that one is working in the dark, and it requires a certain amount of dexterity, to be acquired only by practice." Minute directions are therefore laid down for the operative procedure, and illustrations given both of the instrument to be used, and of the head of a rabbit with the blade of the instrument in its cranial cavity.[19] Holding the head of our rabbit firmly in the left hand, we are directed to penetrate the cranium in a particular manner. "Soon the operator feels at a certain depth that the bony resistance ceases; he is then on the fifth pair, and the cries of the animal give evidence that the nerve is pressed upon." This is one of Magendie's celebrated experiments; perhaps the reader fancies that in its modern repetitions the animal suffers nothing, being rendered insensible by anæsthetics? "It is much more satisfactory to divide the nerve without etherizing the animal, as the evidence of pain is an important guide in this delicate operation." Anæsthetics, however, are sometimes used, but not so as wholly to overcome the pain.
Testimony of individuals, indicating the extent to which vivisection is at present practiced in this country might be given; but it seems better to submit proof within the reach of every reader, and the accuracy of which is beyond cavil. No legal restrictions whatever exist, preventing the performance of any experiment desired. Indeed, I think it may safely be asserted that, in the city of New York, in a single medical school, more pain is inflicted upon living animals as a means of teaching well-known facts, than is permitted to be done for the same purpose in all the medical schools of Great Britain and Ireland. And cui bono? "I can truly say," writes a physician who has seen all these experiments, "that not only have I never seen any results at all commensurate with the suffering inflicted, but I cannot recall a single experiment which, in the slightest degree, has increased my ability to relieve pain, or in any way fitted me to cope better with disease."
In respect to this practice, therefore, evidence abounds indicating the necessity for that State supervision which obtains in Great Britain. We cannot abolish it any more than we can repress dissection; to attempt it would be equally unwise. Within certain limitations, dictated both by a regard for the interest of science and by that sympathy for everything that lives and suffers which is the highest attribute of humanity, it seems to me that the practice of vivisection should be allowed. What are these restrictions?
The following conclusions are suggested as a basis for future legislation:
I. Any experiment or operation whatever upon a living animal, during which by recognized anæsthetics it is made completely insensible to pain, should be permitted.
This does not necessarily imply the taking of life. Should a surgeon, for example, desire to cause a fracture or tie an artery, and then permit the animal to recover so as to note subsequent effects, there is no reason why the privilege should be refused. The discomfort following such an operation would be inconsiderable. This permission should not extend to experiments purely physiological and having no definite relation to surgery; nor to mutilation from which recovery is impossible, and prolonged pain certain as a sequence.
II. Any experiment performed thus, under complete anæsthesia, though involving any degree of mutilation, if concluded by the extinction of life before consciousness is regained should also be permitted.
To object to killing animals for scientific purposes while we continue to demand their sacrifice for food, is to seek for the appetite a privilege we refuse the mind. It is equally absurd to object to vivisection because it dissects, or "cuts up." If no pain be felt, why is it worse to cut up a dog, than a sheep or an ox? Such experiments as the foregoing might be permitted to any extent desired in our medical schools.
Far more difficult is the question of painful experimentation. Unfortunately, it so happens that the most attractive original investigations are largely upon the nervous system, involving the consciousness of pain as a requisite to success. Toward this class of experiments the State should act with caution and firmness. It seems to me that the following restrictions are only just.
III. In view of the great cost in suffering, as compared with the slight profit gained by the student, the repetition, for purposes of class instruction of any experiment involving pain to a vertebrate animal should be forbidden by law.
IV. In view of the slight gain to practical medicine resulting from innumerable past experiments of this kind, a painful experiment upon a living vertebrate animal should be permitted solely for purposes of original investigation, and then only under the most rigid surveillance, and preceded by the strictest precautions. For every experiment of this kind the physiologist should be required to obtain special permission from a State board, specifying on application (1) the object of the proposed investigation, (2) the nature and method of the operation, (3) the species of animal to be sacrificed, and (4) the shortest period during which pain will probably be felt. An officer of the State should be given an opportunity to be present; and a report made, both of the length of time occupied, and the knowledge, if any, gained thereby. If these restrictions are made obligatory by statute, and their violation made punishable by a heavy fine, such experiments will be generally performed only when absolutely necessary for purposes of scientific research.
In few matters is there greater necessity for careful discrimination than in everything pertaining to this subject. The attempt has been made in this paper to indicate how far the State—leaning to mercy's side—may sanction a practice often so necessary and useful, always so dangerous in its tendencies. That is a worthy ideal of conduct which seeks
"Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels."
Is not this a sentiment in which even science may fitly share? Are we justified in neglecting the evidence she offers, purchased in the past at such immeasurable agonies, and in demanding that year after year new victims shall be subjected to torture, only to demonstrate what none of us doubt? That is the chief question. For, if all compromise be persistently rejected by physiologists, there is danger that some day, impelled by the advancing growth of humane sentiment, society may confound in one common condemnation all experiments of this nature, and make the whole practice impossible, except in secret and as a crime.