An ethical problem; or, Sidelights upon scientific experimentation on man and animals

by Albert Leffingwell

Take another instance. In the International Journal of Ethics for April, 1904, there appeared an article in defence of animal experimentation by Professor Charles S. Myers of the University of Cambridge, England. Of any abuses of the practice, Dr. Myers gave his readers no reason for believing that he had ever heard; and as an indication, perhaps, of an animal's eagerness to be vivisected, he tells us that "again and again dogs have been observed to wag the tail and lick the hands of the operator even immediately before the beginning of the operation." Commenting upon the singular conclusion which this fact seemed to suggest to Dr. Myers, the present writer quoted a sentence or two from an editorial which once appeared in the columns of the London Lancet.[1] It would apparently seem that Dr. Myers brought the quotation to the attention of someone in the editorial office of the Lancet, on whose judgment he thought he might safely rely; for, in a reply, he refers to it as a quotation "attributed to the editor of the Lancet, which, AFTER SPECIAL INQUIRY, I HAVE REASON FOR DOUBTING." Concerning a reference to some of Dr. Sydney Ringer's experiments upon patients in a London hospital, he is even more confident that they could never have occurred, and indignantly rejoins, "I unhesitatingly declare SUCH ABOMINABLE ACCUSATIONS TO BE FALSE."

[1] See p. 73 for this Lancet editorial.

Now, all this indignant scepticism was rather creditable to the writer's heart. That an English medical journal like the Lancet should denounce vivisection cruelties, or that a reputable London physician should experiment on his patients with various poisons, seemed to Dr. Myers beyond the bounds of belief. But it is always a serious thing positively to deny any historical reference simply because of personal ignorance of its truth. It was quite easy to refer the sceptic not only to the editorial which he thought he "HAD REASON FOR DOUBTING," but also to the experiments on human beings concerning which his indignation rose so high. To be ignorant of Dr. Ringer's experiments on his patients is to be ignorant of the history of modern medicine. The Medical Times (London) in its issue of November 10, 1883, thus editorially commented upon certain of these experiments:

"…In publishing, and, indeed, in instituting their reckless experiments on the effect of nitrite of sodium on the human subject, Professor Ringer and Dr. Murrill have made a deplorably false move…. It is impossible to read the paper in last week's Lancet without distress. Of the EIGHTEEN adults to whom Drs Ringer and Murrill administered the drug in 10-grain doses, all but one averred that they would expect to drop down dead if they ever took another dose…. Whatever credit may be given to Drs. Ringer and Murrill for scientific enthusiasm, it is impossible to acquit them of grave indiscretion. There will be a howl throughout the country IF IT COMES OUT THAT THE OFFICERS OF A PUBLIC CHARITY ARE IN THE HABIT OF TRYING SUCH USELESS AND CRUEL EXPERIMENTS ON THE PATIENTS COMMITTED TO THEIR CARE."[1]

[1] In all quotations, here and elsewhere throughout this volume, the italics have been supplied.

What but ignorance of the history of medicine during the last fifty years could lead any one to deny the occurrence of experiments, the proofs of which rest on statements in medical journals, and in the published works of the experimenters themselves?

One of the most singular statements concerning vivisection that ever appeared in print was given out not many years ago by one of the professors of physiology in Harvard Medical School.[2] The accuracy of this manifesto—which purported to be "a plain statement of the whole truth"—received the endorsement of five of the leading teachers of science in the same institution, men whose scientific reputation would naturally give great weight to their affirmations regarding any question of fact. So impressed was the editor of the Boston Transcript with the apparent weight of this testimony, that he declared in its columns that "the character and standing of the men whose names are given as responsible for this explanation to the Boston public, FORBID ANY QUESTIONING OF ITS STATEMENT OF FACTS." What is the value of authority in matters of science, if assertions so fortified by illustrious names are to be received with doubt?

[2] See "The Vivisection Question," pp. 114-133 and 253.

The inaccuracy which characterized this "statement of the whole truth" was demonstrated at the time it appeared; but to one paragraph attention may be recalled. The manifesto touches the question of past cruelties in animal experimentation, not merely without the slightest criticism or condemnation, but, on the contrary, with what would seem to be a definite denial that anything reprehensible had ever occurred. It contemptuously referred to evidence of abuses, as "these reiterated charges of cruelty, THESE LONG LISTS OF ATROCITIES THAT NEVER EXISTED." What other meaning could the average reader obtain than the suggestion that the cruelties of Spallanzani, of Magendie, of Mantegazza, of Brown-Se'quard, of Brachet, and a host of others, existed only in the imagination, AND HAD NO BASIS OF FACT? For this astounding suggestion, what explanation is possible? That there was a deliberate purpose to mislead the public by an affirmation that cruel and unjustifiable experiments were a myth, the creation of imagination, is an hypothesis we must reject. But there must have been a stupendous ignorance concerning the past history of animal experimentation. Simply because of their utter lack of knowledge regarding history, distinguished scientists became responsible for suggesting to the public that the story of the past cruelty of vivisection was a myth, and unworthy of belief.

While illustrations of this singular ignorance of the past might be almost indefinitely multiplied, another example must for the present suffice. It is afforded by the evidence given before the Royal Commission of Vivisection in 1906, by Sir William Osler, M.D., Fellow of the Royal Society, and Regius Professor of Medicine at the University of Oxford. In the course of his examination, the following dialogue occurred:[1]