Vegetable Diet: As Sanctioned by Medical Men, and by Experience in All Ages / Including a System of Vegetable Cookery

by William A. Alcott

I. THE ANATOMICAL ARGUMENT.

There has been a time when the teeth and intestines of man were supposed to indicate the necessity of a mixed diet—a diet partly animal and partly vegetable. Four out of thirty-two teeth were found to resemble slightly, the teeth of carnivorous animals. In like manner, the length of the intestinal tube was thought to be midway between that of the flesh-eating, and that of the herb-eating quadrupeds. But, unfortunately for this mode of defending an animal diet, it has been found out that the fruit and vegetable-eating monkey race, and the herb-eating camel, have the said four-pointed teeth much more pointed than those of man and that the intestines, compared with the real length of the body, instead of assigning to man a middle position, would place him among the herbivorous animals. In short—for I certainly need not dwell on this part of my subject, after having adduced so fully the views of Prof. Lawrence and Baron Cuvier—there is no intelligent naturalist or comparative anatomist, at present, who attempts to resort for one moment to man's structure, in support of the hypothesis that he is a flesh-eater. None, so far as I know, will affirm, or at least with any show of reason maintain, that anatomy, so far as that goes, is in favor of flesh eating. We come, then, to another and more important division of our subject.

II. THE PHYSIOLOGICAL ARGUMENT.

One of the advantages of vegetable-eaters over others, is in the superior appetite which they enjoy. There are many flesh-eaters who have what they call a good appetite. But I never knew a person of this description, who made the change from a mixed diet to one purely vegetable, who did not afterward acknowledge that he never once knew, while he was an eater of animal food, a truly perfect appetite. This testimony in favor of vegetable diet is positive; whereas that of the multitude, who have never made the change I speak of, but who are therefore the more ready to laugh at the conclusions, is merely negative.

A person of perfect appetite can eat at all times, and under all circumstances. He can eat of one thing or another, and in greater or less quantity. Were there no objections to it, he could make an entire meal of the coarsest and most indigestible substances; or, he could eat ten or fifteen times a day; or, he could eat a quantity at once which would astonish even a Siberian; or, on the contrary, he could abstain from food entirely, for a short time; and any of these without serious inconvenience. He would, indeed, feel a slight want of something (in the case of total abstinence), when the usual hour arrived for taking a meal; but the sensation is not an abiding one; when the hour has passed by, it entirely disappears. Nor is there ever, at least for a day or two of abstinence, that gnawing at the stomach, as some express it, which is so often felt by the flesh-eater and the devourer of other mixed and injurious dishes and which is so generally mistaken for true and genuine hunger.

I have said that the vegetable-eater finds no serious inconvenience from the quality or quantity of his food; but I mean to speak here of the immediate effects solely. No doubt every error of this sort produces mischief, sooner or later. The more perfect the appetite is, the greater should be our moral power of commanding it, and of controlling the quality and quantity of our food and drink, as well as the times and seasons of receiving it.

These statements, I am aware, are contrary to the received and current opinion; but that they are true, can be proved, not by one person merely,—though if that person were to be entirely relied on, his positive affirmation would outweigh a thousand negative testimonies,—but by many hundreds. It is more generally supposed that he who confines himself to a simple diet, soon brings his stomach into such a state that the slightest departure from his usual habits for once only, produces serious inconveniences; and this indeed is urged as an argument against simplicity itself. Yet, how strange! How much more natural to suppose that the more perfect the health of the stomach, the better it will bear, for a time, with slight or even serious departures from truth and nature! How much more natural to suppose that perfect health is the very best defence against all the causes which tend to invite or to provoke disease! And what it would be natural to infer, is proved by experience to be strictly true. The thorough-going vegetable-eater can make a meal for once, or perhaps feed for a day or so, on substances which would almost kill many others; and can do so with comparative impunity. He can make a whole meal of cheese, cabbage, fried pudding, fried dough-nuts, etc., etc.; and if it be not in remarkable excess, he will feel no immediate inconvenience, unless from the mental conviction that he must pay the full penalty at some distant day.

I repeat it, the appetite of the vegetable-eater, if true to his principles, and temperate in regard to quantity, is always, at all moments of his life, perfect. To be sure, he is not always hungry. Hunger, indeed, as I have already intimated—what most people call hunger, a morbid sensation, or gnawing—is unknown to him. But there is scarce a moment of his life, at least, when he is awake, in which he could not enjoy the pleasures of eating, even the coarsest viands, with a high relish; provided, however, he knew it was proper for him to eat. Nor is his appetite fickle, demanding this or that particular article, and disconcerted if it cannot be obtained. It is satisfied with any thing to which the judgment directs; and though gratified, in a high degree, with dainties, when nothing better and more wholesome cannot be obtained, never demanding them in a peremptory manner.

The vegetable-eater has a more quiet, happy, and perfect digestion than the flesh-eater. On this point there has been much mistake, even among physiologists. Richerand and many others suppose that a degree of constitutional disturbance is indispensable during the process of digestion; and some have even said that the system was subjected at every meal—nay, at every healthy meal—to a species of miniature fever. The remarks of Richerand are as follows. I have slightly abridged them, but have not altered the sense:

"While the alimentary solution is going on, a slight shivering is felt; the pulse becomes quicker and more contracted; the vital power seems to forsake the other organs, to concentrate itself on that which is the seat of the digestive process. As the stomach empties itself, the shivering is followed by a gentle warmth; the pulse increases in fullness and frequency; and the insensible perspiration is augmented. Digestion brings on, therefore, a general action, analogous to a febrile paroxysm."