Lastly came these remarks which at this day have force and application greater even than when written—
I like not this never-ending recurrence to Acts of Parliament. Something must be left, and something ought to be left, to the sense and reason and morality and religion of the people. There are a set of well-meaning men in this country, who would pass laws for the regulating and restraining of every feeling of the human breast, and every motion of the human frame: they would bind us down, hair by hair, as the Liliputians did Gulliver, till anon, when we awoke from our sleep, we should wonder by whom we had been enslaved. But I trust, Sir, that Parliament is not, and never will be, so far under the influence of these minute and meddling politicians as to be induced to pass laws for taking out of a man’s hands the management of his household, the choice of his physician, and the care of the health of his children; for, under this sort of domiciliary thraldom, to talk of the liberty of the country would be the most cruel mockery wherewith an humble and subjected people were ever insulted.[181]
Cobbett, be it observed, thus addressed Wilberforce in 1803, when vaccination was as yet imperfectly tested, and its advocates were in the full blast of enthusiastic persuasion that to be Jennerised was to be made proof against smallpox for ever. When Cobbett had again occasion to write about cowpox, six years had passed away, bearing with them the phantastic certainty with which vaccination had been imposed upon public credulity. Nevertheless the practice was not abandoned: quackery once alive and lucrative, dies hard: but it was discredited, and its apologists exercised their ingenuity in devising explanations and excuses for its manifest failures. The Royal Jennerian Society had split between Jenner and Walker, and application to Parliament was resolved upon for two purposes—first, to save Jenner from poverty; and second, to provide funds for the maintenance of vaccination, voluntary subscriptions having fallen off irretrievably. In short, vaccination had broken down, and the House of Commons was called upon to save it from extinction. There were wire-pullers in the House and out of the House who were compromised by their patronage of Jenner and his imposture, and they had the craft and the power to transfer the responsibility of which they were sick to the national exchequer. With this explanation, we shall understand the following article from the Register of 18th June, 1808. Cobbett wrote—
This experiment with Cowpox, which has cost the nation £30,000 to Dr. Jenner, is now, it seems, to have an Act of Parliament to give it currency. Mr. Rose has brought in a bill for the purpose of establishing a central institution in London for the distribution of Cowpox matter, which bill in all appearance will pass; and this disgusting and degrading remedy will cost the nation another £4,000 or £5,000 annually, though it has been clearly proved not to have answered the purpose intended. This, however, I regard as cheap when compared with the menace of Mr. Fuller, who, in the debate, proposed a compulsory law on the subject. He took up the old idea of Mr. Wilberforce, who was for a law to prevent parents from having their children inoculated with Smallpox unless they chose to send them to pest-houses, or to some place at a considerable distance from any other habitations. This cruel and tyrannical proposition I opposed at the time; and I am happy to perceive that it is now almost universally exploded.
Whilst Cobbett could not arrest the action of Parliament, he was short-sighted in considering that the proposed endowment of vaccination was merely a question of the loss of a few thousands a year. We are saddled with vaccination at this day, its costs and mischiefs, by reason of the vote for the National Vaccine Establishment in 1808. As soon as an annual subsidy is placed on the estimates, interests are created, which not only perpetuate themselves, but constantly tend to enlargement; and such interests, once created, can only be got rid of when proved useless by agitation out of doors and persistent pressure on the House of Commons.
Referring to a notorious outbreak of smallpox among a vaccinated population at Ringwood in Hampshire, Cobbett continued—
I should like to have heard Mr. Rose’s statement of the circumstances at Ringwood, whence, he says, it is evident that the failure arose “from the use of improper matter.” That many persons, who had been inoculated with Cowpox, caught Smallpox and died at Ringwood, is a fact that even the Royal Jennerian Society cannot deny; and this being the case, what man in his senses will put any faith in the efficacy of Cowpox as a preventive of Smallpox? The thing is done. It has failed, and it is vain to endeavour to prop up its reputation; for, in a few years, it will become proverbial as humbug.
A prophecy, it will be said, that has not been fulfilled. True: but in Cobbett’s time it advanced far to fulfilment. All the unqualified promises under which vaccination was brought into practice, were one by one surrendered under the compulsion of experience. The mass of the people remained unvaccinated; the zeal for vaccinating the poor abated; and the practice continued among the middle and upper classes on the humblest pretexts—as something that might hinder or mitigate smallpox, and in any case do little harm. We have to recollect that the mania for vaccination which now prevails is a revival of a prescription which our forefathers had tested and found wanting. Vaccination fell into neglect, not because there was indifference to smallpox, but because it did not prevent that disease.
The excuse for the first failures of vaccination was, that spurious cowpox must have been employed—spurious cowpox being the artful invention of Jenner to cover disasters; artful, and yet absurd, for how could cowpox exist spuriously any more than smallpox? The precise fact, that spurious cowpox was the dodge of an unscrupulous quack was unknown to Cobbett, but he was sharp enough to recognise imposture, and thus wrote—
The pretext of spurious matter is the weakest defence that ever was set up, because it is evident that such will always be an excuse. The Methodist pike who told his shoal of gudgeons that if they had faith, they might jump into a chalk pit without so much as spraining their ankles, answered all their reproaches with saying, that their broken bones were owing to their own sin in not having faith, and referred, for proof, to one among them who had accidentally escaped unhurt. All who catch Smallpox and die have been Cowpoxed with spurious matter, and all who have not yet caught Smallpox, after the Cowpox operation, have had the pure matter; and so it will be, to be sure, to the end of the chapter.