A Plea for Vegetarianism and Other Essays/Chapter 9
THE PHILOSOPHY OF CANNIBALISM.
CANNIBALISM is a subject which, though not pleasant in itself, must inevitably have some interest for those who study the food question, as marking the extreme limit of human folly and depravity in the choice of diet. It has of late been brought rather forcibly into public notice by the revelation of the terrible events connected with the Greeley Expedition and the voyage of the yacht Mignonette ; but, as a rule, it is a subject on which people are rather reticent, and in the contemplation of which society does not greatly care to indulge. I confess I think this scruple on the part of our carnivorous friends rather too squeamish and sentimental, for cannibalism is not only a branch of that great flesh-eating system of diet of which they are upholders, but it is beyond doubt the most logical and fully developed realisation of the principles on which that system is based.
Cannibalism, like ordinary flesh-eating, may claim to be a time-honoured institution. We read of cannibals in the history and legendary traditions of all ages, from the ogre Polyphemus, who, as Homer tells us, devoured the companions of Ulysses, to the modern savages of New Zealand, who did not hesitate to make a hearty meal off any prisoners, captives, or missionaries whom fortune might put in their power. Some writers have questioned the deliberate practice of cannibalism, but well-attested facts[1] concerning many savage tribes leave us no room for doubt that human flesh is often used by choice as an article of diet, and not only under the pressure of necessity or from the lack of other food. It is quite possible that there is a basis of truth in the grimly humorous stories told by the old Greek historian Herodotus of the cannibals of his age, among some of whom it was the custom when a man died for his relations to assemble and eat him, mixing his flesh with that of some animal to make it more palatable. Others again used to eat their aged parents, while a third tribe, the Padmans, carried on the practice of cannibalism in a more systematic and scientific manner. “If one of their number be ill,” says Herodotus[2] “they take the sick person, and, if he be a man, the men of his acquaintance proceed to put him to death. because, they say, his flesh would be spoilt for them if he pined and wasted away with sickness. The man protests he is not ill in the least ; but his friends will not accept his denial. In spite of all he can say, they kill him and feast themselves on his body.”
It is indisputable that there have been, and indeed are, savage tribes who deliberately prefer human flesh to other food ; and it should not escape our notice that these people, in defence of their dietetic peculiarities might use, and probably have used, arguments similar to those now-a-days brought forward by flesh-eaters in justification of their system of diet—“It has always been so;” “it is the regular rule of our society ;” “ our medical men approve of it ;” “we are strong and healthy on this diet ;” “it is evidently the law of Nature ;” “it is much kinder to the victims than to leave them to die of a lingering old age ;” “the world would be over-run with old and sick people if we did not eat them ;” “it is absolutely necessary at times to take life ;” “we must be practical, and not give way to humanitarian sentiment”—all these are fallacies which must surely have been employed by many a patriotic cannibal, as well as by the Englishmen who are determined to see no fault in their native beef. There is no lack of instances of a belief in the advantages of a cannibalistic diet. The Grand Khan of Tartary is said to have fattened his magicians and astronomers with the carcases of condemned criminals ; on the same principle, I suppose, as our clergymen and men of science find they need plenty of butchers’ meat to insure a proper fulfilment of their professional duties. Richard Cœur de Lion, according to an old English ballad, owed his recovery from a serious illness to a Turk’s head, which his cook dressed for him as a substitute for pork. The Caribbees were said to prefer sucking infants to all other food, and doubtless felt all the affecting partiality for this form of diet which Charles Lamb expressed for roast sucking-pig. In fact, so many merits have been discovered, at different times and in different places, in human flesh, when used for culinary purposes, that it is to be regretted that no enterprising cannibals volunteered to open a department in the late Health Exhibition as a counterpoise to the Vegetarian dining—room, and an encouragement to flesh-eaters in general.
But of late cannibalism has for some reason or other fallen into disrepute, even among those who ought logically to be numbered among its supporters. Its scientific and systematic practice is now relegated to a few barbarous nations, while Europeans, although still addicted in the main to flesh-eating, become cannibals only under the pressure of some great necessity, as in time of siege or shipwreck, and even then the utmost exertions are usually made by the survivors to keep secret the manner in which they preserved their own lives. When the fact became known that cannibalism had been practised by the survivors in the Greeley Expedition, “the public conscience,” as the daily papers informed us, “was inexpressibly pained and shocked at these revelations.” Now, all Food Reformers must necessarily be glad to notice any sign of the existence of a public conscience in relation to the question of food, for the principle to which flesh-eaters usually appeal is that “law of Nature” which prompts the stronger animals to prey on the weaker, and which is sometimes naively described, by a happy inversion, as “the great law of self-sacrifice.” If once the public conscience can be awakened, it is possible that in time it may be inexpressibly pained and shocked by other things besides cannibalism, which are now established as mere every-day matters in our midst. So, without wishing to weaken the just detestation in which cannibalism is at present held, I should like to inquire a little into the reasons on which this abhorrence is based, and to see if they do not lead us to wider and fuller conclusions than those hitherto reached by well-meaning anti-cannibalistic flesh-eaters.
In what, then, does the peculiar horror of cannibalism consist? Not in the mere taking of human life, for war, the profession of killing, is everywhere held in high esteem, and it is only of late years that duelling has ceased to be equally popular. If we are thought to be justified in killing our fellow-creatures for the sake of prestige, honour, and empire, why should we be ashamed to do so for more solid dietetic advantages, if a diet of human flesh were considered wholesome and necessary ? It is obvious that the popular aversion to cannibalism is based, and justly so, on the intuitive knowledge that such a diet is unnatural, unwholesome, and disgusting ; the very word “cannibal,” or “dog-like,” is indicative of the popular sentiment. It is rightly felt that there are some foods of which it is filthy and dog-like to partake, and the public conscience is accordingly shocked when some shipwrecked individuals from time to time are found to have preferred such a diet to the alternative of starvation. On the whole, this is as it should be ; but it is to be regretted that the public conscience should be so partial and intermittent in its promptings, branding as infamy the mad act of a few starving and scarcely responsible men, while it calmly ignores or sanctions an established system which outrages every feeling of decency and humanity For let those who shudder at the horrors of cannibalism lay aside for once all the prejudice of custom and conventionalism, and think of the real meaning of the slaughter of animals for food. Let them track the beef-steak or the mutton-chop, which they so greatly relish at lunch, first to the butcher’s shop and then to the slaughter-house, and, finally, let them seriously consider Whether the upholders of such a system are justified in expressing any virtuous horror at the diet of which cannibals partake. They may call their butcher a “purveyor” and his slaughter-house an “abattoir,” but they cannot evade the fact that their own daily food is in its substance disgusting, and procured by a process which is loathsome to all the finer instincts of their mind.
It is said that the Papuan inhabitants of New Britain are accustomed to expose human flesh for sale in their shops and markets. This, if true, is certainly very sad and terrible, but it is even more sad and undeniably true, that the people of old Britain look with perfect composure and satisfaction on the horrible array of dangling limbs and quartered carcases which is everywhere to be seen along the main thoroughfares of the most civilised towns. If we wish to see cannibalism (in its literal sense) rampant and unchecked, we need not go very far from home to enjoy this instructive spectacle, for the roast beef of Old England, as well as the roast man of New Britain, will supply a fruitful subject of meditation to those who deplore that dog-like perversity of appetite which prompts men to glut themselves with food at once disgusting and degrading, while they neglect or despise the pure and simple gifts scattered everywhere by the bountiful hand of Nature.