Enlightenment scientists were fixated on the concept of natural origins; in a divinely designed world, the narrative of ‘in the beginning’ held enormous sway. Even in the nineteenth century the radical Darwinist, Ernst Haeckel (1834–1919), noted that the human appendix was a ‘relic of an organ that was much larger and was of great service in our vegetarian ancestors.’37 Still today scientists employ calipers to determine whether human teeth betray a herbivorous or carnivorous evolutionary origin and archaeologists examine prehistoric remains to discover when Homo sapiens first started hunting. Despite the recognition that ‘nature’ consists in continual flux, there still remains in Western culture a paradigm of the ‘natural’ which is supposed to define the fixed essence of our being.
At the same moment as Wallis and Tyson’s announcements in London, a similar gesture of turning to empirical evidence to shed light on the old vegetarian debate was made in the French academy by Louis Lémery (1677–1743) in his university textbook, the Traité des Aliments (1702), translated into English as A Treatise of Foods (1704). Lémery opened his entire discussion of food by addressing the formidable school of Gassendist vegetarians in the French academies who argued that because human anatomy was designed to be herbivorous, meat causes excessive fermentations and tends to ‘corrupt our Humours, and occasion divers Diseases’.38 Rather than contradicting them in theory, Lémery acknowledged that man had lost touch with nature: ‘it looks as if the Food which the God of Nature designed for us, and what best agreed with us should be Plants, seeing that Mankind were never so hail and vigorous as in those first Ages, wherein they made use of them.’ But after a detailed discussion of all the issues, Lémery’s final conclusion, like that of Wallis and Tyson, was pragmatic:
it may be, if [meat] had never been used, and that Men had been content to feed upon a certain number of Plants only, it would have been never the worse for them: But it’s no longer a question to be disputed, and if it be an abuse, it has so long obtained by Custom in the World, that it is become necessary.39
Though in practice few could imagine a world without chicken fricassée, on the theoretical front the vegetarians were making serious headway. So astonishingly widespread were views like these that one might reasonably see a coalescing intellectual orthodoxy. Scientists had ‘proved’ the old claim that man was originally a herbivore and meat-eating was an unnatural deviation from his intended diet. Academics across the board assented to Gassendi’s arguments – even those affiliated to rival schools of thought, including Cartesians such as Antoine le Grand and Hobbesians such as Pufendorf. That man was originally designed as a herbivore became a controversial medical fact accepted by scientists from all parts of Europe. But one question remained – was it feasible or desirable to bring man back from the path of corruption and return him to his natural diet? In the wake of the scientific case, a wave of practising doctors dedicated their careers to achieving just this. In the course of promoting vegetables as nutritious and meat as potentially damaging, this growing school of vegetarian medics laid the foundations for the modern understanding of diet and lifestyle.
TWELVE
The Mitre and the Microscope: Philippe Hecquet’s Catholic Fast Food
At the beginning of the eighteenth century vegetarianism emerged as a powerful voice in France and other Catholic countries, by knitting scientific discoveries to the Church’s traditional teaching on abstinence. Many of the early Church fathers had been penitent ascetics, believing that luxury corrupted and abstinence was the key to purification. St Clement of Alexandria, Tertullian and St John Cassian concurred that meat was a lust-inducing luxury.1 Good Christians did not have ‘unpleasing smells of meat amongst them’, said St John Chrysostom: ‘The increase of luxury is but the multiplication of dung!’2 St Peter, St Matthew and St James were said to have lived entirely upon vegetables, and even the anti-vegetarian St Augustine maintained that Christ ‘allowed no animal food to his own disciples’.3
But while they agreed that abstinence was a virtue, the Church fathers equally insisted that it was not a sin to eat flesh.4 One of the principal purposes of religion was to show that the world had been made for man’s use. Even abstinence-endorsing texts like the Clementine Homilies assented to the orthodoxy that God made animals for man ‘to make fishes, birds, and beasts his prey’.5 Claiming otherwise was dangerously subversive and was indelibly associated with the pagan Pythagoreans and the heretic Manicheans and Cathars.6 ‘[Pythagoreans] abstain on account of the fable about the transmigration of souls,’ insisted Origen. ‘We, however, when we do abstain, do so because ‘‘we keep under our body, and bring it into subjection’’.’7 Animals had no rational soul, insisted St Augustine, and were a matter of indifference to humans. Hurling the Gadarene swine off a cliff, he said, twisting the meaning of the Gospels, was Christ’s way of showing ‘that to refrain from the killing of animals and the destroying of plants is the height of superstition’.8
Keeping heretical vegetarianism at bay, the Catholic Church instituted its own laws on periodical fasting that emphasised the virtues of abstinence. Eating flesh inflamed fleshly passions and was a luxury, so it was forbidden on fast days. The medieval Church banned flesh and even dairy products on half the days of the year; even in the comparatively lax seventeenth century, flesh was forbidden for the forty days of Lent as well as every Friday and other holy days. Fish, a cold sexless animal, did not contain the sanguine humours that stirred desires, so it was a permitted accompaniment to Lenten bread and vegetables (an interesting source of modern ‘piscatarian vegetarianism’). For most people, who could not afford fish or substitutes such as almond milk, the Lent diet was a meagre affair. For members of the strictest monastic orders such as the Carthusians and Capuchins, the same restrictions applied all the year round.9
It was partly this very institutionalisation of abstinence from flesh which meant that ‘vegetarianism’ as a separate religious position did not take hold as much in Catholic countries as it did in Protestant regions after the Reformation. Any Catholic who did branch out and make abstinence from flesh a doctrinal issue would be liable to immediate condemnation as a heretic. Contrariwise, during the Reformation, Protestants rejected Catholic fast laws, claiming that outlawing flesh constituted a blasphemous rejection of God’s gifts to man and was thus indistinguishable from heretical vegetarianism. John Calvin called the Catholic proscription of flesh a ‘sacrilegious opinion’.10 The humanist Erasmus of Rotterdam, in his Epystell concerning the forbedynge of eatynge of fleshe (1534), suggested that Catholic fast police were unwise for punishing peasants who dared nibble on a dry bacon rind while the rich supped on sturgeon and hot spicy rocket ‘and such other thynges which kyndleth the genitales’.11 It was missing the point of the fast to focus so particularly on the issue of meat-eating.
In England, Henry Holland, vicar of St Bride’s in London, proclaimed the Catholic fast a ‘doctrine of devils’ passed down to them from the Satanically inspired vegetarian Egyptian priests, the Persian magi and the ‘wizards of India’.12 In Lenten Stuffe (1599), the satirist Thomas Nashe dismissed the ichthyic diet as useless ‘flegmatique’ food and depicted abstinent monks as ‘Rhomish rotten Pithagoreans or Carthusian friers, that mumpe on nothing but fishe’. He even implied that the continental temperance writers Luigi Cornaro and Leonard Lessius were part of a counter-Reformation conspiracy attempting to infiltrate Protestant countries with superstitious abstinence.13 Even John Donne snidely equated salad-eating with madness and Papism, ‘Like Nebuchadnezar perchance with grass and flowers,/ A sallet worse than Spanish dieting’.14 In the political arena, Queen Elizabeth trod the knife-edge of compromise. Though it remained illegal to eat flesh on fast days, the Acts of Parliament insisted that this was in order to alleviate the pressure on livestock, boost the fish trade, stimulate shipbuilding and thus support the navy – and ‘not for any superstition’.15 Some Protestants thought that watering down the Lenten fast was a bad idea. Sir William Vaughan, the American colonist, felt that
the Elizabethan Acts failed to bridle the appetites of libertines, and suggested that a healthy dose of vegetarianism would do them good. But like Bacon and Bushell, he was at pains to insist that his dietary convictions were not a sign of Catholic superstition.16
While in England critics of meat-eating had to demarcate themselves from Catholicism, in France vegetarianism was often absorbed into the religious establishment. Whereas Bushell and Crab withdrew from society in order to pursue their vegetarian beliefs, across the Channel Armand-Jean de Rancé (1626–1700) used the monastic system as a means of publicly championing abstinence from flesh.
Rancé lived a worldly existence as a youth at the Parisian court until 1657 when the lady of scandalous reputation whom he adored and with whom he probably had a passionate affair, Marie, Duchess of Montbazon, died of scarlet fever. Renouncing his former life, Rancé turned to the revival of severe asceticism, bringing the Cistercian monastic order back to the rule of St Benedict which had forbidden ‘the eating of the flesh of quadrupeds’.17 Basing his popular movement at the monastery of La Trappe, he insisted on hard physical labour and absolutely forbade meat, cheese, eggs, butter and even fish. The order thrived throughout the eighteenth century and escaped suppression after the French Revolution in 1791 by fleeing to Geneva; it still survives, though they now permit themselves fish, eggs and dairy products.18
Rancé’s numerous pamphlets on abstinence and the thousands of proclamations about the fast laws published by the Catholic diocese all lauded the physical and spiritual benefits of the Lenten diet. So when vegetarians appeared in the eighteenth century claiming that abstinence was healthy, they had a strong ground-rock of endorsement from the state religion.19 For example, in 1700 the French medic Barthelemy Linand, in his Abstinence from Flesh made Easy, suggested that the fleshless Lenten diet was beneficial even when practised 365 days a year. Linand’s medical colleagues applauded his aggregation of ‘medical precepts’ with ‘good advice on Christian morality, & hygiene’, and his book stayed on university reading lists across the Continent for over half a century.20
Foremost in the marriage between Catholic fast laws and advances in natural philosophy was the Parisian physician Philippe Hecquet (1661–1737). In 1709 Hecquet introduced his oeuvres with a manifesto reminiscent of Wallis, Tyson and Lémery, that he would ‘examine by the principles of Medicine & Physics, which is the most natural diet for man; if the use of meat is suitable & absolutely necessary to him’.21 His scientific findings, he hoped, would shore up morality and theology, in a school of thought which he dubbed ‘Theological Medicine’. Publishing his major works in French for the burgeoning educated classes rather than in Latin (which was swiftly falling out of fashion), Hecquet provided the public and particularly the poor with a cheap self-help method of preserving health.22 Although he has been almost completely ignored by modern scholarship, and his virulent Catholic slant prevented his works from ever being translated into English, Hecquet was a pioneer of the widespread movement of dietary medicine and vegetarianism in Europe.
After graduating in medicine from the University of Reims, Hecquet established himself as a practising doctor in Paris. In 1688, at the age of twenty-seven, he was offered the prestigious post of personal physician to the noblewoman Catherine-Françoise de Bretagne, who was retiring to the convent of Port-Royal-des-Champs a few leagues south of Paris. Port-Royal (nerve-centre of the highly controversial Jansenist movement, famous for converts such as Blaise Pascal) was dedicated to the mortification of human flesh and Hecquet plunged himself into their harsh ascetic regime.
On the most basic level this proved to him that he could live on meagre foods even while sustaining rigorous study and zealous charity work for the poor, whom he travelled miles on foot to visit, scorning the luxury of coaches. Within a year, though still only twenty-eight years old, his health started to trouble him and his friends, who blamed it on the deprivations of monastic life, exhorted him to leave Port-Royal and return to Paris. But Hecquet declined, and spent the rest of his life insisting that the monastic diet was, on the contrary, exceptionally invigorating.23
Following the death of his patroness in 1693, Hecquet established a successful medical practice in Paris, serving both the nobility – including the Prince of Condé – and the poor in the Hospital of Charity.24 Hecquet united his role as doctor with those of preacher and lay social reformer by attacking both the medical and moral evils of modern urban luxury, and principally the unnecessary consumption of flesh. The pinnacle of decadence, felt Hecquet, was the laxity that people of his generation were now showing with regard to the Lent fast.
Traditionally individuals had been able to gain exemption from the fast if they could show that they were so ill they needed meat to strengthen their bodies. An exemption certificate had to be endorsed by a doctor, countersigned by a priest, and then taken to the one licensed Lent butcher in Paris at the Hôtel-Dieu. This system, Hecquet proclaimed in his Traité des Dispenses du Carême (1709) (Treatise on Exemptions from the Lent Fast), was now being widely abused. Whereas eighty years ago only 450 people obtained fast-exemption certificates, there were now 37,000 people buying beef during Lent, using ‘specious pretexts’ and even bribery, while still more got it on the black market. Tobacco was widely smoked, and, still worse, the definition of fish was extended to include any aquatic animal including ducks, otters and porpoises! As a litmus test to society as a whole, this indicated that Paris was eighty-three times more decadent than just one lifetime ago. Strict fasting, Hecquet felt, was a matter of urgent nationalist resistance to the infiltration of Protestant laxity. Using Lenten indulgence as a sign of the general carnivorous malaise in society, Hecquet began his wholesale campaign against flesh.25
Hecquet joined the new wave of Cartesian doctors who were reforming the understanding of animal physiology. Descartes had based his system on the discoveries of the English physician William Harvey, who demonstrated at the beginning of the seventeenth century that the pulse of the heart pumped blood round the body in a circuit of vessels.26 Descartes used this as a linchpin in his argument that animal life consisted in the heat of the heart, which caused the circulation of the blood, which in turn drove all the other mechanics of the body. Taking Descartes’ lead, the Italian physiologists Lorenzo Bellini (1643–1704) and Giovanni Borelli (1608–79) instituted what would become the dominant physiological theory of ‘iatromechanics’ (from the Greek iatros meaning physician), which conceived of the human body as a complicated hydraulic machine made of pipes, pumps, levers, fibres, vibrations and forces.
This school was developed further by the Scottish professor Archibald Pitcairne who fused the mechanism of the Italian Cartesians with Isaac Newton’s latest observations in physics and mathematics.27 With such a sturdy scientific base, Pitcairne and his followers were confident that medical research could yield the same degree of certainty as a mathematical equation.28 Animal life and health, said Pitcairne, depended on the free and regular circulation of the blood.29 Sickness, by contrast, was caused by an excessive or diminished circulation, a blockage or rupture in the body’s pipework, or an over-thickness or -thinness of the blood.30 Pitcairne spawned a school of mathematically minded iatromechanists in Britain, which included Newton’s personal doctor Richard Mead, who also read Hecquet’s books.31
William Harvey had realised that the blood flowed away from the heart through the arteries and returned through the veins, but how exactly the blood got from one to the other remained a matter of speculation until Marcello Malpighi of Bologna (in 1661) and the keen-eyed Dutchman Antoni van Leeuwenhoek (in 1680) independently used primitive microscopes to watch blood globules (which we now know to be haemoglobin) passing through capillaries between the arteries and the veins. These microscopic vessels were the missing link which completed the jigsaw of the body’s hydraulic system. Leeuwenhoek noticed that the globules only just managed to squeeze their way through the capillaries, and observed blockages hindering the flow.32
Latch
ing his vegetarian critique onto these recent findings, Hecquet extrapolated that when people ate flesh, the ‘cumbersome’ globules therein entered the body’s hydraulic system and ‘diminish[ed] its ability to circulate’. He warned that globules also agglomerated in the lymph vessels and in the gut, hindering digestion, producing bad blood and fattening people more than it nourished them. Besides, as his friend, the leading German iatromechanist Friedrich Hoffman (1660– 1743), observed, people tended to have too much of the globular part of the blood, so the last thing they needed was an extra dose from flesh. This, explained Hecquet, was why the Bible forbade the eating of blood.33
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