Dogmatism on any subject is dangerous: in matters of food it is fatal. One man’s meat is literally another man’s poison, and because one of the writers knows that personally he can digest without the slightest discomfort a heavy supper, sleep the sleep of the just, and rise cheerful and hungry for breakfast, he would be making a great mistake in recommending such a course for a dyspeptic person, with a view to the strengthening of his digestive processes. In fact, if a naturally dyspeptic person persevered in such a system, this unfortunate scribe would probably be summoned to attend—with shame and dishonour—a coroner’s inquest. On the other hand, should the dyspeptic so far win him over as to make him give what he would call a “fair trial” to a simple diet, “the only diet” he would say “on which it is possible to keep fairly well,” he would, if it was persevered with, be probably asked in a public place what he knew about this suicide. But the moral of these gloomy reflections is clear enough: namely, that in questions of eating and drinking and smoking, what is to be ascertained is the diet which will keep A or B in good health for the proper performance of a citizen’s duties. Whatever diet (or absence of diet) continues to give good results after a protracted trial is almost certainly good for the individual in question. Whether it would be good for another individual it is impossible to say, but if any one person, even though he lived exclusively on green cigars and Egyptian mummies, continued to be in his most excellent health on such a diet, it would be foolish to urge him, except on the score of expense in the way of import duties, to change it.

But the majority of people are not at their best, and know it. When they are in hard work which, as far as we can see in the present highly competitive state of the world, is becoming the normal condition for man, their bodily health, and in particular their bodily activity, sensibly declines. Then perhaps there comes a lull, and they rush off into the country to be out of doors all day, and play games, or shoot or hunt, and get sensibly better. They have more appetite for food, and as a natural consequence digest it better, since wholesome appetite is a fair enough sign-post pointing to the pleasant place called “Eat.” Then the lull ceases; they go back to work again, with a gradual decline of appetite. At these cross-roads, so to speak, for the most part they take the wrong turning, and continue to eat much as before. Horrors ensue.

The fact is that most people when taking a great deal of exercise are able to digest, and, what is not less important, to assimilate, not only larger quantities of food than they can assimilate when in full sedentary work, but a different sort of food. As a rule they know of only one change of diet, alluded to contemptuously as “Vegetarianism,” and connected in their minds with huge platefuls of damp cabbage, of which the most valuable salts have been boiled out and thrown away by an ignorant cook. They are further “put off” by what appears to most people preposterous notions about the sin, no less, of eating animal food. In fact, bad cooking and tactless enthusiasm have hand in hand done their utmost to ruin the vegetarian cause. To eat damp cabbage can be, by no conceivable process, good for anybody, and to shun animal food because it implies death to an animal is a motive which does not appeal to the majority, who, without examining any possible truth it may contain, label it a fad. And there is nothing which in the minds of ordinary people, who most naturally and sensibly do not wish to spend the whole of their lives in discovering the diet which best suits them, is more strongly prejudicial to any examination of a new system than to suspect it of being faddy. They naturally desire a rÉgime of which the common-sense appeals to them, and the common-sense of that which is ordinarily called vegetarianism is far to seek. Many people have found that the amount of meat which they usually eat is not very good for them: that three flesh meals a day are excessive in the way of animal food; on the other hand they must have something substituted for the meat, and they turn to vegetarianism, and perhaps try a meal at some vegetarian eating-house. One of the present writers tried it. For an hour or rather less he felt that he would never eat again as long as he lived, then, almost without transition, he felt that he wished to eat the whole world round. And he fled back to the fleshpots of Egypt.

But nowadays vegetarianism is studied by certain people in a spirit of scientific investigation, and its results, rationally arrived at, are likely to prove of the most permanent value. It is the greatest possible mistake to suppose that all vegetables and fruits are equally supporting; some are highly nutritious, others are hardly nutritious at all, and to load the stomach with immense masses of a food which has a low nutritious value, in order to get sufficient nutriment, will probably produce results on health worse even than those from which the man who found that he was taking excessive quantities of animal food tried to escape.[4]

Briefly, then, the scientific view of food in general is as follows.

Food has to supply waste of tissue and make repairs.

Food has to supply heat (fuel for the continual combustion of the body) and a certain amount of fat.

Food—so it is usually asserted and largely believed—has to give the stomach a certain amount of fibrous matter to supply bulk which will enable the system, by natural means, to cleanse and flush itself internally, and throw off the waste for which it has no use, but which exists in greater or smaller quantities in all foods.

Incidentally, also, food should be of such taste and nature as easily to excite the saliva, which is almost indispensable to procure digestion.

Now the one great necessity without which we die is proteid, because proteid supplies (and nothing else in the world supplies) the waste which daily and hourly goes on in the body. It is present in conveniently large quantities in all meat foods, which is one of the main causes of their being eaten, but it is present also in large quantities in cheese, milk-proteid, grains, nuts, and pulses, though in certain other fruits and vegetables it is almost completely absent. It would be practically impossible, for instance, to eat enough cabbages to supply the necessary amount of pure proteid per diem, which must, and this is important, not only be swallowed but be digested. On the other hand, it is easily possible to get enough proteid per diem by a meat diet, but it is even easier to get enough from a diet of grains, nuts, pulses, and milk-proteid,[5] provided the right sorts are eaten.

The following abridged table giving the values of certain common articles of diet both in proteids and also in fattening and heating products will make this clear.

TABLE OF FOOD VALUES.

(ABRIDGED FROM “FAILURES OF VEGETARIANISM.”)

It is obvious then, that as far as the theoretical reasons for eating food at all are concerned, it is perfectly easy to obtain all the essentials for support without touching animal food, and without in any way loading the stomach with unnecessary bulk; and leaving out of the question, for the present, the economical advantage of adopting these simple foods, there is one enormous advantage which they possess for many. These are they who, especially in town life, and when they are not able to take the requisite amount of exercise, suffer chronically from slight biliousness or congested liver, and the depression attendant thereon, who feel sleepy or fatigued when in better health they would feel neither. Their ailments may rarely or never amount to what they would call “an attack,” but habitually they are slightly clogged. Now in nine cases out of ten this feeling is due to the presence of uric acid in the body, which is produced in larger quantities than the system, without the aid of daily perspiration, which gets rid of acids to a large extent through the skin, can throw off. This uric acid is a product of waste within the body, and the foods which cause it are (to a much larger extent than all others) flesh foods.

Many people know this without knowing it; in other words, many men who have an attack of biliousness, lumbago, or gout (all direct results of the presence of uric acid in the body), at once cut off, even without consulting a doctor, their daily consumption of flesh. But then their ignorance makes them suffer, for they most likely in the curtailment of flesh-food do not take enough proteid, with the effect that after a day or two of such treatment they feel lowered. Naturally: they have been starving. And the lowered feeling they put down to the absence of flesh-food, whereas it is chiefly the absence of proteid from which they are suffering. They could easily have avoided this by eating instead of flesh some of the fleshless foods which are valuable in proteid, and they can—humanly speaking—if the abstinence from flesh-foods, as is almost invariably the case, relieves their attack, guard against such attacks in the future, by a diet, complete or modified, of the kind which has relieved them. But, and this is highly important, it is a fatal mistake not to take enough proteid, and not to remember that it is easily possible to eat heavy meals without taking enough. Four or five ounces per diem of proteid, not only swallowed but digested, is said to be the average required.

Now there are many people in excellent health who live in the ordinary manner i.e., on a varied diet including meat, and as long as they are well, there seems to be no reason, except to be humane and to save the money they spend in food—and that may be a great inducement—why they should try a new diet when their present one suits them well, except that, for all they can tell, another diet might suit them better. At the same time there are certainly many people who are perfectly aware that they have periodical attacks of liver or biliousness directly traceable to diet, and many others who put themselves down as having chronically bad digestions, with which any food is continually liable to disagree. It is to these particularly that a trial of the simpler foods is recommended, whether they are adopted in toto, or used to modify existing diet. Similarly, also, the simpler foods are recommended as worth a trial by athletes who are in training for some special event, to whom either economy is an object (for a most varied diet of simpler foods can be had at a daily cost of less than a shilling), or whom the present heavy though wholesome meals do not suit. Furthermore, it is quite possible, as we said, that even those who consider themselves well might be still better without flesh-foods.

Another effect of this simpler food diet is that it has been found by trial to lessen greatly the desire for stimulants. Why this should be so is a question for physiologists, and cannot be discussed here. It may, however, be taken as a fact. And those who have tried the diet fairly (and one of the present writers has lived on simple foods—i.e., scarcely touched meat in any form for some years) find that abstinence from meat directly increases the activity and promptitude, not only of the body, but of the mind, while both mind and body are capable of doing far harder and better work than before. The simpler food diet by itself will probably be found adequate to reduce the excessive uric acid in the body to practically nil—i.e., natural means will be sufficient to cope with it; but it is useful to remember that alkalis may also be used as a preventive or cure.

Another alteration in diet, which we give with the reiterated proviso that it may not suit everybody, is the habit of having no breakfast, or if any, only a fruit breakfast. A very great number of people do not feel hungry immediately on rising, and in America this plan is largely adopted even by those who have to start the day with severe physical work. For those who do feel hungry on rising it seems most probable that breakfast is indicated, but on the other hand it is more than possible that for those who do not, breakfast is not indicated. And to eat a typical English breakfast, consisting probably of fish and meat, washed down with tea—which cannot be recommended as a fluid likely to help digestion. When one does not want it, is really to require a daily miracle from the inside if one is so unreasonable as to demand that it shall dispose of these things without more ado. Similarly, to limit one’s eating to two meals a day has been found by many to be a valuable aid to health, though others, on the other hand, find that the quantity they really feel that they require, if they only eat twice, is apt to overload the stomach.

Again, it is probably not good for anybody to take violent exertion of the body, or do headwork immediately after or before any meal. With many people it is unfortunately impossible to prevent this; a man’s only free time for his exercise may be immediately after lunch, or he may have to continue his deskwork till immediately before. In such cases this must be taken as a necessary evil; for exercise even immediately after a meal will probably be better for a man than none at all, while not to work up to the meal may mean neglect of work, which is more culpable than indigestion. For such, a light meal is strongly recommended, and in particular a meal as free of flesh-foods as the eater can manage.

It is of the greatest importance that whatever diet is found to suit the individual taste, this diet should be eaten slowly and thoroughly masticated, otherwise the most suitable and wholesome food may both disagree with the eater, and lose most of its nourishing value. Nuts are a good example of this—they have an odious reputation for indigestibility which is quite unfounded, for they are perfectly easy of digestion to most people if only they are very thoroughly masticated. But swallowed in large pieces, in any pieces in fact except the smallest, they are exceedingly indigestible. Similarly, also, many nuts are extremely rich in proteids (the chestnut, for instance, containing 14·6 per cent., the peanut[6] upwards of 28 per cent. of proteid), but in order to get at the proteid they must be bitten almost to powder and thoroughly mixed with saliva. Otherwise they are not distributed (i.e., digested), but are passed through the body in the same way as chests of gold (securely fastened up) can be sent by train, so to speak, through a country without enriching it. It is of equal importance thoroughly to masticate all starchy foods (bread, potatoes, &c.), so that the saliva may penetrate them and begin the work of digestion in the mouth, and it is largely for this reason that doctors recommend toast or biscuits to dyspeptic patients rather than bread, because it is impossible to swallow crisp toast without properly biting it, whereas lumps of soft bread can be swallowed without actual pain. On this point we adopt a fearless dogmatism, and assert that it is good for nobody to swallow unmasticated food, both because the act of mastication is part of the digestive process, and because mastication itself renders the nutritive elements of the food accessible to the stomach. Thus less bulk of food is needed, there is less waste, and the digestive juices of the stomach are not, so to speak, called on to make violent assaults on what they receive, to behave like burglars, wresting what is valuable from the food. The burglary is done by the teeth, which, by the way, seem to be kept in better repair by mere mastication than by any other means, and the energy otherwise used by the stomach remains undrawn upon. Also, if one bites food well it is far easier to know correctly when one has eaten enough; lumps of food bolted are for the time being “locked up”; it is uncertain whether they are going to satisfy hunger or not. Even if unnutritious they will produce a feeling of satiety for the time being, and an hour later they may be found wanting. A certain amount of bulk, as we have said, is needed, but beyond that the richer a food is in the desired qualities of power of repair, and of supply of energy, the better is that food, provided it is easily digestible. And its full value cannot be brought into play, especially in the case of starhy foods, without thorough mastication.[7]

As to drink and stimulants more regard if possible must be paid to what we have called “the personal equation” than even in matters of food. Excess of everything—for such is the implication of the word itself—must be bad for everybody, but there is no earthly foundation for supposing that what is excess for one person injures another in the very least. A shower of rain ruins a picture-hat in a few moments: the same shower does not practically injure a locomotive engine at all, and is absolutely good for sprouting corn. Alcohol for instance, if indulged in at all by one man, will assuredly lead either to excess or to inordinate craving for it, while another man will drink wine at lunch and dinner for years without ever feeling the slightest desire to increase his usual quantity. What he drinks, again, would hopelessly disagree with, or perhaps intoxicate another man, while it seems as far as we can judge to suit him; he would perhaps even be definitely less well without it. It is on this point that preachers of total abstinence, just like vegetarians, are often their own worst foes. They seem to regard the process of fermentation (a natural one after all) as productive of something which is in itself immoral. Drunkenness, of course, is a vice; we all know that; but so, and certain teetotallers seem to forget this, is gluttony. They each of them turn man into a brute beast, though what many teetotallers would look approvingly at as “a good hearty meal” appears to us to partake fully as much of the nature of debauchery as does the drinking of a bottle of champagne at dinner. The question of drinking, in fact, seems to us one that each man must settle for himself, by finding out experimentally whether he needs stimulant or not. Probably the healthier he is the less he needs it, and to spur a horse that is already going as well as the rider has any right to expect is both a cruelty and a false use of energy. It seems certain, also, that most people who take stimulants at all take more than they really need, partly because of the pleasant effect of stimulant in the heightened vividity it gives (leaving anything like drunkenness out of the question), and because of the taste of alcoholic beverages, which nine out of ten people find most palatable. Here again preachers of total abstinence put forward an argument so silly that it is scarcely worth combating (were it not for the fact that it is so often repeated), when they say that what we have called “heightened vividity” is the thin end of intoxication. It is nothing of the kind. Food itself is a stimulant as well as a nutriment; a mutton chop or a welsh rarebit when one is hungry gives heightened vividity; so also does whisky and soda.

But, and here we tread more sensible ground, it must be remembered that alcohol is not a nourishing stimulant, and that its effect quickly wears off, leaving reaction, however slight, in everybody. Nor must we keep out of the question what the continued effects of alcohol are. Its bad results may not be apparent for a long time. In certain cases there are bad results; in certain other cases apparently there are none. Authorities on training are universally agreed that very little, if any, should be taken when the training has begun; and they are unquestionably right, because the object of training is to produce before a certain date or during a certain period a specimen of manhood at its highest possible physical level, strung up and maintained at concert pitch. To do this the whole structure must be sound, and stimulant then appears to be of the nature of a temporary prop, which has again and again to be set up afresh. Also, repeatedly applied stimulant followed by repeated reaction is not ideal.

The same remarks apply to the ordinary individual in a less degree; for though he should aim at ideal health, he does not want the sort of health which a boat-race crew want. In fact, in a necessarily sedentary life it would be exceedingly inconvenient to him; for to maintain it it seems necessary to have hard daily exercise, quantities of open air, and hours which are practically impossible for the ordinary man who has to do his daily work. An abstemious man who has been accustomed to alcohol may easily, if he drops its use altogether, find himself continuing to desire it, at an expense of nervous fretting which will cost him more than the possible gain in health may be worth. But when any man who takes alcohol finds himself desiring it more and more and in increased quantities, if even at one meal, let us say, he is unable to get it, and finds himself fretting for it, we have no hesitation in begging him at whatever cost to drop it altogether and at once. We do not say he is on the high road to become a drunkard, but somewhere ahead of him there easily may be that high road. We should further advise everybody to try at any rate what is the effect of drinking alcohol, let us say, once a day only. Of course, the difficulty which faces most people is what to drink instead; and, as far as pleasure goes, the difficulty is a real one. We cordially recommend total abstainers to try to find a solution. Various non-alcoholic drinks have from time to time been sedulously advertised, but most of them are abhorrent to the ordinary palate, being sickly sweet.

Here comes in the question of the general regulation of drinks, which, theoretically, we are afraid, is a most uncomfortable gospel. For the effect of drinking cold things during a meal, except in very small quantities, is without doubt digestively criminal: since the result of pouring cold aspersions into the stomach while it is busy with digestion is to lower its temperature at the time when heat is needed, and also to weaken and water down the digestive juices.[8] There is no getting over this: long drinks on hot days at lunch are not to be recommended. But even here the baffled voluptuary may find a way out which is not so disagreeable. He may by all means have his long drink half an hour before lunch, or at a rather long interval after. If he choose after, he will find, especially if he has eaten fruit at lunch, that he does not want it, and that though the satisfaction of a real throatful of cold liquid is denied him, he will have taken during lunch quite sufficient liquid to satisfy his thirst. But that is the best we can do for him, and we will not insult him by saying that plenty of hot water or hot water and lemon is delicious, and so much nicer than whisky and soda iced. For it is not nearly so nice.

Finally, with regard to that other soother and strengthener, tobacco, we have no sympathy with extremists, and we assert that the moderate use of tobacco will not and cannot reduce the ordinary constitution to a wreck in ten years, while in many cases it is absolutely beneficial, at least for the time, as a nerve-sedative. Many people, one of the present writers is one, finds that he can work more steadily and with less restlessness when smoking. But, and here is a warning, if, after a spell of hard work of three or four hours, you find the ash-tray a pile of cigarette ends, most of them probably smoked only half-consciously, take steps. Put the box of cigarettes in another room, so that you have to get up in order to procure one. Then, if you find yourself wondering whether it is worth while getting one, you may be quite certain that you do not really want it. Furthermore, tobacco is not nearly so insidious as alcohol; it is perfectly easy for every one who smokes to know whether it suits him. Many people it does not suit at all, and most of them know it. Here we should recommend all smokers to try the effect of abstinence for a couple of days, or at any rate of abstinence up till dinner-time. This would separate the sheep from the goats: many—the present writer is one again—will find that apparently no good effects ensue, and a certain restlessness is the only result. Others will find themselves distinctly better both in energy and in accuracy of eye and keenness of perception. These we should recommend to drop it altogether, and for their comfort the writer can assure them that, having tried this experiment himself, he found that the craving for it lasted only a few days, and that during those few days it was always possible to neutralise it for periods of an hour or so, by chewing an ordinary dried camomile-flower (2d. per ounce), the extreme and rather pleasant bitterness of which renders the thought of tobacco literally abhorrent as long as the taste of it remains in the mouth.

But here again strict training for a special event almost, if not quite, unanimously demands a total abstinence from tobacco from the beginning of training. The use of this we confess ourselves utterly unable to see, since we do not believe at all that, as in the case of drink, to take a little necessarily means a desire for more, but rather the extinguishing of the desire for the time being. The case is, in fact, in our judgment, a parallel to the shower of rain on the locomotive: it is inconceivable almost that it should do so much harm as its uncompromising opponents assert, and in many cases we believe its very moderate use would save a certain amount of restlessness, which in present systems of training is far more common than it ought to be. It is not in fact rare, whereas it should be not only rare, but almost unknown. For training is supposed to be the ideal way of living with a view to complete physical fitness, but under most systems severe training entails an almost total cessation of brain work, while it does not imply a total cessation of mental worry. Men often get fidgetty and stale before their weeks of training are nearly over, and this is due partly, no doubt, to the absurd system of training a whole crew, for instance, as if they were identical specimens of the same man, but also to the very fact that brain work is practically tabooed, just as tobacco is tabooed. Neither, in strict moderation, we believe, particularly brain-work, can possibly be as bad as they are frequently accused of being, and both might very possibly be found a sedative for a body that is bursting with condition. Besides, if training unfits a man for brain-work there is something probably wrong with the system of training, whereas if any brain-work unfits a man for training, it is seriously to be considered whether it is worth while to train at all.[9]

For the right training, so we believe, is that which shall enable a man—this is no fanciful idea, but one that has and is now being put into practice by both the writers—to be capable of hard brain-work during the whole time that he is putting his body into the best possible condition both for general health and also for a special event. The mens sana should not be left out of the corpore sano, and health consists in the efficiency not of one at the cost of the other, but of both to the benefit of each. Finally, with regard to special training, we believe that it cannot possibly fail to be injurious to a man to go out of severe training with the completeness and suddenness with which many do when the event is over. After a training of weeks, the desire for certain foods and stimulants, if they were in themselves unhealthy, should have ceased, the body in fact should have been brought into such a condition that it would feel by now a natural repugnance for them. If, then, this repugnance, or at any rate absence of desire is not felt, either they were not unhealthy, and might have been allowed in moderation, or the resumption of them with that extreme freedom—not to say excess—which marks the end of training, is only compassed with a certain effort. Is it worth while?

Finally, also, with regard to general training, the acquirement that is of really good health, which is within the reach of the majority, and incumbent upon all to attempt, a fair trial of simpler foods is recommended to all who habitually feel slightly indisposed when working hard, and who are cut off to a large extent from regular exercise, and is suggested, if only on the ground of expense, to many others. Similarly, a diminution in stimulants is recommended to all who habitually take them, in order that they may find for themselves what the effect (on themselves only) is. Similarly, also, with regard to smoking: for the concensus of professional trainers is dead against it, as a foe both to eye and endurance. Some, we believe, will not find it so, but anyone may, and very likely the majority will. In any case, it will hurt nobody to drop it for a week or two.