Developing an Ethical View on the Use of Animals in Biomedical Research
Fourth Walter C. Randall Lecture on Biomedical Ethics
Adrian R. Morrison
University of Pennsylvania

As originally published in The Physiologist
Volume 45, Number 3, June 2002, page 135

  The following is the text of the Fourth Walter C. Randall Lecture on Biomedical Ethics supported by Taylor University, Upland, IN, that was delivered by Adrian R. Morrison at Experimental Biology 2002 in New Orleans, April 23, 2002.

    I want to thank you for inviting me to speak today. It is a great honor to be entrusted with this lecture because I stand before you as one not formally trained in moral philosophy. I can only speak as a scientist, therefore, but one with more than 40 years of experience in experimentation. I note, as well, that last November marked the twentieth anniversary of my involvement with the philosophical question of animal rights and the attack on biomedical research by an extreme group of adherents to this idea. In November of 1981, I made the fateful decision to become an expert witness for the defense of Dr. Edward Taub in what was to become commonly known as the Silver Spring Monkey Case. This case, initiated by the actions of the fledgling People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, led to several years defending him, the establishment of the Committee on Animals in Research of the Society for Neuroscience, and my eventual chairmanship of that committee from 1987-1990. 
An attack by the Animal Liberation Front aiming to silence me in 1990 led me to examine in greater depth what was driving the animal rights movement and my own reasons for thinking differently. Thus, I bring you two decades’ worth of thoughts and insights on the philosophical underpinnings of the animal rights movement and of my own use of animals. 

    In reality, during the first half of the last 20 years, my efforts were those of a warrior trying to hold a line of defense against individuals I considered barbarians. Throughout that ten-year period I was intimidated by the idea of confronting the philosophical tenets of the animal-rights movement. It was easier to defend against the scientific aspects of the charges against us. What did I have to say that could counter professional philosophers, such as Peter Singer and Tom Regan, to mention the most prominent of those espousing animal rights and/or liberation?

    But where were philosophers who could contradict these philosophers? Who could speak for us? At last, though, a wonderful book appeared in 1986, The Case for Animal Experimentation: An Evolutionary and Ethical Perspective, written by a Canadian philosopher, Michael A. Fox (4). Not only did Fox present cogent arguments supporting the morality of animal experimentation, he also gave marvelous examples from the hospital that demonstrated the clear value of such experimentation for solving serious medical problems. I was euphoric. Finally, we had the arguments to say: “Gotcha!” Then, my bubble burst, for one year later Fox (5) recanted, stating that a “radical feminist” had convinced him that he was wrong! I had learned my lesson: why did scientists have to depend on someone else to do their thinking? (I should note in passing that Carl Cohen published an excellent paper in 1986 in the New England Journal of Medicine [2] that countered Tom Regan’s The Case for Animal Rights [11]). 

    An additional lesson came in the form of a paper in the Journal of the American Medical Association by Richard Vance, a pathologist also trained in philosophy (22). Vance warned we should be aware that rather than simply presenting an emotional appeal against the use of animals, the animal rights movement was arguing from a philosophical point of view based largely on the works of Regan (11) and Singer (16). In addition to presenting their views in a very readable fashion for the layman, Vance revealed that each, coming from different schools of thought, had attacked the arguments of the other: Regan comes from the “rights” wing of moral philosophy; while Singer is a utilitarian. They do agree on the same political aim, however, eliminate all human use of animals (12). Vance concluded, “The problem, of course, is that without a consensus on a coherent theoretical foundation, they have no moral justification for their common political aims (22).” The important lesson for us is this: scientists should pay attention to the philosophical arguments, for if we do not think clearly and rigorously about the justifications for our research, we risk being forced to accept ever more restrictions on work some see, at best, as a “necessary evil.”

    Reading of Regan and Singer’s philosophical clash, I came to the realization, naïve philosopher that I was, that one could create any world he wished with words. The critical issue then became clear: is the world one creates and urges on others by political action a livable world and, even more important, is it a world that the creator will live in himself? In the case of Regan and Singer (and all other leaders of the movement) the answer is, “No.” As Stell (19) has noted, although prominent adherents to the animal-rights cause may eschew the eating of meat, the wearing of fur, etc., because in their eyes the methods of obtaining such products are cruel, they have not been equally high-minded in stating a refusal to depend on modern medicine. After all, its methods of developing new medicines and techniques are cruel in their eyes and, thus, should be boycotted. 
Let me digress now for a moment to reflect a bit on two terms: “biomedical ethics,” the subject of this lectureship, and “bioethics.” They are commonly used interchangeably. For example, there is a Center for Bioethics at my university, yet its concern is strictly with human beings and their treatment in medical situations. 
But the term “bioethics,” which first appeared in a paper in 1970 titled, “Bioethics, the Science of Survival,” by Van Rensselaer Potter (10), had far broader meaning to its originator than its use today. Potter was a professor of oncology, who late in his career turned to broader questions, such as ensuring human health and protecting the environment. A recent obituary in the journal that published his landmark work, Perspectives in Biology and Medicine, quoted Potter’s thinking behind the term he created:
    
    “We are in great need of a land ethic, a wildlife ethic, a population ethic, a consumption ethic, an urban ethic, an international ethic, a geriatric ethic, and so on. All of these problems call for actions that are based on values and biological facts. All of them involve bioethics…. Mankind is urgently in need of new wisdom that will provide the ‘knowledge of how to use knowledge’ for man’s survival and for improvement in the quality of life. This concept of wisdom as a guide for action—the knowledge of how to use knowledge for the social good—might be called the ‘science of survival,’ surely the prerequisite to improvement in the quality of life…. A science of survival must be more than science alone, and I therefore propose the term ‘bioethics’ in order to emphasize the two most important ingredients in achieving the new wisdom that is so desperately needed: biological knowledge and human values …. Man’s survival may depend on ethics based on biological knowledge, hence bioethics (9).”

    Potter was a lone scientist in Wisconsin, ignored while the then developing Kennedy Center of Bioethics in Washington, DC absconded with Potter’s term, limiting it initially at least to questions about treatment of humans (13). But I am not quibbling about terminology, because our interest today is our treatment of animals and only indirectly of human beings. We are developing a code of ethics for working with animals that combines science and ethics. Our knowledge of science permits us to say that we are not using animals for trivial reasons. Our ethical sense of identity with all humans allows us to put them first in our concern. I focus on this distinction because I believe it is very important to draw a line between our species and others. The Great Ape Project, which seeks to eliminate the moral and legal lines separating apes from humans, is the most ostentatious example of the blurring sought (1).

    I believe, though, that Potter, who saw the limitations of merely curing people and not searching for ways to prevent illness, cancer, for example, would tell us researchers of our obligation to seek and promote healthy lives in a cleaner environment in order to reduce, even a bit, the use of animals.

    Now, before I expand on what I think regarding our proper relationship with animals, let me introduce myself further as I did in an essay written for The American Biology Teacher: 

    “One should know from whence a particular set of principles comes. In my case, they derive from personal upbringing and my knowledge as a biologist. With regard to the former, I grew up on a small farm and worked for several years as a teenager on a large dairy farm, ultimately becoming a veterinarian. Consequently, I have a view of animals quite different from the great majority of the younger generations that have little experience with animals beyond seeing them as pets, as part of the family. I appreciate better, I am sure, the degree to which we are intimately involved economically with animals. At the same time, I realize that one’s personal dignity depends upon proper treatment of those under one’s control, which animals most assuredly are, individually and as part of the web of life. Because of our power and intelligence, we are constrained to respect all life, even while using it. To be fully human one must be humane. This characteristic clearly separates us from other species (7).”

    Developing a particular view about life and, in the present case, about the legitimacy of using animals in research and how to use them requires time and, of course, experience. Obviously, I had an early concern for animal welfare, for I was 14 when I decided to become a veterinarian, disappointing my MD uncle in the process. My interest in farm life and love of my horse and horses in general found a home somewhere within me that withstood being surrounded by many pre-med friends at college. But, then, a love of the nervous system hit me in my second year in veterinary school, and a paradox emerged: I was to spend the rest of my life far from horses, farm life and caring for animals in the traditional way, watching cats and rats sleep instead, even causing pain in experimentation while still enjoying their company. 

    Yet, this is not far from the reality of clinical veterinary medicine in a community where a mixed farm and pet practice can still be found. A veterinarian and client may treat a pet as a little child, and then the veterinarian may move on to counsel a farmer to send his cow to slaughter because her economic value would not be worth the cost of treating her. Readers of James Herriot’s series of books of a veterinarian’s life in Yorkshire, England will recognize this reality of veterinary medicine. 

    I had never consciously thought in an organized manner about my rationale for using animals in research, thinking it was necessary had been enough for the first thirty years of my career. Yet, I had no trouble enunciating “my philosophy” in a letter I wrote in 1991 to Roger Caras, then President of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and a member of my school’s Board of Overseers. I wrote to him as Director of the Program for Animal Research Issues in the former Alcohol, Drug Abuse and Mental Health Administration. Here is what I wrote:

    “I believe animal use by humans is natural and no less appropriate in the scheme of things than animal use by other animals. Therefore, I reject as nonsense the notion of ‘speciesism’ that the animal-rights movement promotes. It is a perversion of biology, not a principle. Biomedical research fits into the category of appropriate uses, for it is a function of a legitimate aspect of our nature, which is to explore and increase knowledge. Indeed, increasing knowledge in all spheres, even if it requires the deaths of some animals, is our obligation as the most intelligent species (by far) on this planet.

    “This is not to say that the invasiveness of vivisection is something I prefer or participate in without reflection. Because I do experimental surgery, I go through a soul-searching every few months, asking myself whether I really want to continue working on cats (we’ve had up to four of them at a time as pets over the years), or other animals for that matter. The answer is always ‘yes’ because from my knowledge of medical history I know that medicine cannot progress without animal experimentation and that such basic research leads ultimately to unforeseen benefits. I will add, however, that I am very happy that the scientific questions I am now trying to answer are best answered by studying laboratory rats rather than cats. But please note that this reflects a personal sensibility, which I am certain intervenes in the choices of experiments and species used that many scientists make.
    
    “Of course, we should be concerned that there is appropriate care of animals in laboratories: that is a moral obligation. I believe we are doing a very good job now. This concern costs money, however, and I do not know when or where we draw the line. I’ve thought a lot about the proper allocation of resources because of friends I’ve made in the Incurably Ill for Animal Research and after speaking to another patient group, the National Organization for Rare Diseases. This association represents groups of people with a myriad of rare diseases, many with absolutely dreadful features. Just the names of some of the diseases sound awful.
“My contact with the National Organization for Rare Diseases affected me greatly. Sometimes only a few hundred people have a particular disease, so they have to fight to get attention from researchers, money for the researchers, and money to fund development of drugs that reward drug companies with meager profits. How does one balance their misery and need for some of our limited resources with the pain or discomfort of thousands of laboratory rats or cats? The former would not even exist without the requirements of biomedical research, and the latter are among the many euthanized at humane shelters each year. Add to this the fact that one never knows when a particular finding will be useful in some totally unexpected context. Complicating the equation even further is the question of developing alternatives to whole-animal use. Should money be diverted from solving medical problems to finding out how to use fewer animals? This complex equation must ultimately be solved by society.”
    
    Since writing that letter I have matured into what I call my “First Principles of Research”: 
Our first obligation is to our fellow humans. Observing that all species strive to stay alive and then handicapping ourselves deliberately by not trying to understand the biological world would be just plain stupid. Indeed, I think it is my most powerful argument, one that no philosopher can defeat without being willing to risk sacrifice on behalf of animals. None has yet stepped forward. But can one also support this obligation philosophically? I believe so.

    We are a species unique in our cognitive abilities. We create beautiful sculptures, write on philosophical issues and devise just laws, to use just a few examples. These laws, as well as religious and philosophical traditions handed down from long ago, bind us together in a moral community. Yet, we are autonomous beings living in that community. Only we, of all species on earth, can be held accountable for our deeds, judged guilty in a court of law. We are burdened in a way that no other species is, even to the extent of caring for other species. These responsibilities make us special in my view and warrant special consideration and compassion. I think it follows that we owe it to our fellow man to alleviate the pain and misery of disease through biomedical research.

    Furthermore, our capacity to suffer extends far beyond that of any animal. Immediate pain is one thing and something we must always consider when using animals in research. But I think now of mental suffering: the sense of loss of a child to disease or the despair of a teenager condemned to a restricted life due to a spinal cord severed in a head-on collision while playing football. We can empathize directly with these fellow humans. Being more certain of their suffering than that of any animal, we would be remiss in not putting our fellow humans first by doing research that might eventually help someone. To lack such empathy—and various animal-rightists have evidenced such a lack in their public statements—is inhuman and inhumane.
All human beings are persons. The average person says: of course! But not Peter Singer, author of Animal Liberation (16), called the “bible” of the animal-rights movement. He reasons in a newer book, Rethinking Life and Death: The Collapse of Traditional Ethics (18), that parents with a deformed or mentally defective infant, one with Down’s syndrome, to use one of his examples, would be justified in rejecting, that is, euthanizing this "‘non-person,” for a baby only becomes a person to Singer (protected by law) at one month of age. This act would bring the parents more happiness if they then had a normal infant. Singer comes from the utilitarian wing of the branch of philosophy called ethics. The utilitarian perspective, at least as carried forth by Singer, allows one to seek the greater good or happiness offered by the normal replacement. This approach would be “convenient” but dangerous, not to mention that many with Down’s syndrome or other “defects” can develop into a reasonably productive and apparently happy person. George Will, in one of his regular Newsweek essays (24) observed that Singer, “like most people, is not well-informed about Down’s syndrome citizens, some of whom are taxpayers who read the sports pages on the way to work,” referring, I am sure, to his beloved son who has Down’s syndrome. 

    Singer is very explicit in his views. He states (18): “Likewise, we cannot justifiably give more protection to the life of a human being than we give to a non-human animal, if the human being clearly ranks lower on any possible scale of relevant characteristics than the animal.” Thus, a healthy rabbit would have more to offer the world than a brain-damaged human. Yet, the latter is a tragedy, and the rabbit lacks the potential that injured person had. Animals with higher cognitive abilities can be persons in Singer’s view.     

    He believes that we should abandon belief in the sanctity or specialness of human life and no longer exclude animals from our moral community. Consider this warning, though: “Far from pointing a way out of today’s moral dilemmas, Singer’s book is a roadmap for driving down the darkest of moral blind alleys, at the end of which, however spiffed-up and genteel, is Dr. Mengele: the embodiment of the triumph of power over principle, in the manipulation of life and death by the ‘fit’ at the expense of the unworthy’ (23).” Recall that Nazi Germany thought itself justified in doing away with the physically and mentally handicapped for the good of the State even before they began the Final Extermination. 

    Singer emphasizes the concept of “speciesism,” which means that treating members of other species without considering their interests just because they are animals is akin to racism. This concept drives his thinking. Singer says that we should not treat members of other species differently than we treat members of our own just because the former are not humans. Although he states that he wishes to elevate animals (18), I think he drags humanity down to the level of animals with an emphasis on the capacity of all creatures to suffer pain. But the human species is so much more than that. Singer “ignores just about everything that has been said in our philosophical tradition about the real distinction between persons and animals (15).” We are a social, highly cognitive species with the capacity to participate in the suffering of people thousands of miles away. This enables rescue operations aided by people from distant places after an earthquake or flood. Again, this makes us special in my view. Certainly, we should not treat a member of another species with wanton cruelty just because they are not human—in this sense we are considering their interests—but our special duty to fellow humans warrants the use of other species in properly conducted biomedical research.

    Animals are not little persons. This principle strikes at the heart of the dilemma a scientist or veterinarian faces, one who is very fond of animals, enjoys their company and yet uses them in research or must doom them to slaughter. Lately, I have come to realize the obvious: we decide what animals are to be in relation to us. Animals, of course, are oblivious to our categorizations. We eat pigs in some cultures and abhor them in others. We use them in experiments. Sometimes, they are even beloved pets. 

    Speaking of pets, even though we know they are not little persons, we treat them as such. Let me introduce you to my young cat, Buster, who captured my heart during his kittenhood. If I stopped walking while he was near me, he would lie on my feet so I would pet him before moving on. He would often stand on my chest while I lie in bed and look closely at me while purring very close to my face. What Buster was thinking, I will never know. Even now that he is mature, he visits me once or twice during the night and with a soft meow, settles down, purring, for a belly rub. When I have the occasional bagel with cream cheese for breakfast, Buster joins me for his dollop of cream cheese on the edge of my plate. If the menu calls for milk and cereal, Buster is beside me lapping up milk poured from the cereal bowl into a saucer. I talk to him all the time while he watches me working in the yard, but he never answers. When I move elsewhere, he follows, but at a distance chosen by him, then climbs a tree, seemingly to show off. I think he may be fond of me, too.

    Yet, as I have already said, for most of my career I used members of his species in my research on sleep mechanisms because, due to their size and habits, cats are well-suited for neurophysiological studies on sleep and other phenomena. And although I frequently asked myself whether I really wanted to continue, my faith in the process of science and knowledge of medical history, a belief that my work would provide a bit of knowledge ultimately useful for solving a human problem, allowed me to continue. Now, our work involves rats, and I am happy with this. To one who keeps a rat for a pet, however, this would not be a satisfactory solution, again emphasizing the point that we decide what the animal is to be in relation to us.

    We have a great obligation to the animals under our control. No words express this principle better than a passage from a book popular when I was a boy. For some reason the following conversation burned itself into my mind. In My Friend Flicka by Mary O’Hara, rancher Rob McLaughlin is speaking with one of his sons about a wild mare that had broken loose from their corral with the noose of a lariat around her neck:
“What if it did choke her?” asked Howard. “You always say she’s no use to you.” “There’s a responsibility we have toward animals,” said his father. “We use them. We shut them up, keep their natural food and water from them that means we have to feed and water them. Take their freedom away, rope them, harness them, that means we have to supply a different sort of safety for them. Once I’ve put a rope on a horse, or taken away its ability to take care of itself, then I’ve got to take care of it. Do you see that? That noose around her neck is a danger to her, and I put it there, so I have to get it off (8).”

    This passage, read when I was about 14 and horse-crazy, clearly made an impact. In the days before we had a centralized animal facility and were responsible for our animals I never left for home without checking my cats and their food and water dishes. Fortunately, I had veterinary students I could trust caring for them on the weekends.

    The point is that although laws administered by the Public Health Service and the Department of Agriculture govern the use of animals in the laboratory, animal welfare in the laboratory must begin with the scientist. It is the scientist’s competence and knowledge of the literature that determine whether the animal’s participation is for a noble cause. The process is not perfect, I admit, but these standards represent an important ideal. (I will give credit here to Singer, Regan and others for raising our awareness of the needs of animals, which led to improved standards of care, but their lack of concern, or knowledge, of what their extreme demands would mean for humanity, I condemn).
    
    Having made the choice that using animals in biomedical research for human benefit is appropriate, what ethical problems remain for me? If an experiment requires that animals be killed (and many do), there is no ethical problem in my view if the number killed is appropriate for the purpose and the method used provides for a death as quick and pain-free as possible. I hasten to add, though, that I do not minimize emotional cost here: that can be considerable. For example, after speaking of these issues at a university once, one of my hosts told me over lunch of how he felt on the “bad” days when he had to kill many rats to perform biochemical assays on their livers. And we who study animals in behavioral experiments over long stretches of time find it heart-rending at times to kill these animals in order to do the necessary examinations of their brains.
The ethical problem for me comes when animals have discomfort or, in some cases, real pain during experiments. Then we have moved beyond the activity that characterizes many of nature’s creatures, killing for immediate use, to one that is uniquely human: inflicting pain of varying degrees in order to learn. Most frequently this comes as a by-product of the inquiry, e.g., experimental surgery to develop new operations or to implant measuring devices. In special cases, though, researchers do this to study pain itself. None of this is easy for the normal person to do, but we scientists have reasoned that it is appropriate and necessary. However, we are then obligated to devise critical experiments and to perform them as skillfully and humanely as possible—in my view, the single, most important thing that we scientists can do to ensure our animals’ welfare.
Our obligations to animals we commonly call “rights,” for example, the right to proper food and water when under our care and the right to be treated humanely. Some philosophers emphasize these as moral rights rather than obligations (3, 20). Indeed, they are embodied in law (21). But these “rights” are far from saying animals are our moral equals, something the majority of the public recognizes intuitively, I am sure. These “rights” do not approach Regan’s extreme view: “If that (abandoning animal research) means that there are some things we cannot learn, then so be it. We have then no right against nature (because nature is not a moral agent) not to be harmed by those natural diseases we are heir to. (11).” 

    Coming from the rights branch of ethics, Regan argues that animals have “inherent value,” which proscribes our harming them. He argues that they are conscious and goal-oriented; therefore, they are “subjects of a life,” the quality that gives them the inherent value upon which we cannot trample. His stance would leave us helpless in the face of nature though. I should add that Regan’s view does not depend on mounting an argument against the utility of biomedical research as Singer (17) did, an argument sullied by not presenting the case honestly (14).

    Good science requires good animal care, but bureaucracy does not necessarily equate with increased welfare. With governmental regulation comes a certain amount of bureaucracy. One must accept this because many regulations have improved laboratory animal welfare. The requirement that institutions have an oversight committee, an animal care and use committee that includes veterinarians, non-scientists and individuals not associated with the institution, as well as researchers, is now law. I am very much in favor of such oversight. Many excellent scientists, although as caring as the non-scientific public, lack training in veterinary medicine. They, their animals and their experiments benefit from the expert advice and oversight of veterinarians specializing in laboratory animal medicine. Scientists know how rapidly ideas and techniques change in their own area of expertise but, I wager, do not stop to think that events move rapidly in the field of laboratory animal medicine as well. Yet, this new knowledge may save scientists time and money and even improve the science (6). 

    Furthermore, having to demonstrate to a diverse committee that one has planned an experiment intelligently with thought given to welfare of the animals to be used can only improve one’s experiments. With this system in place, laboratory animals are now receiving the best care humanly possible in my opinion, better than the general pet population. Of course, that improving animal care was not the aim of the animal-rights activists in the 1980’s is tragically clear. Laboratories continue to be destroyed and scientists, harassed.
With official oversight, of course, comes the danger of stultifying bureaucracy. Currently, some US Department of Agriculture inspectors, I am told, can go beyond reason (or the Animal Welfare Act that directs them) in demanding the compliance of institutions. Local overseers are themselves overseen by the government and so are susceptible to the very human concern not to be accused of inadequacy. 
    
    My belief is that underlying the admirable wish of some to treat animals as humanely as possible is a feeling of guilt: “What we are doing is wrong so let us at least do it as close to perfectly as possible.”

    While we should do our best, I do not believe we need feel guilty. We, should, therefore, speak out when bureaucracy threatens to exceed the requirements of good animal care. Our recent effort to block the move to include rats, mice and birds under the Animal Welfare Act, which would create a tremendously costly duplication of effort without affecting their welfare, is a case in point.

    To conclude, I prefer to think that these ideas are not unique to me. I want to believe that the vast majority of those who use animals in their research would agree with all or most of what I have said and, in particular, with my First Principles of Research. To repeat them, 1) our first obligation is to our fellow humans; 2) all human beings are persons; 3) animals are not little persons; 4) we have a great obligation to the animals under our control; and 5) good science requires good animal care, but bureaucracy does not necessarily equate with increased welfare. My hope is that more scientists will step forward to inform the public of their own views on the important societal issue of the use of animals in biomedical research. Is it ethical to remain silent? 

Acknowledgements
These thoughts are adapted from previously published essays in E. Paul & J. Paul (Eds.), Why Animal Experimentation Matters: The Use of Animals in Medical Research. (pp. 49-70). New Brunswick: Transaction Press, and M.E. Carroll and J. B. Overmier (Eds.), Animal Research and Human Health: Advancing Human Welfare Through Behavioral Science. (341-356). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association and reference 7. I thank those who have supported my public education efforts. v

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