UNDER normal conditions of supply and normal conditions of health, little attention is given by the great mass of mankind to the question what or how much should be eaten. They simply eat what they want and as much as they want, and then stop and go about other business. They know nothing of the dietary elements which the nutrition expert tells them are so essential for their well-being, and even for their very existence.
How can they long survive in such ignorance? Why does the community allow them to endanger, not only their own lives, but those of posterity? The only possible answer is that they are endowed with instincts which guide them so well, that under normal conditions of life they escape the many dangers that until recently they were unconscious of.
In view of the successful part played by instinct in dealing with the problems of nutrition, — which modern science is beginning to show are among the most complex that the human mind has ever yet undertaken to investigate, — perhaps it might be well to pay a little more respect to instinct than has lately been the fashion, and at the same time see if by observation some useful hint may be obtained which will help in interpreting the results of investigations in the laboratory.
Even the pig knows how to protect himself against dangers arising from indiscretions in eating, not only as to quantity, but as to the proportion of the various food-constituents. This is shown by Evvard’s experiments. He allowed pigs to feed themselves ad libitum with corn, meat-meal, oil-meal, salts, and the like, from separate hoppers. During early growth, when new tissues were being made rapidly, these pigs ate much larger proportions of protein than when growth became slower. Later, when smaller amounts of corn were eaten, the protein deficiency thus caused was met by an increase in the amount of meat-meal eaten. Under these conditions of free-choice feeding the pigs grew faster than any previously recorded which had been fed on mixtures made for them by the combined talent of agricultural experts, trained both in the science of nutrition and in the practice of the art of feeding.
Similar experiments made in my laboratory with albino rats gave much the same results. These animals were given their choice between two food-mixtures, one adequate for growth, the other inadequate, owing to the deficiency, or absence, of some one factor essential for growth. Although these foods were alike in physical properties, and so nearly alike in their constituents that it was difficult to believe that the rats could distinguish between them by any of their senses, nevertheless, all but one of the several rats so chose their food as to make practically normal growth. How they did this is one of the wonders of nature.
Considered solely from the standpoint of a supply of energy, — that is, of fuel for the maintenance of the body as a running machine, — the food-problem has long been the subject of very carefully and accurately controlled experiments. These have shown that, for the expenditure of a given amount of energy in the performance of physical work, a corresponding amount of potential energy in the form of food is required. In other words, the law of conservation of energy applies to the animal machine as strictly as it does to the machine in the factory.
The practical conclusion to be drawn from this is that the animal body must be supplied with enough energy, not only to keep it running, but to perform the work done by it. Recently we had an illustration of what happens to the machinery of our industries when the supply of energy in the form of coal runs short; and we may soon have an illustration of what will happen to the labor employed in these industries if the supply of energy in the form of food suffers similarly.
Let us first consider the question how much energy is really needed; or, to put it the other way, how little food can we get along on and still do the work necessary for the successful conduct of the war. As already stated, the relation of food eaten to the energy expended has been very carefully established by exact experiments which, under the conditions studied, are beyond criticism. How can these studies be applied to the needs of daily life? It is obviously impossible to determine the energy expended by a blacksmith working on a battleship, or an engineer running a locomotive, or a horse ploughing a field. None of these can be put to work in a calorimeter and the heat value of their work measured, nor can any imitation of such working conditions be reproduced whereby even an approximate estimate might be made. Nevertheless, authorities on nutrition furnish us with tables showing how much energy must be supplied in the form of food for those who are engaged in a very wide variety of occupations, and these tables are largely used in determining suitable rations under different conditions.
It may fairly be asked, if it is impossible to measure the energy expended, how have such tables been made? They have been made by carefully studying the amount of food actually eaten by large numbers of people engaged in all sorts of occupations, and determining the calorific value of these foods. The energy expended in the various occupations was not measured directly by scientific methods, but indirectly, on the assumption that it is the habit of people, as well as of animals, to eat according to their calorific requirements. If men and animals were not endowed with instincts that enable them to adjust their food-intake to the energy expended in maintaining their bodies, as well as in doing their work, they would be constantly suffering from the ills of overeating or of under-nutrition.
That nature provides protection against many misfortunes which may befall an individual in the course of life, has been pointed out most interestingly by Dr. Meltzer in a paper on ‘The Factors of Safety in Animal Structure and Animal Economy.’ From the numerous examples set forth by Meltzer it seems probable that the ills following overor under-eating are, in some way, also provided against. It has long been recognized that under-feeding is temporarily guarded against by a conversion of sugar into a substance similar to starch, —glycogen, — and storage of this in the liver and muscles. The potential energy thus husbanded is readily drawn on or replenished according to the minor fluctuations in demands for more, or for less, energy, which may be made necessary by the daily variations in physical activity, or the daily changes in external temperature. Larger demands, extending over longer times, are met by the reserve of fat and muscle-tissue, which in every normally nourished individual is sufficient to supply enough energy for a not inconsiderable time.
Are these the only means of dealing with inequalities in energy output, or food-supply? It is conceivable that, in addition, the speed at which chemical changes go on within the body may vary, to adjust consumption to requirements. Allen and DuBois state that the profound effect of confinement and under-nourishment on heat-production has never received the attention it deserves. If reducing the body weight, by lowering the food-intake below the amount which instinct prompts, reduces the rate of metabolism, — that is the sum of the chemical changes which are taking place within the body, — we should expect the converse to be true, and to find that increasing the food-intake above the amount that can be met by storing glycogen and fat is further met by an increase in the rate of metabolism. If it should turn out that a change in the rate of metabolism thus provides a hitherto unrecognized factor of safety, the whole question of over-eating will have to be considered from a new angle.
It has been generally held that overeating, except within narrow bounds, is impossible, for the subject will either grow fat, which of course has its limits, or will feel badly and cease to eat in excess until a normal condition is reestablished, or, will dispose of the surplus food by exercise. According to this view, those who cannot live in comfort without a game of golf or some other agreeable form of activity are habitually over-eating, in so far as fuel needs are concerned. There are other factors, however, involved in the exercise problem, which we will consider later.
If surplus food above that needed for the daily tasks of life can be disposed of by an increased rate of metabolism, we ought to know more about it than we now do if we are to deal with the problem of the most efficient use of our food-supply. Can any important amount of food be wasted in this way? A certain rate of metabolism is required to support the body functions and temperature, and a corresponding quantity of food is necessary to continue that metabolism, if body tissues are to be maintained. If more than this amount of food is eaten, it is wasted, if it serves no other purpose than to produce useless heat which must be gotten rid of in some way.
In my own case it has seemed that an unaccustomed plethora of food has been followed by a continued sensation of heat, and efforts to dispose of this extra heat by reducing my clothing below that habitually worn. If subjective sensations of this kind are to be trusted, it would seem that under such conditions surplus heat is being eliminated by radiation in consequence of dilation of the capillary blood-vessels. This agency is provided to rid us of the excess of heat incident to physical work; and it would seem not improbable that it might be called on to dispose of surplus heat produced by increased metabolism caused by an excess of food.
The extra heat eliminated after eating protein, which Lusk properly regards as a result of stimulated metabolism, is an example of wasted energy of the same kind that may result from a plethora of other kinds of food. Another example is the increased rate of metabolism caused by caffein, which may explain the extensive use of coffee and tea. So long as carbohydrates or fats are assimilated only in amounts in excess of the maintenance and energy requirements which can be met by storage in the form of glycogen or fat, no evolution of heat can be expected; but when the amount is greater than can be thus cared for, the plethora must be burned, if bodily health is to be maintained.
To what extent a surplus of food can be disposed of by such an increase in the rate of metabolism, or whether such a stimulation of the metabolism can be frequently endured without sensations of discomfort, are questions which have been so little studied that definite answers cannot be given to them. My own observations have led me to suspect that there may be a wider difference in the capacities of individuals thus to meet the dangers involved in occasional over-eating than has heretofore been supposed. Possibly those who are said to have ‘good digestions’ are those whose metabolism is easily stimulated, so that they are able to oxidize promptly whatever surplus food they may happen to eat. If such should prove to be the case, the ills commonly attributed to indigestion may in many cases not be duo to a failure to digest food, but may, on the contrary, be the result of assimilating food which has been already digested in greater quantity than the body-cells are capable of oxidizing promptly.
Waste of food, if in fact there is any, from this source is doubtless small, and quite likely is fully compensated for, because a large proportion of the ‘good feeders’ are among the most efficient in every community. While many seem to think that high thinking and plain living are essential to good living, it does not by any means follow that a high plane of metabolism does not imply a high plane of both mental and bodily efficiency. Certainly, among cold-blooded animals the increased rate of metabolism which results from raising the temperature of their environment leads to marked evidences of increase in physical efficiency.
Leaving this question for future investigations to settle, let us consider whether we have at present any better means of determining how much food — how much energy — is needed under given conditions than our present one founded on observations of what people actually eat when guided solely by their instincts?
It is very generally assumed that those who are in a position to do so eat too much, probably because all of us are tempted to eat when confronted with an abundance of attractive food. Although many do yield to this temptation, few fail to eat less at subsequent meals, and soon reduce their consumption, even if enticing food is continually put before them. A millionaire could not possibly eat as much in a week as a coal-heaver, unless he engaged in exercise more severe than would be agreeable. How much more than is necessary can be eaten without discomfort? Does over-eating cause a waste of food sufficient to justify the efforts necessary to control it? Can a man over-eat habitually, without either growing very fat, or becoming a dyspeptic? Does not this evil usually cure itself? Here are questions which are difficult to answer positively. Plenty of people will answer them with assurance; but have they good reason for their answers?
It is difficult to fatten animals beyond a certain limited degree, and even then it takes a long time. If too much tempting food is supplied, they ‘go off their feed.’ Even pigs, as has already been stated, can successfully feed themselves from hoppers with concentrated foods. They apparently do not eat too much. Occasionally cattle or horses which by chance get access to the feedbin will eat so much that they die; but such cases are probably nutritional accidents, where fermentations cause decomposition of the food before it can be digested. During parts of the year almost all animals in a state of nature have the opportunity to eat too much, but we have no reason to believe that they do so. In a long experience, gained by feeding many hundreds of albino rats whose food-intake was limited only by their instincts, I have never suspected that any one of them ate too much. Successful stockmen make their animals eat all they will, in order to obtain maximum production and profit.
Excess of food results in accumulations of fat, but these form comparatively slowly. Chickens or Strasburg geese are fattened more rapidly by force-feeding than in the natural way, because thus they can be made to consume more food than their instincts will permit. Pigs can easily be made very fat; but these animals have been bred for generations with the purpose of developing a breed having a capacity for accumulating fat beyond the normal. Taking the country over, fat men are not very numerous, and most fat women have spent years in becoming so. There is probably far less over-eating, as measured by accumulations of fat above the normal, than is popularly supposed; but that there is some is evidenced by the not inconsiderable number of fat people, especially women, seen in our large cities.
Since the records of what people on the average actually do eat when left entirely to their instincts have been demonstrated to be on the average very nearly what they should eat for the proper maintenance of their bodies, it appears that in general there is not much, if any, over-eating. Such as may occur can be controlled by the scales; for if one is not obviously fat or gaining weight, he is presumably not over-eating. There is evidently little food saving to be expected from efforts directed to suppressing over-eating.
If the food-supply is to be conserved by reducing the amount of food below that now eaten under the direction of instinct, what will be the result? The first effect will obviously be a loss of weight and consequently a reduction in the amount of food needed to move the body, as in walking, getting out of bed, or rising from a chair—a very small fraction of the total needed for maintaining the bodily machine and performing the tasks of daily life. It will not reduce materially the amount of food needed to do the work of daily life; for, as Anderson and Lusk have recently shown, the energy requirement for work done is exactly the same whether the animal is well fed or starved. All that is saved by reducing weight is merely the fuel needed to do the mechanical work involved in moving the smaller load imposed by body weight. Experiments to show the reduction of energy resulting from reduction in weight have been made chiefly on men or animals whose work consisted in lifting the body, as in walking, or hill-climbing. Under such conditions a diminution of energy expenditure is involved which is almost proportional to the reduction in body weight. Under the conditions of activity of the great mass of our population, no corresponding saving can be expected, for few are engaged in occupations where lifting the body comprises more than a very small part of the mechanical work which they do.
Loss of weight involves loss of the factor of safety which nature provides in the form of fat; for even those who are not commonly regarded as ’fat’ have a very considerable amount of fat in the various tissues of their bodies. It may also involve a loss of substance from the muscle-tissues, if the reduction in weight is carried far, or if the subject was at the outset supplied with fat below the normal. Just what effect it has on the easily mobilized supply of glycogen which is needed to maintain uniformity in daily metabolism, I do not know. It would seem as if this too might be reduced to a minimum inconsistent with efficiency. There is no doubt that a certain amount of reduction in weight can be endured by the vigorous for a considerable time, but not without serious loss in efficiency, if long continued. In every community there are many men below the normal weight, and these are always looked upon with suspicion by insurance companies and enlistment officers, even though no pathological cause can be found for their underweight.
Restriction of the food-intake means the loss of a factor of safety other than that furnished by body fat — one that is in the food itself. Food furnishes more than fuel for the body: it supplies, in addition, the materials needed to renew the wear and tear incident to life, and also those mysterious substances called vitamines, the absence of which in a food renders it incapable of supporting life. No one knows what vitamines really are, for as yet they have not been isolated. Their presence is revealed only by the effect they produce upon nutrition. They are not uniformly distributed in the various parts of the plants and animals we use as foods; and in rejecting a part of an animal, or by over-refinement in milling, we may throw away these indispensable substances. The germs of wheat, rice, and other seeds, the liver and kidney of animals, — all of which are composed of highly active cells, — and the cells of yeast, contain a far larger proportion of vitamines than do the endosperm or berry of wheat and rice, or the muscletissue of the animal. Addition of a very small quantity of the germ of the wheatkernel to a vitamine-free but otherwise adequate mixture of nutrients, renders it capable of sustaining life; whereas a
very large addition of white flour scarcely suffices.
Whenever the food-intake is cut down, the supply of vitamines is reduced, with how serious an effect no one as yet knows. That the need for vitamines is quantitative has been demonstrated within the last few months. The weight and health of animals fed on a diet free from vitamines, but otherwise fully adequate, can be maintained so long as they are supplied each day with a small but definite amount of yeast or wheat-germ or some other substance rich in vitamines. If the daily dosage is gradually reduced, a point is reached at which body weight begins to fall and the health of the animal is impaired. Further reductions in the amount of vitamines are followed more rapidly by these evidences of malnutrition. Body weight and health can be restored at once by increasing the daily supply. While in general, for the animals of a given species, the necessary amount of vitamine-containing material is nearly the same, there are individuals who require a larger or a smaller quantity, Vitamines seem to act as if they were stimulants to the metabolism, and individuals seem sensitive to this stimulus in different degrees. Do not vitamines play a part worthy of consideration in connection with restricted food-supplies?
An apparent example of the mysterious way in which instinct guides human beings to secure a supply of vitamines is shown by those tribes of Eskimos who eat the contents of reindeer stomachs as a delicacy. Doubtless the lack of this necessary element in the Eskimo dietary, which is largely made up of meat and fat, is the reason why the vegetable tissues gathered in their roamings by reindeer, and collected in their stomachs in an easily obtainable form, are regarded by the Eskimos as tidbits.
It is not at all improbable that many delicate people of sedentary habits, who eat but little, suffer chiefly from a deficient supply of vitamines, enough of which in the diet appears to impart physical vigor. Here we may have a clue to the reason for the benefit which exercise seems to confer upon people who otherwise lead physically inactive lives. The more these exercise, the more they eat; hence, the more vitamines they get, the better they feel. Those who never take exercise, but are always well, are perhaps persons so constituted that they react readily to a relatively small proportion of these life-giving substances.
How much protein should be included in the daily diet, is a question which has been the subject of contention among physiologists and nutrition experts for a long time, and as yet no agreement appears to be in sight. That those who can afford to buy the expensive foods which supply this element customarily eat more protein than they actually need to maintain their bodies in seemingly good condition, has been demonstrated by the well-known experiments of Chittenden, who showed that men can live for several months without apparent detriment on diets containing about one-half the amount of protein usually eaten. That similar low-protein diets can be used continuously, is shown by the fact that many eastern races habitually live on such.
The low-protein diets of the masses in Japan are unquestionably the result of necessity, for the more prosperous classes in that country provide themselves with foods very similar to those common in America. This change in habits is more likely to be the result of instinct than of a desire to imitate Europeans. It is a matter of common experience that dietary habits which satisfy the promptings of instinct are among the most difficult to change; whereas those which do not satisfy instinct are very easily changed. That more protein should instinctively be eaten than is absolutely necessary, is in accord with the plan of nature of averting danger by providing a factor of safety. Too little protein leads to inevitable disaster, too much (within reasonable limits) can be disposed of without apparent harm.
Physical well-being can be maintained within very wide limits of proteinintake. Just where the minimum, and where the maximum lies, is not certain, but that these limits are avoided by normal persons is certain. I have known a number of individuals who lived with enthusiasm for quite a time on low-protein diets, and who thought that their health was thus improved. All but one of these are now eating the normal amount.
There is no denying the fact that mankind in general instinctively eats more protein than the physiologist tells us is needed for actual maintenance. Why should this be so? One reason has been discovered since the experiments were made on which this dictum was founded, and this is, that all proteins do not have the same nutritive value. A quantity which fully suffices for all the bodily needs when one kind of protein is eaten, may be insufficient if another is eaten in its stead. To guard against this danger, we all instinctively eat a variety of foods, hence a variety of proteins; and it is curious how the selection thus made agrees with what our new knowledge shows to be desirable. Experiments have demonstrated that combinations of the cereal proteins with those of milk, meat, or eggs are much more efficient for promoting the growth of young animals, and for renewing the tissues of adults, than are the cereal proteins alone; and these are the very combinations which mankind eats whenever opportunity makes it possible.
Protein is decomposed in the process of digestion into fragments called amino-acids. Nearly all proteins yield in varying proportion eighteen different amino-acids. In some proteins one or more of these may be absent. When new protein is required by the body, for the growth of the young or for the replacement of broken-down tissue in the adult, amino-acids derived from food are recombined into the protein of the new tissue. As the proteins of our food do not contain the same proportion or amount of the different amino-acids needed to construct the new-tissue proteins, there easily may be available too much or too little of any one of them. If any one aminoacid is furnished in too small quantity, then growth or repair will be retarded. The greater the quantity of protein eaten, and the greater the variety, the less danger there is of running short of the necessary quantity of any one essential amino-acid. Whatever surplus may remain is easily disposed of; so that the danger lies on the side of too little protein rather than too much. We must avoid too near an approach to the protein minimum in our diet until we know more about the chemistry of proteins and their true value in nutrition. Our instinct assures us of a margin of safety which is doubtless wider than is necessary, but how much wider, no one knows.
It is not at all improbable that another feature is involved in the question of the protein minimum, for it may well be that the greater efficiency of the meat-eating nations, which has often been used as an argument against a low-protein regimen, may be thus explained. It has long been known that an increase in the amount of protein consumed above that needed to protect the body-tissues from loss of nitrogen is accompanied by an increase in the amount of heat given off by the animal. This occurs only when the protein eaten is greater in quantity than can readily be stored in the body-cells. A similar increase in heat-output does not take place when carbohydrates or fats are eaten in quantities above those needed for maintenance. Rubner considered this extra production of heat to be peculiar to proteins, and called it their ‘specific dynamic action.’ He assumed that the activities of the bodycells as a whole were constant, and consequently required a constant supply of energy from the food to maintain their normal functions; and that any quantity of protein above what was needed for these normal functions was simply burned up with evolution of heat, but with no effect on the cellular metabolism.
Amino-acids resulting from the digestion of protein cause an extra evolution of heat when fed to animals. This has been interpreted by Lusk as due to a stimulation of metabolism, for the heat developed is greater than could be caused by combustion of the amino-acids supplied.
If protein stimulates metabolism, its effect on the well-being of an organism, especially of one so highly developed and sensitive as man, may well be very considerable. Under the influence of this stimulus the output of work, both physical and mental, may easily be increased. Certainly, the known relative efficiency of the meat-eating nations compared with the seed-eating nations of the Orient is not inconsistent with such a possibility. The efficiency frequently shown by men on experimental low-protein diets, which might be cited as evidence against this view, has often been attributed to psychological causes; for the enthusiasm of converts to new cults often leads them to most remarkable accomplishments.
Whatever the truth may he, the instinct of the great majority leads them away from a low-protein diet; and, in view of the many wonderful ways in which instinct saves us from nutritional disasters of other kinds, attention certainly ought to be given to the amount of protein which man instinctively eats when not restricted by available supplies, or by poverty.
Reviewing our recently gained knowledge from the standpoint of one seeking information by which to regulate his own dietary habits, we find that the chemical requirements of nutrition can be met only by the use of a variety of food-products, and that instinct, which impels man to crave this variety, saves him under normal conditions from the dangers involved in a too-restricted choice.
Those of us who habitually eat an unduly large or unduly small proportion of any particular kind of food will do well to alter our habits in this respect, and conform more nearly to the practice of the average American, whose daily ration consists of about three and a half ounces of sugar, four and a half ounces of fat, eight and a half ounces of flour, and three and a half ounces of protein.
The widely different sources that may be drawn on for the protein in this ration permit the needed variety. Protein is furnished by milk, eggs, meat (including poultry and all kinds of seafood), and, to a limited extent, by vegetables and fruits. Protein from these different sources does not have equal value in nutrition, but instinct leads the normal man to eat the very combinations which science proves to be the best. Young rats in my laboratory grew very slowly when wheat-flour furnished all the protein of their diet; but when meat, milk, or eggs supplied one third and flour two thirds of the protein, they grew rapidly. Bread and milk, bread and meat (sandwiches), and eggs on toast are combinations evolved by human instinct long before science discovered a chemical explanation of their efficiency. Man’s natural desire for a varied diet thus takes account of even the fine points of the chemistry of the proteins.
Lusk has recently published a long list of foods, natural and manufactured, with their retail prices, calculated on the basis of the amount of fuel they furnish to the body for the performance of its daily work. It is curious to see how uniform these prices are for the foods which are eaten chiefly for their fuel-value. A higher, but fairly uniform, price is paid when protein is the chief factor furnished by the food. Far more costly than either of these are the vegetables and fruits which furnish very little that formerly was considered essential for nutrition. This is an impressive demonstration of the accuracy of man’s instinctive judgment as to the relative values of the food-products he buys; and when we see how he has learned through instinct to combine the things he eats, and realize the underlying necessity that prompts his apparent extravagance, we cannot fail to be impressed by the very high price that he is willing to pay for vegetables and fruit.
Flour and meat contain relatively little, and sugar and fat contain none, of the vitamines which must be in every ration in sufficient amount, if life is to be sustained. The amount of vitamines contained in milk and eggs is too small to render it probable that they alone will supply enough when consumed in the amounts ordinarily eaten. That man does live and, in general, flourish on the kind of food he instinctively eats, demonstrates beyond question that the supply of vitamines in his usual diet is sufficient for his needs. The only conclusion to be drawn from this is that vegetables or fruits, probably both, supply this most important food-factor, and that for this vital need man is ready to pay a good round price.
At the present moment science can add very little definite information on this most important aspect of our foodproblem. Until investigations now in progress are completed, we can give only general advice. In the meantime,
I believe that instinct is a safe guide, that it is prompting us to eat the kinds of food we should.
In general, we eat very nearly the amount of food that we really need. He who does hard physical work needs to eat more than does the sedentary brainworker whose labor involves no expenditure of energy that must be supplied by extra food; and so he who works with his brain instinctively eats less than he who works with his muscles. The old belief that different foods were of widely different digestibility has yielded place to the knowledge that what was formerly called indigestion really arises from a failure to completely assimilate the full amount that has been digested. Some foods — sugar, for instance — are so concentrated and so readily digested that it is easy to overload our metabolic processes with the products of their digestion. The muscle-worker can more easily oxidize and dispose of a surplus of food than can the brain-worker. Both need, however, the same kind of food in differing proportions. The sedentary man needs proportionately less sugar, fat, and cereal products than does the muscleworker.
We are now confronted by restricted supplies, and nearly all of us have been compelled to modify our dietary habits so that we are no longer protected by instinct. While the war lasts, we shall have to adjust our habits to conditions more and more. Already, what and how much we shall eat has become a very practical problem.
Science can help much in meeting this emergency; but, like every other agent which is being employed to win the war, it has its limitations. Unless dietitians fully realize the limits imposed by our present imperfect knowledge, and heed the lessons to be learned from instinct, we shall encounter, not only nutritional difficulties, but serious social discontent.
Fortunately the United States has a Food Administrator, surrounded by a body of expert advisers who are not only alive to all that science can do to aid them in dealing with their serious problems, but are also awake to the necessity of carefully considering the part played by instinct in the foodhabits of the individual. Hard times are ahead of us, but we may be sure that such advice as the Food Administrator gives will be the best that any nation has had. No one will suffer in health or efficiency by following his directions. During the war, we must trust him. After the war, we must learn more about this important subject.