Universal Suffocation by John Harvey Kellogg

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 15, 1875

Universal Suffocation.

By John Harvey Kellogg

In the summer season, and during the whole year, in tropical climates, fresh air is always in constant requisition, on account of the oppressive heat. The life-giving oxygen is freely invited to diffuse its invigorating influence through every human habitation, and every device is employed to facilitate the dissemination of pure air. But when winter approaches, it seems to be forgotten that the demand of the system for oxygen is even greater in this season of the year than in any other. The houses are carefully banked up with straw and dirt lest a few stray inches of untainted air should enter through the cracks in the floor or some loosely fitting joint. The outside windows are nailed fast, and the door casings are padded with felt, to prevent the entrance of a solitary whiff of fresh, unpoisoned air. Within the dwelling, thus securely barricaded, air-tight stoves are kept at a temperature only a little below the point of fusion, and the inmates dodge furtively in and out in order to maintain the maximum degree of heat by preventing the ingress of any of heaven’s pure, cold air.

When a person enters such a hot-house as the one described, and the description is applicable to ninety-nine one-hundredths of all American dwellings, after spending an hour in the open air, the sense of suffocation is very painful for some minutes. He notices the great contrast between such air and that which he has just been inhaling, and at once suffers from respiring it; but after remaining for some time in the vitiated atmosphere, his lungs learn to tolerate it, and he no longer observes the character of the air he breathes, although he continues to suffer its constitutional effects, notwithstanding the obtuseness of his senses.

Let us notice the difference between such air and that which is found out of doors.

‘In the first place, it is largely contaminated with that deadly gas, carbonic acid; or, technically, carbon dioxide. We call this gas deadly, because it is doubtless productive of more mortality than any other single gaseous body. In out-of-door air, this gas exists in very minute quantities, not more than .04 of one per cent, or .4 of one part in 1000 parts of air. Small as this quantity is, if it becomes increased to .6, according to some of our most eminent medical authorities, it will impair the health of those who breathe the air containing it. In nearly all dwelling houses, at this season of the year, the proportion of carbonic acid is usually from 1.2 to 4.0 parts per 1000, or from two to six times as much as can be breathed without serious injury.

Again, the lungs are constantly throwing off in the expired air certain organic matters of a very poisonous character, even in health. In disease, these impurities are enormously increased, adding further poison to the surrounding air in the shape of disease germs, and the products of putrefactive changes. The nature of these poisons, and their effects, are closely analogous to those which give rise to typhoid fever, if they are not quite identical with the latter.

Lastly, by superheating, air which is otherwise healthy may become a source of disease. If the air is moist as well as elevated in temperature, it will have a debilitating influence, relaxing the capillary vessels of the skin and lungs, and making those who breathe it liable to colds and pneumonias upon exposure to even slight changes of temperature. If it is dry, as it is most likely to be, it becomes a source of irritation to the mucous surfaces of the air passages and the eyes, and thus leads to serious affections of these organs.

Many people who enjoy good health in warm weather, complain of poor circulation, congestion of the head, and similar difficulties in the winter. Such persons are very likely to keep themselves shut up in close rooms, which are kept at a very high temperature. They constantly draw closer and closer to the fire, but their chilliness increases, notwithstanding. This is one of the most common results of confinement in hot, unventilated rooms.

We need scarcely say that the remedy for all of these evils is ventilation. There seems to prevail at present as great a fear of cold air as there once was of cold water; both are alike harmless and promotive of health when properly used. But whether warm or cool, pure air is absolutely essential. How to secure it is the problem. When log houses and huge fire-places were fashionable, there was no necessity for any attention being directed especially to the ventilation of dwellings, for the blazing fire on the open hearth, communicating with a capacious chimney, was a most efficient means for removing the foul products of combustion and respiration, while an abundant supply of fresh air was sucked in through the loose walls of those primitive edifices; but the unwholesome refinements of our modern civilization have rendered this a puzzling question. Some eminent physicists recommend that the outlet for air should be at the bottom of a room, in imitation of the old-fashioned fire-place, the inlet being near the ceiling, while others recommend exactly the opposite plan. Probably either plan is useful under the circumstances adapted to it. In ordinary dwellings, ventilation can usually be secured only by means of doors and windows. By a little care, unpleasant draughts can be avoided. If necessary, a piece of coarse muslin or wire gauze may be placed before the opening in the window to break the current which pours in. Generally, windows should be opened on several sides of the room, to insure circulation.

Every person requires a breathing space of at least 800 cubic feet. More would be better. To keep this pure, 3000 cubic feet of air must pass through it every hour; or, in other words, the whole air in the room must be changed about four times an hour. To effect this, the area of inlet should ordinarily be about twenty-four square inches for each occupant of a room. The same space should be allowed for the escape of the air.

We solicit the aid of every true philanthropist in endeavoring to uproot this almost universal practice of gradual suffocation. Carbonic acid may do very well as a means for killing hydrophobic dogs; but its use in the wholesale destruction of human beings is quite unnecessary so long as war and pestilences exist. — J. H. K. in Health Reformer.