If you walk into a supermarket or open a delivery app, you’ll see packets wrapped neatly in plastic labelled pork or chicken. But why not dogs, cats, hamsters? That’s because many people don’t hesitate eating a hamburger or fried chicken, but most of the same people feel disgusted or morally wrong with just the idea of eating their beloved pet ‘Charlie’ or ‘Bubbles’.
In India, cows are considered sacred and a vast majority of the population don’t eat them. In other cultures, they are among the most widely consumed animals. In Chinese and other Southeast Asian cultures, shark fin soup is a delicacy served traditionally at celebrations like weddings, whereas it is criticised in many Western countries. These striking contradictions show us something important- the division between animals we eat versus those we protect is extremely blurry, and not based on a universal line or rule. Instead, this is shaped on the basis of culture, religion, and personal moral reasoning.
Culture plays one of the largest roles in this topic. From childhood, people are taught what is considered ‘normal’ to eat’ and what is ‘loveable’. These lessons are deeply embedded into the way people go about with their daily lives. In my home country, many Hindus do not eat beef as these animals are considered sacred – a belief shared across centuries of tradition. To contrast, beef is a staple to people’s diets in countries such as the United States. Similarly, pork is forbidden in Judaism due to religious laws found in holy texts. However, many other societies commonly enjoy pork. In some parts of Eastern Asia, dog meat has been historically consumed, though the practice has decreased in recent times. These examples demonstrate that we do not have any biological restrictions dividing edible and inedible animals, but instead constitutions that we ourselves formed over time.
Moral judgment is also influenced by attachment. We form faithful bonds with certain animals like dogs or cats, which are often regarded as family members. We dress them up and celebrate their birthdays, carry them around in purses, and mourn them when they pass. This is because a cute little dog with a name and a personality is much more loveable or charming than an unnamed cow in a distant pasture- an image versus an abstraction. Personally speaking, a puppy waiting for you after school feels so much more different than a chicken in the grocery store, even though both have the same ability to feel pain. It is like comparing ‘she’ versus ‘it’, and the other animal does not even receive a gender, name, or proper character.
Psychologists know this as the ‘identifiable victim effect,’ but I would like to simplify it to ‘moral distance’. The further we are from knowing an animal’s identity, the more likely we are to not sympathise with it, and instead make it a part of a category ‘livestock’. When we go to restaurants, we order ‘pork,’ not pig. The language becomes like a shield, buffering the truth we do not want to face.
Should we see the other side?
The ends justify the means.
What does that mean?
It means the methods, no matter how cruel or evil, may be used if the outcome is good. But what if it’s necessary? What if the ‘good outcome’ just means ‘survival’?
In dry or arid climates, insects are consumed due to no other available source of protein. In mountainous climates like Peru, guinea pigs are part of tourist ‘Must Try!’ cuisines and in China, weddings are celebrated with some delicious, hammerhead fin soup! After conducting a survey and collecting data from some of my closest friends, I figured out that while most of them had their inhibitions about consuming another living being, they agreed that in a life or death situation, they would do what it takes to survive. Whether it be insects or rodents, they would be willing to ‘sacrifice’ those creatures for themselves.
But who gives them – who gives us – authority to play God? Why do we get to decide which animals are socially acceptable to eat and which are not?
Perhaps the answer lies within humanity itself. We are the ones who separate the world into categories and neat files, in a way that makes life easier for us. We divide the wild from the tame, the edible from the inhumane. It was never a ready made social construct; we stitched the rules together ourselves. It was us who decided we can eat chicken but can’t eat cats.
The uncomfortable truth is we choose compassion selectively. We cry over videos of abandoned puppies but scroll past footage of slaughter farms. The mind places them in a preselected box: friend, or food. We maintain and uphold this in our daily lives. We don’t say ‘dead cow,’ but steak. We don’t say ‘baby chick,’ we say chicken nuggets.
And perhaps that is the saddest part of all: the transformation of life into normalcy and everyday commodities. A breathing animal with instincts, fear, emotions, and awareness becomes reduced to “stock.” In industrial farming, animals are often treated not like living beings but more like cogs in a machine. Chickens are packed feather to wing below artificial lights. Pigs are confined in spaces so small they can barely turn around.The image is cold and dystopian, as though nature itself has been fed into a factory conveyor belt. We fear the robot takeover because we picture ourselves in images such as this, but don’t bat an eye at these animals’ entire lives- being bred just to be killed.
As pop star Lana Del Rey said, ‘‘Cause you and I, we were born to die.’
Supporters of animal consumption may argue that this is just the order of life. Animals eat other animals in the wild, and humans evolved as omnivores. Lions don’t ask permission before hunting, so why should humans feel guilty for eating meat? This argument does hold some truth. Predators exist throughout nature. Survival depends on consumption. The difference is a lion kills because it must. Humans, especially in ‘developed’ societies, kill because we want to.
Still, the issue is not black and white. To chasten every person who eats meat is ignorant and disregards traditions, realities, and circumstances. Food is personal. It is memory, comfort, celebration, and identity. A great grandmother’s recipe passed down carries emotional baggage that outweighs nutrition. To some communities, rejecting traditional food practices can feel like rejecting heritage itself. That is why debates about food oftentimes are so emotional – they are never just about consumption, but about belonging.
The controversy of shark fin soup is exemplary. For some, the dish symbolises celebration. Serving it is seen as deeply respecting and honoring your guests. Yet for activists, marine biologists, and/or ocean and shark lovers, the image attached to the dish is entirely different- it is one of sharks maimed for their crucial dorsal and tail fins and then discarded back into the ocean, ecosystems disrupted, and species facing extinction. One bowl of soup carries two completely different meanings depending on who is looking down at it. Tradition for one culture becomes cruelty for another.
This reveals something interesting about morality: it is not fixed. It shifts over time like the new formation of dunes after a sandstorm. Practices once normal can become unacceptable. Once upon a time, smoking indoors was common, child labor was ordinary, and violence was accepted by society. Cultural values evolve, and food ethics evolve with them. The fact that my generation is increasingly questioning factory farming and destruction suggests that the attitude toward eating animals may continue changing in the future.
At the same time, there is peril in imagining humans can exist entirely separated from nature. Life survives on life. Even agriculture causes damage and animal deaths indirectly, through habitat destruction. Moral purity may be entirely impossible. Every meal carries some consequence. The question is not whether humans can live without causing harm at all, but how much harm society is willing to justify.
The real issue is not whether eating animals is right or wrong. It is if people are willing to acknowledge the reality behind our choices. Would you like to see a cuisine with pictures of factory-farms and the barbaric conditions these poor animals are forced to live in? It is easy to eat meat when suffering is hidden behind a restaurant menu or a supermarket aisle. It is much harder when forced to confront the living creature behind the meal. Modern society creates a comfortable distance between consumers and the suffocation necessary for consumption. Out of sight, out of mind. Humanity has always excelled at looking away when convenience is involved.
Yet despite all the contradictions, there is something humane about this common debate. The very fact that people argue over which animals deserve protection proves that empathy exists. We are capable of compassion not only toward each other but toward entirely different species. We see personality in wagging tails and curious eyes. We form connections powerful enough to blur the line between ownership and companionship. Our emotional capacity is extremely significant.
In the end, there will never be a universal answer as to why it is acceptable to eat some animals and not others. The line is not drawn by nature but by society, culture, history, and emotion. It shifts depending on geographical circumstances, religion, and personal understanding and belief. A cow is sacred in one country and Friday night’s dinner in another. A dog may be a beloved companion in one home and historically consumed on the same land. The categories are inconsistent because humanity itself is inconsistent.
Maybe the most important thing this discussion teaches us is humility. We often act as though we stand above the animal kingdom, deciding which creatures face affection and which face slaughter. Yet, morality is more intertwined than that. The boundaries we create are not divine laws carved into stone, but stories we inherit and continue telling ourselves and others.
When we sit down at a table, we are not choosing what to eat. We are choosing what survives and what doesn’t. We are revealing what we value, what we ignore, and what we are willing to justify. Every plate becomes a reflection of human nature itself: compassionate yet contradictory, thoughtful yet so selfish, capable of empathy while still turning away from suffering when inconvenient.
That contradiction above all else is what separates humans from the animals we debate consuming. Next time you sit down for a lovely meal, tie your napkin around your neck, ready your fork and knife, and truly look at what you are eating – beyond the fatty tendon and the hind leg.
Thanks,
Anaisha Bhalla
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