Eating Our Way to Kindness

When talking about animal rights and welfare, the temptation exists—especially for those who still consume animals and animal by-products—to rebut and say, “Yes, but what about human rights? What about human welfare?” Here I want to discuss one way to begin to answer that rebuttal.

We can start by saying that being passionate, informed, and able to assist in one area does not make one’s apparent inaction in other areas a moral flaw or ethical inconsistency. Still, we need to consider the consequences of our choices. A case in point is the fact that there are strong connections between cruelty to animals and violence toward humans.

In Cynthia Hodges’ 2008 study, she made note of the cognitive trends of infamous serial killers, school shooters, domestic abusers, and other violent people. The traits she noted are all connected to instances of animal cruelty in these people’s childhoods—instances which were not deemed particularly concerning, but which may have been indicators pointing toward what the child would grow up to do. Hodges says,

Acts of animal cruelty are not merely signs of a minor personality flaw, but are rather symptomatic of a deep mental disturbance. Cruelty to animals has been recognized as an indicator of a dangerous psychopathy that claims both animal and human victims. A survey of psychiatric patients who had repeatedly tortured animals found that all of them were also highly aggressive towards people. (2008)

Hodges suggests very strongly here that cruelty to animals almost always leads to some larger instance of violence in the future. This isn’t very surprising. Hodges notes that “In fact, one of the most reliable predictors of future violence as an adult is having committed animal abuse as a child.”

It is by now an almost colloquial suggestion that if a child is actively unkind to pets, perhaps the child should be examined. This colloquialism reflects our awareness that a basic instinct, present in even young children, is usually to nurture and protect that which is weaker and smaller—specifically animals. Animal abusers seem to have a much diminished instinct to be kind or nonviolent to those often seen as small and weak, such as women and children.

Hodges goes on to say that murderers, violent spouses, and abusive parents had “frequently harmed animals in the past.” She suggests that often domestic animal cruelty is used as leverage against the person who loves the pet the most: it’s a technique to psychologically harm and physically threaten the human victim. It is also used as a demonstration of how little life matters to the abuser. Furthermore, it can actively erode the intended witness’s perception of the sanctity of life, including the witness’s own life. In that way witnessing abuse can begin a cycle of acting abusive, be it toward animals, self, or other persons.

There is also a relationship between the most appalling displays of childhood animal cruelty on record and some of the most violent criminals. Shockingly, Hodges says, “100% of sexual homicide offenders examined had a history of cruelty towards animals.” Although most sexual homicide offenders are men, the stats do not discriminate—this isn’t just a male aggression issue. Hodges also cites that “36% of assaultive women reported cruelty to animals while 0% of non-assaultive women did.”

This is certainly not to suggest that those who harm animals—intentionally or otherwise—are cruel people predestined to harm their pets, children, and spouses. But a link exists and suggests that harming animals can be indicative of (and even eventually lead to) an emotional distance from the suffering of others—an insensitivity can be created when animal cruelty is witnessed for prolonged periods.

One might argue that there is a distinct moral difference between harming an animal for fun and using the animal’s body for food and clothing. Others may argue that a difference lies between killing an animal oneself and paying someone to do it. There may be such a distinction from the perspective of moral relativism, but I argue that we are moving away from an era where this moral relativism is permissible.

We no longer have any reason to believe that using animals for food or clothing is a “necessary evil.” Humans generally do not require meat to survive. In fact there is much more evidence suggesting that the quickly globalizing Standard American Diet (typically heavy on meat and dairy) presents myriad problems over time—obesity, increased risk of heart failure, and cancer among them. There is no real moral or factual backbone to support the objection that eating meat and contributing to animal agriculture is a health-conscious choice, although rare exceptions may exist.

And since there is evidence that animal cruelty (regardless of whether someone is paid to participate in it) is linked to severe psychological damage to both the performer and those with whom the performer interacts, we must consider the moral rights of those people paid to raise, butcher, and process animals for consumption. To those employed in feeding others meat, it’s fair to conclude that animal cruelty is human cruelty. Under what argument can we position those who work in animal agriculture as persons unaffected by the work they do, or say that their pay outweighs the moral burden and consequences of their daily labors?

So since it is neither beneficial from a health perspective nor beneficial for the mental and physical wellbeing of our farm and factory workers, why do we still resist veganism? Is it because we never have categorized ourselves as animal oppressors? Have we never considered animal rights? Or, is it because suddenly the opportunity presents itself to make healthier, more sustainable choices for ourselves, others, and the planet, and we feel a little stage-shy?

I would argue that many of us experience a cognitive dissonance when considering veganism as a lifestyle. We know ourselves to be persons of kind character and good (or at least neutral) intent, yet veganism asks us to recognize that eating meat means we are contributing to unnecessary harm and infringing on animal rights. This apparent contradiction is, I think, not a symptom of any moral deficiency of our own, but comes from years of living in a world where it is normal to be mostly unaware of the effects of our actions or inactions. When faced with the idea that our food choices were never neutral, we feel a sudden guilt for a lifetime’s carnivorousness. And going vegan might feel like an admission of that guilt.

I urge readers not to feel guilt over the past, but to instead be curious about the future. Be curious enough to seek positive change in the way you interact with weak and defenseless beings. I have found that working on a moral consistency that extends all the way to my diet has positively affected my mental health and my relationship with myself and others over time. Though we may disagree over priorities when it comes to diet, most of us can agree that we want to be more conscientious and loving people both in intent and action.