No one can dispute the benefits of a vegetarian diet. Many studies have been conducted and much has been written by numerous nutritionists about the significant contribution of vegetarianism to our health.

Nevertheless, there is considerable debate about whether it is right for someone to completely exclude meat or its by-products from their diet. Certain amino acids that the body cannot synthesize, as well as vitamin B12, are found exclusively in meat, while, as is widely known, red meat is an important source of iron.

In this whole discussion about nutrition, in all this “dietary science,” there is an important aspect beyond the biological and physical one—the human being eats primarily to nourish the body, yet ultimately their diet reflects their very morality. The well-known saying “we are what we eat” clearly reveals this moral dimension in the relationship between humans and their food, a dimension that one can easily observe.

If one observes people’s physical appearance and behavior, one can “guess” approximately what they eat. Generally speaking, those who overconsume meat—not all, but many—are robust, muscular, often carry excess fat or are overweight, are extroverted, sometimes excessive or aggressive, and generally “take up space around them.”

On the other hand, those who are strictly vegetarian—many of them—are slim or have localized fat, are more introverted, and sometimes more persistent in their ideas.

Their characteristic persistence becomes evident when discussing diet. They are often dismissive toward those who consume meat. They consider meat-eating a violent and non-spiritual act, since meat-eaters have consented to the killing of an animal.

Depending on the social context and environment in which a person lives, each side can be useful or, in its excess, can create problems.

If one turns to religions and spiritual schools, one will observe that many advocate abstaining from meat or its by-products, either for life or during specific fasting periods. In such religious or spiritual practices, the question of moral motives always lingers.

No one can deny the existence of wise teachers in Hinduism and yoga who reject meat. However, could one say that the wise individuals in tribes of Africa, South America, or Northern Europe—who included and still include meat in their diet—are less wise?

Taking the life of an animal is certainly a highly invasive act by humans and is usually accompanied by violence. Yet do we not also violently take the life of a plant when we break or cut its body from its roots?

There is the view that plants have no feelings, while animals feel fear and resist; that plants do not have blood and therefore are not as alive as animals.

But who is it that decides which life—animal or plant—can be considered more or less as LIFE? Who decides which life should be slaughtered for human consumption, when nature itself has given a unique and remarkable purpose of existence to every living being around us?

We undoubtedly empathize more with the tragic moment of an animal’s death because its biological structure resembles our own. On the other hand, we have also observed plants, how they adapt to their environment under adverse conditions and strive to reach the light in order to live. One cannot deny that the instinct of survival exists in plants just as it does in animals. The difference is that animals—at least those not raised in captivity—have the ability to escape when hunted, while plants do not.

Thus, our compassion toward the animal kingdom regarding their killing tends to be more a psychological process of projection than a matter of morality. We project onto their death the fear of our own death. Blood, terror in the eyes, the cry—these are also elements of our own death. However, preferring one death (of plants) over another (of animals) is not a moral act, nor does it necessarily reflect a spiritual stance.

If we truly wish to approach the issue within a sincere spiritual framework—that is, through a mental process that takes into account and respects life in its most subtle manifestations—then even the consumption of fruits is a form of destroying life. No botanical book has ever stated that fruits are produced for human consumption. Plants produce fruits to perpetuate their species.

As a counterargument, one might say that this is precisely why cultivation exists. Through cultivation, the species is preserved while enough fruits are also produced for us. But if we want to be fair, this argument should apply not only to fruits but also to the previous cases we mentioned (animals and plants).

One could say that, as this line of thought evolves, the only “food” that would allow humans to be morally and spiritually “correct” would be light. Yet even this is not true. Let us not forget that light is the result of explosions occurring in the sun, and these explosions are nothing more than countless fragmentations of the sun’s “body,” gradually exhausting the lifespan of the star that gives us life. In other words, all life on Earth is nourished by the gradual death of the sun.

If the death of plants or fruits does not concern us because they are not biologically related to us, then perhaps we can understand why we have never considered that everything on Earth exists and is sustained by the gradual death of our sun.

Therefore, in order for us to eat, something must die.

Religions and spiritual schools have resolved the moral issue by placing humans as superior beings to all other living entities. In this way, the moral problem is addressed.

Many, however, have misunderstood this superiority and believe they can act arbitrarily toward nature.

The question of human superiority lies in our dual perception. Humans are the only living beings capable of gaining experience through direct living (experience) and also through observing what they experience (detachment). Thanks to this observational detachment, we have developed scientific reasoning.

This dual capacity has led us to the following conclusions: First, humans themselves are part of this process of food and death. The diseases that lead us to death are often caused by viruses or microbes that feed on us.

While our ability to observe and detach—linked to scientific thinking and the instinct of survival—has helped us survive many times, nature has nonetheless included us in this game of food and death.

Ultimately, this relationship between food and death is a law of nature, a voluntary process that repeats itself in all living beings and at all levels of life.

Second, if one tries to observe this connection without emotional bias, one will notice that it follows a pattern of division.

A pattern described as follows:
Something exists and is divided so that something else may emerge. Thus, nature ensures that all forms of life divide so that other forms may arise or develop, while simultaneously ensuring the continuation of the original form through other mechanisms.

Essentially, this pattern describes the process of creation—the process of life itself.

If we now replace the word “division” with the mathematical term “ratio” (fraction) and connect it to “In the beginning was the Logos… all things were made through Him,” or to the way Pythagoras speaks about ratio, or to the Kabbalah and the emergence of one sephirot from another to form the Tree of Life, or how one chakra emerges from another, then we understand that this process of division/ratio has been consciously recognized by humans since ancient times.

It is noteworthy that the voluntary loss of one life for the creation and development of another—serving a specific purpose dictated by the laws of nature—essentially describes the process of sacrifice. In any dictionary, the word “sacrifice” is defined as the act of a voluntary loss for a specific purpose.

According to this perspective, we realize that food is ultimately connected not with death, but with sacrifice. Something is sacrificed for something else to evolve. Part of the sun is sacrificed for life on Earth. Part of the soil is broken down and consumed by plants. Some plants—or parts of them—are sacrificed for animals or humans to grow. Part of a mother’s body is sacrificed for her child to develop.

Thus, the pattern of sacrifice and food forms an eternal cycle that sustains life as a whole.

It would be easy to mistakenly label everything that kills as sacrifice. The term “sacrifice” can easily become an excuse for reckless behavior—not only in relation to food.

The distinction between killing and sacrifice is very subtle.

Other forms of life solve this issue simply by following their instincts. They eat when they are hungry, consuming very specific foods dictated by their nature (herbivores, carnivores). Thus, no moral or spiritual issue arises for them.

Humans, however, must interpret—through their dual perception—the process of choosing and consuming food in order to recognize it as a moral or spiritual act.

Nature has helped us in this. Whenever humans misuse food, it becomes toxic and harms them. Overconsumption and unnecessary processing add further intolerance, making people unhappy and ultimately leading them toward death instead of sustaining life.

When a person reflects on food as a form of life sacrificed for them, they enter into a natural relationship with it. They treat it according to the laws of nature: they eat when needed, what is needed, and as much as needed—and thus their vitality grows.

This perception of food as a process of sacrifice exists in all civilizations, from the coldest to the warmest regions of the planet. Food was connected to sacrifice and therefore directly linked to the natural environment. Hunters prayed for their prey and offered part of their food to their gods or to nature. Farmers did the same. Cultivation and harvest followed specific seasons, considering not only weather but also lunar cycles. Part of their food was also offered to gods or nature.

These acts show a conscious relationship between humans and food. They show that humans have reflected on the death of another life form in order to sustain their own.

This awareness leads us to behave responsibly not only toward our food but also toward the broader environment that nourishes both us and our food.

It makes us feel part of it and grateful. It fosters cohesion—a fundamental aspect of love and a core element of spirituality.

By observing digestion, we understand that food differs not only in nutritional or caloric value but also energetically. It is easy to see that meat carries a “heavier” energy than vegetables or fruits. In general, there is a spectrum of “energy frequencies,” from light to meat—from subtle to dense.

Through our dual perception, we can sense that we experience different energetic states. At times we feel lighter and may need grounding; at other times, the opposite.

The conscious use of food—beyond nutrition—helps shape our energy.

Thus, cultures that consume meat cannot be labeled as “bad” or violent. Climate, lifestyle, and available resources determine dietary habits.

All religions and spiritual schools consciously use food within this energetic framework. Some people consistently consume subtle foods to reach higher spiritual states. Others, after intense spiritual practice and fasting, consume heavier foods like meat to ground themselves. A clear example is Christianity, where after long fasting periods, believers eat meat.