So, basically, my view is I don't want to support the

The words of Peter Singer—“So, basically, my view is I don’t want to support the exploitation of animals, and within reason, I will do what I can to avoid it, but it’s not like it’s a religion for me. It’s not like I consider I’m polluted if somehow some bit of milk or cheese or something passes my lips.”—reveal the heart of a man who seeks both compassion and balance. They are not the fanatical words of one enslaved to dogma, but the steady voice of conscience, guided by reason. He acknowledges that the suffering of animals is real, that their exploitation is a moral stain upon humanity, and yet he refuses to clothe his practice in the garments of rigid religion. His ethic is one of principle joined with humility: do what you can, strive toward mercy, but do not mistake the practice for purity itself.

The origin of these words comes from Singer’s long life as a moral philosopher, widely known as the father of modern animal rights philosophy. He has argued that to cause needless suffering to animals is wrong, for their capacity to feel pain and joy demands moral consideration. Yet in this confession, he clarifies that he does not see his dietary or ethical practices as absolutes, but as reasoned commitments. Unlike religious taboos that treat contact with certain foods as pollution, his guiding star is the reduction of suffering, not the pursuit of ritual purity. It is a vision deeply practical, rooted not in self-righteousness but in compassion joined with reason.

This way of thinking is not new. Consider the example of Buddha, who also spoke of moderation in the pursuit of virtue. He warned against the extremes of indulgence and asceticism, teaching instead the Middle Way. Just as Singer avoids both cruelty and fanaticism, the Buddha counseled that wisdom lies in balance. The goal is not to enslave oneself to rigid prohibitions, but to cultivate compassion in daily choices. Thus Singer’s words, though modern, carry echoes of ancient wisdom: choose mercy, but walk with humility.

His statement also speaks against the dangers of turning moral practices into idols. History is full of men and women who began with noble causes but, over time, hardened them into rigid dogmas that divided rather than uplifted. Think of the Puritans, whose pursuit of holiness often became so severe that they crushed the joy and humanity of their communities. Singer’s refusal to treat veganism as “a religion” guards against this error. For if compassion becomes a creed of condemnation, it ceases to be compassion at all. True mercy must extend even to those who falter or fail.

The heart of Singer’s ethic is this: do what you can, with the strength you have, to lessen the suffering of others—whether human or animal. Do not let perfection become the enemy of goodness. The one who refuses to eat meat most of the time, but slips occasionally, has still saved many lives. The one who strives to be kind, though imperfectly, has still added light to the world. In this way, Singer calls us to a reasonable compassion, not a crushing legalism.

The lesson is clear: let your conscience be alive to the suffering of others, but do not bind yourself in chains of self-condemnation. Seek to act with integrity and mercy, but accept that imperfection is part of being human. What matters is not ritual purity, but the direction of the heart. If your choices lessen harm and increase compassion, then you have already walked far on the path of goodness.

Practically, this means being mindful of what we consume and support. Choose, where possible, foods and products that do not involve cruelty. Reduce your reliance on what exploits animals, but do not despair if you cannot always avoid it. Support those who strive for humane practices. And above all, remember that compassion is not about self-purity, but about the alleviation of suffering in the world.

Thus, Singer’s words remind us of a timeless truth: ethics is not about perfection, but about compassion joined with reason. Live gently, strive to lessen harm, and hold fast to mercy. But do not let your striving become a burden of pride or self-condemnation. For in walking this middle path, we find both freedom and love, and our lives become not shrines to ritual purity, but instruments of mercy to all beings.