Gabriela Jarzębowska reviews Interpreting Meat by Teddy Duncan Jr. By unmasking the hidden libidinal and discursive investments in meat, Duncan urges us to imagine a different kind of relationship with animals—one grounded not in domination or guilt, but in awareness, responsibility, and a reshaping of desire itself.
In Interpreting Meat, Duncan addresses the important and yet undertheorized role of meat in the overall picture of relations between humans and animals. As a ubiquitous and ordinary product, meat carries a hidden record of commodification and brutality, and modern society seeks to distance itself from it. By a careful analysis of the way in which meat is economically, materially, and discursively constructed, this book reveals the discursive structures through which animals become understood and through which humans act towards them. By taking a specific position regarding the role of meat as a product of modern regimes of consumption and production, Duncan illustrates how modernity redefines the human-animal relationship. He focuses specifically on two ambiguous phenomena shaped in the modern times: (animal) life as labor and a meat-as-commodity.
What sets apart this book is its use of theoretical frameworks underexploited in traditional studies of animals. Drawing in part on Marxist analysis and psychoanalytic theory from Lacan and Žižek, Duncan rejects traditional approaches that rely on simple analogies or efforts to erase boundaries between humans and animals. Instead, the book introduces a new model for understanding meat as a product situated within a web of social relations, ideologies, and desires. This shift in perspective invites readers to rethink the deeper forces driving the commodification and consumption of animal bodies. Instead of advocating for prohibitive legal or moralistic solutions to counteract the meat-commodity (the exclusion of vegan theory is deliberate), Duncan argues that real resistance lies in reorienting the social dynamics underpinning our desires and consumption habits. By confronting the deeper structures that allow animals to be commodified and consumed, the book proposes an alternative path—one centered on acknowledging and transforming our collective relationship with the animals we exploit.
It would be hard to address all the theoretical issues raised by Duncan within the scope of this humble review. Instead, I have decided to elaborate on a few issues that I find particularly interesting and/or problematic. Although some of my points may sound polemical, they are not intended to downplay the important contributions of the book. On the contrary, my goal is to think alongside Duncan’s work and highlight the most significant, and at times controversial, issues he raises. I will begin with two points that I find not entirely convincing (or at least worth further elaboration) before moving on to what I believe to be the strongest aspect of Duncan’s analysis.
The author introduces his argument and theoretical framework by contrasting it—early on, as in the introduction—with two positions that, in his view, are overly dominant in the field of animal studies. I would suggest that this strong opposition is not entirely necessary, as Duncan’s argument is convincing even without this critique. However, since he invests considerable effort in disputing these positions, I have chosen to follow his line of reasoning, as I believe it touches upon significant conceptions (or, perhaps, misconceptions) within animal studies.
The first criticism concerns the erasure of the divide between humans and animals, and the second involves comparisons between organized exploitations of animals (most notably, factory farms) and human genocides (e.g., slavery and/or the Holocaust). The first issue—the erasure of the divide between humans and animals—is one with which Duncan takes issue. As he explains, "my concern here is not that animal studies ‘humanizes’ animals or ‘animalizes’ humans . . . but, rather, my concern is the effacement of difference in the name of ‘justice.’ In an attempt to protect animals from inhuman abuse and misery at the hands of humans, some animal studies scholars try to efface animals' and humans' differences." Erasure of difference, in Duncan’s view, is not only unnecessary at a theoretical level but could even cause harm to subjects of abusive practices, in a similar way to the consequences of “race blindness.”
In general, Duncan’s position is convincing. But not enough care is taken in distinguishing between differences (between humans and other species) and the difference (the Great Dividing Line between humans and animals). Differences between a human and a cow (and, for that matter, between a cow and, say, a hummingbird) are real and inescapable. Acknowledging and valuing such differences is important in appreciating the specificities of relations between species and, therefore, in developing effective welfare principles. But this recognition of real differences must not be confused with the Great Dividing Line—a purely anthropocentric, artificial construct. There is no basis in biological reality for such a division, as humans and other species differ quantitatively, not qualitatively. While recognizing interspecies differences is important and valuable, the Great Dividing Line is rightly challenged (or even outright rejected) by much of contemporary philosophy.
I emphasize this distinction because it is not entirely clear which of these two concepts Duncan critiques and seeks to reject. By referring to the vague category of “some animal studies scholars,” he risks creating a straw man. To my knowledge, most scholars in the field of animal studies are well aware of the myriad differences within the animal kingdom. This awareness dates back to Peter Singer’s seminal work Animal Liberation (1975), in which he emphasizes that the principle of equality of interests does not imply that all beings should be treated the same. For example, dogs cannot vote because they lack the cognitive capacity to understand political representation. While debates on how to draw ethical lines in specific practices are ongoing – with Zoopolis by Donaldson and Kymlicka (2011) being one of the most significant contributions of the past decade – there seems to be a general consensus within animal studies that acknowledging species differences is crucial. Furthermore, the term “animal”—in its biological sense, encompassing all beings within the kingdom Animalia, from mammals to flatworms—is often treated as a problematic but necessary classification.
It is not immediately clear whom Duncan is criticizing in his critique. My strong suspicion is that he is targeting posthumanists rather than animal studies scholars, as posthumanists are often more explicit about collapsing ontological (and, as a consequence, ethical) distinctions between various forms of life and even between living and non-living entities. The fact that Duncan frequently references Cary Wolfe, a major figure in both posthumanism and animal studies, seems to support this interpretation.
Duncan continues discussing acceptance of difference with a reflection on a long-standing controversy in animal studies—whether it is permissible and fair to compare human and animal suffering. This debate, initiated in academia by two influential works—The Dreaded Comparison by Marjorie Spiegel (1996) and Eternal Treblinka by Charles Patterson (2002), and further intensified by PETA’s controversial campaign Holocaust on Your Plate—has reignited multiple times within the field. Although it continues to provoke varied responses, it no longer carries the same level of shock as it did two decades ago. Duncan critically examines these comparisons, arguing that they fail by not sufficiently recognizing the specific nature of both human and animal suffering. He asserts that “every distinct category of oppression needs to be examined with conceptual tools that are specific to it. Many areas of study (theology, Jewish studies, political analysis of fascism, etc.) are useful when discussing the Holocaust, but nearly useless when discussing slaughterhouses. It is not that the analogy is useless; it is, rather, severely limited.”
Generally speaking, Duncan’s case stands up. Indeed, pigs are not persecuted for their religion, and chickens do not have political rights stripped away, as Jews did under the Nazi regime. Certainly, on the surface, comparing slaughterhouses to the Holocaust seems absurd. It is less absurd, however, to compare slaughterhouses to concentration camps. As with the human/animal divide, the devil is in the details. Comparisons between human and animal suffering are not homologies—meaning they do not suggest the two events are identical (as they clearly are not). Instead, they are analogies, arguing that despite important differences, both events are governed by similar underlying principles. Duncan downplays this point, asserting that “while it is surely true that the ‘attitude’ that she (Karen Davis – G.J.) describes can apply to both the Holocaust and ‘factory farming,’ this ‘mentality’ can apply to any act of violence ever committed between one group that viewed itself as superior to another. That broad definition encompasses world wars, colonialism, terrorist attacks, the murder of Indigenous people, slavery, and the Vikings pillaging a village: Davis’s comparison, like PETA’s campaign, lacks any real content, and instead the Holocaust comes to symbolize any oppressive act.”
While rhetorically compelling, Duncan’s argument here is somewhat problematic. In reality, the comparisons to the genocides are not intended to describe any and all acts of cruelty toward non-human animals (such as subsistence hunting, domestic violence, or oppressive training methods in circuses). Instead, it focuses on a very specific aspect of human-animal relations: contemporary food production, a vast and systemic process involving the management, processing, and slaughter of living beings, which Andrew Kimbrell has referred to as “Cold Evil.”(2010) This all-encompassing, well-organized, and nationally supported system of food production—rooted in principles of objectivity, efficiency, and progress—is fundamentally different from other forms of animal suffering. At the same time, it is disturbingly similar, on a deeper structural level, to genocidal projects, making the “dreaded comparisons” both relevant and revealing.
This is especially evident on a symbolic-linguistic level, in discourses surrounding unwanted or denigrated animals (as I discussed in my book Species Cleaning. The Cultural Practice of Rat Control, 2024). At a deeper level, the comparison is rooted in cultural models of exclusion, where individuals or groups with low status within a symbolic hierarchy are compared to others occupying an even lower position. The construction of these hierarchies is dynamic, shaped by cultural contexts and the aims of specific propaganda efforts. The degradation of certain human groups (e.g., by depicting them as rats) often occurs alongside the opposite rhetorical strategy—degrading animals by anthropomorphizing them as enemies.
Of course—and I agree with Duncan on this—that comparison alone may not be sufficient to fully explain the specificity of violence toward animals. Drawing on psychoanalysis (and Marxist theory), he develops a symptomatic theory, suggesting that meat is a symptom of something deeper. While I am not entirely convinced that we need to abandon comparisons (as I believe they can offer profound insights into human-animal relations), I also think that examining meat as a symptom can be enlightening. The key question—posed by Duncan himself during his analysis—is: if meat-as-commodity is a symptom, what exactly is it a symptom of? The most immediate answer is that it reflects capitalism. But Duncan does not settle for this straightforward explanation; instead, he guides us into a deeper exploration of underlying desires and fantasies.
Much of the book focuses on the status of meat within capitalism—with its commodification of animals, the reduction of reproductive labor to serving human needs, and the symbolic and linguistic practices that allow meat-eaters to create cognitive distance from what they consume. Duncan’s most compelling argument, however, lies in the psychology of meat consumption. He focuses on the profound significance of pleasure and enjoyment in eating animal flesh. As he insightfully points out, most justifications for meat consumption are easy to challenge (in post-industrial societies, humans do not need meat to survive; it is widely acknowledged that animals are sentient and that raising and killing them for food causes suffering), but the argument of taste remains elusive. Despite knowing where meat comes from, people continue to consume it.
Duncan tackles this issue—most surprisingly and interestingly—through Christopher Lasch’s concept of the “culture of narcissism.” This theoretical model, unexpected in a book of this nature due to its traditionally conservative associations, adds a productive twist to Duncan’s argument. It enables him to position meat consumption within a larger cultural narrative of individual freedom, disengagement from obligations, and “living for oneself.” For Duncan, this freedom naturally results in self-indulgence. Moreover, in modern capitalism, pleasure is not optional but a form of compulsion:
“Meat consumption… entails three modalities of enjoyment: traditional bodily gastronomic pleasure in consuming the meat-commodity, the jouissance derived from meat’s symptom-status, and finally, the fulfillment of the carnophallogocentric imposition by the Other’s desire. These forms of ‘enjoyment’ serve the human subject’s self while denying enjoyment (or satisfaction) to others, particularly the animal-other, who is killed to produce meat… Enjoyment is paramount, and the meat-commodity (regardless of its traumatic nature) must be enjoyed.”
This is a significant part of Duncan’s argument. While he distances himself from vegan theory, his exploration of the pervasive compulsion to enjoy—produced by modern capitalist culture and accompanied by egoism and detachment from moral obligations—offers valuable insights for vegan scholars analyzing the specificity of what Annie Potts has termed “meat culture.” (2016) The enjoyment of meat, tied to its symbolic meaning, extends beyond simple culinary pleasure. This may help explain the resistance many meat-eaters display toward plant-based alternatives—or even cultured meat, which is materially identical to meat from slaughtered animals. Despite the psychological discomfort associated with the suffering inherent in meat production (which is often hidden through various discursive mechanisms), this suffering is, paradoxically, subconsciously appealing. This paradoxical aspect of desire warrants further investigation.
My final point concerns the understanding of capitalism, which Duncan (similarly to critical animal studies scholars) invokes to explain modern farming practices. I highlight this because the industrialization of animal farming did not occur exclusively within Western capitalism; similar developments also took place in socialist countries during the latter half of the 20th century—a fact often overlooked. Of course, when analyzing mass industrial meat production, its capitalist roots cannot be ignored. Industrial farms and modern slaughterhouses, operating under the logic of disassembly lines, are quintessential expressions of capitalism. They are driven by principles of scientific management (Taylorism) that govern the reproduction, fattening, killing, and processing of animal bodies. This point has been consistently emphasized by researchers within the field of critical animal studies.
These ready-made farming systems, most of them developed within capitalist economies, were, however, transplanted into non-capitalist countries but within entirely different political, social, and ecological settings. Therefore, a critical theoretical clarification is necessary. Capitalism, within the context of animal studies (and more broadly, in human interactions with the non-human world), should be understood in its broadest sense: a system fundamentally centered on the capitalization, monetization, and exploitation of both human and non-human actors. It represents an overarching matrix, reproduced dialectically even within socialist systems, which both emerge from capitalism and attempt to transcend it. If we understand capitalism as a pervasive logic influencing nearly all aspects of modern social practices, it becomes clear that it does not inherently conflict with a centrally planned economies.
In conclusion, Interpreting Meat is a timely and thought-provoking addition to contemporary animal studies, offering a multifaceted critique of the processes that commodify animal life and obscure the ethical, ecological, and socio-economic consequences of meat consumption. Duncan challenges readers not only to reconsider the systems that maintain this commodification but also to confront the deeper psychological and cultural desires driving it. By intertwining Marxist and psychoanalytic perspectives, the book moves beyond superficial critiques, encouraging a deeper engagement with the structures of capitalism and the symbolic significance of meat in modern life. As we face an escalating environmental crisis and increased awareness of animal suffering, Duncan’s work calls on us to acknowledge our complicity and challenge the social and cultural mechanisms that sustain destructive consumption habits. Ultimately, the book transcends academic critique and becomes a call to action, urging us to reimagine a more ethical and sustainable future through a fundamental reorientation of human-animal relations.
References
Donaldson, Sue, and Will Kymlicka. Zoopolis: A Political Theory of Animal Rights. Oxford University Press, USA, 2011.
Jarzębowska, Gabriela. Species Cleansing: The Cultural Practice of Rat Control. V&R unipress, 2024.
Kimbrell, Andrew. “Cold Evil: Ideologies of Industrialies”. In: The CAFO Reader. The Tragedy of Industrial Animal Factories, ed. Daniel Imhoff, Watershed Media, 2010.
Patterson, Charles. Eternal Treblinka: Our Treatment of Animals and the Holocaust. Lantern Books, 2002.
Potts, Annie. “What is Meat Culture?” In: Meat Culture. Brill Leiden, Boston, 2016.
Singer, Peter. Animal liberation. A New Ethics for Our Treatment of Animals. Harper Collins, 1975.
Spiegel, Marjorie. The Dreaded Comparison: Human and Animal Slavery. Mirror Books, 1996.