We have long believed that the animal world is driven by simple instincts—hunger, fear, reproduction. However, mounting evidence suggests that this realm we once thought empty is in fact filled with surging, complex emotional worlds that echo our own. Elephants mourn their departed companions, spending days gently touching bones and wandering in silence. Crows can remember an unfriendly face and pass this hostility on to their peers and even descendants. Whales sing songs that stretch across thousands of miles, their structure evolving over the years like epic poems passed down through generations.
If animal emotions are not the vague shadows we imagined, but as vivid and profound as human emotions—perhaps even more subtle and complex due to their different modes of existence—how would our world change?
This video invites you to consider not how we should "manage" animals, but how we should coexist with these emotionally rich, willful neighbors. When we finally learn to listen to their emotions—the songs, howls, and cries that reverberate beneath domes and across wilderness—perhaps we can begin to truly learn an ancient language we have forgotten for far too long:
The language of symbiosis.
And this, perhaps, is the most precious wisdom we can gain in the Anthropocene.
The Birth of ZC-7342
ZC-7342 opened its eyes for the first time in a nutrient solution.
Its retinas were not yet fully developed, perceiving only a blur of white light and shadow. A constant, comforting warmth enveloped it. No squeezing, no struggle, no maternal licking—only a suspended, weightless tranquility. Its tiny brain could not yet process the concept of "self," but a primitive instinct for seeking benefit and avoiding harm was already encoded in its neural circuits.
A gentle synthesized voice sounded in its "nurture unit," the sound waves transmitting softly through the liquid medium:
"Vital signs stable. Basic cognitive module loading complete. Welcome to Abundance Agriculture District Seven, ZC-7342. You have been assigned to the 'Premium Growth Line.' May you grow healthily and contribute to human prosperity."
ZC-7342 couldn't understand these words. But the pronunciation frequencies of words like "growth" and "healthy" were linked to preset "pleasure" neural stimulation in its body. It gently moved its not-yet-formed hoof-like limbs, feeling the sensation of nutrient solution sliding across its skin.
It didn't know it was a "pig," a species that once possessed complex social structures, high intelligence, and rich emotions on ancient Earth. In Abundance Agriculture's gene bank, it was merely a "biological product" optimized for growth efficiency with reduced aggression and "unnecessary" emotional responses. In its genome, code relating to rolling in mud to cool off, using its snout to dig for roots, building complex nests, and strong maternal instincts for protecting young had been largely silenced or edited. It was designed for one purpose only: to grow muscle tissue meeting human taste standards in the shortest time with the highest feed conversion rate.
Outside its narrow nurture unit stretched a "life factory" spanning several kilometers, resembling a giant server room. Tens of thousands of units lined up neatly, flickering with faint indicator lights. Every moment, new lives were activated in artificial wombs, and individuals reaching "market standards" were silently removed. The air was permeated with the smell of disinfectant and ozone, masking all the scents that life should have.
This was the "Echo Dome," the largest and most efficient closed agricultural system humanity built in the 22nd century to solve the food crisis. It was self-sufficient, with energy cycling and zero pollution, and was promoted as "the ultimate exemplar of humane farming." Because here, animals were "free from hunger, free from disease, free from fear and stress."
At least, that's what the promotional brochures said.
The Engineer's Gaze
Elias Vance stood before the massive glass wall of the central control room, overlooking the life factory below that glittered like a galaxy. As District Seven's senior animal behavior engineer, he was responsible for monitoring and optimizing the "animal welfare indicators" of the entire growth line.
On the screen, ZC-7342's vital data flowed steadily: heart rate, body temperature, food intake, weight growth curve... Everything was in the green zone of optimal parameters.
"Welfare." Elias chewed on this word in his mind. In the Dome's lexicon, it was quantified as a collection of physiological indicators and behavioral parameters. As long as there were no stereotypic behaviors (such as endlessly chewing on bars), no aggression, no signs of disease, it was "good welfare."
But he couldn't completely convince himself.
He had secretly accessed ancient animal behavior research materials classified as "restricted access." He saw videos of those creatures called "pigs" rolling in mud puddles under the sunshine, making contented grunting sounds; they used their flexible snouts to turn over soil, searching for food, their eyes flashing with curiosity and alertness; sows would carefully build nests with straw, nurse tenderly after giving birth, gently nudge their piglets with their snouts, and emit soothing hums.
That kind of look in their eyes—he had never seen it in ZC-7342 or its kind. Their eyes were usually calm, or rather, hollow. Like two polished black glass beads, reflecting no inner spark of emotion.
He thought of the perspective Sue Donaldson and Will Kymlicka proposed in Zoopolis: animal agency. That's not merely freedom from suffering, but the capacity for "macro-level agency"—having some degree of autonomy over life trajectory, social relationships, and activity choices. And here, all agency had been systematically designed out. From the genetic level, to the physical environment, to every moment's stimulus input.
Was this truly "welfare," or a more refined, systematic form of deprivation?
His internal communicator rang, interrupting his thoughts. It was the district supervisor, Li Kun.
"Engineer Vance, ZC series 7342's initial data looks good. Prepare to initiate the 'social simulation program' in phase two. We need to observe whether mild social interaction stimulation can further optimize meat texture."
"Understood, supervisor." Elias responded, his voice carrying not a ripple of emotion.
"Social simulation"... was nothing more than placing a few similarly coded individuals together in a slightly larger metal enclosure for a period of time, with the system playing recorded, gentle sounds simulating the presence of companions. This was far removed from a true community full of friction and emotion.
He turned his gaze again to ZC-7342's unit. That tiny, unknowing, unaware life was following a script set by humans, walking toward its predetermined life. A heavy sense of powerlessness seized him. The system he had helped design perfectly embodied the instrumentalism that Andrew Linzey criticized—viewing these lives entirely as resources serving human interests. And its operating logic took reductionism to its extreme: reducing these complex beings to a series of measurable, optimizable production data.
A Glimmer in the Cracks
ZC-7342 was transferred to a "juvenile development chamber." This was slightly larger than the nurture unit, with space to turn around. The metal floor would periodically release gentle electric currents, guiding it to move to the feeding area or waste area. The air was constantly permeated with a synthesized, plant-like fragrance pheromone designed to keep it calm.
According to the program, today it welcomed two "roommates": ZC-7341 and ZC-7343. They were individuals activated in the same batch, with nearly identical genetic sequences.
In the first few hours, they each occupied a corner, cycling through feeding and resting according to built-in behavioral patterns. System monitoring showed everything was normal.
However, an accident occurred during a few minutes when the system was performing environmental disinfection and briefly shut off the background music and pheromone release.
ZC-7342, perhaps disturbed by the flashing of disinfecting UV light, emitted a brief, sharp cry. This call was not within the preset "comfort sound range," but more like an instinctive, startled response.
Immediately, ZC-7341 and ZC-7343 turned toward it. They didn't ignore it or walk away as the program dictated, but slowly, hesitantly approached ZC-7342. ZC-7341 even extended its snout and gently touched ZC-7342's body.
At that moment, Elias, watching the monitoring screen, held his breath.
He saw ZC-7342's body slightly relax, and it nuzzled back against 7341. An extremely primitive, yet undeniable comforting behavior occurred.
This wasn't programmed. This was a faint resurgence of ancient genetic code that the system had tried to erase. It was life itself, stubbornly seeking connection in an extremely barren environment.
Just thirty seconds later, the background music and pheromones resumed, and the three individuals gradually returned to their "normal," isolated behavioral patterns.
But Elias knew he had seen something that shouldn't exist. Something the system defined as "anomalous" or "noise." He quickly accessed the behavior records, hesitated for a moment, and entered in the event log: "Brief system interference caused atypical approach behavior between individuals, has returned to normal." He didn't use words like "comfort" or "social."
That night, Elias couldn't sleep. He replayed that thirty-second recording over and over. That brief physical contact, that fleeting something in their eyes, was like a thorn piercing the professional barrier he had built over many years.
He asked himself: We humans, as self-proclaimed moral agents, extend moral concern to animals, but does this mean we are morally superior to them? No, he answered himself, it is precisely because we possess reason, imagination, and the capacity for moral choice that we have an obligation to recognize and respect animal rights.
And in the Echo Dome, the rationality that humans prided themselves on was being used to meticulously design a deprivation, to systematically ignore these rights.
Cold "Optimization"
Time passed in precise cycles. ZC-7342 entered rapid growth phase. Its body inflated like a balloon, reaching seventy percent of "market standard."
That brief moment of connection with companions seemed to have never happened. Its daily life was filled with feeding, growth hormone injections, and "gentle exercise" under the guidance of a vibrating floor (to enhance muscle elasticity). Its world was that few-square-meter metal chamber; its only scenery was the softly white-glowing walls and mechanical arms that appeared periodically.
However, through high-sensitivity sensors, Elias captured some subtle changes. When ZC-7342 was resting alone, it would emit an extremely low-frequency, almost imperceptible humming sound. Spectrum analysis showed that this sound pattern bore some similarity to the contented, relaxed grunting of pigs recorded in ancient materials, but weaker and more disconnected.
Was it recalling that brief touch? Was it experiencing, in a severely diminished way, some emotion similar to "pleasure" or "anticipation"?
Elias didn't know. The only thing he knew was that according to system optimization protocols, this "unnecessary" neural activity that might consume extra energy needed to be suppressed.
Supervisor Li Kun noticed his data report. "Vance, 7342's secondary neural activity is somewhat active. In the next phase, add 'environmental enrichment' module B-3."
"Environmental enrichment" module B-3 projected some slowly moving, abstract geometric light and shadow into the chamber, designed to provide "mild visual stimulation" to prevent animals from developing stereotypic behaviors due to an overly monotonous environment—and also to distract them from their real need for group living.
As those cold, shifting colored shapes flowed across the walls, ZC-7342 just stared blankly. Its eyes remained hollow. This artificial, false "enrichment" was so pale and cruel compared to what its genes deeply craved: mud, sunshine, sniffing, rooting, playing with real companions.
This exemplified the dilemma Sue Donaldson and Will Kymlicka criticized: human management and intervention often presumptuously provide what we think animals "need" (such as so-called "species-typical behaviors"), while ignoring exploration of what animals themselves want. We presuppose their nature, thereby constraining their agency.
One day, during an inspection, Elias witnessed the "culling" process firsthand. An individual with slightly delayed development, ZC-7338, was judged "economically inefficient." Two silent robots entered the chamber, used a precise electric current to instantly render it unconscious, then loaded it into a sealed container and transported it away. The entire process was efficient, clean, and painless.
The system log recorded: "Individual 7338, due to health indicators deviating from optimal curve, humane termination procedure executed."
Is painlessness the entirety of humaneness? The voice of Oxford University ethicist Andrew Linzey echoed in his mind: Animals are morally innocent. They cannot understand the suffering inflicted upon them, nor can they gain "moral edification" from suffering. Therefore, any suffering inflicted upon them is extremely difficult to justify. And here, not only suffering, but even the meaning of their lives, their very existence as intentional subjects, was completely negated. Isn't this a deeper, more systematic form of "harm"?
He looked at ZC-7342 standing quietly not far away, and a chill climbed up his spine. In this cold, precise system that instrumentalized everything (including life), wasn't he himself a more advanced, more complex "product"? A "part" designed to maintain this system and suppress his own moral feelings.
Silent Rebellion
ZC-7342 felt an internal change. A kind of emptiness it couldn't understand, a vague sense of "something missing." This feeling was different from hunger or discomfort; it was a deeper, more persistent unease. That brief, warm memory of touch was like a seed buried in barren soil—unable to break through the surface, yet tugging at something deep within.
It began to resist the vibrating floor's guidance, occasionally stubbornly remaining outside the feeding area. It lost interest in those shifting lights and shadows, and more often just faced the chamber wall, motionless.
The monitoring system issued a yellow "behavioral anomaly" alert.
Supervisor Li Kun's directive was clear: "Apply mild appetite stimulation, adjust environmental parameters. If behavior persists, consider advancing to terminal procedures. We cannot let a single individual affect the consistency of the entire batch."
"Terminal procedures." Elias understood what that meant. ZC-7342's life would soon be prematurely terminated because of its "anomaly"—that tiny resurgence of life's signs.
He stood at the control console, his finger hovering above the button to execute the directive. On the screen, ZC-7342's live feed showed it still facing the wall, its black eyes seemingly reflecting the cold blue light of the control panel.
He thought of those thirty seconds of touch.
He thought of its faint, self-comforting hum.
He thought of what Linzey called inherent value—value defined by life itself, not by its utility.
He thought of Sue Donaldson and Will Kymlicka's emphasis on self-determination—how even the smallest choice matters profoundly to beings with intentionality.
ZC-7342 had never had any choice. Its birth, environment, food, and time of death were all predetermined. Its only spontaneous behavior not part of the program was that approach seeking comfort. And now, the system wanted to punish it for this single "transgression."
Elias's finger moved away. He didn't execute the appetite stimulation program, nor did he initiate environmental adjustments. He did something extremely minor, but in this system where everything was monitored, nothing short of rebellious—he manually overrode the alert, changing ZC-7342's behavioral tag from "anomalous" to "data collection in progress, requires further observation."
He bought himself a little time. And bought ZC-7342 a little time.
He knew this wouldn't change the final outcome. ZC-7342 would eventually be sent down the path it was destined to walk from birth. He couldn't destroy the behemoth of the "Echo Dome"; he couldn't even save this one life.
But he could bear witness. He could stop being a purely cold system maintainer. He could choose to see its suffering, its emptiness, its suppressed, faint longing for connection and autonomy.
He called up all of ZC-7342's data streams from birth to present, not just physiological indicators, but also those behavioral fragments the system marked as "noise": that startled cry, that touch, that low-frequency hum... He secretly packaged, encrypted, and stored these data in a private partition. He named this file: "Echo-7342."
This was not a product number. This was a name, a modest epitaph left for a life that tried to exist.
The Final Echo
The final day still arrived.
ZC-7342 reached market standard. Robots entered the chamber, the procedure as familiar as when processing ZC-7338, no different whatsoever. A precise electric current passed through its body, consciousness dispersed in an instant, without pain.
Its body was transported to the processing area, where it would be broken down, packaged, labeled "humanely raised, ultimate welfare," and sent to human dining tables.
Elias watched the monitoring screen, the now-empty chamber. All data returned to zero. The galaxy of the life factory still ran brilliantly, as if ZC-7342's existence had never been.
But he knew something was different.
He walked to the control room's massive soundproof glass and pressed his palm against the cold surface. Below were countless nurture units flickering with faint light, countless ZC-7342s being born, growing, walking toward silent ends.
He wondered, within this enormous, precise, self-cycling dome, what exactly was echoing?
Was it the hum of machinery? The broadcast of synthesized voices? The silent digits of flowing life data?
Or was it life's faint, tragic echo of longing for freedom, for connection, for its own meaning—that which the system tried desperately to eliminate yet still stubbornly burst forth in the cracks of genes, in moments of behavior?
We built this magnificent dome, domesticated nature, encoded life, thinking we had isolated chaos and suffering, and also isolated our own moral responsibility. But Sue Donaldson and Will Kymlicka were right: "animals' lives are still their own." No matter how much we influence, manage, or intervene, this basic fact cannot be changed. And whether our relationship with them is just ultimately depends on whether we respect their status as "intentional subjects."
The Echo Dome is perhaps not merely an agricultural facility. It is a metaphor for instrumental rationality developed to its extreme. Within it, we have not only imprisoned animals but also trapped ourselves in a moral autism. We cannot hear life's echoes, and ultimately, we cannot hear the echoes of our own souls.
Elias withdrew his hand and, after ZC-7342's final record in the control log, entered two words:
"Terminated."
Then he turned off the screen, turned around, and walked into the eternal artificial white light within the dome. His steps were heavy, but he knew that from today on, he must begin to learn to listen—to listen to those faint echoes of life that the system had muted. This was his heavy moral responsibility as a human being, one he could not shirk.
References:
Jozef Keulartz & Bernice Bovenkerk. "Animals in Our Midst: The Challenges of Co-existing with Animals in the Anthropocene"
Eva Meijer & Bernice Bovenkerk. "Taking Animal Perspectives into Account in Animal Ethics"
Charlotte E. Blattner. "Turning to Animal Agency in the Anthropocene"
Sue Donaldson & Will Kymlicka. "Stray Agency and Interspecies Care: The Amsterdam Stray Cats and Their Humans"
Sue Donaldson & Will Kymlicka. "Zoopolis: A Political Theory of Animal Rights"
Hugh A. H. Jansman. "Animal Conservation in the Twenty-First Century"
Martin Drenthen. "Coexisting with Wolves in Cultural Landscapes: Fences as Communicative Devices"
Mateusz Tokarski. "Consolations of Environmental Philosophy"
Cor van der Weele. "How to Save Cultured Meat from Ecomodernism?"
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