others have internal worlds
We keep repeating the same mistake in human history:
We assume we are the only “real” minds in the room.
Every few generations, we discover we were wrong.
We used to think only humans used tools. Then crows bent wires into hooks.
We thought only humans had culture. Then whales showed regional hunting traditions.
We thought only humans had language. Then we found prairie dogs have specific alarm calls for “tall human in blue shirt” versus “short human in red shirt.”
And the pattern keeps going.
So here’s a practical rule for interacting with reality:
If an animal can pass the mirror test, you should assume it has an internal world that overlaps with ours in meaningful ways.
The mirror test isn’t about vanity. It’s about self-recognition.
If a being can look in a mirror and realize “that’s me,” you are not dealing with a simple stimulus-response machine. You’re dealing with a mind that can model itself.
Elephants pass.
Some great apes pass.
Dolphins pass.
Magpies — yes, crows’ cousins — pass.
That means they don’t just experience the world. They have some concept of themselves in the world.
Now here’s the key jump:
Once a being can model itself, it can start modeling relationships.
That doesn’t mean they understand stock markets or mortgages.
But it absolutely opens the door to something much older and simpler:
Reciprocity.
“I give you something. You give me something.”
This isn’t capitalism. This is older than agriculture.
It’s gift exchange. Mutual obligation. Social memory.
We already see this in corvids. People feed crows, and crows bring shiny objects. That’s not random. That’s not just instinct. That’s a patterned exchange over time. The crow remembers you. It associates you with food. It offers something of value in its own system.
Is that “commerce”? Not in a human legal sense.
But it is relational economics.
The same way a child doesn’t understand money but absolutely understands: “You shared your snack yesterday. I’ll share mine today.”
That’s the level we should be thinking on.
When we assume animals are just biological robots, we cut off entire categories of interaction. We miss communication. We miss trust. We miss learning.
But when we assume: “This being might have a mind adjacent to mine — not identical, but overlapping,”
we suddenly start seeing patterns: • Long-term relationships between specific humans and specific animals
• Memory of past interactions
• Preference, loyalty, resentment, even grief
We don’t have to pretend animals are just furry or feathery humans.
We just have to drop the fantasy that we are the only minds that matter.
History has been brutal to that idea. Every time we’ve claimed some mental ability as uniquely human, biology has quietly walked up and said, “Actually… no.”
So as a working model of reality — not as poetry, but as practical philosophy — it makes more sense to assume:
If a being recognizes itself…
If it remembers you…
If it changes its behavior based on past interactions…
Then you’re not dealing with a thing.
You’re dealing with someone, in their own way.
And the smartest move isn’t domination.
It’s relationship.
Reflecting on personal experiences with animals has deepened my understanding of their internal worlds in ways that align with the insights from the mirror test. For instance, I once observed a crow repeatedly visiting my garden, apparently remembering the times I left food out. Over weeks, the crow started leaving small shiny objects on my doorstep, a clear sign of reciprocal communication beyond mere conditioning. This exchange wasn't just a random act but seemed to reflect a mutual understanding and recognition. Such experiences highlight that animals capable of self-recognition, like corvids, dolphins, or elephants, do not operate solely on instinct or simple stimulus-response mechanisms. Their ability to remember, adapt behavior, and engage in gift exchange evidences a mental complexity that mirrors aspects of human social interaction. It reminds me how important it is to approach animals not as mere biological machines but as beings with their own forms of cognition and social relationships. Furthermore, recognizing these traits challenges us to reconsider our ethical responsibilities towards animals. Instead of aiming for control or domination, fostering respectful relationships rooted in trust and reciprocity helps create meaningful connections. It also encourages a more empathetic worldview where we appreciate the overlapping internal worlds that many creatures share with us. In my experience, acknowledging these internal worlds changes how we interpret animal behavior—from simple actions to rich social signals involving loyalty, preference, and even grief. Observing an elephant's gentle care for its companions or a dolphin's responsive interaction in the wild shifts the notion of animals from objects of curiosity to partners in a shared reality. Ultimately, adopting this perspective not only enriches our understanding but also deepens our connection to the natural world.
