The Ark of Ends: Thoughts on Hanna’s “Not All Animals Are Equal.”

“The Peaceable Kingdom,” by Edward Hicks, ca. 1830-1840 (Dierksmeier, 2021)

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The Ark of Ends: Thoughts on Hanna’s “Not All Animals Are Equal”

1. Introduction

Not all animals are equal, argues Robert Hanna, but any animal can be brought into the Realm of Ends as an “associate member,” thereby brought onto a capacious moral Ark where they receive a permanent right to life (Hanna, 2025).

Hanna’s Ark confirms my hope that we can have diverse theoretical origins on the animal question, yet end up somewhere similar in spirit, if not exact policy. I’ve come to admit that I’m some kind of Superiorist, as far as humanity’s place in the Earth Zoo goes, but I think that may create angelic obligations for us, re our non-human siblings. Perhaps this view, which I sometimes worry is outlandish, is not that far from Hanna’s. To bring animals into our Kingdom of Ends as associate members—this sounds like angelic rescue, or a Bodhisattva’s vow from great compassion.

My comments below address more how Hanna gets us to that Ark. I won’t argue here that all animals are equal, but I do have some questions, including genuine confusions, about how Hanna supports his claim that they’re not.

2. Pain vs. Suffering

Hanna crucially distinguishes between bodily pain, which all animals can experience, and suffering, which only rational human animals, along with a small set of other arguably “rational animals”—for example, other Great apes, and dolphins—can experience.

All animals, whether human or non-human, can subjectively experience pain; and all rational animals, whether human or non-human, can suffer; but relatively few non-human animals can suffer, since, given all the available scientific and commonsense evidence, it is obvious that most non-human animals are cognitively incapable of having a self-conscious awareness or belief that something is deeply bad, messed-up, or otherwise wrong with themselves, with their relationship to other people including society more generally, or with their relationship to the world. (Hanna, 2025)

A lot rides on this distinction, since Hanna argues that it is suffering, not pain per se, that has “basic moral significance.”

But surely animals experience distress that isn’t reducible to bodily pain: fear, separation anxiety, analogus of depression. That’s one reason they’re used as “model animals” in research on those states.

Consider a coyote in a leghold trap. They aren’t just in leg-pain, from the ulcerating flesh and crushed bone. They’re keenly aware that they’re unable to flee. My agency is thwarted by the trap—the coyote need not articulate this in symbolic language to keenly feel the thwarting. They want to get away, and can’t; and this feels very bad.

Hanna approves of the “commonsense evidence” that animals are conscious. Isn’t there commonsense evidence they suffer, too? Shouldn’t we err on the side of Yes, for the Yes/No of whether they suffer, given the awful cost, to animals, of our mistaken No? I’m not sure what to call a cow’s crying for her calf, if not suffering. She articulates, through her cries, her perceived disvalue of her and her calf’s situation. She gives all signs of experiencing something “deeply bad, messed-up, or otherwise wrong” with her situation. Isn’t this self- and world-conscious enough?

I agree that human suffering may have extra layers—layers that may increase the suffering, and layers that instead quarantine or dissipate the suffering—but I don’t doubt that the cow suffers. Whatever we call it, it seems to me to have basic moral significance: it’s a bad thing in the world, and ought not to be. Hanna agrees we should consider it, have moral concern for it, yet argues our concern must be overridden by our attention to the suffering of rational beings.

Hanna distinguishes between pain and suffering partly due to examples of one without the other. Take his example of a mother’s birthing pains: often pain without suffering, argues Hanna, presumably because the mother doesn’t interpret her pain as an indication that something is wrong. In any case, her pain is excruciating, from what I’m told! Many mothers choose analgesics for that reason. But for those who endure it, the pain may be mitigated or overridden by knowledge of the good coming through.

Compare this to the pet at the vet’s, uncomprehending of the good coming through a stabbing hypodermic needle. Animals who don’t sufficiently futurize may be specially locked into their pain of the moment. Thus though pain may not imply suffering, maybe animal pain almost always feels bad.

Also consider Hanna’s Stoics and monks. Our species has a repertoire of techniques of detachment that let us objectify our pain and suffering, so achieve some witnessing distance on them. This is an astounding consciousness hack we’ve unlocked, an analgesic unavailable to the coyote in the trap, perhaps. So these interesting abilities of humans—to endure pain because we understand its functional value, or to transcend it thru exalted states of consciousness—seem to imply that pain can be worse for animals.

Mightn’t our superiority thus sometimes oblige us to prioritize animal pain? To transcend our own pain, then help alleviate theirs? This sounds like a Bodhisattva’s Imperative: liberated from the grinding Wheel of Samsara, they return to help all conscious beings. And perhaps this demand is supererogatory. I agree it’s at least extraordinary, being rarely followed. Might the Buddha and his ilk be an avant-garde of humanity, pointing to our future role in nature? We transcend our own disvaluable states, then from compassion for creatures unable to, we administer aid.[i]

Hanna says that all who care about animals, even animal liberationists, deny any duty to prevent or minimize animal-on-animal harm. We have, for example, no duty to interfere with predation. Yet I wonder if we’re permitted to ignore predation only because that agony is so vast and systemic that there’s little we can do about it, and an ought implies a can. According to the problem of evil—including the problem of natural evil—one indeed ought to end animal-on-animal harm, if one can; thus we may blame God for it, who can. (Or, more precisely: we may conclude that such a God doesn’t exist.) At least one vegan philosopher argues that the problem of natural evil is so bad that we’re obligated to destroy non-human Nature: if we ever get our finger on the proverbial Red Button, we ought to push (see, e.g., Bentham’s Bulldog, 2022). I don’t share his confidence in pushing, but give the example to show it’s not so universal a view, that we have no duties vis animal-on-animal harms.

3. Torture vs. Harm

Hanna argues that our concern for human persons should override our concern for non-person animals. But can’t we distinguish between two kinds of overriding?

1. When limited resources force us to choose between helping either a human person or a non-person animal, we ought to help the human person.

2. We ought to help human persons by harming non-person animals.

A human superiorist might accept 1, yet reject 2. They might favor humans, yet still try to avoid harming, directly or indirectly, animals. For even if it’s worse to use humans than to use animals, this doesn’t imply that it’s okay to use animals. It implies, at most, that in a true dilemma between using a human and using an animal, where someone in any case must be used, one should use the animal.

By Hanna’s use thesis, we’re permitted painfully to use animals, even for our convenience and entertainment, so long as (i) we’re not torturing them, and (ii) we can’t achieve our end in some painless, or less painful, way. So: don’t torture, and don’t be cruel. He argues that his use thesis is thus “crucially qualified,” so that it

would strongly favor banning or seriously restricting, other things being equal, many current practices of scientific experimentation on non-human non-rational animals, and many current practices of using them in meat production and other sorts of food production, in drug testing, in clothing production, and for display in private zoos, as well as the pointless slaughter of non-human conscious animals in traditional sport fishing, big-game hunting, fox-hunting, deer hunting, bird-hunting, and so-on, other things being equal. (Hanna, 2025)

As I’ve said, I quite like where Hanna tends to end up. Yet I’m seeing more permission for harming animals in his account than he perhaps means.

Take the don’t torture rule, which seems to apply very narrowly. Torture, by Hanna’s definition, aims directly to cause pain in another, and I hope that this aim, the torturing aim, is rare enough to be called a sick kink or fetish. Hanna’s first crucial qualifier is presumably meant to rule out (i) setting alley cats on fire for the jolly good fun of watching them howl, yet doesn’t seem to rule out (ii) burning lab cats to study burn pain.

Nor is case (ii) ruled out by the don’t be cruel rule, it seems. For if the stated aim of a study is to study burn pain, then there’s no way to achieve our aim without burning sentients. We’re thus not cruelly burning them, though we’re causing them excruciating pain for our own ends.

Perhaps neither rule rules out even case (i), the alley cat case. It’s not torture if the sadistic burner’s direct aim is to gain sadistic pleasure, and burning cats is but means to that. So this case is similar to the lab case: in both cases, the cat’s pain is required for some other end: sadistic pleasure, or knowledge. Nor does the don’t be cruel rule seem to rule out the alley cat case. The sadistic burner gets their special pleasure only by inflicting pain on another. Yet the no cruelty rule rules out only infliction of unnecessary pain.

So both rules allow each case, by the above reading.

More seriously, if we’re allowed to use animals even for our mere convenience, why should the fact that there’s some alternative, painless mode of animal use illegitimize our pain-inducing mode? If it’s more convenient to reach our end the pain-inducing way, and human convenience overrides animal interest, then we have the right to do things the painful way, no? In which case, wouldn’t most factory farming practices be permitted by Hanna’s schema?

Perhaps I’m misunderstanding Hanna here, not applying a key clause in his summing statement of our competing obligations:

Other things being equal, we’re morally obligated to try to prevent or reduce the suffering of all rational animals; and our serious moral concern for the suffering of all human rational animals morally overrides our serious moral concern for the experience of bodily pain in non-human non-rational animals, assuming roughly comparable levels in the intensity of the experience of emotional or bodily pain, and provided that no animal is being tortured/treated with cruelty. (Hanna, 2025)

In the clause I’ve [boldfaced], Hanna seems to say that we should favor helping the human over the animal only when the subjective disvalue of their experience is equal. (Or, presumably, when the human’s is greater.) So we shouldn’t cause pain to animals for our mere convenience, because our inconvenience isn’t as bad as the animal’s pain.

Is it this italicized clause, I wonder, that does much of Hanna’s work in banning lab and factory farm practices?

Yet how often will animal pain outweigh human suffering, according to Hanna’s criteria, given how bad he thinks human suffering, the suffering of a rational person, is? If rational suffering is of a different order than non-rational pain, then would the experience of average human suffering outweigh even excruciating animal pain?

Hanna’s answer might depend on a distinction he makes, elsewhere, between true human needs, such as food and education, whose “active satisfaction is a necessary condition of all human dignity,” and false human needs:

True human needs are opposed to merely self-perceived and false human needs. It might be that someone perceives within themselves an intense need to own a certain luxury automobile, even though they already own a car that is perfectly adequate to their true human needs. Therefore, it’s neither rationally unjustified nor immoral for us not to cater to this self-perceived and false human need. (Hanna, 2023: p. 85)

Should our concern, similarly, for true animal needs—such as health and mobility—override our concern for false human needs—such as leather interiors of luxury cars?

And perhaps the no torture rule rules out much more than may first seem. If we take it to indeed rule out sadism, where sadism is defined as “the infliction of pain on another for the inflictor’s pleasure,” then perhaps it rules out many standard human-animal harms. Morrissey sang that “meat is murder,” but is it also torture? Take the pleasure of ungamey pork, pork without so-called “boar taint,” which requires castrating piglets, apparently. Isn’t this sadism, with one extra step in the middle that keeps the taster isolated from the harming act?

One might object: the pork-taster’s pleasure isn’t intrinsically a pleasure in another’s pain. Their pleasure requires no awareness of the piglet’s agony—indeed may require blissful ignorance of it, if they’re decent.

I respond: the pork system has a structure of sadism. It’s a system of pleasures dependent on animal pain, and the single diner is an unconscious node in this sadistic economy. I could even say: this sadistic economy is deviously evil because it gives each diner a solid alibi. It lets them enjoy the sadistic pleasure without mens rea; it dissolves culpability.

Strictly, I must concede: if taster’s pleasure doesn’t depend on their awareness of the piglet’s agony[ii], then it’s not sadism. But then I think: Thus it’s sadism that can truly, plausibly, deny being a sadism!

A weird thought, I know. Yet so does evil hide, perhaps!

Hanna points out that the torture vs. permissible harm distinction can be difficult to apply in some cases, and that “we should always err on the side of kindness, so as not to slip unintentionally into sadism” (personal communication, 7 April 2025) I commend his kindness, but wonder if we should err on the side of kindness for the pain vs. suffering distinction, too, since so much animal welfare may ride on it; and for the distinction between dignified and non-dignified beings.

4. Dignity vs. Degradation

In Hanna’s account, only humans and a small class of other rational animals have dignity, so only they can be degraded, which is the worst kind of suffering.

A straightforward definition of “degradation” is being treated as less than what one is. In degradation, one is wrongly graded lower than one’s actual value. By this inclusive definition, one can be degraded without being a Kantian-rational agent. A rabbit caged on a fur farm is degraded into resource, down from its natural free-ranging status. The aurochs was degraded from the sublime majesty recorded on the caves of Lascaux into the butcher’s diagram of chuck, rib, flank, shank, and sirloin. But unlike an undervalued diamond’s degradation, the animal’s degradation is keenly felt, has a disvaluable phenomenology, so creates a moral demand to be minimized.

Thus the two entailed obligations of what Hanna elsewhere calls Broadly Kantian dignitarianism seem to me to have at least analogues in our obligations to non-person animals:

(i) universal anti-oppression, i.e., never treating anyone, including yourself, either as a mere means or a mere thing, and (ii) universal benevolence or kindness, i.e., always trying to promote the satisfaction of everyone’s true human needs, including your own. (Hanna, 2023: p. 78)

We shouldn’t treat non-person animals as mere means, I suggest, because their lives matter to them, independent of any use imposed on them; and we ought to act benevolently toward animals because their needs are felt, so invoke a moral demand to be met.

If human persons are superior to non-person animals, then our potential to be degraded may be greater: the human person would have a greater dignity to degrade, further to fall. Yet put this way, the difference between degrading a human person and a non-person animal seems a difference of degree, not kind.

A critique of speciesism need not argue that all animals are equal in all morally relevant respects. The critique may, rather, polemically define speciesism as the magnification of species difference, and minimization of sameness, for political advantage. And one way a difference may be magnified is from one of degree into one of kind.

I offer my next point hesitantly, for I might be veering into speculation ad hominem.

I wonder if our ardent concern for human dignity can be hard to parse from natural pride. Don’t we know what dignity is, in part, by feeling it? Hanna elsewhere argues that having dignity doesn’t require “our own self-consciousness of it” (Hanna, 2023: p. 86); yet recognizing it is “originally and primarily an act or state of pre-reflectively conscious emotional perception”. (Hanna, 2021: p. 16)

I’m not arguing that all animals are equal, but do wonder about a natural and understandable tendency to inflate one’s own value. One way we inflate it is through language, and a term like “dignity”—though not hopelessly or uselessly vague—can be the space on the page where power rushes in and self-asserts.

It’s natural for any creature to focus on its own suffering, so it’s natural for humans, when we think about our own suffering, as when we conceptualize it and work it into a system of Ethics, to magnify and prioritize it. One way we might do this is by according it a special language, calling it, for example, an assault on our unique human dignity.

The Emperor spits on the serf, but when the serf spits back they have impugned and assaulted the august majesty of the Emperor’s Office. Same act, but the Emperor controls the official description of the events to match his sense of self-importance.

I don’t doubt the existence and moral power of human dignity, but wonder if the exclusivist Kantian infinitizing of human dignityis an abstracted way of singing the self; yet every self is singing in its own way, whether human or non-. This song is Life’s basso underhum, or its high scintillating string section, though oft muted and diminished into “the dusty hum of who you are,” to use Don DeLillo’s wonderful line from Underworld.

Nature is abuzz with self-assertion, indeed with dominance and exploitation. We might say: but we’re different, our use of animals is justified because we are rational. One might cynically wonder if we’re thick in the same old Dominate-&-Exploit game, but we, being rational, articulate reasons for doing what others do anyway.

All animals self-assert. One clever way we self-assert, perhaps, is by calling ourselves specially “dignified,” which then rationalizes that self-assertion. In other words, I worry about A’s slide into B, about an argument that’s a moral slippery slope—in practice if not intent; in practice if not by theoretical necessity—into the fact of rationalization:

A. We’re morally permitted to use animals, because we’re rational.

B. We use animals, then we rationalize it.

To offer my point more kindly, perhaps more fittingly: I wonder if our sense of a special dignity is hard to pry from our special love for our own Kind, whose faces we’re exquisitely fine-tuned to comprehend and respond to, whose behavioral speeds we’re intimately synched to. That we feel a need to rationalize this special love is testament to our goodness! We feel the moral demand to justify what most of Nature just does, no permission asked! It’s testament to our specialness, I should concede!

I’m just not sure that this specialness gives us the right to use other sentient kinds, for example, to turn majestic horses into convenient conveyances. Nature is full of beings using others for their own end, often most agonizingly. One way we’re probably superior: we can in a principled and persistent way strive to transcend that racket. There are many accidentally vegan animals, but probably only humans are principled vegans.

I appreciate that Hanna lets into his circle of dignity beings beyond the parochially human, not just Great Apes but also dolphins and any rational aliens. And I know that he has gone to heroic efforts, in writings outside his “Not All Animals Are Equal” essay, precisely to define and defend his notion of dignity—to even mathematically defend its infinite value (Hanna, 2023: p. 84-85)[iii]—and I’ve hardly considered those accounts here. Elsewhere, for example, Hanna refutes The Dignity-Skeptic, who, when asked to explain why they’d not consent to being executed for their skin color, gender, etc., must appeal to their own dignity, that property which disallows them being treated as mere token of some demographic type. (Hanna, 2023: p. 88)

I hope I’m not a Dignity-Skeptic. Yet a horse does resist being reduced to tokenhood, it seems to me, whenever they self-assert. One reason they ought to resist such reduction is they’re a subject with their own ends. They’re a distinct locus of experience and interests, their value not reducible to their membership in a kind.

With my Emperor example I may seem to imply a Strawman notion of dignity that Hanna elsewhere warns against, one “that irrelevantly invokes a mental image of someone comporting themselves with gravitas” (Hanna, 2023: p. 78) (Even less relevantly, one might imagine pseudo-aristocratic comportment, for example, that snooty, sniffing top-hatted flaneur, caricature-icon of The New Yorker.) I don’t mean to deflate dignity; I’d rather expand it by drawing from that core meaning of Kantian dignity (Würde) as worth that Hanna points to, captured in the OED description of dignity as “worthy of honor or respect” (Hanna, 2023: p. 79)

I called them our animal siblings and mean this in a semi-literal genealogical sense: all of us a cohort in Earthlife’s great Family. Every animal is ancient and noble, eking through the eons its ever-fragile victory against entropy. We see this nobility even in the scurrying squirrel, not at all silly: head down and serious on its business. Every animal is alongside us in a great Adventure, and thus is maybe tragic, if entropy wins at last.[iv]

And while we’re here zoomed out to the geological/genealogical timescale, I wonder about the potential of other species and our obligations thereby to them. Whatever distinct capacities humans have, they likely emerged very recently: perhaps within the last two million years, as our brainsize more than doubled, or perhaps as freshly yesterday as the Upper Paleolithic. If we grant infants rights because of their developmental potential, might we analogously extend rights to other species, with reverence for their own trajectories, uncertain and varied as those trajectories may be?[v]

I’m unclear on how much I’m ultimately arguing against Hanna’s account. I’m invoking something like Schweitzer’s “reverence for life,” which Hanna finds so copacetic with his own capacious eco-Ark. Perhaps my broader notion of dignity, which lets in animals, is not so far from Hanna’s: dignity is his term for a specially rational version of some broader category of noble ensouling, Hanna might say, given his notion of a “proto-dignity” that runs through the natural world. (see, e.g., Hanna, 2021: p. 145)

Yet the acute moral question for me is, still, not whether they have dignity, but whether they can suffer. Even if our answer to the former is “Only proto-dignity,” I hope for a “Yes” to the latter.

5. Associate Members of the Realm of Ends: The Ark

Humans are superior, but may bring animals into their Realm of Ends through imaginative extension of our moral obligations to humans:

Associate membership in The Realm of Ends and its corresponding conventional moral principles thus result from coordinated acts of special moral concern and kindness towards animals of any species, or towards living organisms of any kind, by rational animals or real persons like us. And in this way, associate membership in The Realm of Ends provides for what, in effect, is a fairly robust eco-ethical Noah’s Ark Principle that could be endorsed by even the most radical eco-ethicist. (Hanna, 2025)

If one Sheltie is brought on, might they all be? For they’re just not that different one from the other. To love one Sheltie is to love them all, so when I see Shelties these days I know they’re not my childhood doggie Dinah, yet I see they’re much like Dinah. If I had any protective obligations to Dinah, I can’t help but feel them spill over into similar beings.

Could we bring all animals on?

Hanna says Yes, that “in principle we could bring all animals onto the Ark, if everyone agreed to it, which would be functionally equivalent to the moral equality of all animals.” (Personal communication, April 7 2025)

Yet in arguing that all rational persons must agree to bringing animals onto the Ark, he’s not committing the No True Scotsman’s Fallacy: he’s not saying that anyone who disagrees with the animals’ inclusion is thereby irrational, so that animals, purely by the Dictates of Reason, all get on. Rather, Hanna would allow that some rational beings may not want animals on, so that no “sufficiently large community” of people in fact adopts animals into their convention to “confer, defend, and heed this moral status” (Hanna, 2025).

So how likely is it, in fact, for all animals, for any animal, to be brought onto the Ark?

I don’t want animal rights to depend, not just in social fact but in political principle, on some community of humans agreeing to it. I prefer animals to have natural rights because they are subjects of a life—to use Tom Regan’s vague formulation—another space on the page where power rushes in and self-asserts!—but here on behalf of animals. They are subjects of a life, thus things can go well or badly for them, thus their lives matter. That mattering places moral demands, if only negative demands of non-interference, on all other agents.

NOTES

[i] In fact I wonder if we’re the only Buddhists in the animal kingdom. I wonder if any oxen have achieved some analog of Buddhistic fortitude, enduring under yoke and whip through Civ’s hard centuries. In the film Martyrs (2008), a secretive group inflict sustained torture on their captured subjects, hoping such extreme suffering will push their victims into transcendence, force open a portal to heaven. Perhaps we’ve been running this experiment, unintentionally, on our animal victims? Similarly, it is animals, not humans, who were first in space—because we forced them there in our aerospace research!

[ii] Or, minimally: awareness of the piglet’s expressions of agony.

[iii] I’m in over my head here, but for what it’s worth: I wouldn’t deny what Hanna calls the absolute, non-denumerably infinite value of human dignity, yet I suspect that some things outside human life have this value. A cow’s care for her calf may come in degrees, but that there is this protective bond, that the calf has someone devoted to them, seems to me a good that is absolutely, non-denumerably infinite. I’m not sure how to assign a number, not even an infinite number, to the fact that there are mothers. So the Hindu deification of the cow, as icon of maternal care, makes sense to me, and I wouldn’t reduce this deifying act to a Feuerbachian anthropomorphism, to a mistaken projection of human qualities onto the non-human world.

[iv] We should remember, in assessing whether animals have dignity, that many of our familiar examples are those animals we’ve corralled, captured, then modified over centuries of selective breeding precisely for undignified traits like submissiveness. The beagle and Sprague-Dawley rat have been selected for lab use partly because of their geniality, their minimal resistance to our manipulations. And are sheep especially sheepy now that we’ve dehorned and castrated them? We select the ones that don’t fight back, breed them into passivity, then call them stupid sheep! Of course humans, too, can be “domesticated” to not only submit to, but to identify with and even enjoy, their degradation. Perhaps much of industrial society’s ideology functions to facilitate this fuller submission: for example, the #Hustle ethic self-advertised on social media, where laborers spin their abjection into the virtue of autonomous striving. (I derive this latter example from a source I can’t pinpoint in my recent months’ reading; a citation is wanted.)

[v] Perhaps if we re-ran evolution from ten million years ago, a different species would have emerged as Earth’s first moral universalizer. When we recognize the historical contingency of our moral supremacy, we learn an additional reason to treat animals with solicitude. Prior to evolution, from behind a Rawlsian Veil of Ignorance, all beings about to incarnate may reason that whoever is first past the post to Moral Universalizing ought to treat other sentients with benevolence. In the Multiverse heaven, perhaps, we meet the rational form of each species, and they thank us for treating them well during our particular iteration of the Game.

REFERENCES

(Bentham’s Bulldog, 2022). Bentham’s Bulldog. “An Open Letter To Tree Huggers.” Bentham’s Newsletter. 22 October. Available online at URL = <https://benthams.substack.com/p/an-open-letter-to-tree-huggers>.

(Dierksmeier, 2021). Dierksmeier, C. “Is There Moral Equality between Humans and Animals?” Renovatio. 6 August. Available online at URL = <https://renovatio.zaytuna.edu/article/is-there-moral-equality-between-humans-and-animals>.

(Hanna, 2021). Hanna, R. A Theory of Human Dignity. Unpublished MS. Available online at URL = <https://www.academia.edu/44826196/A_Theory_of_Human_Dignity_June_2021_version_>.

(Hanna, 2023). Hanna, R. “In Defense of Dignity.” Borderless Philosophy 6: 77-98. Available online at URL = <https://www.cckp.space/single-post/bp6-2023-robert-hanna-in-defence-of-dignity-77-98>.

(Hanna, 2025). Hanna, R. “Not All Animals are Equal.” Against Professional Philosophy. 6 April. Available online at URL = <https://againstprofphil.org/2025/04/06/not-all-animals-are-equal/>.

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