More Than Instinct: Animals Predict, Expect, and Learn

Humans like to think of other animals as simple creatures, reacting to whatever life throws at them like mindless biological robots. Good things happen: they're happy. Bad things happen: they feel pain. Easy.

But this patronising view is crumbling. A growing body of research shows that other animals aren’t just passive responders to stimuli. They carry expectations, make predictions, update internal models of the world — just like us. And if that sounds uncomfortably close to "being someone rather than something," that’s because it is.

At the heart of this is what scientists call the Bayesian brain hypothesis. It suggests that brains — human or non-human — aren't just sensing machines; they are prediction engines. They constantly compare what's happening now to what past experiences have taught them to expect. When there's a mismatch, the brain updates its internal model.

This isn't just theoretical. Animals show evidence of placebo and nocebo effects, which require expectations. Rats expecting pain relief after an injection behave as if they've received an actual drug even when they haven't. Calves will tolerate painful procedures if they expect a large reward, and pigs will delay gratification if they believe a better reward is coming.

Animals don't explore simply out of mindless curiosity either. Exploration helps them reduce uncertainty, refine predictions, and update what they know. Mice will brave dangerous environments, even ignoring food, to gather information. Primates solve puzzles with no extrinsic reward — the joy is in mastering their world. This isn’t "instinct." It's agency.

And yet, when other animals are forced into human-controlled systems — cages, barren sheds, labs — their predictive brains betray them. Negative experiences pile up and shape their future expectations, leading to what we might call "Bayesian blindness": a collapse of trust in the world and themselves.

Just like in humans with depression and anxiety, persistent negative expectations trap animals in mental prisons. They stop trying to escape suffering because they expect there's no way out. Their learned helplessness isn't a flaw — it's the logical outcome of relentless exploitation.

Fearfulness in animals isn't just a reaction to immediate threats. It's an ingrained pessimism, shaped by early trauma, social isolation, or unpredictable stressors. Chickens deprived of maternal care, calves raised in social isolation — these individuals develop lifelong fear of novelty and heightened reactivity. And this fear feeds into a cycle: less exploration, fewer chances to challenge negative beliefs, more withdrawal.

Even so-called "contrafreeloading" — when animals choose to work for food they could get for free — reveals their drive for agency. They value the ability to act and predict, to make sense of their environment. When we deny them control and autonomy, we don't just break bodies; we shatter minds.

Modern farming, entertainment, and experimentation systems thrive on ignoring this. It’s easier to commodify beings when you deny their inner worlds. But science tells us unequivocally: these are not instinct-driven automata. They are individuals with expectations, predictions, and emotional landscapes.

We routinely design environments that undermine their ability to update beliefs positively. Instead, we trap them in cycles of fear, pessimism, and hopelessness. We create conditions where animals become convinced — often correctly — that no action will improve their lives.

The implications are clear. Every barren cage, every forced procedure, every moment of isolation isn't just a physical violation. It's a betrayal of the animal's very capacity to believe in a better outcome. To ignore this is to commit a psychological violence so deep it ripples into every cell of their being.

We owe them more than less pain or slightly better cages. We owe them freedom from the system that treats them as commodities rather than sentient agents. Recognising their predictive, emotional minds demands that we stop using them altogether.

Science is catching up to what abolitionists have said all along: animals are not property, not machines, not resources. They are subjects of their own lives, wired to expect, learn, and hope.

If you still think small reforms or "humane" labels are enough, ask yourself: what does it mean to keep someone in a situation where they learn that hope is useless? What kind of moral bankruptcy demands we break someone so completely?

The question isn't whether animals can think or feel "like us." The question is: now that we know they do, what excuse is left to keep them enslaved?