The Collective Ego

The Collective Ego: Awakening from the Dream of Anthropocentrism

Just as individuals have a tendency toward self-centeredness, believing the world revolves around their personal needs, the human species as a whole suffers from a collective form of this delusion. During my philosophical studies, I encountered the precise term for this phenomenon: Anthropocentrism.

This is the deep-seated belief that humans are the central fact of the universe, the ultimate measure of all things. Why do we believe this? Usually, we point to our intellect, language, or creativity as justification for our superiority over other species. Through this lens, everything on Earth seems to exist solely for humanity's benefit. We wield a yardstick called "utility" to measure all life: if it benefits us, we call it a resource or a pet; if it harms or inconveniences us, we label it a pest.

Aristotle’s Legacy and My Former "Common Sense"

This mindset is not a modern invention. Ancient philosophers set the stage long ago. Aristotle, for instance, established frameworks that categorized the natural world hierarchically. He argued that plants exist for the sake of animals, and animals—lacking rational souls—exist purely for the sake of humans, to serve as food, clothing, or labor. This philosophical foundation provided a seemingly rational justification for human exploitation of animals for millennia, making it all appear like "natural law."

I must admit, I used to be a faithful believer in this ideology—or rather, I never thought to question this "common sense" I was spoon-fed since childhood. The world was clearly categorized for me: pigs, cows, and sheep were links in the food chain, born to be eaten. Cats and dogs were the lucky ones, chosen as pets because they were cute. As for mosquitoes, cockroaches, and ants, they were nuisances disturbing our comfort, while locusts, caterpillars, or aphids were viewed as the enemies damaging our crops; wiping them out was practically seen as a moral duty.

I ate meat with a clear conscience. My first reaction upon seeing a cockroach was to grab a slipper. I felt that spraying pesticides on farmland was a necessary evil for a bountiful harvest. I never felt anything was amiss.

Screams from the Slaughterhouse: A Crack in the Conscience

However, there are some experiences that no amount of philosophical theory can paper over.

When I was a child, my family home was not far from a pig slaughterhouse. On many early mornings or late nights, the wind would carry the sounds over. It wasn't just ordinary animal noise. It was the sound of pigs facing imminent death—sharp, miserable, piercing howls of pure terror. That sound cut straight to the bone. Even now, remembering it feels like recalling a scene from a horror movie.

Though I was young, that sound tore a fissure in my worldview. If animals are just "objects" without souls, if they are born simply to be our food, why do they demonstrate such intense resistance and fear of death? Their pain was so real, indistinguishable from the reaction a human would have when facing mortal danger. I began to realize this was a symptom of anthropocentrism: we selectively ignore the feelings of other beings just to maintain our own convenience and appetite.

The Buddhist Shift: From Utilization to Compassion

Later, becoming a Buddhist provided me with a radically new, broader perspective. A core tenet of Buddhism is rebirth, which teaches that the stream of life is interconnected. We may be human in this life, but we may have been animals in past lives, and current animals could be reborn as humans in the future. This view completely shatters the absolute barrier between species.

Some might argue, "You can't scientifically prove reincarnation." Perhaps not. But at the very least, we cannot deny a fundamental fact: animals, just like us, have a survival instinct, the capacity to feel pain and fear, and an inherent right to exist.

This shift made me re-examine many common "animal lover" viewpoints. I have a friend who adores his cats and dogs, believing anyone who abuses pets should face legal punishment. Yet, he is also a gourmand who praises the meat dishes on his table. When we discussed this, his take was conventional: "Some animals are suitable as pets, others are raised to be eaten."

I felt a deep contradiction in this thinking. If the boundary of our love for animals depends solely on whether they are "cute" or provide us with emotional value, then this love remains profoundly anthropocentric. Is this not a form of hypocrisy, or at best, a selective lack of awareness?

For a Buddhist, the goal of practice is enlightenment, and compassion is an indispensable factor in becoming an enlightened being. We aim to become Buddhas to help all sentient beings be free from suffering. If we vow to benefit beings on one hand, yet send their flesh into our mouths for our own sensory pleasure on the other, are we not moving in the exact opposite direction of our goal?

Twenty Years as a "Weirdo": Practicing Respect in the Details

A change in perception inevitably leads to a change in behavior. From the age of 33, I decided to stop eating meat. This was not just for health; it was a declaration of my attitude toward life. This attitude extended into every detail of my existence, even though in the eyes of many, I had become a "weirdo."

When walking, I developed the habit of looking down. My gaze scans the ground a meter ahead, fearing I might carelessly crush ants or other small insects busily working. In the kitchen, before pouring hot water down the sink, I turn on the cold tap first to flush the pipes. I know that in those dark corners and unseen drains, many small creatures might reside, and I do not want them scalded to death by my mindless action.

When faced with "uninvited guests" at home, like cockroaches or mosquitoes, I no longer use insecticide or slippers. I keep glass jars and stiff paper ready to carefully trap them and release them outside in the grass. It sounds troublesome, perhaps even laughable to some, but for over twenty years, this has become my habit. I don't care how others view me because I deeply believe that respect for life should not be selective. Even lives we find unpleasant have a right to exist.

My views on agriculture changed as well. Heavy pesticide use for economic gain poisons countless insects, but ultimately, it poisons the environment and our own bodies. I see many Buddhist or organic farmers whose vegetable leaves are often riddled with bug holes. They don't mind; some even intentionally leave a portion of the crop for the insects to eat. This attitude of "sharing" rather than "extermination" reveals a healthier, more harmonious ecological view.

If we cannot yet achieve total harmlessness in our lives, then at the very least, let us be honest: admit that this is all done for our own selfishness. Acknowledging this truth may be the first step in our collective awakening from the great dream of anthropocentrism.

Luke Lin 2/13/2026