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What Cats Can Teach People

Feline Philosophy: Cats and the Meaning of Life, by John Gray (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 128 pages, $ 24) Parents sometimes say that nothing gives you more insight into the natural differences between men and women than having a son and ‘ to raise a girl. I do not have children, so I can not really judge – but I know that one can make a similar claim on cats and dogs. As the owner of one of each, I find it clear that they are very different in nature. My dog ​​is energetic, submissive and warm; my cat is lazy, independent and aloof. When I call my dog’s name, he runs after me; When I mention my cat’s name, she looks at me indifferently and does not move a muscle. My dog ​​likes to do as I do: to sleep with me when I am sleepy, to walk outside with me when I need fresh air. If my cat does something to me, it’s on her terms. If she does not want to cuddle with me, she will not; if she wants to eat, she will meow me until I feed her. Now you may be asking yourself: Is there room for a discussion of cats and dogs in a serious political publication like this? Yes: A serious thinker came out with a book claiming that we can learn a lot about human nature by analyzing the nature of cats. (Okay, here is not so much about dogs, but I had to call them not to be accused of favoring their pets.) In Feline Philosophy, John Gray, observing how cats live their lives, tries to draw lessons on how we should ours lives. A philosopher of training, Gray writes extensively on politics; he has published books on liberal political philosophy, on the modern state, and on atheism. He now focuses his attention on our feline companions and on what they can teach us. Feline Philosophy is not a philosophical dissertation, nor is it an exposition of the scientific literature on cat behavior. Rather, it is a short essay that makes playful (yet informative and challenging) hypotheses about the nature of the cat, with the ultimate intention of providing wisdom about humanity. When I first heard of this book, I expected it to be filled with cute stories about cats. That would have been good by me. However, I soon saw that Gray’s love for cats was quite peculiar and definitely different from my own. Of course, he admits their cuteness – but he almost seems to like cats because of his contempt for humans. At least he thinks cats are better than us in some important ways. Every time he compares the cataract with human nature, he finds the latter defect. Consider Gray’s comparison of cat love and human love. He argues that even when cats love humans, they remain independent of us. As long as we provide for their basic necessities, they will remain in their natural state of satisfaction. They can be attached to us, but they do not need us. In contrast, Gray believes, human love is characterized by all sorts of pathologies: Among people, love and hate are often mixed. We can love others deeply and at the same time dislike them. The love we experience for other people can become hateful to us and be seen as a burden, an ambush on our freedom, while the love they feel for us may seem false and unreliable. If, despite this suspicion, we continue to love them, we may hate ourselves. Cats are also better, according to Gray, because they do not have the ability to think – and think, according to his estimate, is a curse. Thought gives rise to self-awareness, which in turn enables us to know that we are going to die. “Our image of ourselves going through time,” he writes, “comes with the realization that we will soon die. Many of our lives are spent running out of our own shadow. ‘The story of Adam and Eve is meant to teach this lesson: “In the Garden of Eden the ancient couple were clothed in ignorance of themselves. When they come to self-awareness, they find that they are naked. To think of yourself is the gift of the serpent that cannot be returned. For Gray, therefore, thought is a source of existential anxiety that only helps our soul. Cats meanwhile do not think; they are therefore not plagued by eternal unrest like us. Now one can object that cats are not special as no animal can think abstractly, certainly not at the level at which man practices it. But Gray is aware of it; he responds by saying that even if cats have the ability to have a human degree of abstract reasoning, they will still ‘retain the comfort with which they inhabit the world’. Presumably he derives so much from the way they currently behave, although he does not explain how cats would differ from other non-human animals in this regard. In any case, he argues that while humans are preoccupied with philosophy to answer the questions that afflict us, feline philosophers – if they exist – would practice their craft only as a form of entertainment. Cats and humans therefore have a natural disposition in nature. “Happiness in humans is an artificial condition,” Gray writes. “For cats, it’s their natural state.” Human happiness involves a struggle against our nature because it is in our nature to be miserable. Happiness for us therefore requires distraction. We spend our lives in search of power or wealth or love in the hope of escaping the inevitable anxiety that accompanies our self-awareness. Cats, on the other hand, achieve happiness by just being. One is tempted to set some good words for humanity against Gray’s accusation. He is, of course, right that human love is often unhealthy and that human thinking often causes anxiety. But the whole picture he paints is rather one-sided. If love can lead to great pain, it can also lead to great happiness. Bertrand Russell, another British philosopher, wrote in the preface of his autobiography that he first sought love, because it brings ecstasy – ecstasy so great that I would often sacrifice the rest of my life for a few hours of this joy. has. I looked for it, because it relieves loneliness – that awful loneliness in which one trembling consciousness looks over the edge of the world into the cold unfathomable abyss. I finally sought it, for in the union of love I saw in a mystical miniature the prefigurative vision of heaven that saints and poets imagined. Human thought also has its blessings. The reason, for example, can help us to appreciate beautiful things. When we think about the effort and ingenuity of creating a wonderful painting or a great piece of literature or a great cathedral or palace, we feel an awe and joy that is not available to beings who have no reason. (To be honest, Gray can counteract the aesthetic happiness that is turned on in part by reason is not enough – is nothing like enough – to compensate for all the anxiety and confusion that reason also causes.) Gray’s gloomy set aside judgment of mankind, which is defensible. even if you do not agree with it, let’s look at his suggestions for how we should live. What can cats really teach us? By the end of the book, Gray offers ten “cat weeks on how to live well” – that is, tips that a cat would give us if he could just talk. Some of me are very comfortable with myself – for example, “sleep for the joy of sleep”, and “forget about the pursuit of happiness, and you may find it.” That sounds sensible enough. Some of Gray’s other tips for cats are more controversial. He advises us not to bother to ‘persuade people to be reasonable’ because we are not reasonable and it is foolish to pretend that we are. He tells us, “Watch out for anyone who offers to make you happy.” Such people are not to be trusted, because they “offer to make you happy so that they themselves may be less unhappy”. For Gray, those who claim to live for others only want to alleviate their own pain. I leave these tips to the reader. The weakest part of the book comes in a somewhat strange argument that does not fit with the rest of the text. Aside from his observations about cats and humans, and the lessons he draws from them, Gray believes that a good life for any living being depends on what it takes to fulfill its nature. The good life is relative to this nature. In another passage he writes that ‘the good life is not the life you want, but a life in which you are fulfilled’ – and what you find fulfillment is determined by your individual nature. But there is a clear problem. Gray spent much of the book criticizing the contradictions of human nature, so how can he then encourage us to find fulfillment by trying to realize nature? Oddly enough, Gray expects this objection, but does not offer a solution. “Human nature has produced very diverse and sometimes antagonistic forms of life,” he writes. So “how can anyone know their own nature when human nature is so contradictory?” Well, how indeed? He does not tell us. Feline Philosophy is worth reading if you like cats or philosophy, and especially if you like both. The author is a bit misanthropic, but his misanthropy is central to the text and explains some of its appeal. This concise book contains deep insights into the human condition and yes, some cute stories about cats. What else can one ask for?

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