I have before me a wonderful book by Maria Tillmanns Pixie, the Philosopher’s Cat. Maria tackles a serious and, dare I say it, eternal theme – “The Philosopher and the Cat” (read: “The Philosopher and Life”). This fascinating yet incredibly challenging task involves being a worthy interlocutor for one’s alter ego, a philosophizing cat. It involves accepting the Other as oneself, without encroaching on their autonomy. After all, cats embody the great philosophy of silence and contentment with life. If Buddha, Epicurus, Pyrrho, or Epictetus were animals, they would definitely be cats. In addition, to their wealth of wisdom would be added the indescribable expression in their eyes and the incredible grace of their movements. Pixie cat and the Philosopher shared the same inquisitive and curious spirit and both looked upon the world as a place full of discoveries to be made. Rather than it being something to just know about, the world to them was something to wonder and ponder about. Pixie cat and the Philosopher were always trying to figure things out (p. 1). This is how Maria begins her story.
So, what wisdom is revealed to a living being, in the comprehension of which no one can be wiser than he is? This is knowledge about oneself, about one’s sovereignty. “… Would Pixie yearn to be something other than the cat she was?” (p. 5). In this context, should be understood sovereignty as Georges Bataille defined it: it is everything in human life that is the opposite of slavery or subordination. Therefore, sovereignty is possessed by all living beings, “who have and have never lost the significance ascribed to the gods.” This is not about megalomania, but rather a special natural aristocracy. The sovereign consumes, but does not labor. He simply lives his life as he sees fit, and as he pleases. This is a special art of living, a characteristic of few. Do you want to know how it is? Ask a cat or simply observe this aristocratic creature, and perhaps, if you are lucky, you will earn its trust and a heartfelt conversation.
“The Philosopher looked at her incredulous cat. Not just humans and cats — we all need trust relationships to survive, but our conception of trust may differ quite substantially” (p. 9). A cat is a cat; it does not need to justify its existence or artificially inflate its importance. A cat values its personal independence too much, so it would never stoop to deprive another living creature of that independence. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for humans… “The Philosopher imagined what Pixie must be thinking: Trust and love were the cornerstones of existence, yet flawless reasoning reigned in much of the western world and had the power somehow to erode such essential and deeply felt sentiments. Reasoning by itself was a good thing, the Philosopher thought. That is what philosophers do – they reason things through. But reasoning, the Philosopher reasoned, could be used for ill” (p. 12).
Perhaps cats have bequeathed to us a special relationship with the world, namely the ability to address another being without the motivation dictated by any need. One day, an essence encounters another essence and, smoothly and unhurriedly, experiences the fact of this encounter, becoming imbued with it. This encounter of essence with essence brings a special pleasure, for example, characteristic of play. A dual vector of attention determines it: attention directed outward (to the object) and inward (to oneself), for only in this way can one perceive the Other as something fundamentally different. This dual vector of attention and this exploratory work evoke the acute pleasure of encountering the “incomprehensible.”
Russian philosopher Semyon Frank compared the incomprehensible to a “wide-open door.” It is precisely the door to the unknown as such that seems closed to most people (but not to cats) not a door at all, but an impenetrable wall. However, a cat, as we know, goes where it pleases and wanders of its own accord. Of course, the world is not limited to what is already known and familiar to us; it is infinitely broader than anything we already know. However, people tend to live in the familiar, that is, the already known. The practice of life, the need to conserve spiritual energy and feelings, forces people to close their eyes to the incomprehensible that surrounds them on all sides, demands self-restraint and, therefore, narrowness.
“Every thing and every being in the world is something greater and other than everything we know about it and what we take it for, something greater and other than everything we can ever know about it,” writes Semyon Frank. This also seems to be the source of a special relationship with the Other at the moment of encounter. Recognizing the Other’s otherness presupposes an ethical attitude toward them. Pixie cat must think that so much in our world had everything backwards. “If we say we value love and trust, then why are we so quick to give it up? What happened that we could so easily be convinced of the contrary?” (p. 18).
Cats are calm, while humans are anxious. A cat sees its purpose in itself, so it always knows where to go and why. Humans are confused by external goals, and therefore their entire lives are a wandering. Humans constantly strive to find a fundamental orientation in their life situation, to understand themselves. It turns out that a person’s situation, in other words, their life, consists of radical disorientation. José Ortega y Gasset identifies two modes of orientation: one is genuine orientation, which truly provides something reliable, but this method always and inevitably presupposes a previous state of disorientation; the other is fictitious orientation, in which the source of conviction is not the person’s “self,” but a “pseudo-self” imposed on them by the social environment and which displaces and exiles the true personality, despotically ruling within the person. This fictitious orientation does not require prior disorientation.
Life is the only reality with the privilege of existing for its own sake. Every life (not only feline, but human as well) is a life lived for oneself, a sense of being alive, an awareness of oneself as existing, where knowledge signifies not a strenuous intellectual effort, but the wondrous presence that life bestows upon each individual. The cat’s rules of life are simple: live and let live; do not encroach on another’s territory, but do not give up yours either; if you want to change the world around you, change yourself first, and then the world will become better, or simply different; cherish every moment of your life and enjoy the present; always be grateful and reciprocate those who treat you well. “And just as the Philosopher trusted her cat, Pixie trusted her human – they were two beings that felt entirely comfortable and at home with each other” (p. 24). However, why are we trying to be someone we are not? For example, does Pixie feel the need to compare herself to other cats? Or to dogs or other pets? “Pixie seemed to bristle at the thought. Pixie was Pixie and that was that” (p. 28).
“The Philosopher enjoyed thinking about her cat’s view on the world. It helped put things into perspective and give her more confidence in finding a way to live her own life without always looking for certainty” (p. 38). Perhaps the following feline “research program” could be proposed. First, one should neither affirm nor deny anything. After all, when something is affirmed or denied, the affirmation or denial itself already includes its opposite element. This is inevitable in logic, but feline philosophy lies outside the realm of logic; there is no antithesis. To think, a person must focus their thoughts on something. However, this is precisely what, from the perspective of the feline “research program,” should be avoided. One must be free from all unnatural interference and conventions. Focusing one’s thoughts on an object (objectification) is an artificially induced state; it is not a natural property of the mind. “Maybe some humans had put too much faith in reason alone, thinking they could solve things purely in their heads. But there was so much more to consider. The world – the universe, in fact – was infinite and how could all that fit into a finite box of logical reasoning?” (p. 43).
Second, the main idea of the feline “research program” is to connect with the inner processes of our being, and to do so in the most direct way possible, without resorting to anything external or unnatural. One should not elevate rational activity to an absolute. On the contrary, it prevents the mind from establishing a direct connection with itself. The intellect’s mission is to mediate, but the feline “research program” has no such mediation in mind. Feline philosophy grasps the very essence of life in the most decisive and direct way. “Perhaps, because Pixie’s world was less driven by a need to find certainty, it also did not need to find a false sense of certainty where there was none” (p. 44). Therefore, humans have much to learn from cats.
Feline philosophy is not intended for a mind that thinks and feels according to the laws of logic and psychology. Experience lies far deeper than these thoughts and feelings. In conducting “psychological excavations,” we encounter an objective limit beyond which our explorations can no longer go. This ontological limit is also a psychological limit, and vice versa, for when we reach one, we find ourselves in the other. The difference lies in the starting point. In one case, we delve deep within, while in the other, we continually move outward, ultimately achieving identity – a gentle feline leap across the abyss of dualism and contradiction. This is both will and intuition, a maximum of spiritual effort with a minimum of intellectual expenditure. Even when a rational explanation is provided, understanding represents an internal growth, not an external addition. Feline philosophy is a path to understanding reality without any intellectual difficulties. Life is a fact that requires no explanation. To explain is to justify one’s existence. This may be the path for a human, but not for a cat.
Sergey Borisov is Head of the Department of Philosophy and Cultural Studies of the South Ural State Humanitarian Pedagogical University in Chelyabinsk. He is also Director of the Scientific and Educational Center for Practical and Applied Philosophy of the South Ural State University and President of Ratio, the Association of Philosophical Practitioners.