animals

Living – Is That Not Precisely Wanting to Be Other Than This Nature?

By in animals, battling personal entropy No Comments

Our natural state often meant dying from common injuries which are mere inconveniences to us now, so, as usual, talk of what we were “naturally” “meant” to be is meaningless. Chimpanzees are much stronger than humans, not because they have extra muscle fibers or a more “natural” existence, but because we have more specialized motor neurons which allow us to do things like knit, play piano, and perform laser surgery. The difference is in our brains, not our biceps. (My trainer would like to know who authorized that trade-off; he says he doesn’t need to play the trumpet anymore and would happily re-engineer some neurons in service to his squat strength.) Powerlifters are often stronger than bodybuilders, despite lacking the chiseled physiques of the latter, so functional strength isn’t even necessarily the same thing as being “ripped.” Hunter-gatherers, the most “natural” humans, are often of slight build. It’s not Blake’s grain of sand, but it’s still amazing that one tiny tweet can contain a whole world of mistaken assumptions and implications.

In a book I just read, Exercised, by Daniel Lieberman, he makes the familiar case that humans evolved to become endurance athletes above all. Most other animals are much faster than us in a sprint, but our relatively hairless bodies and abundance of sweat glands make a more efficient cooling system, allowing us to continue running after the faster animals have been forced to stop and rest to avoid overheating. Slow and steady wins the race, indeed. Perhaps even “work smarter, not harder” — we ran our prey to exhaustion rather than beat it to death.

Aesthetic musculature, like music, poetry, and reading for pleasure, is itself a “deviation” from the bare necessity of securing enough calories to survive long enough to reproduce. Thank all the gods for such deviations!

The Chatter of Monkeys

By in animals, foolosophy, juxtapositions No Comments

In his latest article (Feb. 1892) Prof. Garner says that the chatter of monkeys is not meaningless, but that they are conveying ideas to one another. This seems to me hazardous. The monkeys might with equal justice conclude that in our magazine articles, or literary and artistic criticisms, we are not chattering idly but are conveying ideas to one another.

— Samuel Butler, The Notebooks of Samuel Butler

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An even deeper philosophical problem comes with the search for a so-called “theory of mind” in other species. For an animal to have such a theory is, we suppose, for it to be conscious of the existence of other beings like itself outside of itself, that is, to recognize other animals and humans as operating with intentions and anticipations, rather than only according to the physical laws of nature. But there is no reason to suppose that such an ability, where it is observed, is a sign of any internal working of mind on the part of the animal itself that is thought to hold the theory. In fact, machines can now be built that are very good at predicting human intentions, and notwithstanding the exuberance of many techno-futurists, we have absolutely no reason to believe that these machines are literally intelligent, or in any way even approaching literal intelligence.

Susan Schneider has argued that the best-designed general-AI machines of the future may be the ones that lack any true internal capacity for reflection, an ability not simply to process information algorithmically, but also to think about the information being processed. It is an open question whether it will ever be possible to design conscious machines, but if you can design fully rational machines to do your work for you, why would you give them consciousness on top of that? This, Schneider notes, would likely only create ethical problems, and tempt them to rebel. And indeed something similar may be said of the evolution of life on earth: on what grounds can we justify the belief that an internal capacity for conscious thinking is more “intelligent” than just adapting to the exigencies of the environment without any deliberation?

— Justin E.H. Smith, “The Problem with ‘Animal Intelligence’”

Beyond the Wires

By in animals, jests japes jokes jollies, poetry No Comments

The widest prairies have electric fences,
For though old cattle know they must not stray
Young steers are always scenting purer water
Not here but anywhere. Beyond the wires

Leads them to blunder up against the wires
Whose muscle-shredding violence gives no quarter.
Young steers become old cattle from that day,
Electric limits to their widest senses.

— Philip Larkin, “Wires”

And yet, even bovines can find themselves possessed of the Promethean spirit:

And I’m Grateful for This

By in animals No Comments

Eleven years ago today — also a Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving — I had to have one of my beloved dogs put to sleep. It was a bleak and depressing holiday.

I took a few years’ hiatus from having dogs after my last one died in 2016. Ever since I was born, I’d never been without dogs in the house. But it takes a lot out of you to keep outliving such close companions, so I needed a break from it. Last month, though, we finally adopted another one from a shelter. We’re calling him Galahad, and we have dispassionately determined that he is objectively the bestest boy in all the land.

We have a lot to be thankful for this year, but I think I’ll make time to reflect on two things in particular: the love of our pets, and the passing of time which makes even deep heartbreak surmountable.

To See Like Your Eyes Do

By in animals, books, foolosophy No Comments

Sam Leith:

Where Gray makes a bit of a leap, of course, is in his confident assertion that cats think, or rather don’t, in the way he supposes. In truth, we have no idea what goes on in a cat’s furry little head, and that alterity is what makes them so attractive. When my cat sat on the end of the bed, perfectly still, staring at nothing, how am I to know that she wasn’t wondering intently about whether existence precedes essence? Indeed, in insisting that it’s vain of philosophers to see humans as different from the rest of the animal world, and at the same time insisting that we are uniquely cursed with self-consciousness, Gray seems to me slightly to be having his Whiskas and eating it.

I’ll read the book, of course, but maybe I should also read Thomas Nagel’s What Is It Like to Be a Bat? Wouldn’t it be fascinating to even temporarily inhabit the perspective of other creatures? What does go on in their heads? It’s true, Gray sometimes seems too invested in proving that humanity is nothing special after all. Wallace Kaufman, on the contrary, suggested that maybe our desire to share the company of other animals, to understand them on their own terms for the sake of knowledge, should be a small point in our favor. I tend to agree.

Less Than Human?

By in animals, juxtapositions, montaigne No Comments

Overall, it must be said that those who kill or harm living creatures, or set them up to fight each other for their own pleasure, are no better than wild beasts themselves. If you pause and look carefully at the birds and animals, and even the little insects, you will see that they love their children, feel affection for their parents, live in couples, are jealous, angry, full of desire, self-protecting and fearful for their lives, and far more so than men, since they lack all intelligence. Surely one should pity them when they are killed or made to suffer? If you can look on any sentient being without compassion, you are less than human.

— Yoshida Kenko, Essays in Idleness

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The swallows that we see at the return of the spring, searching all the corners of our houses for the most commodious places wherein to build their nest; do they seek without judgment, and amongst a thousand choose out the most proper for their purpose, without discretion? And in that elegant and admirable contexture of their buildings, can birds rather make choice of a square figure than a round, of an obtuse than of a right angle, without knowing their properties and effects? Do they bring water, and then clay, without knowing that the hardness of the latter grows softer by being wetted? Do they mat their palace with moss or down without foreseeing that their tender young will lie more safe and easy? Do they secure themselves from the wet and rainy winds, and place their lodgings against the east, without knowing the different qualities of the winds, and considering that one is more wholesome than another? Why does the spider make her web tighter in one place, and slacker in another; why now make one sort of knot, and then another, if she has not deliberation, thought, and conclusion? We sufficiently discover in most of their works how much animals excel us, and how unable our art is to imitate them. We see, nevertheless, in our rougher performances, that we employ all our faculties, and apply the utmost power of our souls; why do we not conclude the same of them?

Why should we attribute to I know not what natural and servile inclination the works that excel all we can do by nature and art? wherein, without being aware, we give them a mighty advantage over us in making nature, with maternal gentleness and love, accompany and learn them, as it were, by the hand to all the actions and commodities of their life, whilst she leaves us to chance and fortune, and to seek out by art the things that are necessary to our conservation, at the same time denying us the means of being able, by any instruction or effort of understanding, to arrive at the natural sufficiency of beasts; so that their brutish stupidity surpasses, in all conveniences, all that our divine intelligence can do.

— Montaigne, “An Apology for Raymond Sebond”

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Cats have no need of philosophy because they already know how to live. Dull, commonplace folk will say the reason cats do not philosophise is that they lack the capacity for abstract thought. But imagine a species of cats that possessed this capacity while retaining the ease with which they live in the world. They might even give humans guidance on how to live. My book contains a list of 10 feline tips or hints on the subject. Of course these are not pieces of moral advice. Cats know nothing of morality as we understand it. They obey no commandments and feel no obligation to improve the world. Yet if we think of ethics as living according to one’s nature — as the ancient Greeks and Chinese Daoists did, along with Montaigne and also Spinoza — these feline philosophers could have something useful to tell us about the good life. To be sure, they would not expect us to follow their advice, nor would they care if we did. If they engaged in philosophy, it would be as a form of play.

— John Gray, “What Cats Taught Me About Philosophy“

Kitteh

By in animals, the big sleep 3 Comments

Kitteh had to be euthanized this morning. She had apparently had a couple of strokes in the last year, leaving her mostly blind and suffering from vertigo. We brought her inside about a year and a half ago, when it became clear she wasn’t capable of fending for herself anymore. We figured she deserved some time in an assisted-living facility in recognition of her long service — she was already living on the premises when I moved in almost thirteen years ago, and despite the presence of several dogs who weren’t particularly fond of cats, she steadfastly hung around, eventually outliving them all. I’m glad we at least got to let her enjoy one winter snuggled up to the woodstove. Thanks for your company, old girl.

O Owl!

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O owl! / make some other face. / This is spring rain. / ~ Issa

I was sitting on the back porch this evening, listening to music and the spring rain, when I saw a tawny gold shape drop from a tree and glide silently through the woods behind the house. At first I thought it was a hawk, but when it alighted on the branch, I saw the ear tufts and realized it was a great horned owl. It stayed there for about ten minutes, watching the nearby field, giving me a chance to get the binoculars and observe it more closely. A couple of jays eventually showed up and shrieked their displeasure at its presence, but it maintained its calm dignity, only leaving once they had flown away, perhaps not wanting to give them the satisfaction.

I attended a powwow in Pennsylvania nearly thirty years ago. One of the attractions was a bird handler, and he had a great horned owl with him. He explained that the owl’s reputation for wisdom was greatly exaggerated, as this particular species is one of the skunk’s few predators, and as they always attack from behind, they usually stink. Nonetheless, I felt honored to have this majestic fellow visit me. I’ve never seen one this close to the house before.

The Gods of Flame

By in animals, foolosophy No Comments

So, last spring, we decided to bring Kitteh inside and let her live out her dotage as a house cat. Her arthritis and generally non-combative nature left her at a disadvantage against Trump, the outside cat, so we intervened. She quickly adapted, and is generally low-maintenance. Until she discovered the wood stove, that is.

We have a wood stove in the center of the great room, surrounded by a brick hearth. I had joked during the summer, “Wait until she learns that these bricks get warm in the winter,” but I don’t think I’d expected her to be quite this enthusiastic. This cat has become a tyrant. From the moment our feet hit the floor in the morning, she’s hobbling around after us, “meeping” her little head off, until one of us builds a fire for her. As I type this, it’s 5:28 a.m., and she’s circling around the table where I sit, like a fuzzy, arthritic shark, waiting for me to get up and do my duty. When I build the fire, she’ll put herself right in the middle of the proceedings, like the most obnoxious supervisor, as if she doesn’t trust me to do it correctly. “I can’t put these logs in here if you’re going to stand in front of the stove door.” “Excuse me, I need those newspapers you’re standing on so I can use them for kindling.” Meep, meep, meep. What’s taking so long, human? Finally, once things are arranged to her satisfaction, she’ll lie on the bricks, inches from the stove (and sometimes partially underneath it), where she will happily sleep for the rest of the day (unless we’re foolish enough to let the fire go out). It’s been a fairly mild winter so far, too — temperatures have been mostly in the forties and fifties, with no real snowfall worth the name. No matter. Until the return of the summer sunbeams, Her Majesty wants fires all day, every day. Wittgenstein claimed that if a lion could talk, we wouldn’t be able to understand him, but I find it fairly easy to understand what this little domesticated lion wants. Warmth, food and maybe some skritching, in that order.

Do cats have religion, do you think? Sir James Frazer, in The Golden Bough, argued that the numerous dying-god myths throughout Europe and the Middle East were rooted in agricultural societies’ need to understand and adapt to unpredictable weather and the changing of the seasons. I feel like I can see a similar rudimentary impulse motivating Kitteh — why do the bricks turn cold again? What must I do to propitiate the fire-bringers? Is God dead? Sometimes, if we fail to respond promptly to her meepings, she’ll return to her spot next to the stove to endure in silence, feet tucked and head bowed almost as if in prayer (once she’s warm, she takes on a more typical sprawling pose to sleep). Is she perhaps reflecting on whether she might have angered the gods by doing her business outside of the litterbox? Is she marking time until the return of the blessed warmth, looking for comprehensible patterns? Yesterday, she apparently re-discovered that the furnace vents also blow warm air. It was near sixty degrees, so we didn’t build a fire; we just left the furnace on to kick in as needed. We noticed her investigating underneath one of the bookcases while it was running, and she perched herself close to the vent for about ten minutes, until it cycled off again, and she was forced to wander in search of the Promised Land once more. Truly, her world is a vale of tears.

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