The myth of Sisyphus and, in particular, Camus’ reading of that story, are obviously on my mind. Having mentioned the story in my last post, I want to say more about it here, only in the context of process metaphysics.

And cats.

Cats, you see, are either the worst or the best existentialist philosophers. The difficulty in answering this question is not because they are cats, but because of all the labored verbiage that goes into saying what existentialism is. Indeed, where I want to take this argument is in the direction of undermining that last phrase. Existentialists say that the world is absurd, but much of that claim turns on the use of that annoying little verb “is”. Sartre, for example, named his magnum opus Being and Nothingness, with the first half of that title emphasizing the root verb (“to be”) from which all forms of “is” emerge. If the focus of existentialist thought is directed upon “being” and forms of “is-ness,” then much of existentialism’s claims of absurdity stand or fall upon the priority given over to the word “is.” If so, then even asking the question, “what existentialism is” could well be a fundamental error that many existentialists themselves commit. So the direction of our discussion here is this: to gloss Camus’ famous essay “The Myth of Sisyphus,” illustrate some salient points using cats, and segue finally into how the whole thing gets reimagined in a process metaphysics. Continue reading →

There are three types of cat people, but I’ll get back to that in a moment …

Instead, I want to center the theme of this post around the idea of philosophers and cats. Philosophers, mind you, not so much philosophy. I talk about the latter quite a bit as it is, and a considerable amount of philosophy will be evident (if only implicit) in what I really want to talk about: philosophers and cats. A number of scientifically vacuous and philosophically dubious surveys are reported in the anecdotal penumbra engulfing what passes for scholarly philosophy which suggests that philosophers overwhelmingly prefer cats to dogs. Certainly this is true for me, and for those scholars I am acquainted with. (See above, under “anecdotal penumbra.”) Mind, I do not dislike dogs in the least, and am profoundly upset when I encounter a dog that does not instantly like me. (It happens occasionally, usually with rescue dogs that have been subjected to abuse of some severe, and invariably undeserved, quality.) But I have never owned a dog, and would never adopt one except under the most extreme circumstances.

For one thing, dogs are so needy. And not in the good way, where they walk up and demand your immediate and unqualified attention. No they’ve got to get all passive-aggressive, sad and doe-eyed, “pwease wuv me,” about things, and guilt you into being the pack leader. (Everyone knows that dogs are pack animals, including and especially the dogs themselves. Hence their mastery of political manipulation from the Beta position.) Cats are not like that. Cat comes up and says, “You may adore me now,” or, often enough, “You may adore me NOW! (Damnit!)” Just as often, the cat will make it clear that it will cost you blood to interrupt its current mood or project. So why would philosophers (as a statistical aggregate, mind you, not a univocally defined class) not only tolerate, but seek out such assholery? Continue reading →