God & Cat at Harvard

 

A few months after moving out of Boston, I learned that an orange tabby named Remy was part of the campus life at Harvard University. Remy would attend classes and presentations, hang out in various libraries, visit academics in their offices and students in their dorms and bring good cheer wherever he would go and his adventures would be shared on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and even LinkedIn. Among all the many reasons I missed Boston, this discovery made me want to come back. 

Not only have I moved back to the area, but I live in Remy's stomping grounds. Now finding an orange cat isn't as easy as it sounds. While the pandemic has limited Remy's ability to go inside campus buildings, Harvard is still a large campus with many nooks and crannies. 

But persistence is its own reward. Two days ago, the day after the Fourth of July, I was walking back home after having spent the afternoon in Boston. I decided to walk through Harvard Yard and out of the corner of my eye near Holworthy Hall I caught an orange flash out of the corner of my eye.

There was Remy - sound asleep. Well, perhaps he was working on his tan. In any event, I did not want to disturb him other than to discreetly take his picture. Needless to say, I hope when our paths cross again he will be fully awake and ready to engage.

Iris Berent, a professor of psychology at Northeastern University in Boston, wrote a book called The Blind Storyteller: How We Reason About Human Nature. Berent writes about Remy in her opening chapter:

Remy will never ponder his ontological and epistemological condition - that he exists in the world, that his life is short, and that his understanding of it is so limited. Remy will likely live and die without ever gaining an understanding of himself.

It doesn't take much effort for us humans to grasp that being born a cat predestines Remy to certain cognitive constraints. By "constraints" I don't simply refer to his limited memory and narrow attention span....But there are fundamental qualitative differences between the kind of conclusions that Remy extracts from his residence at Harvard and the ones that his human Facebook followers do. Remy views the world through the prism of his inborn cognitive capacities. What lies beyond that prism will always be beyond his grasp.

Frankly, I think Berent sells Remy short. Yes, Remy has feline instincts. He will be attracted to pets on the chin, tuna and toys with string. While it might be true that Remy will never be able to write a treatise on contract law, explain the fundamental conflict between form and function nor recite the thesis of Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States, but he may appreciate these things in his own way.

After all, it isn't every cat that of his own volition walks nearly a mile to one of the foremost academic institutions in the world much less observe its proceedings. Surely Remy has an understanding that people gather to learn and to work and return to their homes. No doubt Remy was as bewildered as the rest of us when the pandemic shut down everything including Harvard wondering aloud, "Where the hell is everybody?"

What Berent fails to consider is that Remy has a brother named Gus who is perfectly happy to stay at home. How does one explain such a pair of fraternal felines? While Gus might very well share Remy's charming personality he clearly does not share his curiosity let alone his willingness to engage people and to negotiate their environment. 

I also cannot help but wonder if there is some higher purpose in Remy's presence at Harvard. While cats choose their own company that choice seldom involves an entire student body, faculty, staff plus the community at large. In which case, I cannot help but wonder if God has chosen Remy to watch over Harvard. The Harvard community may pet, feed and let Remy in out of the rain, but Remy is also bringing them joy and comfort. Harvard takes care of Remy and Remy takes care of Harvard. I wonder if anyone at the Harvard Divinity School has pondered such thoughts. I also wonder what thoughts Remy has when he visits such sacred ground. One can dismiss such wonderings as silly. But if William F. Buckley could write God and Man at Yale then why can't I write about God and cat at Harvard?