Customer Reviews

The Philosopher and the Wolf: Lessons from the Wild on Love, Death, and Happiness

5 star:		(13)
4 star:		(2)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(2)

 

 

There are few books which are just a pleasure to read on every page. This was one of them.

The author instructively weaves episodes from his life with his wolf, Brenin, around philosophical arguments he makes to illustrate his insightful points about life. The book obviously isn't hardcore philosophy writing; but even as a philosophy major I found myself intrigued by many of the thought-provoking points the author made. I particularly liked his thoughts about time, and his hypothesis that dogs and wolves experience time as moments, rather than as future-oriented like we do. It is also refreshing to read someone who critically challenges humanity's smug claim to superiority over all else in the universe.

Coincidentally, while I was in the middle of this book, my own dog of 8 years became suddenly ill and died a few days later. We were very close, but did not spend nearly enough time together (I was away at college most of the time). She might have been the most generous-hearted creature I've ever known. I identified very closely with the author's grief at loosing so magnanimous a friend as Brenin. It makes me wonder whether it is worth it to get to know creatures of this caliber when it hurts so much when they are gone.

I don't ever cry reading books (or watching movies). But I cried when Brenin died.

Once I starting reading The Philosopher and the Wolf I was almost sure I wouldn't like it and would have to force myself to wade through it if I ever intended to get to the end. Having read a number of books on wolves, Rowlands' book challenged what I had come to believe: wolf-keeping should be left to the professionals; never allow a wolf off a leash in a city; wolf owners and their "pets" are tragedies waiting to happen, etc.

But a funny thing happened about midway through the book. Rowlands and Brenin won me over with their special bond. Oh sure, there were still times when Rowlands' actions made me roll my eyes and wonder 'what the hell were you thinking?' But beneath it all, this is a story about two very different souls who have much to teach each other - and us. Or maybe, as a middle-aged man and a bit of a misanthrope myself, I could just relate to Rowlands and his bond with Brenin which seems so close to my bond with my more conventional four-legged family.

I suppose I could still quibble about how I'd rather see wolves running free in their natural environment rather than turned into pets, but once I got over my prejudices it made for fascinating reading. I know of no other book where you can find an account of a wolf tearing up an apartment only a few lines away from philosophical musings on time and life's meaning. But being a misanthrope myself I feel obligated to criticize Rowlands for something; thus let me state unequivocally that his writing style can get a bit pedantic when he starts loading up his sentences with too many independent clauses.

Rowlands dismisses mere happiness as an end unto itself, that purpose- especially self-purpose- has a greater place, and uses the example of Sisyphus to demonstrate, for even were the gods to avail Sisyphus of the balm of enjoying his futile task of rolling his stone up his hill, that joy would still not be a thing worthy, in and of itself. It would be an absurdity, and even a cruelty inflicted by the gods. Rowlands argues for measurable objective success, not subjective joy derived, as what determines if something is good or not. Then he gets to his rub, that once a purpose is chosen and completed, there is no further meaning, and this point is one that Rowlands has addressed in other venues, but never seems to have tackled fully. To me, the answer is clear: one must choose a purpose that perpetuates itself beyond yourself, and the only things that do this are things that serve not the self, but others: art, science, medicine, public service. Purpose, therefore, can only avoid Rowlands' logical meaningless dead end if it is directed away from the self. In this way, only in altruism can one selfishly gain a deeper sense of satisfaction. And this can only be achieved, as most things are, via personal volition, willing meaning from the ether, so to speak. Rowlands wraps up his book with the conclusion that one's own personal meaning thus comes from those few moments that one is at one's best. These are not those things that are `essentially' you, for stubbornness, stupidity, greed, duplicity or worse, can all be equally essential to a person, but the moments that are the de facto `reason' for one's existence, as determined via the formulations above, are those in which we are at our peak, in whatever sense of the term best suits one's fancy- when we are at our most generous, fittest, smartest, fastest, kindest, funniest, etc. As Rowlands puts it, in a pitch perfect diss of religion and blind faith:

Hope is the used-car salesman of human existence: so friendly, so plausible. But you cannot rely on him. What is most important in your life is the you that remains when your hope runs out. Time will take everything from us in the end. Everything we have acquired through talent, industry and luck will be taken from us. Time takes our strength, our desires, our goals, our projects, our future, our happiness and even our hope. Anything we can have, anything we can possess, time will take from us. But what time can never take from us is who we were in our best moments.

At the risk of sounding arrogant (but who cares?), I couldn't have said it better myself, and bravo! Mark Rowlands' book, The Philosopher And The Wolf, is not just a great read, a great memoir, nor even a great book. It is all of those things, but, if it can just get enough readers, I think it can take on a life of its own, and become a book of sustained and continued philosophic and personal influence. And I mean that of the positive sort, not the way The Prophet nor Jonathan Livingston Seagull are considered such. Rowlands' book is a masterful work that deserves to be seen as a classic that combines the highest and broadest of human achievement and art. It is didactic without being ponderous, self-deprecating without being precious, and far superior to all the bad self help books on life's meaning that clutter shelves because the latest Oprah-endorsed guru wants to scam unthinking zombies. I only hope an Oprah, or some other person of influence in the mass media, will stumble upon this book, and give it the larger audience that it deserves. In service to that directed away from the self goal, I urge readers of this review to buy the book, read the book, and thank me later. I can wait. Most others cannot.

This book has become my all-time favourite. An uplifting, loving, amusing and intelligently thought out work that is philosophical yet humane, and an absolute must-read for all animal lovers. I laughed and I cried throughout, and so did my husband. This book is what all my friends will be getting for Christmas this year.

I have been involved with wolves and wolf rescues for years, including phenotyping canines of unknown heritage. The dog belonging to Mark Rowlands clearly is NOT A WOLF no matter what the author was told by the breeder at purchase, which unfortunately is common practice to raise the retail value of the pups. Since the dog pictured on the cover of his GB released book and with him in a google image search (and verified as the canine in the book) is clearly a Malamute/Mal mix, a very friendly breed completely dissimilar to pure wolves in attitude. Mr. Rowlands cannot possibly know anything about wolf behavior from him, and therefore the whole premise of the book and his speaking tour is fake. I also take offense at his swapping the photo of his dog on the cover of his GB released book to that of a real wolf to further fool a trusting public for the United States release. Check the cover art on amazon.co.uk for this book. The title should realistically be changed to "The Philosopher and the Dog".

This memoir was interesting, but I found the "royal we" point of view increasingly irritating as I neared the end. Frankly, I was surprised a philosopher would assume so much about his audience. While I don't argue with his Darwinian perspective, and heartily agree that there are multiple "intelligences" in the world, it is most definitely not true that humans cannot look at the moment, rather than through it. Yes, most people are caught up in the past or the future, and often fail to truly experience the only aspect of time that is real, the current moment, but I think Mr. Rowlands has overlooked a key aspect of his narrative, that it is itself an artifact of the past, written in retrospect, with all that implies about memory, words, and direct experience. Regarding words, I think Mr. Rowlands missed one of the key things, if not "the" key thing, that separates us from other species. The incesssant monologue, or "monkey mind" that courses through our brains prevents us from the kind of direct, in the moment experience that he refers to. But any meditator knows that our stream of consciousness can be by-passed with practice, and that not all relationships are based on deceit, cunning, and power. I also couldn't help but notice that Mr. Rowlands mentioned his own "happiness" toward the end of the book, which coincided with finding a partner and having a child. Regardless of how misanthropic we may be, we seek human connection because we are human. I have had many wonderful experiences of cross-species communication, but only my husband rubs my feet at the end of the day because he knows I enjoy it. Mr. Rowlands is a bit too sure of his sweeping conclusions, and I wouldn't be surprised if he later looks back at his own words, is surprised by them, and revises them. How could it be otherwise?

I found Rowlands' book to be incredibly entertaining and thought provoking. Nevertheless, once you look deep into his philosophies, they fail to be coherent. If you are looking for a good read, definitely pick up this book. If you're looking for a philosophy, still read this book, yet perhaps continue Rowlands' philosophical discussions where he leaves them incomplete. They are worth considering.

This book takes you from smiles to tears. Whether you are a philosophy student or a lover of animals, and particularly wolves, you will not be able to put this book down. Although I did have to put it down a chapter or so before the end of the book to compose myself, take a deep breath and wipe my tears it was an intense and informative experience from beginning to end and I am certainly going to read other books by Mr. Rowlands. I only wish an owner like Rowlands for every captive wolf/wolfdog or other animal.

I loved this book. I am surprised that it has not gained more popularity. Whenever somebody tells me that topic X is unrelated to topic Y and I say 'Yes, it is', I am probably thinking about this book. This is an easy-read, but in his professional life, the author Mark Rowlands is also a leading philosopher with major contributions to the subject of the extended mind. Most of his insights on his subject came while he lived with his wolf. This book presents great examples of how the working of the mind (in this case, the author's mind) is a result of the space that is created between the person and his surroundings - a phenomenon not entirely under his control. I was left marvelling not just at the insights that the author presents, but also at the companionship that contributed in these deep insights. Would I recommend this to software professionals like myself? Well, based on its relevance, I would recommend this to people who work in any profession ! And of course, I would recommend it to all animal lovers too.

I had this book sitting on my shelf for quite a while and when I started reading it, I was ready to put it away in any moment. But page after page it drew me into it's story, surprised me and at the end overwhelmed me.
It is an absolutely, almost painful, confession of a man who has hardly been socialized, is boldly convinced of his macho-self, stuck in childish attitudes, refusing to become an adult person. One day he has the crazy idea to buy a wolf - and what then starts is a kind of education sentimental which at the end is so touching that I cried for two days after having finished the book. There's nothing else I've read in the past ten years about the condition humaine, about our relation to nature, about our arrogant errors in thinking ourselves as human beings that comes even close to "The Philosopher and the Wolf. It is my book of the first decade of the 21st century.