The other day, one of my colleagues referred to something as a “ritual cat.” She was referring to an office process that we should avoid doing for appearance’s sake, because it might end up engrained in the larger procedure it was a part of while failing to serve any actual purpose. We all got the gist of what she meant, but were lost as to the surface meaning.
Ritual cat? we thought. What the hell is a ritual cat?
Seeing the collective raised eyebrow from the rest of us on the meeting, she laughed. Admitting that she might botch the explanation, she outlined the Zen Buddhist story that she’d been drawing on. Rather than attempt to paraphrase her , I found a version of the story on a random Rider University webpage.
When the spiritual teacher and his disciples began their evening meditation, the cat who lived in the monastery made such noise that it distracted them. So the teacher ordered that the cat be tied up during the evening practice. Years later, when the teacher died, the cat continued to be tied up during the meditation session. And when the cat eventually died, another cat was brought to the monastery and tied up. Centuries later, learned descendants of the spiritual teacher wrote scholarly treatises about the religious significance of tying up a cat for meditation practice.
Anonymous
Like so many things Zen, the tale is somewhat inscrutable, resisting straightforward interpretation. What are we left to assume about ritual cats? Should we laugh at the ritual of the ritual cat? Should we seek them out and destroy them? Is it possible avoid creating them?
Looking again at that Rider University page, the professor who posted it made the delightful choice of including people’s reactions to the story just below. Those include gems like:
Why tie up the cat? Why didn’t they just let it out?
and
Scholars can make even stupidity sound intelligent.
oh! and
I think a lot of us live our whole lives like this. We do this and that, over and over again, without really thinking about the significance or meaning of it.
The last one stuck with me. My reflex was also to look inward and question whether there are any ritual cats in my life. In other words, is there anything in my life, either an object or a process that:
- was once done out of necessity as part of a greater process or goal;
- became needless or obsolete at a later date; and
- is defended as a critical part of the greater process or goal on philosophical, cultural, and/or spiritual grounds?
When framed out that way—the essence of the ritual cat—I’m actually not sure if anything fits the bill. As an agnostic, I don’t have any religious rituals in my life. Nor can I come up with any (unnecessary) family traditions that arose out of an existing need. (Note to my dad: there was no need for your children to eat a full bowl of apple sauce—merrily dyed red and green—on Christmas mornings.) The one thing I can think of is my comfort animal Hubie, who very, very unnecessarily accompanied me all the way to my college dorm. Was it couched in irony? Of course it was. But was my stuffed lion, who once necessarily comforted a screaming toddler, necessary for an 18-year-old? Um, no. He was deeply unnecessary—a ritual cat (lion).
Zooming out beyond the personal, there are plenty of ritual cats to consider in our larger culture—a 4-year college education, wristwatches (if you’re carrying a smartphone), gas-powered vehicles, and cursive handwriting. From here on out, I’m keeping an eye out for any other ritual cats out there.
Taylor Coe 