Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has

The words of Garrison Keillor—“Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a function”—speak with the playful wisdom of the ancients who saw lessons hidden in the quiet behaviors of the world around them. Here, the cat, that independent and enigmatic creature, becomes a teacher of profound philosophical truth. Unlike the dog, whose loyalty and work are easily understood and useful, the cat moves through life with elegance and curiosity, offering no clear utility, yet teaching through its mere presence. Keillor reminds us that nature is not solely a machine of purpose; it is a tapestry of wonder, mystery, and spontaneity.

The meaning of this reflection is that human understanding often seeks reason and function in all things, yet the world is not bound by human logic. To assume that every aspect of nature must serve a purpose is to diminish the richness and beauty that exist simply for their own sake. The cat, lounging in sunlight, prowling silently at night, or pausing mid-step to stare into space, embodies this principle: life need not be entirely utilitarian to be meaningful or instructive. In their freedom, cats teach us that presence, observation, and delight are as important as action and purpose.

History and myth abound with examples of beings and phenomena without apparent function, yet imbued with wonder. Consider the lotus flower, revered in ancient Egypt and India, which grows in mud but opens into exquisite bloom. Its function may seem ambiguous, but it teaches lessons of resilience, beauty, and transcendence. Similarly, cats, with their playful unpredictability, remind us that existence itself, without utility, can be a source of instruction and joy. Keillor’s observation captures the truth that wisdom often emerges not from usefulness, but from attentive perception.

Even the philosophers of old understood this lesson. Aristotle, in his study of natural history, marveled at creatures whose behaviors seemed purposeless or whimsical, yet he saw in them reflections of life’s spontaneity and diversity. Not every bird’s song is for survival, not every movement has a clear goal. Likewise, the cat’s silent steps and independent spirit teach patience, observation, and the art of being fully present. Function is not the sole measure of significance; existence itself is instructive.

The lesson for us, O seekers of wisdom, is that life need not always be rational, productive, or goal-driven to hold value. Just as cats move freely without concern for tasks or accolades, we too can embrace moments of stillness, play, and contemplation. To honor the seemingly purposeless is to open the mind and heart to beauty, mystery, and subtle lessons that often go unnoticed in the rush of human purpose.

Practically, this means observing life without constant judgment of utility. Spend time with creatures, with nature, or even with yourself, allowing for moments that are simply being rather than doing. Notice the small wonders—the fluttering of a leaf, the stretch of a cat in sunlit warmth, the effortless drifting of clouds. In these seemingly purposeless acts, there is wisdom to learn: presence, curiosity, delight, and acceptance of life as it is.

Thus let it be inscribed upon the scrolls of memory: the cat is more than a companion; it is a teacher of existence, freedom, and the beauty of living without obligation. Garrison Keillor reminds us that not all lessons are functional, not all knowledge is utilitarian. To see, to feel, and to delight without reason is itself a profound form of wisdom. In honoring the purposeless, we honor life in its fullest, richest form.