My wife and I recently returned from our first trip to Greece. Between my busy schedule of espresso, sailing, hiking, pilgrimage to historic sites, and meals across the Hellenistic Empire, I’ve noticed one thing in particular: cats. Cats are everywhere. On the street, on your feet, in a bar, in a car. Our friends in Athens mentioned this. Cats are very numerous residents of the village. This is an arrangement that goes back thousands of years. Cats were believed to bring good luck and protect against evil spirits. The goddesses Artemis, Aphrodite and Athena were often seen in groups of cats, and if Greek mythology has taught me anything, it’s not to mess with the gods or the local wildlife (just look at Zeus). There was also a practical aspect. Cats kept rodents out of granaries and helped control other pests, and the winding, narrow alleys that served as streets provided shelter and a steady source of food.
But what stood out to me was the cat’s tissue. Whether they were in Athens, Nafplion, Ithaca, Meteora, or Mount Olympus, cats generally behaved the same. Sometimes they were alone, sometimes they were in small groups, but their manners were always exquisite. You will always find a cat curled up at your feet. Preferably in a sunny area, they will patiently watch you and your meal, waiting for you to make the right decision to drop your plate on the ground. They will never climb on the table or scratch their legs impatiently. To be honest, my cats could learn a lesson from them. If anyone, cat or human, broke the code, it was quickly fixed.
One day, while enjoying afternoon coffee in Ithaca, I was discussing this phenomenon with a local friend when another tourist, uninvited, said: “It’s best not to feed your cat. “It’s truly an epidemic.” I honestly couldn’t imagine anything more stupid! In addition to being childless cat men, we were witnessing a social order evolving spontaneously through the self-interest of each party.
FA Hayek argued that many configurations are examples of spontaneous order, and having witnessed the development of these interspecies laws and moral codes, I tend to agree. Essentially, this luxury tourist’s view was that humans were in a better position to allocate resources. A stray is an inefficient use of limited resources that could be better spent in other ways. I would have retorted if I hadn’t been so caught up in accidentally dropping part of the sardine on the ground near my cat’s shadow. No one individual or planning agency has all the knowledge to allocate resources effectively. We are best suited to allocate resources based on our individual needs, values, perceptions, and conditions. We can influence each other’s behavior to develop social norms that promote mutual prosperity and evolutionary survival.
But perhaps I’m thinking too much about the interactions of community cats and their adoptees. Maybe all there is here is a few fish and a soft “thank you” purr. Then we part ways to other parts of life. But I’m perfectly fine with that even if my philosophy of spontaneous order is nothing more than a bunch of hooeys with a velvety espresso in my hand, the warm sun on my face, and a gentle cat as my friend.
Dennis Murphy is a professional airline pilot with a background in aviation safety, accident investigation, and causality. When he’s not flying the 737, he enjoys spending time with his wife, dogs, cats, and bees.
