The Philosopher’s Bicycle

“Then he simply ceased pedalling. The bicycle’s momentum carried it forward a while but—as bicycles will—the machine began to waver from side to side ever more precariously.“

I was talking to my fellow author, Daphne C., and the conversation spiralled around to our student days together. That eventually led me to trot out two stories that a philosophy student—let’s call her “Helen”—told me at the time.

Helen’s first story concerned a philosophers’ party.

Right off the bat, this had my attention as an oddball story, because philosophers, giant turtles and three-toed sloths are one of type IMO – not party animals.

Nevertheless, Helen insisted there had been a philosophers’ party which she was part of. At the end of the evening, her prof left the party on his bicycle. It was a balmy Cape summer evening, so the remaining partygoers clustered on the porch to wave the prof goodbye and watch him pedal away.

For the first several yards, all went well. Then he simply ceased pedalling. The bicycle’s momentum carried it forward a while but—as bicycles will—the machine began to waver from side to side ever more precariously.

“Is he OK?” asked one of the non-philosopher watchers.

“Shh! He’s had a thought,” said the others.

At that point the bicycle (and professor) fell over, and lay on the tarmac.

“Shouldn’t we check on him?” asked the same non-philosopher guest.

“No. He’s thinking.”

Sure enough, after a decent interval, the prof righted his bicycle remounted and pedalled off.

I don’t know what the moral is of this. I’m tempted to suggest the slogan “If you think, don’t drive” but that doesn’t sound right, somehow.

Daphne C. did not say much at this point. She reserved her most cutting comment for the second philosopher story.

Helen’s second story was about one fine spring day when she walked down a corridor in the Philosophy Faculty. She was overflowing with all the new energy that the season brings, and out of pure whimsy and rebellion against the dingy corridors she let out a happy “meow.”

A door opened and one of her profs stuck his head out.

“Was there a cat in the corridor?” he asked.

Feeling a little foolish, she said, “Umm, yes, Maybe.”

The prof was fascinated.

“I didn’t know we had a cat. Are you sure?”

“Umm. Pretty sure.”

I don’t know if philosophers have a term for this in their Ethics 101 course, but in my Life 101 course I call this “Thin Ice.”

“Come with me,” said the prof, “we need to ask the Dean.”

He hauled her off to the Dean’s office where the prof asked the Dean.

“Do we have a cat?”

The Dean considered the question carefully, then asked, “What colour cat?”

The prof looked at Helen. “What colour cat?”

It was, of course, too late for Helen to back out (Life Lesson 101b: if you’re on thin ice don’t stop) so she scrambled.

“Black with a white chest.”

“No,” said the Dean.

And that was that.

Again, I’m at loss for a moral, but Daphne C. said, “That’s why philosophers never get to the heart of what matters.”

The cat that never was.

Footnotes:

1)All images generated by Dall.E-3 via Microsoft Bing Image Creator.

2) All text generated by me. No AI there, and some would say precious little HI either.