mark rowlands the philosopher and the wolf

It's an unusual little book: not quite an autobiography (a lot of the time its subject cedes the limelight to his four-legged companion), nor straightforwardly a work of philosophy (as Rowlands acknowledges, it smells a bit too much of real life to pass muster with his professional colleagues). The story of Brenin and the 'car-deck guy' reappears in The Philosopher and the Wolf. And you can't hold a person or a creature morally responsible for something over which he or it has no control.

Reflecting on his off-the-cuff response to the man on the ferry, Rowlands came to see that the reason he hadn't blamed Brenin for wrecking the car was that the wolf was not a 'moral agent' - it was not capable, in other words, of evaluating its actions in terms of abstract moral principles. Rowlands assured him that he didn't, and that in any case he couldn't hold Brenin responsible for what he'd done. The man hesitated, fearing that Rowlands intended to kill the animal. When he returned to the car deck to survey the damage, Rowlands asked an attendant if he could borrow a knife to cut down what remained of the car's ceiling panels. The wolf reacted to this confinement by destroying the inside of the vehicle - upholstery, seatbelts, the lot. Rowlands had locked Brenin in his car, leaving just a single window partly open.

Probing precisely what we don't want to know about ourselves, he nonetheless writes with great humour and warmth as he maps out lessons learned on the nature of love, loss and human weakness.A few years ago, the philosopher Mark Rowlands began a book on animal rights by telling a story about a ferry crossing from Pembroke to Rosslare that he once made with his pet wolf, Brenin.

Reassessing the way most people think about the difference between us and other creatures, Rowlands reflects on presumptions about civilisation and the modern 'enlightened' conception of evil, locating our superior intelligence in the ability to scheme and deceive. Although there's plainly something pitiful about a man who readily admits to caring more about his animals than his girlfriends, Rowlands's heart-felt account of the years he spent with 'Brenin' (the name he would, incidentally, also give his son after the death of his four-legged friend) is an unexpectedly provocative exploration of what it means to be human. I f your hackles rise when people talk about their pets as if they were human, a book about an 11-year friendship between a young man and the wolf he bought while lecturing in philosophy at Tuscaloosa, Alabama, might seem unappealing.

Mark rowlands the philosopher and the wolf