At first
blush the question may seem idle; so perhaps we can just turn it around and
stare at it from a different direction, by asking a second question, which is
to say: what can a dog teach us about the philosophical life? This might seem a
little better, and not at all idle.
So, what can a dog
teach us about the philosophical life broadly conceived? Unless your
experiences with dogs have pretty much been limited to the Cerberus three-headed hound of
hell variety, on this question the world of dogs is “[th]ine
oyster, Which I with sword will open,” to borrow liberally from the Bard.
The Internet
is chock-full of words of wisdom inspired by relationships
some have had with those of the canine persuasion; moralizing memoires about how animals in general, including dogs, can teach us to be
better humans; heart-warming photos
& videos of adorable puppies doing this thing (or not, precisely, depending
on whether one thinks napping is a “doing” rather than a “taking”), and very
clever dogs
doing that thing; and there is also all the scientific palaver about the
“surprising” (really? I suppose there are a lot of people out there who just
ought to wake up…) health benefits of canine this, and the therapeutic rewards associated with canine that.
In the vast
majority of these Internet attributions, the assumption is that by living in
the moment-to-moment of this day we benefit psychologically, intellectually, emotionally,
physically, socially, spiritually, and therefore, by associative fiat,
philosophically, from an alliance with our furry four-footed friends. So, at
the very least, what dogs can teach us about the philosophical life is how to
live clearly – to rejoice simply in the time that is already slipping too
quickly out of our grasp, even today, even now as we read these
all-too-fleeting words on a page.
General Information.
Now some
things about dogs are just downright intuitive, even when it comes to thinking
philosophically; and notwithstanding the question of the sometimes dubious
tastefulness of our intuitions, these still may not be ignored in discursive
reflections. Most of my own memories in this meditation will be colored by a
long association with an Aussie Cattle Dog named Daisy
and a start-up friendship with a (very) young Border Collie, a four-legged coiled
spring, named Auggie—one
a very fine and the other a very promising traveling companion through this “dark wood”
we call Life. The Reader may of course
substitute other memories… and particular names may be changed to protect the
innocent; the universal aspect of the meditation will not be affected.
There are many behavioral things dogs do as a part of their
normal dog-nicity, which
is to say that many of their actions simply arise out of the fact or nature of
Dog as Canis lupus familiaris; and then there are “other” things that Clf does, which seem to
flow more from the familiaris part of Dog, or from the dog as it has
become intimate and familiar with the human owner. In our quest to discover
what a dog can teach us about the philosophical life, it might be important to
keep this distinction in mind.
Some of our
immediate and more pleasant associations when thinking about dogs, might be
–should be—that, when they are focused on something, such as a ball or a
Frisbee, then Life = only ball or only Frisbee; this ability to focus
single-mindedly, which thankfully is not
their full-time job, is enhanced by their quasi-philosophical commitment to
living exclusively in the day-to-day. Our dogs do as a matter of course most of
the things we humans consider to be among the joys of being alive, but then only seldom get around to. These include the more
obvious joys of eating, of napping;
of yawning;
of digging in the sand at the beach; of stretching out and sleeping on their backs; and of scratching themselves with obvious
great relish. These are simple joys in which human partners of canines may
partake with no reservation, and with unmistakable philosophical benefit.
Then there
are those “other” canine joys and behaviors, which the fainter of heart may
wish to ignore at this point, and which we humans may rightly have some
reservations about participating in at any (and probably every) level.
Likewise, it may also be rightly wondered whether or not there is any arguable philosophical
benefit to be gained from human participation in these “other,” but also obviously
joyful canine activities.
Beyond the familiar
de-crotching of owner underwear, leg-humping visitors, and trying to intimately
groom owners at shower time, other canine joys include mutual butt sniffing by
way of greeting; the joys of yarking (=a very wide
open maw accompanied by a dramatically impressive ralphing noise + voluminous aftereffects);
butt-scooting; rolling
in deliciously smelly fecal stuff; and
poop-snacking,
or in the case of teething Border Collie puppies, lip-smacking and toothless poop-gumming (my DAW just prompted me over
the shoulder that Auggie’s puppyish gumming put her in mind of an old ad jingle
– ‘it melts in your mouth….’). Nota Bene:
Scientists who study Canis lupus familiaris
generally agree that the species suffers from terminal cacophagie, and seems
even to relish in it. Nuff said.
Then there
are also the joys-to-come in store for new puppy parents, such as trying to
help Puppy establish regular toilet habits. Those moments of complete delight
for all concerned when, in a market square crammed with people, Puppy gets
surprised by an intestinal explosion of unalloyed liquidity—follow the runny trail…;
and other moments when, (owners of female dogs may skip this next part), Little
Dog is pursuing self-discovery with a vengeance—licking himself with quasi
robotic intensity.
Which brings
me, as the night follows the day, to the joys of male Puppy Pudenda. According to the Huff Post: “During the 2012 campaign, former President Bill Clinton was amazed
that President Barack Obama seemed to be catching break after break, while GOP
nominee Mitt Romney seemed to stumble constantly.” Our former President,
prompted by Obama’s apparently unremitting streak of good fortune, and
seemingly desirous of expressing himself in folksy colloquialism, is quoted in
a new book as often telling his pals that Obama is, "luckier than a dog with two dicks."
Now it
seems that there are only two ways really to go with this metaphor at this
point. One can go in the direction of the fabulist and express existential
tragedy, as does the French cartoonist Marcel Gotlib, who graphically narrates
for our moral edification The (Terribly)
Triste Tale of the Gentleman who had Two Tallywackers (public library, p 22ff). Or one can take the metaphor literally and comedically… think
about Mr. Clinton’s dog reference for a moment; form a mental picture; then
imagine the possibilities. If the Puppy has no hidden Platonist (i.e.,
religious) tendencies, then he must be a very happy Dog indeed.
A Very Famous Dog in Literature.
One of the
most ancient and celebrated stories in Western literature, The Odyssey, is a Greek epic poem that was composed around the 7th-8th
century BC; and in this lengthy poem (some 12,110 lines)
Homer narrates for our listening (and reading) pleasure the story of a journey
whose central motif, framed around the 10-year war between the Greeks
and the Trojans, is Odysseus’ Nostos,
his homecoming from war and hardship after 20 long and weary years absent from
hearth and home.
Now for
those of you who did the math on this one, the war only lasted 10 years, and
Odysseus was gone for 20 years, which means that for the other additional 10
years Odysseus was being besieged and beleaguered by the gods (Poseidon, to be
exact). Given the Greek tragic worldview, this is the obvious conclusion for
his epically extended absence; and Odysseus’ meandering and troubled passage, during
the latter 10 years, through the divine obstacle course of his Return Home, is
in fact the subject of the poem.
Among the
many fine moments that Homer sings about in this poem whose subject is long-sought-for
but elusive Homecomings, our reflection will select out only two of what are perhaps
its most delightful, memorable, and poignant moments. The first occurs in Book
19, but has already been set up in Book 13. Athena has succeeded in bringing
Odysseus back through lo-so-many perils to his island, Ithaca, as a man with a
plan:
"noble son of
Laertes, think how you can lay hands on these disreputable people who have been
lording it in your house these three years, courting your wife and making
wedding presents to her, while she does nothing but lament your absence, giving
hope and sending your encouraging messages to every one of them, but meaning
the very opposite of all she says.
[…]I will begin by disguising you so that no human being shall know you; I will cover your body with wrinkles; you shall lose all your yellow hair; I will clothe you in a garment that shall fill all who see it with loathing; I will blear your fine eyes for you, and make you an unseemly object in the sight of the suitors, of your wife, and of the son whom you left behind you.”
[…]I will begin by disguising you so that no human being shall know you; I will cover your body with wrinkles; you shall lose all your yellow hair; I will clothe you in a garment that shall fill all who see it with loathing; I will blear your fine eyes for you, and make you an unseemly object in the sight of the suitors, of your wife, and of the son whom you left behind you.”
So arrives, in Book 19, the long-anticipated moment of entry
into his own once-familiar halls— although disguised and unrecognized by all, Odysseus
has even gained admittance into the presence of Penelope, his wife. Penelope has
bid Euryclea, O’s childhood nurse now grown old and feeble, to wash the feet of
this “stranger”-guest to her home, and when Euryclea sees the scar on the
stranger’s thigh, she recognizes her long-lost master. But he bids her to
silence…
As soon as Euryclea
had got the scarred limb in her hands and had well hold of it,
she recognized it and dropped the foot at once. The leg fell
into the bath, which rang out and was overturned, so that all the water
was spilt on the ground; Euryclea's eyes between her joy and her grief
filled with tears, and she could not speak, but she caught Ulysses by
the beard and said, "My dear child, I am sure you must be Ulysses himself,
only I did not know you till I had actually touched and handled
you."
In his book Mimesis,
Erich Auerbach famously celebrates in an interpretative symphony this touching episode
of unrecognized Homecoming.
The perceptive Reader may have also noticed that this “fine
moment” of recognition during an otherwise obscured reception among his own
people, while touching and charged with the expectancy of the avenging Justice
to come to the suitors, does not contain any Animal Anecdotery for which our
appetites have been here wetted. Patience, oh Reader; for one moment of
recognition sets the stage for the other, providing us with a paralleling
transition to a second “fine moment” of recognition: the moment where Odysseus
is recognized by Argos, his more than ancient dog.
This moment
comes for us in Book 17 when Argos recognizes his old master despite the
disguising illusion put on him by Athena. Accompanied by the swine-heard,
Eumaeus, Odysseus has entered into the grounds of his former palace; and “As
they were thus talking, a dog that had been lying asleep raised his head and
pricked up his ears. This was Argos, whom Ulysses had bred before setting out
for Troy, but he had never had any work out of him.” Homer describes this debilitated
wreck of a dog, “lying neglected on the heaps of mule and cow dung that lay in
front of the stable doors till the men should come and draw it away to manure
the great close; and he was full of fleas.” It would seem that pricking up his
ears was about all that Argos could muster at this point, because even though
he “saw Ulysses standing there, he dropped his ears and wagged his tail, but he
could not get close up to his master.”
Then,
turning the “camera lens” back to Odysseus, Homer reminds the Reader of the
days of Argos’ youth and strength: “When [he] saw the dog
on the other side of the yard, [he] dashed a tear from his eyes,” and asked the
swine-heard:"Eumaeus, what a noble hound that
is over yonder on the manure heap: his build is splendid; is he as fine a
fellow as he looks, or is he only one of those dogs that come begging about a
table, and are kept merely for show?" In response to Odysseus’ question,
Eumaeus delineates Argos’ pedigree:
"This hound belonged
to him who has died in a far country. If he were what he was
when Ulysses left for Troy, he would soon show you what he
could do. There was not a wild beast in the forest that could
get away from him when he was once on its tracks. But now he has
fallen on evil times, for his master is dead and gone, and the women take no care of him. Servants never do their work when their
master's hand is no longer over them, for Jove takes half the
goodness out of a man when he makes a slave of him."
Odysseus then entered the buildings that used to be his home, “but Argos died as soon as he had
recognized his master.” At this point in the narrative, it is
only Argos, an apt foil to a forgetful Ithaca in the absence of its king, who
recognizes Odysseus; and the joy of Recognition comes at the expense of his Life.
A Very Famous Dog in Religion
& Art.
In one of
his three master prints, the 1513 engraving of the Knight, Death, and
the Devil (Ritter, Tod,
und Teufel), Albrecht Dürer illustrates for us a
significant and early Western vision of Dog as Fido—the faithful companion who
dogs the feet of the Lord’s knight, thereby adding one final (four-legged)
defense, Fido-fidelity, to the protection of the knight whom Paul
describes for us in Ephesians 6:11-18:
“11 Put on the full armor
of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. 12 For
our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers,
against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and
against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.13 Therefore
put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may
be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to
stand. 14 Stand firm then, with the belt of truth
buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in
place, 15 and with your feet fitted with the
readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. 16 In
addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can
extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17 Take
the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the
word of God.”
The engraving depicts an armored knight on horseback, and
his faithful dog (fides), riding
through a barren rocky place, flanked by the Devil near the horse’s far-side croup
and, to his right side, Death, an hourglass in his hand, riding a pale horse.
Fidos of a
more secular variety were going to continue to enjoy popularity, especially in
the United States, where the name Fido apparently came to prominence as a dog’s
name after Abraham Lincoln named his dog, Fido; and the name entered into mutt moniker mythology,
although hard evidence suggests that Fido is really quite an uncommon name for
a dog. Fortunately, though, there are still some Dürer-esque “Fido” stories floating
around and about, such as about the Italian mixed-breed Fido,
whose master died in a WWII air raid near Florence in 1943. Another site
says that “Fido waited in vain, for the following 14 years, for [his masters]'s
return, going daily to the bus stop where the man used to get off after coming
home from work.”
Dogs & Science
I like the
Dog Whisperer; largely because his ideas are realistic and, in my actual dog-related
experience, effective and not mean-spirited when it comes (first) to decoding and
(then) to responding to the dynamics surrounding domestic dogs and their human
companions. However, there seems to be some resistance “out there” in the virtual
universe to the DW’s theories and training strategies, especially among some canine
scientists and dog training specialists—and far be it from me to impugn their
motivations.
One of the central
assumptions behind the DW philosophy, concerns the social nature of the relationships,
or hierarchies, if you will, that inherently exist among and between all
organisms. Among domestic dogs the inherent social relationship is, by common scientific
consensus, articulated through a “pack” dynamic, and in this pack hierarchy
there is always an alpha dog or pack leader. More recent research, however, seems to indicate that the pack leadership position
may be more fluid, i.e., more a shared task, than was earlier thought. This research
changes nothing for the DW philosophy, however, which very reasonably argues
that the leadership position in a blended human-canine pack needs to be the
human, and not the dog. This means that pack leader leads (decides, dominates,
controls, et al), and non-pack leaders follow (do not decide or control, but
rather submit to the dominance hierarchy). This is not brain science; and yet…
There is an
Australian site called C.L.E.A.R Dog Training, where research from Dr. Ian Dunbar, and from Debra Millikan,
Chief Trainer of Canine Behaviour School in Adelaide, is used to challenge the
idea of the alpha dog and of the “dominance/submissive” paradigm in dog
training.
“The Alpha “dominance” theories
were based on short-term studies in 1947 by Rupert Shenkel of unrelated captive
wolves in a Swiss zoo. Subsequent long-term research on wolves in the wild has
proved the conclusions of the original studies to be incorrect. Sixty
years later, however, these 'dominance/submissive' theories are still
being used to justify and rationalize heavy-handed and even harsh dog
training.”
For a variety of reasons grounded in the research and
lecture posted on this site, C.L.E.A.R Dog Training makes the case that the
research upon which the DW theory of pack dynamic is based, is “outdated,” and “seriously
flawed.” Most of the argument, however, centers on the single idea that the dog
and the wolf are not the same animal, so the assumed behavior of one group, the
wolf, should not be used analogically to create behavior strategies for the
other group, the dog.
“With regard to the concept of
people acting like pack leaders, Coppinger and Coppinger (2001) say “Since dogs
came from wolves, dogs should behave like wolves, think like wolves and respond
to wolf like signals. But dogs can’t think like wolves because they do not
have wolf brains. We descended from apes but we don’t behave like them and
we don’t think like they do. We are a much different animal than the apes
in spite of our common genetic ancestry. The same is true of the dog and
its ancestor”.”
So far so good. I get the idea that Dog does not equal Wolf.
Unfortunately, the clear distinction Dunbar and Millikan make in this article between
the sub-species Canis lupus familiaris and its species Canis lupus, which
is substantiated in other research as well, does not allow one to persuasively conclude, from the
premise that Dog does not equal Wolf, that therefore
there is not a dominance/submissive
dynamic at work either or both in packs of wolves, as well as in packs of dogs.
So while C.L.E.A.R Dog Training makes a plausible scientific case that dogs and
wolves are different animals, which is actually rather clichéd given the plethora and availability of the research, their data and research does not
contradict the idea that dogs are pack animals, or that there is a natural leadership
hierarchy in canine packs, which humans need to recognize if they wish to
participate well in the blending human-canine social relationship. So, the DW
philosophy scores the point, and these particular “scientists” continue to pound
upon a proverbial dead horse.
Unfortunately,
sites inspired by this type of Straw Man reasoning (i.e., because Dog does not equal
Wolf, therefore canine society does not have a dominance/submissive hierarchy,
nor should that social hierarchical model be used in behavior strategies
involving dog-human societies), sites such as C.L.E.A.R Dog Training (or
others: such as here
and here
and here)
continue to have an audience. Fortunately, and in what many might perhaps see
as an ironic reversal, Wikipedia got the pack idea right: “Domesticated dogs have had humans as part of dog social structure for at
least 12,000 years, and human behavior is not the same as wolf behavior.”
That said, there are
any number of good recent articles dealing with the canine-human relationship,
from generic articles exploring the many ways canine-human domestic exchange
works and benefits both parties (here, and here, and here, and here, and here, and here, and here), to more scientific studies
suggesting that it is humans [who] may in fact have been domesticated by dogs.
Another key assumption behind the DW philosophy concerns dog
behavior: it is desirable in the human-canine domestic relationship for the dog
to be calm and submissive to its human. Now once the hierarchical nature of the
social relationship between dogs and their humans is admitted, which we have
just argued, it would be a conversation non-starter to suggest that it is more
desirable for humans to have a feral & half-crazed dog around, than that
the canine companion should be calm and well-balanced in its blended social
environment. So, the DW philosophy scores yet another (obvious) point, and naysayers
can just go somewhere else to hang out with their frenzied and uptight pets.
Dogs & Philosophy
If the
Reader thinks back, the original question at the outset of this meditation was
“What can you learn about philosophy from a dog?”; but to avoid being accused of frivolity
and idle speculation, the question was changed slightly to, “What can a dog
teach us about the philosophical life?” Now it seems, however, (as if I had not
known all along!) that there may also be strong justification for considering
the more formal, historical connections that create an association between the
human-dog relationship and philosophy.
We have
already seen that there are really two primary categories of dog-ish
philosophy, and that the human partners of canine colleagues need to carefully
discern among the various types of canine joys on offer. In the first category
are some of the broader and more intuitive philosophical lessons that humans might
readily consider adopting from canine life-curricula, and these are associated
with Joy. There are the joys of eating and napping, yawning, lounging, digging,
and scratching oneself. In the second philosophical category we can group the “other,”
more strictly body-oriented canine joys: the joys of mutual butt sniffing, of yarking,
of butt-scooting, of poop-snacking, the joys of establishing toilet routines,
and the joys surrounding the care and maintenance, by puppy, of puppy pudenda.
The choice
is entirely ours to determine to what degree we wish to participate in the full
experience of canine joie de vivre,
or whether we might not wish to be somewhat more discriminating in our selection
from among so many joys.
Dogs have actually played quite a diverse role in the
history of Western philosophy, occupying everything from metaphor to proverb,
some flattering, and others less so. One
thinks almost automatically of Schopenhauer, of course, and wishes that his
apparently extremely curmudgeonly character had benefited more from his long
habit of associating with fluffy, four-footed philosophers. To cite another
example: in Book II (376a-b) of Plato’s Republic
Socrates imagines the somewhat ironic possibility that a dog can be a “true
philosopher,” if in fact the dog-ish quality in question is nothing more than
to have knowledge of known things and ignorance of things not known. However, more
significant to our reflection than these cursory references and allusions, is
that in ancient Greece there was even a school of philosophy whose adherents
were known as the Cynics—the Dog-philosophers (Greek: Κυνικοί - Kynikoi).
The origins
of Cynicism
as a school of philosophical thought are generally laid at the feet of Antisthenes
(c. 445–365 BC) who, like Plato, was a student of Socrates. So what, then,
might be the overlap between the ideas espoused by the Dog-philosophers of
antiquity, the Kynikoi, and the more
modern philosophical gleanings from our domesticated dog teachers, which have
been thus far suggested?
According
to Donald Dudley, there are four reasons why the Cynics chose the moniker of
Dog-philosophers for themselves.
1.
“First because of the indifference of
their way of life, for they make a cult of indifference and, like dogs, eat and
make love in public, go barefoot, and sleep in tubs and at crossroads.
2.
The second reason is that the dog is a shameless
animal, and they make a cult of shamelessness, not as being beneath modesty,
but as superior to it.
3.
The third reason is that the dog is a good
guard, and they guard the tenets of their philosophy.
4.
The fourth reason is that the dog is a
discriminating animal which can distinguish between its friends and enemies. So
do they recognize as friends those who are suited to philosophy, and receive
them kindly, while those unfitted they drive away, like dogs, by barking at
them.”
For the Kynikoi of
old, of whom Diogenes of Sinope (ca. 412-323 BC) was certainly the most famous, the purpose of
life was to live virtuously, freely, and in simplicity, mentally and physically,
which was to say, to live in agreement with nature and free from a life of
possessions. Most of the anecdotes concerning this ascetic life of Diogenes the
philosopher come from Diogenes Laertius
(200-250 AD), the famous biographer to the Greek philosophers, who said, among
other things, that the philosophical D. used to sleep in a tub, eat raw meat, and
have a ready tongue for delivering acerbic and satiric commentary concerning
people’s behavior.
Diogenes
seemed interested primarily in living a life marked by freedom from things and
material austerity. He emphasized the public naturalness of the body-life,
which included belching, evacuation, and “laying air biscuits” (per Epictetus, albeit
rendered in modern vernacular) whenever and wherever; and assumed along with
Aristotle after him, the virtue of correctly understanding a man’s life in this
world. What this meant was that men should live the philosophical life, which
is the good life, the well-reasoned life, the self-sufficient life – i.e.,
remembering that they are a unit composed of a reasoning element and a
biological element, and neglecting neither; that men have only a short time to
adventure through the play-ground of this world; and that men should reason
well about this world, and not get all caught up and twisted in the ways of
pleasure, or of fame and good reputation, or of wealth and possessions.
As an
aside: some
have argued that many of the more austere characteristics of Kynikoi philosophy would also become relevant
to the life and in the teachings of Jesus from Nazareth, which in his day was
situated in a Hellenistic region known for its Cynic philosophers.
From the panoply of the almost infinitely wide variety of puppy
pleasures, we have seen that some of a dog’s joyful activity lends itself well
to philosophical interpolation into the realm of human occupation, while we moderns
may wish to approach other types of joyful canine behavior with a little more
reserve, especially those that seem to be more strictly concerned with the
hilarities of personal puppy hygiene, snacking habits, nasal-rectal
introductions, etc. From our all-too brief consideration of the Kynikoi of old, however, it would seem
that many of them might have been more interested in the shock value associated
with the bodily hilarities of our canine friends, rather than with the other, “higher”
joys of pooch philosophy.
Go now, and
live joyfully. Or, translated into Border collie-ese: Enjoy. Live long! Stay focused!
For further reading: The philosopher’s dog: friendships with animals; Do Dogs Have Morality?; Schopenhauer: Dogs Are Preferable To Humans; on Schopenhauer and his dogs; My Dog: The Paradox Book at The Oatmeal Shop.
