‘Heaven goes by favour,’ Mark Twain once surmised. ‘If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.’ There is a backstory to this well-worn quip, familiar, no doubt, to readers of The Alternative Dog. What you may not be aware of, however, is just how far back it goes.
Plato, for example, declared dogs ‘truly philosophic’ because they know instinctively what belongs in their sphere of interest and what does not (Republic 375e-376b). A dog differentiates instantly, he says, between its master and his property and strangers or intruders. In Plato’s masterwork, the Republic, such instinctive awareness of one’s proper place in one’s environment (a lesson for our age if ever there was one) turns out to be the very definition of justice and is the gold standard of a well-governed society. In modern idiom we might describe Plato’s formulation as a communitarian ideal that calls for civic engagement according to the creed ‘from each according to his ability, to each according to his need.’ And so, when he is pressed to give a name to his precious Guardian class of citizens—men and women who will be specially educated to preserve a community that is organized on philosophic principles—Plato pays homage to the dog with a punning play on words: These young ‘Guardians’ of the ideal State (phulakes) are to be just like purebred, well-trained ‘puppies’ (skulakes).
In lauding the dog as a model philosopher Plato was himself perhaps thinking back to Homer. In the Odyssey, the sea-swept, wind-tossed hero Odysseus returns to his home on Ithaca in disguise to suss out the Suitors who are squatting in his palace, devouring his meat and wine, and trying to steal his wife, Penelope. Dressed as a beggar, Odysseus, gone some twenty years, approaches the hut of his loyal swineherd Eumaeus on the outskirts of town where he is immediately confronted by a snarling swirl of barking dogs (Odyssey 14.29-34) It is a moment of frisson and tension that quickly dissolves into one of relief: Odysseus drops his walking stick, crouches down on one knee, whereupon the dogs sniff and recognize their master beneath the disguise. (The human characters, by contrast, do not see through the façade until Athena returns Odysseus to his former regal appearance later in the poem.)
Another scene from the Odyssey that Plato might have had in mind also underscores the thoughtful integrity of dogs (Odyssey 17.290-327). Odysseus, still in disguise, trots to town with the swineherd to begin putting the Suitors to the test, to see just how disloyal they have been. At the gates of his palace, the disguised Odysseus is caught sight of by his old dog Argus, whom the Suitors have relegated to a dung heap outside the walls. Upon seeing his master, Argus barks a sigh of joy and gives up the ghost, his sentinel watch of 20-odd years fulfilled upon Odysseus’s return. Could Argus have verbalized his response, he might have whimpered, as does Adam, a loyal servant in Shakespeare’s As You Like It: ‘Master, go on, and I will follow thee. To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.’ For his part, Eumaeus eulogizes Argus in the presence of his master with palpable irony: ‘Truly this is the dog of a man who has died in a far-off land. If he were fit for action as he once was when Odysseus left and went to Troy, you would marvel at seeing his strength and speed.’
Plato’s own master, of course, was Socrates, the quintessential seeker of truth that animates his Dialogues. Another admirer was Xenophon, who also wrote up reminiscences of Socrates in action. Strangely, he, too, was enamored of dogs. In addition to an impressive backlist that includes Socratic writings (the Memorabilia), an account of his leading a mercenary expedition in Persia (the Anabasis), and a treatise on oikonomika (‘household management’), Xenophon wrote a manual about hunting with dogs, the Cynegeticus. It is a charming disquisition on dog training and psychology in 13 books that puts the Monks of New Skete in their place. One of the more useful and interesting passages concerns the names of dogs, which Xenophon says should be limited to two syllables, like Odysseus’s Argus, so that they are easy to vocalize when giving commands. For the curious, or for those in need of naming a dog, I append below a list of his preferred names in Greek with their English translations. In any event, Xenophon’s advice was thought to be so good that it was repeated practically verbatim by the Roman agronomic writer Columella in his De Re Rustica, who opines further, echoing Plato:
What human person announces the presence of a thief or predator more clearly or with such clamor than does a dog with his barking? What household slave is more loving of his master? What companion more trustworthy? What guard more impervious to bribes? What more vigilant night-watchman could one find? And finally, what avenger or defender is more unflinching? One of the very first things a farmer ought to do, therefore, is to buy and keep a dog since it guards the farm and its fruits, the household and its livestock.
Such canine virtues as these bring us to Plato’s nemesis, Diogenes of Sinope, the Cynic philosopher. Diogenes rejected all social norms, preferring instead to live a life of disciplined freedom in accordance with Nature. His unconventional behavior and rough, out-of-doors living earned him a nickname: the Dog, which is what the Greek word kuōn, whence the adjective kunikos (‘Cynic’), means. Anyone who has visited modern Athens will have seen or experienced the city’s motley crew of ownerless dogs roaming the streets and alleyways, pawing through garbage bins, and lounging in the Mediterranean sun (or porticoed shade) amidst the dilapidated remains of high civilization. That is exactly how we are to picture the ancient Athenians picturing Diogenes. When asked what it was that he did to be branded a dog, Diogenes replied, ‘Because I fawn on those who give when I beg, I bark at those who don’t, and I bite scoundrels’ (Diogenes Laertius 6.60). On at least one occasion, when people at a dinner party kept tossing him bones as one would do to a dog, Diogenes lifted his leg, pissed on them, and left (6.46). Voilà The Alternative Dog!
Diogenes wore his derisive moniker as a badge of honor, taking upon himself the role of ‘watchdog’ to errant human passersby, warning them of life’s moral pitfalls: lethargy, luxury, ambition, stupidity, greed. Though his name has four syllables in it, it is one I think we should intone and internalize if we are to learn, like the dog, to know and enjoy our own proper place in this world, in the event that heaven goes indeed by merit.
Dog names from Xenophon, Cynegeticus Book 7:
Psychē (Soul-mate), Thumos (Spirit), Porpax (Buckler), Sturax (Pikey), Lonchē (Lancer), Lochos (Ambush), Phroura (Watcher), Phulax (Guardian), Taxis (Ordered), Xiphōn (Swordsman), Phonax (Killer), Phlegōn (Blazer), Alkē (Prowess), Teuchōn (Craftsman), Huleus (Woodsman), Mēdas (Cunning), Porthōn (Plunder), Sperchōn (Rusher), Orgē (Fury), Bremōn (Roarer), Hubris (Outrage), Thallōn (Flourish), Rhōmē (Power), Antheus (Blossom), Hēba (Young’un), Gētheus (Laugher), Chara (Joyous), Leussōn (Gawker), Augō (Brightness), Poleus (Rover), Bia (Forceful), Stichōn (Marcher), Spoudē (Eager), Bruas (Bubbler), Oinas (Pigeon), Sterros (Stubborn), Kraugē (Yapper), Kainōn (Slayer), Turbas (Pell-mell), Sthenōn (Strongman), Aithēr (Sky-high), Aktis (Sunbeam), Aichmē (Spearhead), Noēs (Thoughtful), Gnōmē (Wisdom), Stibōn (Tracker), Hormē (Dasher).
About M. D. Usher
M. D. Usher is Lyman-Roberts Professor of Classical Languages and Literatures at the University of Vermont, a member of the Department of Geography and Geosciences, The Environmental Program, Food Systems Graduate Program, and the Gund Institute for Environment. He is currently a fellow at IMéRA, the French Institute for Advanced Study at Aix Marseille Université. His books include Plato’s Pigs and Other Ruminations: Ancient Guides to Living with Nature (Cambridge, 2020), How to Be a Farmer: An Ancient Guide to Life on the Land (Princeton, 2021), and, forthcoming, also from Princeton, How to Say No: An Ancient Guide to the Art of Cynicism.
Article by M. D. Usher.
