🐕 What Dogs Can Teach Us About Living a Meaningful Life: Wisdom from "The Word of Dog"

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In a world obsessed with achievement and constant self-improvement, the secret to a meaningful life might be found in the most unexpected place—our canine companions.

We're drowning in self-help books and productivity hacks. We've turned happiness into an achievement, something to be unlocked after we've checked enough boxes on our never-ending to-do lists. We're constantly thinking, planning, analyzing, and second-guessing ourselves. All this overthinking has created a peculiar modern paradox: the more we chase meaning and happiness, the more they seem to elude us.

But what if we've been looking in the wrong direction? What if the answers to life's biggest questions have been lying at our feet all along, wagging their tails?

In Mark Rollins' philosophical exploration "The Word of Dog," he suggests something radical yet profoundly simple: dogs might understand the secret to a meaningful life better than we do.

The Word of Dog: What Our Canine Companions Can Teach Us About Living a Good Life

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Transcript

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Ever find yourself kind of struggling with this question of what really makes life meaningful? Oh, absolutely. Like we work and we strive. We try to be happy. But sometimes it feels like we're missing something, like something really basic. It's a pretty fundamental question, isn't it? I mean, it's one that philosophy grapples with constantly. Like what is our purpose? Where do we fit in? What does it all mean? You know, the big stuff. The big stuff. And in this deep dive, we're actually going to tackle those big questions, meaning happiness, even self-awareness. But get this. Through looking at dogs. Dogs. Yep. Dogs. Yeah. We're diving into The Word of Dog by Mark Rawlins. I know you sent over some fascinating excerpts in this book, and I was really struck by how he uses dogs, their behaviors, their way of being. Mm-hmm. to kind of hold a mirror up to our own human experience and really make us think about these philosophical ideas in a new way. Absolutely. And I think that's what drew us to this book in the first place. Right. The idea that we can learn something about ourselves, something about these age old questions by looking at our canine companions. And we'll do it without getting bogged down in super academic jargon. Right, exactly. We want to make this accessible. And I think Rollins does a great job of that. So the goal here is to really dig into those core philosophical concepts that he explores in the book and see what kind of surprising insights we can gain by observing dogs. It's a fresh perspective, isn't it? It really is. So Rollins starts off by talking about joy. Simple joy. And he uses this great example of his dog, Shadow. Oh, I love Shadow. Yeah, Shadow's amazing. He describes Shadow as experiencing this almost explosive happiness at, like, the smallest things. Like, you know, just pure, unadulterated joy for a walk, even just seeing Roland's come home. Oh, yeah. That's so classic dog, isn't it? Like, every little thing is just the best thing ever. Exactly. When it gets you thinking, right, like, why can't we as humans... tap into that kind of consistent joy in the everyday. You know, Rollins even asks, why can't I always feel like this? You know, when he's observing shadow, it really makes you question our approach to happiness. Yeah, it's like we've made happiness this complicated thing. We set these huge goals, these major milestones, and we tell ourselves, okay, I'll be happy when I achieve this or when I get that. Right. We put all these conditions on it. And, you know, he has this line where he says, I see something else in shadow's response. Right. the ability to take pleasure in the smallest things that life has to offer. I mean, it's so simple, but so profound. It is. And it makes you wonder, have we overcomplicated things? Have we lost sight of those simple joys in our pursuit of something bigger? It's a real possibility. And this whole idea of simple joy kind of leads into another one of Roland's arguments. Dogs are natural philosophers. Natural philosophers. Now, that's an interesting concept. Right. I mean, it sounds kind of out there, but hear him out. He says, dogs are natural philosophers. What we know, if we know anything, we know through thinking. Dogs, in comparison, know through living. Okay, I see where he's going with this. So we humans, we're always in our heads. We analyze, we reflect, we intellectualize everything. We overthink, right. And Rollins is suggesting that maybe by thinking so much, we're actually missing out on just experiencing life directly like dogs do. It's like we've built this wall between ourselves and the world, this wall of thoughts and ideas. Yeah, and dogs don't seem to have that wall. They just are. And he even ties this idea to Dylan Thomas's poem, Fern Hill. Fern Hill. Interesting connection. How so? Well, there's that line in the poem about singing in my chains like the sea. And it's talking about how time and experience kind of wear us down, right? How we lose that sense of wonder and joy that we have as children. But Roland suggests that dogs... They haven't lost that ability to sing, to embrace life fully, even as they grow older. Like they have this direct connection to joy that we've kind of lost touch with. That's beautiful. And it kind of sets the stage for his exploration of meaning, doesn't it? Specifically through the myth of Sisyphus. Right. Sisyphus, that poor guy condemned to push that boulder up a hill for all eternity, only for it to roll back down every time. Like the ultimate image of joy. that sense of pointless repetition would remain, maybe even be amplified. Like, it's not just the struggle that makes Sisyphus punishment so terrible. It's the fact that there's no end goal. It's doing the same meaningless thing over and over again forever. Okay, I can see that. So where does Shadow come in? Well, Rollins talks about Shadow's daily routine of chasing iguanas away from the canal bank by his house. He says each morning, Shadow exiles the iguanas to the far bank. The very next morning, they will have returned and Shadow must begin his efforts all over again. The iguanas are Shadow's rock. So it's like Shadow has his own version of Sisyphus's boulder, except his is made of iguanas. Exactly. And Rollins points out that Shadow isn't miserable doing this. He genuinely seems to enjoy it and even finds a sense of purpose in it. So it begs the question, what's the fundamental difference between Shadow's seemingly meaningful repetition and Sisyphus' obviously meaningless one? That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? It is. And at first glance, you might say it's happiness right. Shadow seems to genuinely enjoy his iguana patrol, whereas Sisyphus is obviously miserable. But Rollins takes it a step further. He asks us to imagine a happy Sisyphus. A happy Sisyphus? How would that even work? Well, maybe the gods intervene and magically make Sisyphus love rolling that boulder. Yeah. So the task is still the same pointless repetition, but now he's joyful doing it. Okay, but does that suddenly make his life meaningful? Yeah. that's exactly what rowlands wants us to consider and he argues that it doesn't and maybe even makes it worse worse how well he points out that in the original myth sisyphus at least has this kind of tragic dignity he knows his situation is absurd And he still chooses to defy the gods. Right. But a happy Sisyphus wouldn't have that defiance. He'd just be going through the motions, oblivious to the pointlessness of it all. Right. He'd be a deluded Sisyphus, as Rollins puts it. And the key difference here is that Sisyphus' happiness in this scenario is imposed from the outside. It doesn't come from within him. That's an interesting distinction. So it's not just about being happy. It's about where that happiness comes from. Exactly. And Rowlands draws a really clear contrast between Sisyphus and Shadow here. He says, So for Shadow, that joy in chasing iguanas, it's just part of who he is. It's authentic to his nature. Exactly. Exactly. And that authenticity seems to be a key ingredient for meaning. I'm starting to see the bigger picture here. And it makes me think about something that's very human, this tendency to constantly reflect on ourselves. Oh, absolutely. We're always analyzing our thoughts, our feelings. our actions. And Rollins brings up a really great anecdote about Shadow to illustrate this contrast. You know that story about Shadow jumping headfirst into a canal while chasing geese? Oh yeah, that's classic Shadow. Just pure, unadulterated commitment to the chase. And Rollins points out that Shadow doesn't hesitate for a second. He doesn't stop to think, wait, is this a good idea? Should I maybe reconsider? He just goes for it. He's totally in the moment. And this leads Rollins to a pretty radical idea. that this very lack of constant self-examination might actually be a good thing for dogs. Wait, hold on. Isn't that kind of going against Socrates' whole the unexamined lice is not worth living thing? Right. It's like a direct challenge to that cornerstone of Western thought. We're always taught that reflection is crucial for growth and understanding. But Rollins is suggesting that maybe... Sometimes all that introspection can be a burden. Exactly. He even calls it a wound that cannot be healed. Like when we overanalyze things, we can get stuck in our heads and lose that sense of connection to the world and to ourselves. And he contrasts that with dogs who he says exist in a state of undivided consciousness. Like they're not constantly battling with their own thoughts and doubts. It's like they're just present in the moment experiencing life without all the mental baggage. Yeah, and Rollins captures this beautifully when he's talking about that canal incident with Shadow. He says, I love this memory because it is such a good example of a type of commitment that is possible only in a life that is gloriously unexamined. It's such a powerful statement. It is. So if dogs aren't engaging in all this reflection, does that mean they lack self-awareness altogether? Well, Rollins makes a really important distinction here between two types of self-awareness. There's reflective self-awareness, which is what we usually think of. It's that ability to think about yourself as a separate entity, to recognize yourself in a mirror, for example. And then there's pre-reflective self-awareness. Pre-reflective self-awareness. What's that? It's more basic. It's this inherent awareness that comes... With simply experiencing the world. Like when you see something, you're implicitly aware of yourself as the one seeing it. It's not a thought. It's just built into the experience. Okay, I'm following. So you're saying that even if dogs don't pass the mirror test, they might still have this basic pre-reflective awareness. Exactly. And Rollins argues that any creature that has conscious experience has this pre-reflective self-awareness. He says any creature that has conscious visual experience will be pre-reflectively aware of itself. So even if shadow doesn't look in a mirror and think that's me, he's still aware of himself as the subject of his own experiences. That makes sense. But what does this distinction between reflective and pre-reflective self-awareness really tell us? Well, Roland suggests that our capacity for reflection, while it can be a powerful tool, can also lead us to become too detached from our own lives, like we become spectators instead of participants. We're always judging ourselves, second guessing ourselves. Exactly. And he contrasts this with dogs who he says are creatures of commitment. They don't get caught up in all that internal debate. They just act. And he ties this back to the history of philosophy. He talks about how this focus on knowledge and doubt has been a central theme in Western thought from the ancient Greeks all the way to Descartes. Like it's in our DNA to question everything. It's like we're hardwired for skepticism. And dogs, they don't seem to have that same baggage. They just commit to the moment, to the experience. And that brings us to another fascinating concept. The extended mind. The extended mind. Yeah. Rollins uses the example of Otto, who keeps all his memories and information in a notebook. He relies on it so heavily that the notebook essentially becomes an extension of his own mind. Okay, so it's like the notebook is a tool that allows him to think and remember more effectively. Right. And Rollins suggests that dogs do something similar with us humans. With us. Yeah. He says that dogs often treat us as these external information-bearing structures. They kind of outsource some of their cognitive work to us. Like to delegate their thinking to us? Exactly. He calls it delegated cognition. And he gives the example of those studies where dogs are given logical reasoning tasks. If there's a human present who gives even subtle cues, the dogs will often rely on those cues rather than trying to solve the problem themselves. So it's like they've learned that it's easier and more efficient to just use us as a resource. Right. He even connects this to Shadow's weird insistence on having Rollins throw his football without Rollins first taking it from him. It seems illogical, but Rollins thinks Shadow is basically using him as a tool to get what he wants. He says humans are the external information-bearing structures that dogs like to use to solve the problems they encounter. It's much easier that way. Pretty clever, huh? Definitely. Dogs are way more strategic than we give them credit for. Speaking of strategy, this all kind of ties into our human obsession with planning. Oh, yeah. We love our plans, don't we? Five-year plans, 10-year plans, life plans. Right. We're always trying to map out the future to control it. And there's this idea that having a plan is essential for a meaningful life. Like if you don't have a plan, you're just drifting. But Rollins challenges this assumption. Right. He talks about how all this planning can actually close us off to opportunities to new experiences. He compares his own carefully planned walks with Shadow's pure, spontaneous joy for every single walk, no matter how routine. It's like for Shadow, every walk is an adventure. Exactly. And Rollins even imagines what Shadow might be thinking. What? You walking over to my leash. You're picking it up. We are going for a walk. F-ing A. Super happy. Super, super happy. It's hilarious. And it really gets to the heart of that journey. Dog-like enthusiasm for life. And it makes you wonder if we've lost something by being so focused on planning and controlling the future. Right. Rawlins even says, plans suck the life out of, well, life. They make of life a desiccated vessel. And that's a pretty strong statement. It is, but I think there's truth to it. Maybe we need to learn to loosen up a little bit to be more open to spontaneity like dogs. To embrace the present moment more fully. Exactly. And this leads us to one of the most moving parts of the book. Roland's reflections on living in the present moment as illustrated by the story of his dog Hugo in his final days. Hugo, yeah. That story is heartbreaking but also incredibly beautiful. It is. So Hugo was suffering from severe arthritis pain, right? But even in his final moments, he found so much joy in this simple game of chasing his favorite sleeve. like right up until he was euthanized. This is incredible image of a creature finding pure joy, even in the face of immense suffering. And Rowlands contrasts this with our human tendency to get overwhelmed by pain, to lose sight of those simple pleasures that can bring us joy. And he talks about how dogs seem to live one life from the inside alone. Like they don't have that same separation between the experience and the observer of the experience that we humans do. It's like they're fully immersed in life without that layer of self-consciousness. And Rowlands connects this to Wittgenstein's idea that eternal life belongs to those who live in the present. I'm seeing the connection. So Wittgenstein is saying that true fulfillment comes from being fully present in the moment, not dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. And dogs seem to embody that idea perfectly. They do. And Rollins argues that our human ability to step outside of ourselves, to see our lives as objects, to analyze them, is that we can't do that. that's what leads to so much existential angst and confusion. It's like we get so caught up in thinking about life that we forget to actually live it. And dogs, they don't seem to have that problem. He says there is only an inside to the life of a dog, and it is a life that has no limits in the way that a visual field has no limits. It's this beautiful image of a life lived without boundaries. without the constraints of our own self-awareness. It's almost like they experience pure being without all the noise of our human minds. Exactly. And it makes you wonder if maybe they have a clearer understanding of meaning than we do. And that brings us back to the central question, doesn't it? What does make a life meaningful? We talked about the hypothetical happy Sisyphus and how his externally imposed happiness didn't really make his life any less absurd. Right. And Rowlands contrasts that with Shadow's joy in chasing those iguanas. He argues that Shadow's happiness is authentic because it comes from his nature. from those deeply ingrained instincts that have been bred into him it's like chasing iguanas is in shadow's dna exactly and roland makes this distinction between accidents which are the specific events that happen in a life and history which is more like the underlying nature that shapes a life For a dog, meaning seems to come from that authentic engagement with the world that's rooted in their nature. So it's not about what happens to them. It's about how they respond to it based on who they are at their core. Right. And it's like their actions are this pure expression of their being without all the self-doubt and second-guessing that we humans experience. It's a much simpler way of being in the world. and roland concludes that maybe dogs lives are more meaningful than ours precisely because of this undivided existence and their deep love for their one present life he sates it pretty definitively but it is part of shadow's nature to find happiness in chasing iguanas Shadow's happiness is therefore authentic and it is this authentic happiness that supplies his life with meaning Powerful stuff So as we wrap up our deep dive into the word of dog We've seen how dogs can teach us a lot about ourselves about meaning about happiness about how to engage with the world Their simple joys their unwavering commitment their lack of self-consciousness It all offers a fresh perspective on these age-old questions It really does. Yeah. And I think the beauty of Roland's book is that he does it in a way that's both thought provoking and accessible. He doesn't get lost in academic jargon. He uses stories and anecdotes that really bring these ideas to life. Absolutely. And hopefully this deep dive has given you some new insights, maybe even inspired you to see the world a little differently. So here's a final thought to chew on. What would it look like to bring a little more dog logic into your own life? Maybe it's embracing those simple joys, more fully committing to the present moment, or even just letting go of some of that overthinking that can weigh us down. What are the iguanas in your life that you could chase with a little more unbridled enthusiasm? That's something worth pondering. It is.