The tragedy of this modern doggishness is the atrophy of solitude. A dog, left alone, often experiences separation anxiety. So, too, do we. The greatest fear of the contemporary self is not failure, but silence. We cannot abide the quiet hour where no one is watching, where no feedback is given, where the pack is absent. We have lost the cat-like ability to be comfortably alone with our thoughts, to find value in the non-social self. Our identity has become entirely relational—we are only “good” when we are being perceived as good by an external master, be it an audience, a corporation, or a state.
This doggishness extends beyond technology into our political and social lives. The archetype of the citizen has been supplanted by the archetype of the loyal pet. We no longer seek leaders who challenge us, who demand we be better, more thoughtful wolves. Instead, we crave masters who will reassure us, who will scratch us behind the ears and tell us we are good. Partisanship has become less about ideology and more about pack loyalty. To bark at the strange dog on the other side of the fence is not an act of discernment, but of reflexive tribal affiliation. We have forgotten how to growl thoughtfully; we only know how to yap in unison. current doggishness
The tail will always wag. The instinct for connection and security is not a flaw. But the teeth must not be dulled. In our quest for a safe and predictable world, we have allowed our most essential human trait—the restless, questioning, sometimes uncomfortable pursuit of meaning—to be bred out of us. If we are to be dogs, let us be the ones who bark at the door when something is wrong, not the ones who sleep through the fire because the blanket is warm. Let us earn our keep, not just beg for it. For a dog that has forgotten how to bite has forgotten how to truly protect. And a human who has forgotten how to dissent has forgotten how to be free. The tragedy of this modern doggishness is the