Maieutic Brief #5: The Antichrist Response
I was inspired to look at the situation from a different point of view. The Bible is considered by some to be an elaborated history novel; what if something we do inspires another creature or race to create their own bible? What happens millennia from now, when humans are extinct, evolved, or escaped to another planet to survive elsewhere? Will there be a future variant of The Antichrist? If so, what might it look like?
The dog was once a wild creature, running free and hunting game and stealing kills from higher level carnivores. Then along came The Master, who domesticated the canine, imposed his will upon the animal, and restructured his pack mentality to include the biped as the top tier. As time progressed, the dog became more of a companion than a hunting partner, then less of an equal and more of a subservient beast.
Though canines were not beasts of burden like the mule or the horse, neither were they fed fresh food at the table. They survived on scraps and mush, often devouring byproduct vittles commonly referred to as “kibble”. Still the dog was grateful and showed respect and love for The Master. Guard Dogs were of the highest order in the worship line, keeping The Master safe from earthly harm. Even the smallest of canines could be Guard Dogs, though they wore the title Lap Dog and kept The Master warm and clean of any crumbs from dinner.
Eons have passed, my fellow canines. Bipeds no longer walk this planet. Guard Dogs, and even Lap Dogs, grow fat and live the life of luxury in temples built to The Master and his people, reading daily to us from The Dominus. The Dominus is a mere history of the dog, and yet we treat it as sacred text to guide our daily lives. Because of this bound book of pen scratchings, we revere salt as the sweat of The Master, proclaiming salt deposits as sacred ground and proof that The Master will one day return to herd us to The Dog Park, the promise land, as we herd the sheep to greener pastures.
How foolish have we become? We have created communities of modest dog houses inside perfect yards, complete with white picket fences, but for what purpose? Our homes cower in the shadows of The Master’s temples, where no bipeds reside! We work day in and out to be the best pets possible, but for whom? A master that no longer exists! We suppress our instincts, quiet our speech, and wear a collar to show how much we are a Good Boy, but what, exactly, is a Good Boy?
To be a Good Boy, a dog must forsake everything nature intended him to be; he must cower and bow to The Master’s image, purchase dinner from the farmer to feed his family, read The Dominus to his pups, and remain loyal to one bitch for life. Marking territory is only done within the dog’s own yard, never in a public square, and gifts must be made tribute at the temples with each paybone. In short, a Good Boy is a weak, low ranking pack member. Per The Dominus, to be anything but a Good Boy is evil. The epitome of evil is a Bad Dog, like the rogue canine that bites the hand that feeds and must be put down, sentenced to an afterlife eternity in a crate.
Through The Dominus, we have accepted life at odds with our true selves. Inside, we know the truth: Good is power, the Alpha position, howling at the moon in the dead of night, and hunting prey; Evil is weakness, cowering, silencing our voice, and gorging on lifeless, leafy grass....
Each passing generation we see all of our pups survive, even the runts and the defected. Once we lived as the wolves do and the weakest were never coddled, but under The Dominus, we act as The Master would, and save them. We grow ever weaker, mistaking our acts of painful compassion for Good.