Putting canines in the picture

VISUAL ARTS: The Dog: 5000 Years of the Dog in ArtBy Tamsin Pickeral Merrell, 287pp. £29.95

STRANGE AS it may seem, the term “cynic” derives from the Greek word kunikos meaning “dog-like”. It is hard to imagine a domestic animal less deserving than the average dog of being decried as cynical; were the same attribute applied to cats, for example, nobody would be surprised, but the notion of a scornful or sceptical canine is inconceivable.

Of course the whole concept of applying human traits to animals is inherently absurd but, as Tamsin Pickeral observes in her entertaining and gorgeously illustrated volume, dogs have been anthropomorphised to a greater extent than any other beast for several millennia. Surely this must be due at least in part to the special bond that exists between man and dog, a bond celebrated in art almost since our ancestors first learnt how to represent their daily lives. Rock paintings found in the Tassili Mountains of southern Algeria and dating back possibly as far as 6,000 BC depict dogs hunting alongside men, presumably a pursuit that would not have been shared unless both parties involved were in agreement. A German grave some 14,000 years old was excavated and found to contain the remains of a human and a dog, suggesting that by this time the latter had already found a way of happily coexisting alongside the former.

Those early Algerian pictures indicate that at the start of its association with us, the dog served a practical purpose and was not merely a decorative or emotional addition to the typical pre-historic home. Until very recently the dog was often shown in art fulfilling its role as a hunting companion and, after all, many breeds still extant were developed for precisely this purpose. But it is surely unlikely that dogs would be so frequently and lovingly portrayed unless the bonds tying them to mankind were closer than those of a mere associate in the pursuit of victuals.

In fact, during the early Middle Ages hunters appear to have established such deep attachment to their hounds that they brought them everywhere, even to religious services; as a result, clerical legislation temporarily forbade the admission of dogs into churches. But rather than be separated, huntsmen preferred to congregate with their animals at the entrance of a church, thereby forcing priests to come to the church door to give a blessing to those outside.

In any case, a ban on the admission of animals cannot have been too seriously applied or lasted for such a long time since a number of early 17th-century Dutch paintings of church interiors feature dogs looking entirely at home in such surroundings. This leniency may be a reflection of the dog’s role in many of the world’s polytheistic religions. Anubis, the God of the Dead in ancient Egypt, was a dog either in his entirety or a man with a canine head. Cerberus, guardian of the gates of Hades in Greek and Roman mythology, was a three-headed dog while in Japan dogs known as inugami could become powerful spirits capable of performing both good and evil.

Although obviously not worshipped among Christians, the dog features as much in western iconography as it does in that of most faiths other than Islam, where the animal seems to be viewed with some ambivalence. From the early Renaissance onwards, religious art in Europe is replete with images of dogs, such as those shown accompanying both Saints Eustachius and Hubert, the second of these being the patron saint of hunters. One of the most endearing of all representations of a dog can be found in Carpaccio’s early-16th-century Vision of St Augustine in Venice’s Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni. Here a tiny animal looking like a toy Pomeranian sits on the ground and rests a trusting gaze on one of the Fathers of the Church.

This little creature explains the reason why for so long there has been a union between man and dog: one has so evidently placed its faith in the other. Dogs are believed to be loyal and reliable and so they became important to us not just as aides in hunting but also as loving companions. With the passage of time (and the diminution of our need to go out and slaughter tonight’s supper), this is how they are increasingly portrayed in art – Man’s Best Friend – a depiction that reached its apogee in the sentimentalism of the 19th century, when dogs were frequently ascribed human feelings.

While this was unquestionably taking the tie between man and beast too far, nevertheless only a cynic would deny that the dog does enjoy a unique rapport with many of us. So why is it that cynics were supposed to be “dog-like”? Well, the original Greek philosophers who advocated cynicism, such as Diogenes, were considered to display canine characteristics because they shunned conventional behaviour and lived outdoors. Today, on the other hand, even the dogs in the street know that in art, as in life, there’s nothing to beat a comfortable place in front of the warm hearth.