My dog seems to be more popular and liked than his master! I believe that’s down to the dog’s good behaviour and manners, his unobtrusive and gentle ways of interacting with people, and his eager obedience. Overall, he’s undoubtedly a likeable creature. And I humbly take all the credit for that as I trained my dog, I keep my eye on him, and I make sure he knows where his boundaries are drawn. I lay claim to being a good master to my dog. That might seem a bit odd if you know that – before I bought my dog – I’d had no previous experience with having dogs, had been rather afraid of them, and had never been a dog lover. I bought the dog for just one practical purpose: to get me out walking every day, regardless of the weather conditions; and he’s been serving that purpose well ever since. Of course I look after my dog; firstly, he’s a living creature who is completely dependent upon me; and secondly, the dog can serve his purpose when he’s healthy and happy.
A few years ago a teenage member of a visiting party made a request; she wanted to be the one holding the dog’s lead on a planned walk. She was a bit upset when I declined. Half an hour later, however, she understood the reason why I had: she found out that my dog was voice-controlled. Which – excuse the pun – ‘leads’ us neatly into today’s gospel, where Jesus claims that ‘the sheep that belong to me listen to my voice; I know them and they follow me.’ I’ve read this simple sentence many times over, but for years and years I didn’t grasp its deeper meaning. I took it as a metaphor for utter and unquestionable obedience to be paid to Jesus whatever the circumstances and whatever the voice was saying. I projected such an attitude onto the hierarchical Church as the one carrying out Jesus’ mission of salvation. That perception of mine changed when I bought and trained my dog. I realised that this ‘voice-control’ is the most liberating and liberal (not in a social or political sense) kind of bond available to human beings.
By ‘the voice’ I understand the whole spectrum of ways in which we as human beings specifically communicate with each other. It’s specific to us because it appeals to our understanding, our reasoning and our decision-making. None of these apply to my dog (or to any other dog, for that matter). ‘The voice’ presents particular arguments to make a case, but leaves the freedom of choice to those to whom we appeal. Those arguments can be accepted and followed, or rejected and shunned. The ‘power of argument’ is surely a far more challenging way than the ‘argument of power’. The latter might seem effective at the time, but it will not last beyond the waning of the power. The ‘power of argument’ can last even when those advocating them are long gone. Christianity in our country is re-discovering this correct approach with the waning of the Church’s social and political influence. Sadly, in many other places across the globe, politicised leaders of many religions still believe in forcing their convictions upon their subjects.
Sometimes people think I am too strict, even harsh, a master to my dog as I bark down commands in a lowered voice; others think I’m unhealthily attached to my dog when I praise him in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. Both perceptions are mistaken; I am neither too harsh nor too soft on my dog. I just speak the ‘language’ he can ‘understand’. Prior to buying the dog, I’d invested in a book and learned how to deal with dogs; including, among many useful things, how to ‘talk’ to a dog. That’s the last but not least important aspect of being good at the ‘power of argument’ approach. You have to understand those you talk to, and you have to use the language they understand. I think this is, in fact, the most difficult and dangerous aspect because, when you learn to understand others, it can actually affect your own arguments… and change you! The ‘power of argument’ is a double-edged sword; it’s a two-way communication channel that affects both sides of the exchange. And that’s the best thing about it!