If Hell Is Other People, Then Dogs Must Be Heaven

Escaping Human Hell with Canine Bliss

A quick sketch from a walk with my dog, Image by Author.

The phrase “Hell is other people” has stuck with us since Jean-Paul Sartre dropped it in his 1944 play No Exit. It’s a line that hits hard, especially on days when human interactions feel like a test of patience. But what if there’s a counterpoint? If Sartre’s hell is defined by others’ judgments, then dogs might just be our slice of heaven. Let’s explore this idea and see why our furry friends could be the antidote to existential dread.

The Origins of “Hell Is Other People”

Deep within the confines of No Exit, Sartre traps three souls — Garcin, Inez, and Estelle — in a room with no escape. There’s no fire or demons, just the endless scrutiny of each other. No mirrors, no sleep, just their judgmental gazes.

When Garcin says, “Hell is other people”, he’s not just venting. Sartre, a pioneer of existentialism, meant it as a deep dive into how we’re shaped by others’ perceptions. His philosophy, laid out in Being and Nothingness, calls this “the look” — the way being seen by others can objectify us.

It strips our freedom and exposes our flaws. This hell isn’t about people being evil. Sartre later clarified in a 1965 interview that it’s about what happens when we let others define us, living in “bad faith” and losing our authenticity.

The play ends with Garcin’s resigned laugh, realizing there’s no way out of this psychological trap. For a deeper look at Sartre’s ideas in No Exit, check out this video:

Sartre’s Philosophy of Why You Hate People (Sartre’s No Exit Explained) (Unsolicited Advice, November 18, 2023) — An explanation of Sartre’s existential views.

Dogs as Heaven: The Opposite of Judgment

Now, let’s flip it. If other people’s gazes can trap us in Sartre’s hellish human dynamics, dogs offer a peaceful escape. Dogs don’t judge.

They don’t care about your mistakes, your bad hair day, or that argument you lost. My own dog, Loki, doesn’t care if I’m stressed. He just plops his head on my lap, tail wagging, and suddenly the world feels lighter.

Every time I’ve found myself in crisis mode since I was a child — whether hiding from arguing parents or getting home shaken from a car wreck — it’s always the dog there. Your guardian sent from nature itself, they embody a magic with no “look” to steal your freedom, just unconditional love. Dogs give us a break from the human trap Sartre described.

They don’t reflect our insecurities — they just want to be with us. Whether it’s a walk or a cuddle, they’re a reminder of acceptance in a world that can feel judgmental.

A Personal Journey: Painting Bo’s Memory

My first oil painting since college, created for my mom in memory of Bo.

This painting, titled Bo’s Autumn Moment, began as a labor of love for my mother, inspired by her dog Bo, a gentle Saint Bernard, who had to be put down about two weeks after I started it at the age of 15 due to mobility issues. The title feels almost metaphorical now, capturing the twilight of his life as I painted him lounging in a sunlit field — a moment of pure joy. I hadn’t painted in 18 years since my art school days, so I was nervous to take on this special surprise for my mom.

A Gift and a Mystery

Over the next few months, painting took on a different feeling. With Bo gone, each brushstroke carried a mix of grief and reverence, turning the canvas into a tribute rather than just a portrait.

When it was done, I framed it and gifted it to my mom, thrilled to add a display light to highlight its beauty. A few nights ago, I called her, and she said, “Bo’s light just came on by itself.”

I laughed and told her it was either the ghost of Bo or frequency interference from another device. That moment felt like a wink from the universe, blending my love for him with a touch of the unknown.

Because it’s so personal, I couldn’t help but spend extra time on every detail, pouring my heart into this memory preserved. It’s more than art; it’s a connection to her loss and my enduring love for dogs.

The painting of Bo reminds me why dogs stand apart from Sartre’s hell. They don’t demand perfection or hold grudges.

While working on Bo’s portrait, I felt the same peace Loki brings daily — no judgment, just presence. Dogs offer us freedom to be ourselves, a stark contrast to the endless scrutiny of human relationships.

They might chew a shoe or beg for food, but they’ll never make you feel trapped like Sartre’s characters.

The Master’s Arrival, Image by author — I came a long way from 18 years ago even though my painting skill had laid dormant. This was my last schnauzer, Rooney, waiting for me to come home from school. I sold this painting for 60 bucks for extra credit and to raise money for student supplies for the department. Sometimes I wonder if this rudimentary painting is still hanging on the person who bought its wall.

All Dogs Go to Heaven: A Child’s Wisdom

The saying “All dogs go to Heaven” paints dogs as pure souls destined for paradise, a notion that warms the heart. I recently came across a child’s take on this idea that stuck with me — a kid said dogs are put on Earth to be happy, and because they’re so good at it, they don’t need to stay as long.

It’s a beautiful thought: dogs live with such joy and simplicity that their time with us feels like a gift, not a burden. This aligns with why they feel like heaven — their ability to find happiness in the moment mirrors a freedom we often lose to human overthinking.

This perspective adds depth to Sartre’s contrast. While humans wrestle with judgment and self-doubt, dogs embody an innocence that seems to earn them a straight ticket to a better place. It’s a reminder of the peace they bring, a peace that feels divine.

My current dog, Loki has outlived my last schnauzer going on three years. He is very spry for a dog going on 10.

Dogs in Major Religions

Dogs’ spiritual role varies across cultures, shaping how we see them today. I just learned something fascinating about Islam: some interpretations hold that dogs in the house can scare away angels, as their presence is believed to interfere with spiritual purity.

This stems from certain Hadiths, though attitudes differ — some Muslims still keep dogs as working animals or pets, showing a nuanced view. Personally, I may disagree with the notion of dogs scaring away angels — especially since angels are supposed to fight demons, making dogs seem like unlikely foes.

As an atheist myself, I’ve often questioned religious ideas, but lately I’ve been becoming more agnostic — sometimes you just feel like something’s going on, like with Bo’s light turning on by itself right before I called my mother to events like a President barely surviving an assassination attempt. It makes you to begin to question the nature of providence.

In contrast, other religions celebrate dogs. In ancient Egypt, dogs were revered, sometimes mummified with their owners. Hinduism views dogs as messengers of Yama, the god of death, yet also as loyal companions.

Christianity doesn’t explicitly address dogs in scripture, but the story of the Canaanite woman’s faith and cultural acceptance have led many to believe dogs might join us in heaven. These diverse beliefs highlight dogs’ unique place — sometimes sacred, sometimes restricted, always tied to human emotion.

Aya — Kill Tony #707 (Kill Tony Clips, February 18, 2024) — A humorous take on Islamic views of dogs scaring angels.

Native American legends also offer a beautiful perspective on dogs, with tales of a great chasm splitting man from animals, only for dogs to leap across to our side. This act of loyalty, seen in stories like the Ojibwa narrative, symbolizes their choice to be our companions, bridging the divide with unwavering devotion and earning their place as our guardians ever since.

The Question of Souls and a Dogless Paradise

The idea that animals, including dogs, might not have souls often surfaces in theological debates, particularly in Christianity. Some argue that only humans, made in God’s image, possess a soul capable of eternal life, suggesting animals return to dust after death.

This raises a haunting question:

What would paradise after death look like without the chirping of birds or herds of fluffy dogs roaming endless green hillsides?

A heaven stripped of such life feels incomplete — less vibrant, less alive.

The silence of a birdless dawn or the absence of a dog’s playful bark could make even the most divine landscape feel hollow to those who’ve loved these creatures. This notion challenges the comfort we find in pets.

Will Rogers in 1922, Wikipedia, Public Domain

If dogs don’t go to heaven, where do they go? The American humorist Will Rogers, known for his love of animals, captured this sentiment perfectly, saying,

“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.”

This reflects a deep desire to follow our companions wherever their journey leads, rejecting a paradise that excludes them. It suggests that for many, heaven’s worth hinges on the presence of those furry souls who’ve shared our lives.

Loki at our halfway walking rest point. I like to just sit here with no headphones or phone in silence with my dog. A moment of piece in today’s unrelenting world. Image by Author.

A Quiet Escape with Dogs

There’s something comforting in knowing Sartre’s hellish human dynamics don’t have to be the final word. Dogs like Loki, or the one I painted for my mom, remind us there’s a simpler, kinder space out there — one where acceptance trumps judgment.

Maybe it’s worth taking a moment to sit with your own furry friend, or drop a comment with your dog’s story. For a nostalgic dive into the past, check out one of my favorite articles on dog epitaphs from Ancient Greece: 9 Touching Epitaphs Ancient Greeks And Romans Wrote For Their Deceased Dogs (warning: it’s a tear-jerker!).

If this resonated with you, share it with a fellow dog lover or pin it for later!