by Jeff Kingry

 For do I now persuade men or God? Or do I seek to please men?
For if I yet pleased men,
I should not be a servant of Christ.”

Galatians 1:10

Diogenes of Sinope (412?-323 B.C.) was a Greek slave, considered by scholars to be a notable Greek philosopher, generally considered by historians as the founder of the school of Cynics. However, to all of us who have suffered such oafs with good humor, Diogenes is and will always remain the original world class curmudgeon.

Diogenes did not conceal his disdain for literature and the fine arts. He laughed at men of letters for reading of the sufferings of Odysseus while neglecting their own, and at orators who studied how to enforce truth but not how to practice it. According to a popular story, Diogenes walked through Athens in broad daylight carrying a lighted lamp, saying that he was looking for an honest man.

He wore coarse clothing when he might have worn soft, ate from the side of the road when he could have sat at rich men’s tables, and slept on the hard ground, in the open streets, or under porticoes, spurning offerings of a bed in his own room by his many rich Athenian admirers.

Diogenes is said to have been sought out by Alexander the Great, who venerated the aging cynic. Accompanied by his usual entourage of sycophant groupies, having just conquered the entire Aegean peninsula, the youthful general opened the conversation with, “I am Alexander the Great.”

The philosopher cracked open one eye, for The Great Alexander of Macedonia had found Diogenes catching a nap in a hillside field of lentil. The old man looked up drowsily and answered, “And I am Diogenes the Cynic.”

Alexander then asked him, “Honor-able Diogenes, I have heard of your integrity and character from my tutors, and your wisdom is legendary wherever my travels have taken me. Good sir, in what way may I serve you?”

Diogenes, squinting up at Alexander hovering over him replied, “You can step out of my sunlight, youth.”

Alexander is said to have been so struck with the Cynic’s self-possession that he went away remarking, “If I were not Alexander, I should wish to be Diogenes.” Easy enough for him to say.

But in Alexander’s entourage was a former teacher of Diogenes, a certain Aristathenes. When the older teacher heard his former student snub the king, he went to Diogenes with not a little concern to offer him some political guidance. He found Diogenes grumpily gathering pottage by the wayside.

“Hail, old friend. You know, if you could learn to flatter the king you would not have to eat lentils,” Aristathenes greeted him.

Pointedly ignoring his former tutor, Diogenes continued gleaning, and after the obligatory timed comedic pause, flung over his shoulder, “Aristathenes, old friend, if you would learn to be content with lentils, you would not have to flatter the king.”

The older I get, and the more I realize how little of life is benefited by our obsession in meeting the expectations of other people, Diogenes’ Cynicism does begin to possess a certain rough charm. At least the old man retained his dignity and independence, in the face of a foolish and corrupt world, intact with a sense of humor.                                                   Ω