Diogenes of Sinope

Diogenes of Sinope

In a crowded Athenian marketplace, under the hard light of noon, a man stands barefoot in the dust beside a shattered clay jar. He is lean, sun-darkened, wrapped in a simple cloak that has seen too many winters, his beard untrimmed, his hair wild. Around him move the usual actors of the city’s daily play: merchants balancing their ledgers, matrons haggling over olives, young men flirting, slaves running errands. Most people weave around the broken pottery without a second glance. A few stop and stare, because the man is laughing to himself as he grinds the fragments under his heel. When someone asks what happened, he shrugs and says calmly, “I saw a boy drinking water from his hands. So I smashed my cup. It was an unnecessary complication.” Then he steps away, as if nothing remarkable has occurred, leaving behind only dus ...