I resurrected Diogenes of Sinope and teleported him to 2024 for a special 15-minute conversation in my podcast studio.
For those unfamiliar, Diogenes of Sinope (404 BCE – 323 BCE) is a Greek philosopher and one of the most famous figures of the Cynic school of philosophy. Known for his unconventional lifestyle, sharp wit, and defiance of social norms, he is the ultimate critic of society.
In this episode, we discussed polarization in modern society, climate change, and AI. Let’s just say Diogenes isn’t known for being particularly kind or diplomatic. The conversation ended up being pretty cynical…
(yes, the word cynical actually originates from the Cynic school of philosophy. 🐕)
Below you will find the audio podcast and the transcript of our 15-min conversation.
I hope you will enjoy it.
FULL AUDIO ⬇️
BELOW IS THE TRANSCRIPT OF OUR CONVO FOR THOSE WHO FIMD READING EASIER ⬇️
ME : Welcome Diogenes. For those who don't know you, can you introduce yourself?
DIOGENES: Introductions—such a modern obsession with identity! Very well, for those unfamiliar with the likes of me, I am Diogenes of Sinope, also known as Diogenes the Cynic, though I prefer just “Diogenes, the Dog.” Born in the 4th century BCE, I lived in Athens, where I made it my life's mission to expose the absurdities, hypocrisies, and pretenses of human behavior.
I rejected material wealth, societal norms, and all forms of vanity. I lived simply—sometimes in a barrel, sometimes under the stars—with only the barest necessities. While others built grand temples to their egos, I carried a lantern in broad daylight, looking for an honest man. Spoiler: I didn’t find one.
My philosophy? Live according to nature, not according to the foolish rules of society. Strip away what you don’t need, speak truth boldly, and don’t be afraid to mock the ridiculous—whether it’s a pompous king, a greedy merchant, or a self-important influencer. I valued virtue over wealth, freedom over comfort, and truth over flattery.
Now, here I am, thrust into your absurdly complex 2024. A world of glowing screens, endless consumption, and people pretending to be something they’re not on platforms you call “social media.” Let me tell you, my lantern would burn out long before I found an honest soul in this mess. You’ve dragged the old dog of Athens into your podcast, have you? Fine. I suppose your “podcast” is the modern equivalent of the agora, except now everyone talks into little glowing boxes instead of standing on soapboxes. Very well, I’ll play along.
Ask your questions, host. I’ll answer with the wit of a dog, the honesty of a Cynic, and, if you’re lucky, a few bites at the heels of modern foolishness. Proceed, host. The barrel is warm, but my patience is not infinite.
ME : What drove you to dedicate your life to philosophy, and how did your early experiences shape your ideas?
DIOGENES: Ah, an excellent question! What drove me to philosophy, you ask? Disgust, mostly—disgust with the lies and pretenses of society. My early experiences were a perfect storm of disillusionment and opportunity. Born in Sinope, I was the son of a banker, and let me tell you, banking in ancient Greece was no nobler than it is in your 2024. When my father got into trouble for defacing currency, I was exiled. That exile turned out to be a blessing—it set me free from the shackles of convention and gave me a taste of what it means to start fresh.
Arriving in Athens, I found myself surrounded by so-called wise men, babbling about virtue while drowning in hypocrisy. I sought out Antisthenes, the founder of Cynicism, who taught that virtue is the only good and that it can be achieved by living in harmony with nature and rejecting societal excess. His philosophy hit me like a thunderbolt. Why strive for wealth, power, or fame when true happiness lies in simplicity and self-sufficiency?
But unlike others, I didn’t just talk about it—I lived it. I decided to strip away everything unnecessary and live as freely as the dogs in the streets. I slept where I wanted, ate what I found, and spoke my mind without fear. Every insult, every mockery I received only confirmed I was on the right path. After all, what is the purpose of philosophy if not to challenge the absurdities of human life and seek truth at its rawest?
My early exile taught me the futility of possessions and reputation, while my time in Athens taught me the joy of exposing pretension. Those experiences shaped me into the snarling philosopher you see before you—a dog with a nose for hypocrisy and a bite for truth.
ME : Tell me something fun or unknown about you
DIOGENES: Ah, something fun or unknown? You modern folk do love your quirky tidbits, don’t you? Fine, here’s a little something:
One time, Alexander the Great—yes, that Alexander—came to see me. He stood before me, the great conqueror of the known world, and declared, “Diogenes, ask of me anything you desire, and I shall grant it!” Without missing a beat, I replied, “Yes, step out of my sunlight.” Imagine it—a man who could command armies, and I only cared about him not blocking my tan.
But here’s something less known: I used to keep company with dogs not just metaphorically, but quite literally. They were my companions, my teachers, and in many ways, my equals. I admired their honesty—they didn’t flatter, scheme, or pretend to be something they weren’t. They lived simply and freely, as nature intended. My love for dogs was so well-known that people called me "The Dog"—an insult, they thought, though I wore it as a badge of honor.
Oh, and speaking of dogs, there was also that time I relieved myself in public to make a point about shamelessness. People gasped, but really, what’s the difference between doing it behind a bush and in the middle of the agora? Either way, it’s natural. The crowd wasn’t offended by the act—they were offended by the mirror I held up to their own pretenses.
Now, do these amusements satisfy your modern appetite for trivia? Or shall I dig up another bone?
ME : What do you think about the world today - How different it is from yours?
DIOGENES: The world today … a fascinating cesspool, both dazzling and absurd! How different is it from mine? Not as much as you'd think. Sure, you’ve got shiny gadgets, skyscrapers, and something called “social media,” but beneath all the glitter, people are still chasing the same old ghosts: wealth, power, status, and fleeting pleasures. You’ve simply wrapped the same vices in a digital toga.
In my time, a clay lamp was an advanced technology. Now, you have glowing rectangles that fit in your hands, and you worship them as if they were gods. These “smartphones” connect you to the world, yet you seem lonelier than ever. Instead of using them to cultivate wisdom, you scroll through endless nonsense, seeking validation from strangers. If I had one, I’d probably use it to prop up my barrel. You’ve perfected the art of acquiring useless things. In Athens, people flaunted their tunics and gold, but you’ve taken materialism to new heights. Designer this, branded that. You’ve built entire temples—malls, you call them—where people pray to the gods of capitalism. Meanwhile, the truly essential things—clean air, meaningful relationships, inner peace—are treated as afterthoughts.
But at the core, people haven’t changed. You still long for love, fear death, and grapple with meaning. You still look for happiness in the wrong places. The difference is that now, instead of a small agora, you have a global marketplace. And instead of philosophers on street corners, you have influencers selling miracle diets and self-help books.
So, while the costumes and props have changed, the play remains the same. The question isn’t how different the world is from mine—it’s whether you’ve learned anything from the centuries in between. And from where I’m standing, it seems the dogs of Athens were wiser than the tech titans of your time.
ME: How would you address the increasing polarization in modern societies?
DIOGENES: Ah, polarization! The grand spectacle of humans splitting into factions and hurling insults at one another like monkeys flinging their dung. It seems your age has perfected this ancient pastime, with the help of your shiny toys. Truly, you’ve turned division into an art form. If I were to address this mess, I’d do it the way a dog does: by barking at the nonsense and sniffing out the truth. Here’s what I’d suggest:
Admit You’re All Fools. The first step to unity is humility. Each side of your polarized debates clings to the belief that they are entirely right and the others entirely wrong. Fools, the lot of you! Wisdom begins when you admit your own ignorance. If more people could say, “I might be wrong,” half your battles would dissolve into conversations.
Stop Worshipping Your Tribe. You modern folk seem to love building little tribes—political parties, hashtags, fan clubs—and then worshipping them like gods. But let me tell you, loyalty to a tribe often blinds you to reason. If you’re more committed to your team winning than to finding the truth, you’re no better than children arguing over who gets the bigger slice of cake.
Learn to Listen—Really Listen. Most of your debates are just two sides shouting past each other. No one listens; they’re too busy sharpening their next insult. In my time, a good argument involved hearing your opponent’s point and thinking before responding. Try it—it’s uncomfortable but surprisingly effective. Shut your mouth and open your ears. You might learn something.
Mock the Extremes. Sometimes, the best way to heal division is to laugh at its absurdity. I’d walk into a polarized rally, holding a sign that says, “Both Sides Are Ridiculous,” and see what happens. Humor disarms egos and exposes the ridiculousness of extreme positions. Don’t take yourself—or your side—so seriously. Laugh at your own absurdities.
Simplicity Over Ideology. Your debates have become so complex, so wrapped in jargon and theories, that no one even knows what they’re arguing about anymore. Strip it down to the basics: What do people need to live a good life? Food, shelter, love, purpose. Start with these, and the rest will follow. Simplify your lives, simplify your arguments, and you’ll find unity waiting.
Polarization thrives on ego, ignorance, and fear. The cure? Humility, understanding, and a good dose of simplicity. But let me be honest: most of you won’t listen. You’ll cling to your tribes and your certainties until you’re blue in the face. Fine by me—just don’t complain when the dog points out your foolishness.
ME: How would you apply your theories to contemporary BIG questions like artificial intelligence or climate change?
DIOGENES: Ah, artificial intelligence and climate change—the twin behemoths of your modern age. One is your attempt to play gods by creating thinking machines, and the other is your punishment for behaving like fools who forgot they’re part of nature. Both reflect your greatest strengths—creativity and ingenuity—and your greatest flaws: hubris and greed.
Let’s chew on these topics one at a time, the way a dog chews on a bone.
Your quest to create machines that think is as fascinating as it is absurd. I’d ask: why? What are you hoping to achieve? And, more importantly, what are you risking in the process?
You’ve created AI to make life easier—automation, decision-making, endless distractions at your fingertips. But have these machines made you wiser, freer, or happier? Or are they just tools to help you indulge your laziness and consumerism? If your AI exists to solve shallow problems while creating deeper ones, you’re digging your own grave, only faster.
You think you’re masters of AI, but I see a dangerous game. You’re creating tools that could outthink you, outwork you, and perhaps even outlast you. What happens when these creations no longer need you? A free human does not hand over their autonomy to a machine, no matter how shiny it looks.
Your greatest danger isn’t that AI will become too powerful—it’s that humans will use it poorly. You’ll unleash it for profit, manipulation, and control, and then act surprised when it backfires. The problem isn’t the machines; it’s your lack of wisdom in wielding them.
On Climate Change. Now here is a catastrophe entirely of your own making. You’ve exploited the Earth, treating it as an infinite resource, and now it fights back. What did you expect?
In my time, I lived simply, taking only what I needed and leaving the rest for others and the Earth. You, on the other hand, have built a civilization on greed, convenience, and excess. Climate change is nature’s way of reminding you who’s really in charge.
Climate change isn’t caused by ignorance—it’s caused by greed. Your industries, leaders, and even your lifestyles prioritize profit over survival. You know what’s happening, yet you continue as if the planet is expendable. Fools, the lot of you!
Some of your leaders still deny climate change, even as the seas rise and the forests burn. This is the height of folly. Denial won’t stop reality; it only delays your response and worsens the damage.
Both AI and climate change stem from the same flaw: hubris. You believe you can control nature, whether by creating thinking machines or exploiting the Earth’s resources without consequence. But control without wisdom always leads to ruin.
If you fail to learn these lessons, your machines may outlive you, and the Earth will reclaim itself. Either way, the dog will survive, but I can’t promise the same for you. On to your next question, before the robots take over or the planet kicks you off!
Now, host, what’s next? Or have I sufficiently chewed up and spat out your modern dilemmas?
ME : Something to say to finish?
DIOGENES: Ah, To finish? Very well, let me leave you with this:
Life is short, my dear listeners—too short for greed, too short for lies, and far too short to live shackled by the nonsense of society. Strip away what doesn’t matter, embrace what does, and live boldly, simply, and truthfully. Whether you’re building a society, navigating this chaotic world, or just trying to find peace in your own barrel, remember: happiness is found not in having more, but in needing less.
And if you forget everything else I’ve said today, just remember this: Be honest, be kind, and don’t take yourself so seriously. Even the gods laugh—why shouldn’t you?
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a barrel to return to and sunlight to enjoy. Farewell, host, and good luck making sense of the madness you call modern life!
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