Don't be Diogenes. Be Alexander.

Diogenes of Sinope is often painted as the ultimate ancient rebel—a ragged philosopher who lived in a barrel and scorned all social norms with biting wit and defiant gestures. But let’s be real: Diogenes was, in many ways, just an angsty contrarian with a superiority complex. He spent his life in performative poverty, sneering at everyone else’s ambitions while never building anything himself. The famous story where Alexander the Great approaches him and Diogenes tells him to “stand out of my sunlight” is likely apocryphal—no credible source from Alexander’s time confirms it. It feels more like a philosopher’s fanfic than history. The idea that this moment was Diogenes "putting Alexander in his place" mostly flatters modern sensibilities about individualism, not ancient realities.

Diogenes’ entire shtick only works if there’s an audience. Take away the crowd, the social norms he's reacting against, and the spectacle loses all weight. He didn’t live in isolation to quietly seek truth like other ascetics; he performed his poverty in the middle of the polis. He mocked passersby, defied customs, and “philosophized” through provocation. But if no one’s around to scoff at or scandalize, what’s left? A man barking at statues and sleeping in a jar, not a sage but a sideshow. His philosophy was parasitic on the very society he claimed to reject—he needed the marketplace to mock it, needed others to feed him so he could reject wealth. Without spectators, his life becomes not a critique, but just noise.

Meanwhile, Alexander didn’t just sit around making cynical quips—he lived an astonishingly full life. He conquered most of the known world by age 30, forged alliances, made enemies who respected him, and immersed himself in different cultures. He studied under Aristotle, arguably the greatest philosopher of the time, and he applied that philosophical training in real-world strategy, diplomacy, and leadership. Sure, he wasn’t sleeping in a clay pot, but he was thinking deeply while actually doing something. Diogenes’ only real claim to greatness is that he lived like nobody else wanted to, and then acted smug about it. If the measure of a life well lived is to touch the lives of many, to leave a mark on history, and to test your ideals in action—Alexander wins, no contest.

Alexander achievements didn't rely on anyone else clapping. His life had structure, ambition, and consequence—with or without a crowd. His name still echoes not because of a single snappy quote, but because he reshaped the world map, spread ideas across continents, and changed the course of history. Diogenes, without Athens or Corinth to heckle, is just a guy refusing to bathe and calling it wisdom. Strip away the audience, and the “great” Cynic becomes a lonely man with a superiority complex, shouting into the void.

The point is:

People shouldn’t glorify or romanticize lives of detachment, isolation, or contrarianism as inherently wiser or more “authentic.” Hiding from the world and scorning participation doesn’t make someone profound—it often just signals fear, bitterness, or self-importance disguised as insight. Life’s meaning isn’t discovered by standing off to the side and criticizing everyone else’s choices; it’s forged in engagement, in striving, in risking failure and connection. It’s easy to claim moral or intellectual superiority from the sidelines, but real growth—and real impact—comes from stepping into the arena, building relationships, creating, collaborating, and yes, sometimes compromising. If you think you’re better than the world, prove it by helping make it better, not by disappearing from it or by rejecting it.