Chapter 3: The Grove of Questions
"A teacher does not give answers but reveals the shadows you fear to face."
The air was cool and still when Diogenes left the house the next morning, the sky above Athens still caught between night and dawn. Hicesias stirred briefly as his son slipped out but said nothing, too weary from his own battles to ask about this newfound determination.
Diogenes carried nothing but the clothes on his back and a half-eaten loaf of bread tucked into his belt. His sandals slapped softly against the dirt roads as he made his way out of the city, following the path Antisthenes had described. The grove lay just beyond the city walls, a cluster of olive trees that whispered in the faint breeze.
As he approached, he saw a figure seated beneath one of the trees. Antisthenes. The old philosopher sat cross-legged, his back straight despite his years. A small fire burned beside him, its light casting long shadows across the ground.
"You came," Antisthenes said without looking up.
"You told me to," Diogenes replied, stopping a few paces away.
Antisthenes chuckled. "Many are told. Few listen."
Diogenes hesitated, unsure of how to begin. The grove was quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds.
"Sit," Antisthenes said, gesturing to the ground in front of him.
Diogenes obeyed, lowering himself onto the cool earth. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, and Diogenes found himself growing uncomfortable.
"What is it you want from me?" Antisthenes asked finally, breaking the quiet.
Diogenes frowned. "You said you would teach me."
"I said you could learn," Antisthenes corrected. "The question is, what do you think learning is?"
Diogenes opened his mouth to reply but faltered. He had spent years in Sinope being taught—mathematics, rhetoric, history—but none of it had ever felt like what he truly sought.
"I want to understand," he said at last. "Life. Myself. Why we do the things we do."
Antisthenes leaned back against the tree, studying him. "Big questions for a boy your age. What makes you think I have the answers?"
"You're a philosopher," Diogenes said.
Antisthenes laughed, a sharp, bark-like sound. "And what does that mean to you?"
Diogenes hesitated. "It means… you think about things deeply. You see the world differently."
"Ah," Antisthenes said, his tone almost mocking. "So I'm different, and that makes me wise? Let me tell you something, boy: wisdom is not about thinking differently. It's about seeing what everyone else refuses to see."
The fire crackled softly as Antisthenes leaned forward, his expression hardening.
"Do you know why I live the way I do?" he asked.
"Because you think wealth and status are meaningless," Diogenes replied.
Antisthenes shook his head. "No. I live this way because wealth and status are distractions. They blind people to the truth of their existence. Tell me, what do you truly need to live?"
Diogenes thought for a moment. "Food. Water. Shelter."
"And yet," Antisthenes said, gesturing to the city behind them, "people spend their lives chasing things far beyond those needs. Why?"
"Because they want more than just to survive," Diogenes said. "They want to thrive."
"Do they?" Antisthenes asked, his gaze sharp. "Or do they want what others tell them they should want? More gold. More comfort. More approval. They call it thriving, but it is slavery by another name."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unsettling. Diogenes shifted uncomfortably, the ground beneath him suddenly feeling less solid.
As the sun began to rise, Antisthenes stood, brushing dirt from his cloak. "Come," he said, motioning for Diogenes to follow.
They walked deeper into the grove, the trees growing denser around them. Antisthenes carried nothing, his steps steady and unhurried. Diogenes struggled to keep up, his mind racing with questions he wasn't sure how to voice.
"Do you know what Socrates used to say?" Antisthenes asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Diogenes shook his head.
"He said, 'Know thyself.' Simple words, but the hardest task you'll ever face. Most men go their entire lives without truly knowing themselves. They build their identities on what others expect of them—father, son, merchant, soldier. But beneath all that, who are you?"
Diogenes opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. He didn't know the answer.
Antisthenes stopped and turned to him. "That's your first lesson. If you don't know who you are, everything else you think you know is a lie."
The rest of the morning passed in silence as Antisthenes led Diogenes through the grove, pointing out plants and landmarks, but offering little in the way of explanation. By midday, they reached a clearing where a crude bench had been fashioned from a fallen tree.
"Sit," Antisthenes said, gesturing to the bench.
Diogenes obeyed, his legs aching from the walk.
"You've learned something today, whether you realize it or not," Antisthenes said, sitting on the ground across from him.
"What have I learned?" Diogenes asked, frowning.
"That you don't know as much as you think," Antisthenes replied. "And that's a good place to start."
Diogenes frowned, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Why won't you just give me answers?"
Antisthenes smiled faintly. "Because answers are worthless if you haven't earned the questions first."
That evening, as Diogenes made his way back to the city, his mind swirled with confusion and curiosity. Antisthenes had given him nothing concrete, no truths to cling to or paths to follow. And yet, he felt as though something had shifted inside him.
He didn't know it yet, but that day in the grove was the beginning of a journey that would change not just his life, but the lives of those who would one day hear his name and wonder at the man he became.