The humour of this laughing sage, grounded upon deep philosophy, was so little understood in his day that none were able to join in his merriment, nor did he expect that they should be; if he was humorous to himself, he was not so, and did not aim at being so, to others.  On the contrary, he was thought to be mad, and Hippocrates was directed to inquire into his disorder, but the learned physician returned answer that not he, but his opponents were deranged.  Whether this story be a fabrication or not, we may regard it as a testimony that wise men saw much truth in his philosophy.  Montaigne, in his Essay on Democritus and Heraclitus, gives his preference to the former, “Because,” he observes, “men are more to be laughed at than hated,” showing that he regarded him as imputing folly to men rather than vice.

Even Socrates, whom we are accustomed to regard as the most earnest of philosophers was by no means a melancholy man.  Fully aware of the influence exercised by humour, he often put his teachings into an indirect form, and he seems to have first thus generally attracted attention.  He introduced what is called irony[10]—­the using expressions which literally mean exactly the opposite to what is intended.  A man may be either praised or blamed in this way, but Socrates’ intention was always sarcastic.  He put questions to men, as if merely desiring some information they could easily give him, while he knew that his inquiries could not be answered, without overthrowing the theories of those he addressed.  Thus, he gave instruction whilst he seemed to solicit it.  In various other ways he enlivened and recommended his doctrines by humorous illustration.  It is said that he even went to the theatre to see himself caricatured, laughed as heartily as any, and stood up to show the audience how correctly his ill-favoured countenance had been reproduced.  This story may be questioned, and it has been observed that he was not insensible to ridicule, for he said shortly before his death that no one would deride him any longer.  We are told that he spent some of his last days in versifying the fables of AEsop.

We now return from theoretical to practical life, from the philosophers to the public.  Nothing exhibits more forcibly the variable character of humour than that, while philosophers in their “thinking shops” were laughing at the follies of the world, the populace in the theatre were shaking their sides at the absurdities of sages.  Ordinary men did not appreciate abstract views, nor understand abstruse philosophic humour, indeed it died out almost as soon as it appeared, and was only contemporary with a certain epoch in the mental history of Greece.  Every popular man is to a great extent a reflection of the age in which he lives, “a boat borne up by a billow;” and what, in this respect is true generally, is especially so with regard to the humorist, who seeks a present reward, and must be in unison with the characters of those he has to amuse.  He depends much on hitting the current fancies of men by small and subtle allusions, and he must have a natural perception of fitness, of the direction in which he must go, and the limits he must not transgress.  The literature of an epoch exhibits the taste of the readers, as well as that of the authors.