We can scarcely suppose that all the sayings attributed to Diogenes are genuine.  There has always been a tendency to attribute to great men observations made in accordance with their manner.

Philosophers have generally been to a certain extent destructive, and seldom spared the religion of their times.  Diogenes, who was called “Socrates gone mad,” was no exception to this rule.  Humour, which is seasoned with profanity, is most telling when there is not too large an amount either of faith or scepticism; very few could find any amusement in the sneers of an utter infidel.  Diogenes was almost as deficient in ordinary religious belief as in most other kinds of veneration.  Sometimes he may have had the good effect of checking the abuse of sacerdotal power, as when he observed to some who were admiring the thank offerings at Samothracia, “There would have been many more, had those made them, who had not been cured.”  He also said that the Dionysian festival was a great sight for fools, and that when he heard prophets and interpreters of dreams, he thought nothing was so silly as man.  His blaming men for making prayers, because they asked not that which was good, but only what seemed desirable to them, may be taken in a favourable sense.

Before the end of Diogenes’ life fanciful conceits became so much appreciated in Greece, that a regular “Court of Humour” was held at Heracleum, a village near Athens, and it is to be feared that many of the racy sayings attributed to eminent men, originated in the sessions of this jocund assembly.  It was composed of sixty members, and their sayings came forth with the stamp of “The Sixty” upon them.  Their reputation became so great, that Philip of Macedon gave them a talent to write out their jokes, and send them to him.  He was himself fond of gaiety, invented some musical instruments, and kept professed jesters.

Soon after this time, we read of amateur jesters or rather practical jesters called planoi.  Chrysippus, who was not only a philosopher, but a man of humour—­a union we are not surprised to find common at that date—­and who is said, perhaps with equal truth, to have died like Philemon in a fit of laughter, on seeing an ass eat figs off a silver plate—­mentions a genius of this kind, one Pantaleon, who, when at the point of death told each of his sons separately that he confided to him alone the place where he had buried his gold.  When he was dead, they all betook themselves to the same spot, where they laboured for some time, before discovering that they had all been deceived.

From this period we are mostly indebted to epigrams for any knowledge of Greek humour.  They originated in inscriptions or offerings in temples; afterwards came to be principally epitaphial or sarcastic; and grew into a branch of literature.