But another section of the Socratics went further than Socrates,

inasmuch as they, starting from him, laid hold of and matured one of

the particular aspects of his philosophy and of the standpoint to

which philosophic knowledge was brought through him. This standpoint

maintained the absolute character of self-consciousness within itself,

and the relation of its self-existent universality to the individual.

In Socrates, and from him onward, we thus see knowledge commencing, the

world raising itself into the region of conscious thought, and this

becoming the object. We no longer hear question and answer as to what

Nature is, but as to what Truth is; or real essence has determined

itself not to be the implicit, but to be what it is in knowledge. We

hence have the question of the relationship of self-conscious thought

to real essence coming to the front as what concerns us most. The true

and essence are not the same; the true is essence as thought, but

essence is the simply implicit. This simple is, indeed, thought, and is

in thought, but when it is said that essence is pure Being or Becoming,

as the being-for-self of the atomists, and then that the Notion is

thought generally (the _νοῦς_ of Anaxagoras), or finally measure, this

is asserted directly, and in an objective manner. Or it is the simple

unity of the objective and of thought; it is not purely objective—for

Being cannot be seen, heard, &c.; nor is it pure thought in opposition

to the existent—for this is the explicitly existent self-consciousness

which separates itself from essence. It is finally not the unity

going back into itself from the difference in the two sides, which is

understanding and knowledge. In these self-consciousness on the one

hand presents itself as being-for-self, and on the other, as Being;

it is conscious of this difference, and from this difference turns

back into the unity of both. This unity, the result, is the known, the

true. One element in the true is the certainty of itself; this moment

has attained to reality—in consciousness and for consciousness. It is

through this movement and the investigation of the subject, that the

succeeding period of Philosophy is distinguished, because it does not

contemplate essence as left to itself, and as purely objective, but as

in unity with the certainty of itself. It is not to be understood by

this that such knowledge had itself been made into essence, so that it

is held to be the content and definition of absolute essence, or that

essence had been determined for the consciousness of these philosophers

as the unity of Being and Thought, _i.e._ as if they had thought of it

thus; but they could merely no longer speak of essence and actuality

without this element of self-certainty. And this period is hence, so to

speak, the middle period, which is really the movement of knowledge,

and considers knowledge as the science of essence, which first brings

about that unity.

From what has been said, it can now be seen what philosophic systems

can come before us. That is to say, because in this period the relation

of Thought to Being, or of the universal to the individual, is made

explicit, we see, on the one hand, as the object of Philosophy, the

contradiction of consciousness coming to consciousness—a contradiction

as to which the ordinary modes of thought have no knowledge, for they

are in a state of confusion, seeing that they go on unthinkingly. On

the other hand we have Philosophy as perceiving knowledge itself,

which, however, does not get beyond its Notion, and which, because it

is the unfolding of a more extensive knowledge of a content, cannot

give itself this content, but can only think it, _i.e._ determine it

in a simple manner. Of those Socratics who hold a place of their own,

there are, according to this, three schools worthy of consideration;

first the Megaric School, at whose head stands Euclid of Megara, and

then the Cyrenaic and Cynic Schools; and from the fact that they

all three differ very much from one another, it is clearly shown

that Socrates himself was devoid of any positive system. With these

Socratics the determination of the subject for which the absolute

principle of the true and good likewise appears as end, came into

prominence; this end demands reflection and general mental cultivation,

and also requires that men should be able to tell what the good and

true really are. But though these Socratic schools as a whole rest at

saying that the subject itself is end, and reaches its subjective end

through the cultivation of its knowledge, the form of determination in

them is still the universal, and it is also so that it does not remain

abstract, for the development of the determinations of the universal

gives real knowledge. The Megarics were most abstract, because they

held to the determination of the good which, as simple, was to them

the principle; the unmoved and self-related simplicity of thought

becomes the principle of consciousness as individual, as it is of

conscious knowledge. The Megaric school associated with the assertion

of the simplicity of the good, the dialectic, that all that was defined

and limited is not true. But because with the Megarics the principal

point was to know the universal, and this universal was to them the

Absolute which had to be retained in this form of the universal, this

thought, as Notion which holds a negative position in relation to all

determinateness and thus to that of Notion also, was equally turned

against knowledge and perception.

The Cyrenaics take knowledge in its subjective signification, and

as signifying individuality as certainty of self, or feeling; to

this as to that which is essential, they restrict the exercise

of consciousness, and, generally speaking, make existence for

consciousness consist therein. Now because they thereby sought to

define the Good more closely, they called it simply pleasure or

enjoyment, by which, however, anything can be understood. This

principle of the Cyrenaic school would seem to have been far removed

from that of Socrates, since we at once think of the transient

existence of feeling as directly in opposition to the Good; this,

however, is not the case. The Cyrenaics likewise upheld the universal,

for, if it is asked what the Good is, we find they certainly made

pleasurable feeling, which presents the appearance of a determinate,

to be its content, but seeing that a cultured mind is also requisite,

enjoyment, as it is obtained through thought, is here indicated.

The Cynics also further defined the principle of the Good, but in

another way from the Cyrenaics; its content, they said, lay in man’s

keeping to what is in conformity with nature and to the simple needs of

nature. They similarly call all that is particular and limited in the

aims of men that which is not to be desired. To the Cynics, too, mental

culture through the knowledge of the universal is the principle;

but through this knowledge of the universal the individual end must

be attained, and this is, that the individual should keep himself in

abstract universality, in freedom and independence, and be indifferent

to all he formerly esteemed. Thus we see pure thought recognized in its

movement with the individual, and the manifold transformations of the

universal coming to consciousness. These three schools are not to be

treated at length. The principle of the Cyrenaics became later on more

scientifically worked out in Epicureanism, as that of the Cynics did in

Stoicism.

1. THE MEGARICS.

Because Euclides (who is regarded as the founder of the Megaric way

of thinking) and his school held to the forms of universality, and,

above all, sought, and with success, to show forth the contradictions

contained in all particular conceptions, they were reproached with

having a rage for disputation, and hence the name of Eristics was

given them. The instrument for bringing all that is particular into

confusion and annulling this particular, was supplied by dialectic,

which, indeed, was brought by them to very great perfection, but, as

was privately stated, they did it in a kind of anger, so that others

said that they should not be called a School (_σχολή_) but a gall

(χολή).[143] With a dialectic thus constituted, we find them taking

the place of the Eleatic School and of the Sophists; and it seems as

though the Eleatic School had merely been reproduced,[144] since they

were essentially identical with it. But this was only partly true—in

that the Eleatic dialecticians maintained Being as the one existence

in relation to which nothing particular is a truth, and the Megarics

considered Being as the Good. The Sophists, on the other hand, did not

seek their impulse in simple universality as fixed and as enduring; and

similarly we shall find in the Sceptics, dialecticians who maintain

that the subjective mind rests within itself. Besides Euclides,

Diodorus and Menedemus are mentioned as distinguished Eristics, but

particularly Eubulides, and later on Stilpo, whose dialectic likewise

related to contradictions which appeared in external conception and in

speech, so that it in great measure passed into a mere play upon words.

_a._ EUCLIDES.

Euclides, who is not to be confused with the mathematician, is he

of whom it is said that during the enmity between Athens and his

birthplace, Megara, and in the period of most violent animosity, he

often secretly went to Athens, dressed as a woman, not fearing even

the punishment of death in order to be able to hear Socrates and

be in his company.[145] Euclides is said, in spite of his stubborn

manner of disputing, to have been, even in his disputation, a most

peaceful man. It is told that once in a quarrel his opponent was so

irritated, that he exclaimed, “I will die if I do not revenge myself

upon you!” Euclides replied, “And I will die if I do not soften your

wrath so much by the mildness of my speech that you will love me as

before.”[146] It was Euclides who said that “the Good is one,” and it

alone is, “though passing under many names; sometimes it is called

Understanding, sometimes God; at another time Thought (_νοῦς_), and so

on. But what is opposed to the good does not exist.”[147] This doctrine

Cicero (_ibid._) calls noble, and says that it differs but little

from the Platonic. Since the Megarics make the Good, as the simple

identity of the true, into a principle, it is clearly seen that they

expressed the Good as the absolute existence in a universal sense,

as did Socrates; but they no longer, like him, recognized all the

approximate conceptions, or merely opposed them as being indifferent

to the interests of man, for they asserted definitely that they were

nothing at all. Thus they come into the category of the Eleatics,

since they, like them, showed that only Being is, and that all else,

as negative, does not exist. While the dialectic of Socrates was thus

incidental, in that he merely shook some current moral ideas, or the

very first conceptions of knowledge, the Megarics, on the contrary,

raised their philosophic dialectic into something more universal and

real, for they applied themselves more to what is formal in idea and

speech, though not yet, like the later Sceptics, to the determinations

of pure Notions; for knowledge, thought, was not yet present in

abstract conceptions. Of their own dialectic not much is told, but

more is said of the embarrassment into which they brought ordinary

consciousness, for they were in all kinds of ways alert in involving

others in contradictions. Thus they applied dialectic after the manner

of an ordinary conversation, just as Socrates applied his mind to every

side of ordinary subjects, and as we also, in our conversation, try to

make an assertion interesting and important. A number of anecdotes are

told of their disputations, from which we see that what we call joking

was their express business. Others of their puzzles certainly deal with

a positive category of thought; they take these and show how, if they

are held to be true, they bring about a contradiction.

_b._ EUBULIDES.

Of the innumerable multitude of ways in which they tried to confuse our

knowledge in the categories, many are preserved with their names, and

the principal of these are the Sophisms, whose discovery is ascribed

to Eubulides of Miletus, a pupil of Euclides.[148] The first thing

which strikes us when we hear them is that they are common sophisms

which are not worth contradiction, and scarcely of being heard, least

of all have they a real scientific value. Hence we call them stupid,

and look at them as dreary jokes, but it is in fact easier to set them

aside than to refute them. We let ordinary speech pass, and are content

with it, so long as everyone knows what the other means (when this is

not so—we trust that God understands us), but these sophisms seem in

a way to mislead common speech, for they show the contradictory and

unsatisfactory nature of it when taken strictly as it is spoken. To

confuse ordinary language so that we do not know how to reply, seems

foolish, as leading to formal contradictions, and if it is done we are

blamed for taking mere empty words and playing upon them. Our German

seriousness, therefore, dismisses this play on words as shallow wit,

but the Greeks honoured the word in itself, and the mere treatment

of a proposition as well as the matter. And if word and thing are in

opposition, the word is the higher, for the unexpressed thing is really

irrational, since the rational exists as speech alone.

It is in Aristotle, and in his Sophistical Elenchi that we first find

numerous examples of these contradictions (coming from the old Sophists

equally with the Eristics), and also their solutions. Eubulides,

therefore, likewise wrote against Aristotle,[149] but none of this

has come down to us. In Plato we also find, as we saw before (p.

370), similar jokes and ambiguities mentioned to make the Sophists

ridiculous, and to show with what insignificant matters they took up

their time. The Eristics went yet further, for they, like Diodorus,

became jesters to courts, such as to that of the Ptolemies.[150]

From historic facts we see that this dialectic operation of confusing

others and showing how to extricate them again was a general amusement

of the Greek philosophers, both in public places and at the tables

of kings. Just as the Queen of the East came to Solomon to put

riddles to him, we find at the tables of kings witty conversation and

assemblages of philosophers joking and making merry over one another.

The Greeks were quite enamoured of discovering contradictions met

with in speech and in ordinary ideas. The contradiction does not

make its appearance as a pure contradiction in the conception, but

only as interwoven with concrete ideas; such propositions neither

apply to the concrete content nor to the pure Notion. Subject and

predicate, of which every proposition consists, are different, but in

the ordinary idea we signify their unity; this simple unity, which

does not contradict itself, is to ordinary ideas the truth. But in

fact, the simple self-identical proposition is an unmeaning tautology;

for in any affirmation, differences are present, and because their

diversity comes to consciousness, there is contradiction. But the

ordinary consciousness is then at an end, for only where there is

a contradiction is there the solution, self-abrogation. Ordinary

consciousness has not the conception that only the unity of opposites

is the truth—that in every statement there is truth and falsehood, if

truth is to be taken in the sense of the simple, and falsehood in the

sense of the opposed and contradictory; in it the positive, the first

unity, and the negative, this last opposition, fall asunder.

In Eubulides’ propositions the main point was that because the truth

is simple, a simple answer is required; that thus the answer should

not, as happened in Aristotle (De Sophist. Elench. c. 24), have regard

to certain special considerations; and, after all, this is really

the demand of the understanding. Thus the mistake is to desire an

answer of yes or no, for since no one ventures on either, perplexity

ensues, because it is a fool’s part not to know what to reply. The

simplicity of the truth is thus grasped as the principle. With us

this appears in the form of making such statements as that one of

opposites is true, the other false; that a statement is either true

or not true; that an object cannot have two opposite predicates. That

is the first principle of the understanding, the _principium exclusi

tertii_, which is of great importance in all the sciences. This stands

in close connection with the principle of Socrates and Plato (_supra_,

pp. 455, 456), “The true is the universal;” which is abstractly the

identity of understanding, according to which what is said to be true

cannot contradict itself. This comes more clearly to light in Stilpo

(p. 464). The Megarics thus kept to this principle of our logic of

the understanding, in demanding the form of identity for the Truth.

Now in the cases that they put, they did not keep to the universal,

but sought examples in ordinary conception, by means of which they

perplexed people; and this they formed into a kind of system. We shall

bring forward some examples that are preserved to us; some are more

important, but others are insignificant.

_α_. One Elench was called the Liar (_ψευδόμενος_); in it the question

is put: “If a man acknowledges that he lies, does he lie or speak

the truth?”[151] A simple answer is demanded, for the simple whereby

the other is excluded, is held to be the true. If it is said that he

tells the truth, this contradicts the content of his utterance, for he

confesses that he lies. But if it is asserted that he lies, it may be

objected that his confession is the truth. He thus both lies and does

not lie; but a simple answer cannot be given to the question raised.

For here we have a union of two opposites, lying and truth, and their

immediate contradiction; in different forms this has at all times come

to pass, and has ever occupied the attention of men. Chrysippus, a

celebrated Stoic, wrote six books on the subject,[152] and another,

Philetas of Cos, died in the decline which he contracted through

over-study of these paradoxes.[153] We have the same thing over again

when, in modern times, we see men worn out by absorbing themselves in

the squaring of the circle—a proposition which has well nigh become

immortal. They seek a simple relation from something incommensurable,

_i.e._ they fall into the error of demanding a simple reply where

the content is contradictory. That little history has perpetuated

and reproduced itself later on; in Don Quixote the very same thing

appears. Sancho, governor of the island of Barataria, was tested by

many insidious cases as he sat in judgment, and, amongst others, with

the following: In his domain there was a bridge which a rich man had

erected for the good of passengers—but with a gallows close by. The

crossing of the bridge was restricted by the condition that everyone

must say truly where he was going, and if he lied, he would be hung

upon the gallows. Now one man came to the bridge, and to the question

whither he went, answered that he had come here to be hung on the

gallows. The bridge-keepers were much puzzled by this. For if they

hanged him, he would have spoken the truth and ought to have passed,

but if he crossed he would have spoken an untruth. In this difficulty

they applied to the wisdom of the governor, who uttered the wise saying

that in such dubious cases the mildest measures should be adopted,

and thus the man should be allowed to pass. Sancho did not break his

head over the matter. The result which the statement was to have, is

made its content, with the condition that the opposite of the content

should be the consequence. Hanging, understanding it to be truly

expressed, should not have hanging as result; non-hanging as an event,

should, on the other hand, have hanging as result. Thus death is made

the consequence of suicide, but by suicide death itself is made into

the content of the crime, and cannot thus be the punishment.

I will give another similar example along with the answer. Menedemus

was asked whether he had ceased to beat his father. This was an attempt

to place him in a difficulty, since to answer either yes or no, would

be equally risky. For if he said ‘yes,’ then he once beat him, and if

‘no,’ then he still beats him. Menedemus hence replied that he neither

ceased to beat him, nor had beaten him; and with this his opponents

were not satisfied.[154] Through this answer, which is two-sided, the

one alternative, as well as the other, being set aside, the question

is in fact answered; and this is also so in the former question as to

whether the man spoke truly who said he lied, when the reply is made,

“He speaks the truth and lies at the same time, and the truth is this

contradiction.” But a contradiction is not the true, and cannot enter

into our ordinary conceptions; hence Sancho Panza likewise set it aside

in his judgment. If the consciousness of opposition is present, our

ordinary ideas keep the contradictory sides apart; but in fact the

contradiction appears in sensuous things, such as space, time, &c.,

and has in them only to be demonstrated. These sophisms thus not only

appear to be contradictory, but are so in truth: this choice between

two opposites, which is set before us in the example, is itself a

contradiction.

_β_. The Concealed one (_διαλανθάνων_) and the Electra[155] proceed

from the contradiction of knowing and not knowing someone at the same

time. I ask someone ‘Do you know your father?’ He replies ‘Yes.’ I

then ask ‘Now if I show you someone hidden behind a screen, will you

know him?’ ‘No.’ ‘But it is your father, and thus you do not know your

father.’ It is the same in the Electra. ‘Can it be said that she knows

her brother Orestes who stands before her or not?’ These twists and

turns seem superficial, but it is interesting to consider them further.

(_αα_) To know means, on the one hand, to have someone as ‘this one,’

and not vaguely and in general. The son thus knows his father when he

sees him, _i.e._ when he is a ‘this’ for him; but hidden, he is not a

‘this’ for him, but a ‘this’ abrogated. The hidden one as a ‘this’ in

ordinary conception, becomes a general, and loses his sensuous being,

thereby is in fact not a true ‘this.’ The contradiction that the son

both knows and does not know his father, thus becomes dissolved through

the further qualification that the son knows the father as a sensuous

‘this,’ and not as a ‘this’ of idea. (_ββ_) On the other hand Electra

knows Orestes, not as a sensuous ‘this,’ but in her own idea; the

‘this’ of idea and the ‘this’ here, are not the same to her. In this

way there enters into these histories the higher opposition of the

universal and of the ‘this,’ in as far as to have in the ordinary idea,

means in the element of the universal; the abrogated ‘this’ is not only

an idea, but has its truth in the universal. The universal is thus

found in the unity of opposites, and thus it is in this development

of Philosophy the true existence, in which the sensuous being of the

‘this’ is negated. It is the consciousness of this in particular which,

as we shall soon see (p. 465), is indicated by Stilpo.

_γ_. Other quibbles of the same kind have more meaning, like the

arguments which are called the Sorites (_σωρείτης_) and the Bald

(_φαλακρός_).[156] Both are related to the false infinite, and the

quantitative progression which can reach no qualitative opposite, and

yet at the end finds itself at a qualitative absolute opposite. The

Bald head is the reverse of the problem of the Sorites. It is asked,

“Does one grain of corn make a heap, or does one hair less make a bald

head?” The reply is “No.” “Nor one again?” “No, it does not.” This

question is now always repeated while a grain is always added, or a

hair taken away. When at last it is said that there is a heap or a bald

head, it is found that the last added grain or last abstracted hair has

made the heap or the baldness, and this was at first denied. But how

can a grain form a heap which already consists of so many grains? The

assertion is that one grain does not make a heap; the contradiction,

that one thus added or taken away brings about the change into the

opposite—the many. For to repeat one is just to obtain many, the

repetition causes certain ‘many’ grains to come together. The one thus

becomes its opposite,—a heap, and the taking of one away brings about

baldness. One and a heap are opposed to one another, but yet one; or

the quantitative progression seems not to change but merely to increase

or diminish, yet at last it has passed into its opposite. We always

separate quality and quantity from one another, and only accept in

the many a quantitative difference; but this indifferent distinction

of number or size here turns finally into qualitative distinction,

just as an infinitely small or infinitely great greatness is no longer

greatness at all. This characteristic of veering round is of the

greatest importance, although it does not come directly before our

consciousness. To give one penny or one shilling is said to be nothing,

but with all its insignificance the purse becomes emptied, which is

a very qualitative difference. Or, if water is always more and more

heated, it suddenly, at 80° Reamur, turns into steam. The dialectic

of this passing into one another of quantity and quality is what our

understanding does not recognize; it is certain that qualitative is

not quantitative, and quantitative not qualitative. In those examples

which seem like jokes, there is in this way genuine reflection on the

thought-determinations which are in question.

The examples which Aristotle brings forward in his Elenchi, all show a

very formal contradiction, appearing in speech, since even in it the

individual is taken into the universal. “Who is that? It is Coriscus.

Is Coriscus not masculine? Yes. _That_ is neuter sex, and thus Coriscus

is said to be neuter.”[157] Or else Aristotle (De Sophist. Elench. c.

24) quotes the argument: “To thee a dog is father (_σὸς ὁ κύων πατήρ_).

Thou art thus a dog;” that is what Plato, as we already mentioned (p.

370), made a Sophist say: it is the wit of a journeyman such as we

find in Eulenspiegel. Aristotle is really at great pains to remove the

confusion, for he says the ‘thy’ and the ‘father’ are only accidentally

(_παρὰ τὸ συμβεβηκός_), and not in substance (_κατὰ τὴν οὐσίαν_) joined

to one another. In the invention of such witticisms, the Greeks of that

and of later times were quite indefatigable. With the Sceptics we shall

later on see the dialectic side further developed and brought to a

higher standpoint.

_c._ STILPO.

Stilpo, a native of Megara, is one of the most celebrated of the

Eristics. Diogenes tells us that “he was a very powerful debater, and

excelled all so greatly in readiness of speech that all Greece, in

looking to him, was in danger (μικροῦ δεῆσαι) of becoming Megareans.”

He lived in the time of Alexander the Great, and after his death (Ol.

114, 1; 324 B.C.) in Megara, when Alexander’s generals fought together.

Ptolemy Soter, Demetrius Poliorcetes, Antigonus’ son, when they

conquered Megara, bestowed many honours on him. “In Athens all came out

of their work-places to see him, and when anyone said that they admired

him like a strange animal, he replied, No, but like a true man.”[158]

With Stilpo it was pre-eminently true that the universal was taken

in the sense of the formal abstract identity of the understanding.

The main point in his examples is, however, always the fact of his

having given prominence to the form of universality as opposed to the

particular.

_α_. Diogenes (II. 119) first quotes from him in relation to the

opposition of the ‘this’ and the universal, “Whoever speaks of any

man (_ἄνθρωπον εἶναι_), speaks of no one, for he neither speaks of

this one nor that. For why should it rather be of this one than that?

Hence it is not of this one.” That man is the universal, and that no

one is specially indicated, everyone readily acknowledges, but some

one still remains present to us in our conception. But Stilpo says

that the ‘this’ does not exist at all, and cannot be expressed—that

the universal only exists. Diogenes Laërtius certainly understands

this as though “Stilpo abolished distinction of genera (_ἀνῄρει καὶ

τὰ εἴδη_),” and Tennemann (Vol II., p. 158) supports him. But from

what is quoted from him the opposite may clearly be deduced—that he

upheld the universal and did away with the individual. And the fact

that the form of universality is maintained, is further expressed in a

number of anecdotes which are taken by Stilpo from common life. Thus

he says: “The cabbage is not what is here shown (_τὸ λάχανον οὐκ ἔστι

τὸ δεικνύμενον_). For the cabbage has existed for many thousand years,

and hence this (what is seen) is not cabbage,” _i.e._ the universal

only is, and this cabbage is not. If I say _this_ cabbage, I say

quite another thing from what I mean, for I say all other cabbages.

An anecdote is told in the same reference. “He was conversing with

Crates, a Cynic, and broke off to buy some fish;” Crates said, “What,

you would avoid the question?” (for even in ordinary life anyone is

laughed at or thought stupid who is unable to reply, and here where

the subject was so important and where it would seem better to reply

anything than nothing at all, no answer was forthcoming). Stilpo

replied, “By no means, for I have the conversation, but I leave you,

since the conversation remains but the fish will be sold.” What is

indicated in these simple examples seems trivial, because the matter is

trivial, but in other forms it seems important enough to be the subject

of further inquiry.

That the universal should in Philosophy be given a place of such

importance that only the universal can be expressed, and the ‘this’

which is meant, cannot, indicates a state of consciousness and thought

which the philosophic culture of our time has not yet reached. As

regards the ordinary human understanding, or the scepticism of our

times, or in general the Philosophy which asserts that sensuous

certainty (that which we see, hear, &c.), is the truth, or else that

it is true that there are sensuous things outside of us—as to these,

nothing, so far as the reasons for disbelieving them are concerned,

need be said. For because the direct assertion that the immediate is

the true is made, such statements only require to be taken with respect

to what they say, and they will always be found to say something

different from what they mean. What strikes us most is that they cannot

say what they mean; for if they say the sensuous, this is a universal;

it is all that is sensuous, a negative of the ‘this,’ or ‘this’ is all

‘these.’ Thought contains only the universal, the ‘this’ is only in

thought; if I say ‘this’ it is the most universal of all. For example,

here is that which I show; now I speak; but here and now is all here

and now. Similarly when I say ‘I,’ I mean myself, this individual

separated from all others. But I am even thus that which is thought of

and cannot express the self which I mean at all. ‘I’ is an absolute

expression which excludes every other ‘I,’ but everyone says ‘I’ of

himself, for everyone is an ‘I.’ If we ask who is there, the answer ‘I’

indicates every ‘I.’ The individual also is thus the universal only,

for in the word as an existence born of the mind, the individual, if

it is meant, cannot find a place, since actually only the universal is

expressed. If I would distinguish myself and establish my individuality

by my age, my place of birth, through what I have done and where I have

been or am at a particular time, it is the same thing. I am now so many

years old, but this very now which I say is all now. If I count from a

particular period such as the birth of Christ, this epoch is again only

fixed by the ‘now’ which is ever displaced. I am now thirty-five years

old, and now is 1805 A.D.; each period is fixed only through the other,

but the whole is undetermined. That ‘now’ 1805 years have passed since

Christ’s birth, is a truth which soon will become empty sound, and the

determinateness of the ‘now’ has a before and after of determinations

without beginning or end. Similarly everyone is at a ‘here’—this

here, for everyone is in a ‘here.’ This is the nature of universality,

which makes itself evident in speech. We hence help ourselves through

names with which we define perfectly anything individual, but we allow

that we have not expressed the thing in itself. The name as name, is

no expression which contains what I am; it is a symbol, and indeed a

contingent symbol, of the lively recollection.

_β_. Inasmuch as Stilpo expressed the universal as the independent,

he disintegrated everything. Simplicius says (in Phys. Arist. p. 26),

“Since the so-called Megarics took it as ascertained that what has

different determinations is different (_ὧν οἱλόγοι ἕτεροι, ταῦτα ἕτερα

ἐστιν_), and that the diverse are separated one from the other (_τὰ

ἕτερα κεχώρισται ἀλλήλων_), they seemed to prove that each thing is

separated from itself (_αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ κεχωρισμένον ἔκασον_). Hence since

the musical Socrates is another determination (_λόγος_) from the

wise Socrates, Socrates was separated from himself.” That means that

because the qualities of things are determinations for themselves, each

of these is fixed independently, but yet the thing is an aggregate of

many independent universalities. Stilpo asserted this. Now because,

according to him, universal determinations are in their separation

only the true reality, and the individual is the unseparated unity of

different ideas, to him nothing individual has any truth.

_γ_. It is very remarkable that this form of identity came to be

known in Stilpo, and he in this way only wished to know propositions

identically expressed. Plutarch quotes from him: “A different

predicate may in no case be attributed to any object (_ἕτερον ἑτέρου

μὴ κατηγορεῖσθαι_). Thus we could not say that the man is good or the

man is a general, but simply that man is only man, good is only good,

the general is only the general. Nor could we say ten thousand knights,

but knights are only knights, ten thousand are only ten thousand,

&c. When we speak of a horse running, he says that the predicate is

not identical with the object to which it is attributed. For the

concept-determination man is different (_τοῦ τί ἦν εἶναι τὸν λόγον_)

from the concept-determination good. Similarly horse and running are

distinct: when we are asked for a definition of either, we do not give

the same for both. Hence those who say something different of what is

different are wrong. For if man and good were the same, and likewise

horse and running, how could good be used of bread and physic, and

running of lions and dogs”?[159] Plutarch remarks here that Colotes

attacks Stilpo in a bombastic manner (_τραγῷδίαν ἐπάγει_) as though

he ignored common life (_τὸν βίον ἀναιρεῖσθαι_). “But what man,”

Plutarch reflects, “lived any the worse for this? Is there any man who

hears this said, and who does not know that it is an elaborate joke

(_παῖζοντός ἐστιν εὐμούσως_)?”

2. THE CYRENAIC SCHOOL.

The Cyrenaics took their name from Aristippus of Cyrene in Africa, the

originator and head of the school. Just as Socrates wished to develop

himself as an individual, his disciples, or those of the Cyrenaic

and Cynic Schools, made individual life and practical philosophy

their main object. Now if the Cyrenaics did not rest content with the

determination of good in general, seeing that they inclined to place

it in the enjoyment of the individual, the Cynics appear to be opposed

to the whole doctrine, for they expressed the particular content of

satisfaction as natural desires in a determination of negativity

with regard to what is done by others. But as the Cyrenaics thereby

satisfied their particular subjectivity, so also did the Cynics, and

both schools have hence on the whole the same end—the freedom and

independence of the individual. Because we are accustomed to consider

happiness, which the Cyrenaics made the highest end of man, to be

contentless, because we obtain it in a thousand ways, and it may be

the result of most various causes, this principle appears at first

to us as trivial, and indeed, generally speaking, it is so; we are

likewise accustomed to believe that there is something higher than

pleasure. The philosophic development of this principle which, for the

rest, has not much in it, is mainly ascribed to Aristippus’ follower,

Aristippus the younger. But Theodorus, Hegesias, and Anniceris, of

the later Cyrenaics, are specially mentioned as having scientifically

worked out the Aristippian principle, until it degenerated and merged

into Epicureanism. But the consideration of the further progress of the

Cyrenaic principle is specially interesting because this progression,

in the essential nature of things, is carried quite beyond the

principle, and has really abrogated it. Feeling is the indeterminate

individual. But if thought, reflection, mental culture, are given a

place in this principle, through the principle of the universality

of thought that principle of contingency, individuality, mere

subjectivity, disappears; and the only really remarkable thing in this

school is that this greater consistency in the universal is therefore

an inconsistency as regards the principle.

_a._ ARISTIPPUS.

Aristippus went about with Socrates for a long time, and educated

himself under him, although at the same time he was a strong and

highly cultivated man before he sought out Socrates at all. He heard

of him either in Cyrene or at the Olympian Games, which, as Greeks,

the Cyrenians likewise visited. His father was a merchant, and he

himself came to Athens on a journey which had commerce as its object.

He was first amongst the Socratics to ask money of those whom he

instructed; he also sent money to Socrates, who, however, returned

it.[160] He did not content himself with the general expressions, good

and beautiful, to which Socrates adhered, but took existence reflected

in consciousness in its extreme determinateness as individuality; and

because universal existence, as thought, was to him, from the side of

reality, individual consciousness, he fixed on enjoyment as the only

thing respecting which man had rationally to concern himself. The

character and personality of Aristippus is what is most important,

and what is preserved to us in his regard is his manner and life

rather than his philosophic doctrines. He sought after enjoyment as a

man of culture, who in that very way had raised himself into perfect

indifference to all that is particular, all passions and bonds of every

kind. When pleasure is made the principle, we immediately have the idea

before us that in its enjoyment we are dependent, and that enjoyment

is thus opposed to the principle of freedom. But neither of the

Cyrenaic teaching, nor the Epicurean, whose principle is on the whole

the same, can this be stated. For by itself the end of enjoyment may

well be said to be a principle in opposition to Philosophy; but when it

is considered in such a way that the cultivation of thought is made the

only condition under which enjoyment can be attained, perfect freedom

of spirit is retained, since it is inseparable from culture. Aristippus

certainly esteemed culture at its highest, and proceeded from this

position—that pleasure is only a principle for men of philosophic

culture; his main principle thus was that what is found to be pleasant

is not known immediately but only by reflection.

Aristippus lived in accordance with these principles, and what in him

interests us most is the number of anecdotes told about him, because

they contain traces of a mentally rich and free disposition. Since in

his life he went about to seek enjoyment, not without understanding

(and thereby he was in his way a philosopher), he sought it partly with

the discretion which does not yield itself to a momentary happiness,

because a greater evil springs therefrom; and partly (as if philosophy

were merely preservation from anxiety) without that anxiety which on

every side fears possible evil and bad results; but above all without

any dependence on things, and without resting on anything which is

itself of a changeable nature. He enjoyed, says Diogenes, the pleasures

of the moment, without troubling himself with those which were not

present; he suited himself to every condition, being at home in all;

he remained the same whether he were in regal courts or in the most

miserable conditions. Plato is said to have told him that it was given

to him alone to wear the purple and the rags. He was specially attached

to Dionysius, being very popular with him; he certainly clung to him,

but always retained complete independence. Diogenes, the Cynic, for

this reason called him the royal dog. When he demanded fifty drachms

from someone who wished to hand over to him his son, and the man found

the sum too high, saying that he could buy a slave for it, Aristippus

answered, “Do so, and you will have two.” When Socrates asked him, “How

do you have so much money?” he replied, “How do you have so little?”

When a courtesan said to him that she had a child by him, he replied,

“You know as little whether it is mine as, were you walking through

briars, would you know which thorn pricked you.” A proof of his perfect

indifference is given in the following: When Dionysius once spat at

him, he bore it patiently, and when blamed, said, “The fishermen let

themselves be wet by the sea to catch the little fish, and I, should I

not bear this to catch such a good one?” When Dionysius asked him to

choose one of three courtesans, he took them all with him, observing

that it had been a dangerous thing even to Paris to choose out one;

but after leading them to the vestibule of the house, he let all three

go. He made nothing of the possession of money as contrasted with the

results which appear to follow from pursuing pleasure, and hence he

wasted it on dainties. He once bought a partridge at fifty drachms

(about twenty florins). When someone rebuked him, he asked, “Would

you not buy it for a farthing?” And when this was acknowleged, he

answered, “Now fifty drachms are no more than that to me.” Similarly

in journeying in Africa, the slave thought it hard to be troubled with

a sum of money. When Aristippus knew this he said, “Throw away what is

too much and carry what you can.”

As regards the value of culture, he replied to the question as to how

an educated man differs from an uneducated, that a stone would not

fit in with the other, _i.e._ the difference is as great as that of a

man from the stone. This is not quite wrong, for man is what he ought

to be as man, through culture; it is his second nature through which

he first enters into possession of that which he has by nature, and

thus for the first time he is Mind. We may not, however, think in this

way of our uncultured men, for with us such men through the whole of

their conditions, through customs and religion, partake of a source

of culture which places them far above those who do not live in such

conditions. Those who carry on other sciences and neglect Philosophy,

Aristippus compares to the wooers of Penelope in the Odyssey, who might

easily have Melantho and the other maidens, but who could not obtain

the queen.[161]

The teaching of Aristippus and his followers is very simple, for he

took the relation of consciousness to existence in its most superficial

and its earliest form, and expressed existence as Being as it is

immediately for consciousness, _i.e._ as feeling simply. A distinction

is now made between the true, the valid, what exists in and for itself,

and the practical and good, and what ought to be our end; but in

regard to both the theoretic and practical truth, the Cyrenaics make

sensation what determines. Hence their principle is more accurately

not the objective itself, but the relation of consciousness to the

objective; the truth is not what is in sensation the content, but is

itself sensation, it is not objective, but the objective subsists only

in it. “Thus the Cyrenaics say, sensations form the real criterion;

they alone can be known, and are infallible, but what produces feeling

is neither knowable nor infallible. Thus when we perceive a white and

sweet, we may assert this condition as ours with truth and certainty.

But that the causes of these feelings are themselves a white and sweet

object we cannot with certainty affirm. What these men say about ends

is also in harmony with this, for sensations also extend to ends. The

sensations are either pleasant or unpleasant or neither of the two.

Now they call the unpleasant feelings the bad, the end of which is

pain; the pleasant is the good, whose invariable end is happiness. Thus

feelings are the criteria of knowledge and the ends for action. We

live because we follow them from testimony (_ἐναργείᾳ_) received and

satisfaction (_εὑδοκήσει_) experienced, the former in accordance with

theoretic intuitions (_κατὰ τὰ ἄλλα πάθη_), and the latter with what

gives us pleasure.”[162] That is to say, as end, feeling is no longer

a promiscuous variety of sensuous affections (_τὰ ἄλλα πάθη_), but the

setting up of the Notion as the positive or negative relation to the

object of action, which is just the pleasant or the unpleasant.

Here we enter on a new sphere where two kinds of determinations

constitute the chief points of interest; these are everywhere treated

of in the many Socratic schools which were being formed, and though not

by Plato and Aristotle, they were specially so by the Stoics, the new

Academy, &c. That is to say, the one point is determination itself in

general, the criterion; and the second is what determination for the

subject is. And thus the idea of the wise man results—what the wise

do, who the wise are, &c. The reason that these two expressions are

now so prominent is one which rests on what has gone before. On the

one hand the main interest is to find a content for the good, for else

men may talk about it for years. This further definition of the good

is just the criterion. On the other hand the interest of the subject

appears, and that is the result of the revolution in the Greek mind

made by Socrates. When the religion, constitution, laws of a people,

are held in esteem, and when the individual members of a people are

one with them, the question of what the individual has to do on his

own account, will not be put. In a moralized, religious condition of

things we are likely to find the end of man in what is present, and

these morals, religion and laws are also present in him. When, on

the contrary, the individual exists no longer in the morality of his

people, no longer has his substantial being in the religion, laws,

&c., of his land, he no longer finds what he desires, and no longer

satisfies himself in his present. But if this discord has arisen, the

individual must immerse himself in himself, and there seek his end. Now

this is really the cause that the question of what is the essential

for the individual arises. After what end must he form himself and

after what strive? Thus an ideal for the individual is set up, and

this is the wise man: what was called the ideal of the wise man is

the individuality of self-consciousness which is conceived of as

universal essence. The point of view is the same when we now ask, What

can I know? What should I believe? What ought I to hope? What is the

highest interest of the subject? It is not what is truth, right, the

universal end of the world, for instead of asking about the science

of the implicitly and explicitly objective, the question is what is

true and right in as far as it is the insight and conviction of the

individual, his end and a mode of his existence? This talk about wise

men is universal amongst the Stoics, Epicureans, &c., but is devoid

of meaning. For the wise man is not in question, but the wisdom of

the universe, real reason. A third definition is that the universal

is the good; the real side of things is enjoyment and happiness as a

simple existence and immediate actuality. How then do the two agree?

The philosophic schools which now arise and their successors have set

forth the harmony of both determinations, which are the higher Being

and thought.

_b._ THEODORUS.

Of the later Cyrenaics, Theodorus must be mentioned first; he is

famous for having denied the existence of the gods, and being, for

this reason, banished from Athens. Such a fact can, however, have

no further interest or speculative significance, for the positive

gods which Theodorus denied, are themselves not any object of

speculative reason. He made himself remarkable besides for introducing

the universal more into the idea of that which was existence for

consciousness, for “he made joy and sorrow the end, but in such a

way that the former pertained to the understanding and the latter

to want of understanding. He defined the good as understanding and

justice, and the bad as the opposite; enjoyment and pain, however,

were indifferent.”[163] When we reach the consciousness that the

individual sensuous feeling, as it is immediately, is not to be

considered as real existence, it is then said that it must be accepted

with understanding; _i.e._ feeling, just as it is, is not reality.

For the sensuous generally, as sensation, theoretic or practical, is

something quite indeterminate, this or that unit; a criticism of this

unit is hence required, _i.e._ it must be considered in the form of

universality, and hence this last necessarily reappears. But this

advance on individuality is culture, which, through the limitation of

individual feelings and enjoyments, tries to make these harmonious,

even though it first of all only calculates as to that by which the

greater pleasure is to be found. Now, to the question as to which of

the many enjoyments which I, as a many-sided man, can enjoy, is the

one which is in completest harmony with me, and in which I thus find

the greatest satisfaction, it must be replied that the completest

harmony with me is only found in the accordance of my particular

existence and consciousness with my actual substantial Being. Theodorus

comprehended this as understanding and justice, in which we know where

to seek enjoyment. But when it is said that felicity must be sought

by reflection, we know that these are empty words and thoughtless

utterances. For the feeling in which felicity is contained, is in its

conception the individual, self-changing, without universality and

subsistence. Thus the universal, understanding, as an empty form,

adheres to a content quite incongruous with it; and thus Theodorus

distinguished the Good in its form, from the end as the Good in its

nature and content.

_c._ HEGESIAS.

It is remarkable that another Cyrenaic, Hegesias, recognized this

incongruity between sensation and universality, which last is opposed

to the individual, having what is agreeable as well as disagreeable

within itself. Because, on the whole, he took a firmer grasp of the

universal and gave it a larger place, there passed from him all

determination of individuality, and with it really the Cyrenaic

principle. It came to his knowledge that individual sensation is in

itself nothing; and, as he nevertheless made enjoyment his end, it

became to him the universal. But if enjoyment is the end, we must ask

about the content; if this content is investigated, we find every

content a particular which is not in conformity with the universal, and

thus falls into dialectic. Hegesias followed the Cyrenaic principle

as far as to this consequence of thought. That universal is contained

in an expression of his which we often enough hear echoed, “There is

no perfect happiness. The body is troubled with manifold pains, and

the soul suffers along with it; it is hence a matter of indifference

whether we choose life or death. In itself nothing is pleasant or

unpleasant.” That is to say, the criterion of being pleasant or

unpleasant, because its universality is removed, is thus itself made

quite indeterminate; and because it has no objective determinateness

in itself, it has become unmeaning; before the universal, which is

thus held secure, the sum of all determinations, the individuality of

consciousness as such, disappears, but with it even life itself as

being unreal. “The rarity, novelty, or excess of enjoyment begets in

some cases enjoyment and in others discontent. Poverty and riches have

no meaning for what is pleasant, since we see that the rich do not

enjoy pleasures more than the poor. Similarly, slavery and liberty,

noble and ignoble birth, fame and lack of fame, are equivalent as

regards pleasure. Only to a fool can living be a matter of moment; to

the wise man it is indifferent,” and he is consequently independent.

“The wise man acts only after his own will, and he considers none

other equally worthy. For even if he attain from others the greatest

benefits, this does not equal what he gives himself. Hegesias and

his friends also take away sensation, because it gives no sufficient

knowledge,” which really amounts to scepticism. “They say further that

we ought to do what we have reason to believe is best. The sinner

should be forgiven, for no one willingly sins, but is conquered by a

passion. The wise man does not hate, but instructs; his endeavours go

not so much to the attainment of good, as to the avoidance of evil, for

his aim is to live without trouble and sorrow.”[164] This universality,

which proceeds from the principle of the freedom of the individual

self-consciousness, Hegesias expressed as the condition of the perfect

indifference of the wise men—an indifference to everything into which

we shall see all philosophic systems of the kind going forth, and which

is a surrendering of all reality, the complete withdrawal of life into

itself. It is told that Hegesias, who lived in Alexandria, was not

allowed to teach the Ptolemies of the time, because he inspired many

of his hearers with such indifference to life that they took their

own.[165]

_d._ ANNICERIS.

We also hear of Anniceris and his followers, who, properly speaking,

departed from the distinctive character of the principle of the

Cyrenaic school, and thereby gave philosophic culture quite another

direction. It is said of them that “they acknowledged friendship in

common life, along with gratitude, honour to parents, and service for

one’s country. And although the wise man has, by so doing, to undergo

hardship and work, he can still be happy, even if he therein obtains

few pleasures. Friendships are not to be formed on utilitarian grounds

alone, but because of the good will that develops; and out of love to

friends, even burdens and difficulties are to be undertaken.”[166]

The universal, the theoretically speculative element in the school,

is thus lost; it sinks more into what is popular. This is then the

second direction which the Cyrenaic school has taken; the first was

the overstepping of the principle itself. A method of philosophizing

in morals arises, which later on prevailed with Cicero and the

Peripatetics of his time, but the interest has disappeared, so far as

any consistent system of thought is concerned.

3. THE CYNIC SCHOOL.

There is nothing particular to say of the Cynics, for they possess

but little Philosophy, and they did not bring what they had into a

scientific system; it was only later that their tenets were raised by

the Stoics into a philosophic discipline. With the Cynics, as with the

Cyrenaics, the point was to determine what should be the principle

for consciousness, both as regards its knowledge and its actions.

The Cynics also set up the Good as a universal end, and asked in

what, for individual men, it is to be sought. But if the Cyrenaic,

in accordance with his determinate principle, made the consciousness

of himself as an individual, or feeling, into real existence for

consciousness, the Cynic took this individuality, in as far as it has

the form of universality directly for me, _i.e._ in as far as I am a

free consciousness, indifferent to all individuality. Thus they are

opposed to the Cyrenaics for while to these feeling, which, because

it has to be determined through thought, is undoubtedly extended into

universality and perfect freedom, is made the principle, the former

begin with perfect freedom and independence as the property of man.

But since this is the same indifference of self-consciousness which

Hegesias expressed as real existence, the extremes in the Cynic and

Cyrenaic modes of thought destroy themselves by their own consequences,

and pass into one another. With the Cyrenaics there is the impulse to

turn things back into consciousness, according to which nothing is

real existence for me; the Cynics had also only to do with themselves,

and the individual self-consciousness was likewise principle. But

the Cynic, at least in the beginning, set up for the guidance of men

the principle of freedom and indifference, both in regard to thought

and actual life, as against all external individuality, particular

ends, needs, and enjoyments; so that culture not only sought after

indifference to these and independence within itself, as with the

Cyrenaics, but for express privation, and for the limitation of

needs to what is necessary and what nature demands. The Cynics thus

maintained as the content of the good, the greatest independence of

nature, _i.e._ the slightest possible necessities; this meant a rebound

from enjoyment, and from the pleasures of feeling. The negative is

here the determining; later on this opposition of Cynics and Cyrenaics

likewise appeared between Stoics and Epicureans. But the same negation

which the Cynics made their principle, had already shown itself in the

further development which the Cyrenaic philosophy had taken. The School

of the Cynics had no scientific weight; it only constitutes an element

which must necessarily appear in the knowledge of the universal, and

which is that consciousness must know itself in its individuality, as

free from all dependence on things and on enjoyment. To him who relies

upon riches or enjoyment such dependence is in fact real consciousness,

or his individuality is real existence. But the Cynics so enforced that

negative moment that they placed freedom in actual renunciation of

so-called superfluities; they only recognized this abstract unmoving

independence, which did not concern itself with enjoyment or the

interests of an ordinary life. But true freedom does not consist in

flying from enjoyment and the occupations which have as their concern

other men and other ends in life; but in the fact that consciousness,

though involved in all reality, stands above it and is free from it.

_a._ ANTISTHENES.

Antisthenes, an Athenian and friend of Socrates, was the first who

professed to be a Cynic. He lived at Athens, and taught in a gymnasium,

called Cynosarges, and he was called the “simple dog” (_ἁπλοκύων_).

His mother was Thracian, which was often made a reproach to him—a

reproach which to us would be unmeaning. He replied that the mother of

the gods was a Phrygian, and that the Athenians, who make so much of

their being native born, are in no way nobler than the native fish and

grasshoppers. He educated himself under Gorgias and Socrates, and went

daily from the Piræus to the city to hear Socrates. He wrote several

works, the titles of which Diogenes mentions, and, according to all

accounts, was esteemed a highly cultivated and upright man.[167]

Antisthenes’ principles are simple, because the content of his teaching

remains general; it is hence superfluous to say anything further

about it. He gives general rules, which consist of such excellent

maxims as that “virtue is self-sufficing, and requires nothing more

than a Socratic strength of character. The good is excellent, the bad

discreditable. Virtue consists of works, and does not require many

reasons or theories. The end of man is a virtuous life. The wise man

is contented with himself, for he possesses everything that others

seem to possess. His own virtue satisfies him; he is at home all over

the world. If he lacks fame, this is not to be regarded as an evil,

but as a good,” &c.[168] We here, once more, have the tedious talk

about the wise man, which by the Stoics, as also by the Epicureans,

was even more spun out and made more tedious. In this ideal, where the

determination of the subject is in question, its satisfaction is placed

in simplifying its needs. But when Antisthenes says that virtue does

not require reasons and theories, he forgets that he himself acquired,

through the cultivation of mind, its independence and the power of

renouncing all that men desire. We see directly that virtue has now

obtained another signification; it no longer is unconscious virtue,

like the simple virtue of a citizen of a free people, who fulfils

his duties to fatherland, place, and family, as these relationships

immediately require. The consciousness which has gone beyond itself

must, in order to become Mind, now lay hold of and comprehend all

reality, i.e. be conscious of it as its own. But conditions such as

are called by names like innocence or beauty of soul, are childish

conditions, which are certainly to be praised in their own place, but

from which man, because he is rational, must come forth, in order

to re-create himself from the sublated immediacy. The freedom and

independence of the Cynics, however, which consists only in lessening

to the utmost the burden imposed by wants, is abstract, because it, as

negative in character, has really to be a mere renunciation. Concrete

freedom consists in maintaining an indifferent attitude towards

necessities, not avoiding them, but in their satisfaction remaining

free, and abiding in morality and in participation in the moral life

of man. Abstract freedom, on the contrary, surrenders its morality,

because the individual withdraws into his subjectivity, and is

consequently an element of immorality.

Yet Antisthenes bears a high place in this Cynical philosophy. But

the attitude he adopted comes very near to that of rudeness, vulgarity

of conduct and shamelessness; and later on Cynicism passed into such.

Hence comes the continual mockery of, and the constant jokes against

the Cynics; and it is only their individual manners and individual

strength of character which makes them interesting. It is even told

of Antisthenes that he began to attribute value to external poverty

of life. Cynicism adopted a simple wardrobe—a thick stick of wild

olive, a ragged double mantle without any under garment, which served

as bed by night, a beggar’s sack for the food that was required,

and a cup with which to draw water.[169] This was the costume with

which these Cynics used to distinguish themselves. That on which

they placed highest value was the simplification of their needs; it

seems very plausible to say that this produces freedom. For needs

are certainly dependence upon nature, and this is antagonistic to

freedom of spirit; the reduction of that dependence to a minimum is

thus an idea which commends itself. But at the same time this minimum

is itself undetermined, and if such stress is laid on thus merely

following nature, it follows that too great a value is set on the needs

of nature and on the renunciation of others. This is what is also

evident in the monastic principle. The negative likewise contains an

affirmative bias towards what is renounced; and the renunciation and

the importance of what is renounced is thus made too marked. Socrates

hence declares the clothing of the Cynics to be vanity. For “when

Antisthenes turned outside a hole in his cloak, Socrates said to him,

I see thy vanity through the hole in thy cloak.”[170] Clothing is not

a thing of rational import, but is regulated through needs that arise

of themselves. In the North the clothing must be different from that in

Central Africa; and in winter we do not wear cotton garments. Anything

further is meaningless, and is left to chance and to opinion; in modern

times, for instance, old-fashioned clothing had a meaning in relation

to patriotism. The cut of my coat is decided by fashion, and the tailor

sees to this; it is not my business to invent it, for mercifully others

have done so for me. This dependence on custom and opinion is certainly

better than were it to be on nature. But it is not essential that men

should direct their understanding to this; indifference is the point of

view which must reign, since the thing itself is undoubtedly perfectly

indifferent. Men are proud that they can distinguish themselves in

this, and try to make a fuss about it, but it is folly to set oneself

against the fashion. In this matter I must hence not decide myself, nor

may I draw it within the radius of my interests, but simply do what is

expected of me.

_b._ DIOGENES.

Diogenes of Sinope, the best known Cynic, distinguished himself even

more than Antisthenes by the life he led, as also by his biting and

often clever hits, and bitter and sarcastic retorts; but he likewise

received replies which were often aimed as well. He is called the Dog,

just as Aristippus was called by him the royal Dog, for Diogenes bore

the same relation to idle boys as Aristippus did to kings. Diogenes

is only famed for his manner of life; with him, as with the moderns,

Cynicism came to signify more a mode of living than a philosophy. He

confined himself to the barest necessities, and tried to make fun of

others who did not think as he, and who laughed at his ways. That he

threw away his cup when he saw a boy drinking out of his hands is well

known. To have no wants, said Diogenes, is divine; to have as few as

possible is to come nearest to the divine. He lived in all sorts of

places, in the streets of Athens, in the market in tubs; and he usually

resided and slept in Jupiter’s Stoa in Athens; he hence remarked that

the Athenians had built him a splendid place of residence.[171] Thus

the Cynics thought not only of dress, but also of other wants. But a

mode of life such as that followed by the Cynics, which professed to

be a result of culture, is really conditioned by the culture of the

mind. The Cynics were not anchorites; their consciousness was still

essentially related to other consciousness. Antisthenes and Diogenes

lived in Athens, and could only exist there. But in culture the mind

is also directed to the most manifold needs, and to the methods of

satisfying these. In more recent times the needs have much increased,

and hence a division of the general wants into many particular wants

and modes of satisfaction has arisen; this is the function of the

activity of the understanding, and in its application luxury has a

place. We may declaim against the morality of this, but in a State all

talents, natural inclinations and customs must have free scope and be

brought into exercise, and every individual may take what part he will,

only he must in the main make for the universal. Thus the chief point

is to place no greater value on such matters than what is demanded, or

generally, to place no importance either on possessing or dispensing

with them.

Of Diogenes we have only anecdotes to relate. In a voyage to Ægina he

fell into the hands of sea-robbers, and was to be sold as a slave in

Crete. Being asked what he understood, he replied, “To command men,”

and told the herald to call out, “Who will buy a ruler?” A certain

Xeniades of Corinth bought him, and he instructed his sons.

There are very many stories told of his residence in Athens. There he

presented a contrast in his rudeness and disdainfulness to Aristippus’

fawning philosophy. Aristippus set no value on his enjoyments any more

than on his wants, but Diogenes did so on his poverty. Diogenes was

once washing his greens when Aristippus passed by, and he called out,

“If you knew how to wash your greens yourself, you would not run after

kings.” Aristippus replied very aptly, “If you knew how to associate

with men, you would not wash greens.” In Plato’s house he once walked

on the beautiful carpets with muddy feet, saying, “I tread on the pride

of Plato.” “Yes, but with another pride,” replied Plato, as pointedly.

When Diogenes stood wet through with rain, and the bystanders pitied

him, Plato said, “If you wish to compassionate him, just go away. His

vanity is in showing himself off and exciting surprise; it is what

made him act in this way, and the reason would not exist if he were

left alone.” Once when he got a thrashing, as anecdotes often tell, he

laid a large plaster on his wounds, and wrote on it the names of those

who had struck him in order that they might be blamed of all. When

youths standing by him said, “We are afraid that you will bite us,” he

replied, “Don’t mind, a dog never eats turnips.” At a feast a guest

threw bones to him like a dog, and he went up to him and behaved to him

like a dog. He gave a good answer to a tyrant who asked him from what

metal statues should be cast: “From the metal from which the statues of

Harmodius and Aristogiton were cast.” He tried to eat raw meat, which

did not, however, agree with him; he could not digest it, and died at a

very great age, as he lived—in the streets.[172]

_c._ LATER CYNICS.

Antisthenes and Diogenes, as already mentioned, were men of great

culture. The succeeding Cynics are not any the less conspicuous by

their exceeding shamelessness, but they were, generally speaking,

nothing more than swinish beggars, who found their satisfaction in the

insolence which they showed to others. They are worthy of no further

consideration in Philosophy, and they deserve in its full the name of

dogs, which was early given to them; for the dog is a shameless animal.

Crates, of Thebes, and Hipparchia, a Cynic, celebrated their nuptials

in the public market.[173] This independence of which the Cynics

boasted, is really subjection, for while every other sphere of active

life contains the affirmative element of free intelligence, this means

the denying oneself the sphere in which the element of freedom can be

enjoyed.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Zur Philosophie und Geschichte. Pt. V. pp. 184—186. (Edition of

1828, in 12 vols.)

[2] S. Marheineke: “Lehrbuch des Christlichen Glaubens und Lebens.”

Berlin, 1823. § 133, 134.

[3] “_Meinung ist mein._”

[4] Cf. Hegels Werke, vol. VI. § 13, pp. 21, 22.

[5] Flatt: De Theismo Thaleti Milesio abjudicando. Tub. 1785. 4.

[6] Grundzüge des gegenwärtigen Zeitalters, pp. 211, 212; cf. Anweisung

zum Seligen Leben, pp. 178, 348.

[7] Sanchuniathonis Fragm. ed. Rich. Cumberland, Lond. 1720, 8; German

by J. P. Kassel, Magdeburg, 1755, 8, pp. 1-4.

[8] That is to say in the Lectures preceding these, delivered in the

Winter Session 1825—1826.

[9] Confucius, Sinarum philosophus, s. scientia Sinensis, latine

exposita studio et opera Prosperi Juonetta, Herdtrich, Rougemont,

Couplet, PP. S. J., Paris, 1687, fol.

[10] Mémoires concernant les Chinois (Paris, 1776, sqq.), Vol. II., pp.

1-361. Antiquité des Chinois, par le Père Amiot, pp. 20, 54, &c.

[11] Die Philosophie im Fortgang der Weltgeschichte, Vol. I., p. 157.

[12] Cf. Windischmann, ibid., p. 125.

[13] Mémoire sur la vie et les opinions de Lao-Tseu, par Abel Rémusat

(Paris, 1823), p. 18 sqq.; Extrait d’une lettre de Mr. Amiot, 16

Octobre, 1787, de Peking (Mémoires concernant les Chinois, T. xv.), p.

208, sqq.

[14] Dr. Legge states in “The Religions of China” that Tâo was not

the name of a person, but of a concept or idea. Of the English

terms most suitable for it, he suggests the Way in the sense of

Method.—[Translator’s note.]

[15] Abel Rémusat, l.c. p. 31, seq.; Lettre sur les caractères des

Chinois (Mémoires concernant les Chinois, Tome 1) p. 299, seq.

[16] Rémusat thought that he discovered in these three syllables the

word Jehovah.—[Translator’s note.]

[17] Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and

Ireland, Vol. I., Part I. London, 1824, pp. 19-43. (II., on the

Philosophy of the Hindus, Part I., by Henry Thomas Colebrooke, read

June 21, 1823).

[18] Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society, Vol. i., Part I., pp.

92—118. (VII. Essay on the Philosophy of the Hindus, Part II., by Henry

Thomas Colebrooke.)

[19] Brucker, Hist. Phil. T. I. p. 460; Plutarch, De plac. phil. I. 3.

[20] Herod. II. 20; Senec. Quæst. natur. IV. 2; Diog. Laert. I. 37.

[21] Diog. Laert. 1. § 34, et Menag. ad. h. 1.

[22] Cf. Ritter: Geschichte der Ionischen Philosophie, p. 15.

[23] Plutarch, De plac. phil. I. 3; Cicero, De Natura Deorum, I. 10.

Aristot. Phys. III. 4.

[24] Cf. Aristot. Phys. I. 4.

[25] Simplicius ad Arist. Phys. (I. 2), p. 5, 6.

[26] Stobæi Eclog. Physic. c. 11., p. 294, ed. Heeren.

[27] Simplicius ad Phys. Arist. p. 6, b.

[28] Cf. Plutarch Quæst. convival. VIII. 8.

[29] Diog. Laert. I. 119; Menagius ad h. 1.

[30] In irrisione gentilium, c. 12 (citante Fabricio ad Sext. Emp. Hyp.

Pyrrh. III. 4, § 30).

[31] Cf. Porphyr. De vita Pythag., §§ 14, 15; et Ritterhus, ad. h. I.

[32] Cf. Porphyr. De vita Pyth. 6, Iamblich. De vita Pyth. XXIX. 158.

[33] Diog. Laert. I. 12; VIII. 8; Iamblich. VIII. 44; XII. 58.

[34] Porphyr. De vita Pyth. 25, 21, 22; Iamblich. De vita Pyth. 36;

VII. 33, 34; XXXII. 220-222.

[35] Diog. Laert. VIII. 11, Porphyr., 18-20; Iamblich. II. 9, 10, XXIV.

108, 109; Menag. et Casaub. ad Diog. Laert. VIII. 19.

[36] Porphyr. 37; Iamblich. XVII. 71-74; XVIII. 80-82; XXVIII. 150; XX.

94, 95; Diog. Laert. VIII. 10.

[37] Iamblich. XXI. 100; XXIX. 165; Diog. Laert. VIII. 22; Porphyr. 40.

[38] Porphyr. 32-34; Iamblich. XXIX. 163, 164; XX. 96; XXI. 97; XXIV.

107; Diog. Laert. VIII. 19, 21, 39.

[39] Diog. Laert., VIII. 39, 40; Iamblich. XXXV. 248-264; Porphyrius,

54-59; Anonym. De vita Pyth. (apud Photium), 2.

[40] Cf. Platon. Timæum, p. 20, Steph. (p. 8, ed. Bekk.).

[41] Sext. Pyrrh. Hyp. III. 18, § 152; adv. Math. X. § 250, 251.

[42] Mathem. c. 5, p. 30, ed. Bullialdi: cf. Aristoxen. ap. Stob. Ecl.

Phys. 2, p. 16.

[43] Gnomicorum poetarum opera: Vol. I. Pythagoreorum aureum carmen,

ed. Glandorf Fragm. I. v. 45-48; Sext. Empir. adv. Math. IV. § 2, et

Fabric. ad h. 1.

[44] Burney points out the fallacy of this statement in his History of

Music. [Translator’s note.]

[45] Sext. Empiricus Pyrrh. Hyp. III. 18, § 155; adv. Math. IV. §§ 6,

7; VII. §§ 95-97; X. § 283.

[46] Diog. Laert. VIII. §§ 4, 5, 14; Porphyrius, §§ 26, 27; Iamblichus,

c. XIV. § 63. (Homer’s Iliad XVI. v. 806-808; XVII. v. 45, seq.).

[47] Gnomicorum poëtarum opera, Vol. I. Pyth. aureum carmen, ed.

Glandorf. Fragm. I. v. 1-4.

[48] Sext. Empir. Pyrrh. Hyp. I. 33, § 225; Simpl. ad Phys. Arist. pp.

5, 6; Plut. de plac. philos. II. 4.

[49] That Xenophanes is here meant is shown from the titles of the

collected Becker manuscripts, as also from comparing this passage with

the verses remaining to us, which are by Xenophanes, though they were

earlier ascribed to Zeno; this was done by Hegel when he did not, as

in many lectures, take the Eleatic passages together. The editor found

a justification in this for placing the passage in its proper place.

[Note by editor.]

[50] Adv. Math. VII. 47-52; 110, 111; VIII. 326; Pyrrh. Hyp. II. 4, §

18.

[51] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. X. 313, 314; Simplic. in Phys. Arist., p.

41.

[52] Platon. Theaet. p. 183. Steph. (p. 263, ed. Bekk.); Sophist, p.

217 (p. 127).

[53] Diog. Laert. IX. 23; et Casaubonus ad. h. 1.

[54] Plutarch, De plac. phil. II. 7; Euseb. XV. 38; Stob. Ecl. Phys. c.

23, p. 482-484; Simplicius in Arist. Phys. p. 9 a, 7 b; Arist. Met. I.

4; Brandis Comment. Eleat. p. 162.

[55] De Sensu, p. 1, ed. Steph. 1557 (citante Fülleborn, p. 92).

[56] This obscure clause has been differently interpreted. Dr.

Hutchison Stirling, in his annotations on Schwegler’s “History

of Philosophy,” says: “Zeller accepts (and Hegel, by quoting and

translating the whole passage, already countenanced him in advance) the

equivalent of Theophrastus for _τὸ πλέον, τὸ ὑπέρβαλλον_ namely, and

interprets the clause itself thus:—‘The preponderating element of the

two is thought occasions and determines the ideas;’ that is as is the

preponderating element (the warm or the cold) so is the state of mind.

In short, _the more is the thought_ is the linguistic equivalent of the

time for _according to the more is the thought_.” [Translator’s note.]

[57] As a matter of fact, since a comparison of this reasoning with

the fragments of Melissus which Simplicius (in Arist. Physica and De

Cœlo) has retained, places this conjecture beyond doubt, the editor is

constrained to place it here, although Hegel, when he dealt with the

Eleatics separately, put it under the heading of Xenophanes. [Note by

Editor.]

[58] Cf. Plat. Parmenid. pp. 126, 127, Steph. (pp. 3—5 Bekk.).

[59] Diog. Laert. IX. 26, 27, et Menag. ad h. 1. Valer. Max. III. 3

ext. 2, 3.

[60] Diog. Laert. VI. 39, Sext. Empir. Pyrrh. Hyp. III. 8, § 66.

[61] Plat. Cratyl. p. 402, Steph. (p. 42, Bekk.); Aristot. Met. I. 6,

XIII. 4.

[62] Johannes Philoponus ad Aristot. de Anima (I. 2) fol. 4 a.

[63] Clemens Alex.: Stromata V. 14, p. 712, ed. Pott. (cit. Steph.

Poës. phil. p. 131).

[64] Cf. Stobaei Ecl. Phys. 22, p. 454.

[65] Diog. Laërt. IX. 7; Simplic. ad Arist. Phys. p. 6; Stob. Eclog.

Phys. c. 3, p. 58-60.

[66] Plutarch. de plac. phil. I. 28.

[67] Heraclides; Allegoriæ Homericæ, pp. 442, 443, ed. Gale.

[68] In writing of them Hegel very seldom separates these two

philosophers, though he does so in the Jena edition.

[69] See Hegel’s “Werke,” Vol. III. p 181, et seq.

[70] Ib. p. 112.

[71] Plutarch, de plac. phil. I., 26; Stobæi Ecl. Phys. 20, p. 394.

(Tennemann, Vol. I. p. 278.)

[72] Empedocles Agrigentinus. De vita et philosophia ejus exposuit,

carminum reliquias ex antiquis scriptoribus collegit, recensuit,

illustravit, præfationem et indices adjecit Magister Frid. Guil. Sturz,

Lipsiæ, 1805.

[73] Empedoclis et Parmenidis fragmenta, &c., restituta et illustrata

ab Amadeo Peyron.

[74] Cf. Plat. Parmenid. p. 127 (p. 4).

[75] Metaph. I. 3 and 8; De gener. et corrupt. I. 1.

[76] Adv. Math. VII. 120; IX. 10; X. 317.

[77] Arist. De anim. I. 2; Fabricius ad Sext. adv. Math. VII. 92, p.

389, not. T; Sextus adv. Math. I. 303; VII. 121.

[78] Hegel certainly used in his lectures, to follow the usual

order, and treat Empedocles before the Atomists. But since, in the

course of his treatment of them, he always connected the Atomists

with the Eleatics and Heraclitus, and took Empedocles, in so far as

he anticipated design, as the forerunner of Anaxagoras, the present

transposition is sufficiently justified. If we further consider that

Empedocles swayed to and fro between the One of Heraclitus and the

Many of Leucippus, without, like them, adhering to either of these

one-sided determinations, it is clear that both moments are assumptions

through whose variations he opened a way for the Anaxagorean conception

of end, which, by comprehending them, is the essential unity from

which proceeds the manifold of phenomena, as from their immanent

source.—[Note by Editor.]

[79] Anaxagoræ Clazomenii fragmenta, quæ supersunt omnia, edita ab E.

Schaubach, Lipsiæ, 1827.

[80] Plin. Hist. Nat. VII. 53; Brucker, T. I. pp. 493, 494, not.

[81] Diog. Laert. II. 16; Plutarch in Lysandro, 12.

[82] Diog. Laert. II., 12-14; Plutarch, in Pericle, c. 32.

[83] Cf. Aristot. Phys. VIII. 5; Met. XII. 10.

[84] Cf. Sext. Empiric. Hypotyp Pyrrh. III. 4, § 33.

[85] Diog. Laert. II. 6; Sext. Emp. adv. Math. IX. 6; Arist. Phys.

VIII. 1.

[86] Platonis Protagoras, pp. 310-314, Steph. (pp. 151-159, Bekk.).

[87] Plat. Protag., pp. 314-317 (pp. 159-164).

[88] Plat. Protag. pp. 318-320 (pp. 166-170).

[89] Plat. Protag. pp. 320-323 (pp. 170-176).

[90] Ibid. pp. 323, 324 (pp. 176-178).

[91] Plat. Protag. pp. 324-328 (pp. 178-184.)

[92] Plat. Meno., p. 91 (p. 371).

[93] Plat. Gorg. pp. 452 et 457 (pp. 15 et 24).

[94] Plat. Euthydem. pp. 283, 284 (pp. 416-418).

[95] Ibid. p. 298 (p. 446).

[96] Xenoph. Memorab. II. c. 1, § 21 _seq._

[97] Diog. Laert. IX. 50.

[98] Ibid. 54.

[99] Plat. Protag. p. 338 fin. (p. 204).

[100] Plutarch in Pericle, c. 36.

[101] Diog. Laërt. IX. 51, 52; 55, 56 (Sext. Empir. adv. Math. IX. 56).

[102] Plat. Theætet. p. 152 (p. 195); Sext. Emp. Pyrrh. Hyp. I, c. 32,

§ 216.

[103] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 388, 60; Plat. Theætet. p. 152. (p.

195-197).

[104] Plat. Theætet. p. 154 (p. 201).

[105] Plat. Theæt. pp. 153, 154 (pp. 199, 200); pp. 156, 157 (pp.

204-206); pp. 158-160 (pp. 208-213).

[106] Sext. Empir. Pyrrh. Hyp. I. c. 32, §§ 217-219.

[107] Diodorus Siculus: XII. p. 106 (ed. Wesseling).

[108] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 66.

[109] Ibid. 67.

[110] Aristotel. de Xenophane, Zenone et Gorgia, c. 5.

[111] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 68-70.

[112] Ibid. 71.

[113] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 73, 74.

[114] Ibid. 75, 76.

[115] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 77-80.

[116] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 83, 84.

[117] The distinction between these two words is a very important

one. Schwegler, in explaining Hegel’s position in his “History of

Philosophy,” states that Hegel asserts that Socrates set _Moralität_,

the subjective morality of individual conscience, in the place of

_Sittlichkeit_, “the spontaneous, natural, half-unconscious (almost

instinctive) virtue that rests in obedience to established custom

(use and wont, natural objective law, that is at bottom, according to

Hegel, rational, though not yet subjectively cleared, perhaps, into

its rational principles).” As Dr. Stirling says in his Annotations

to the same work (p. 394), “There is a period in the history of the

State when people live in tradition; that is a period of unreflected

_Sittlichkeit_, or natural observance. Then there comes a time when the

observances are questioned, and when the right or truth they involve

is reflected into the subject. This is a period of Aufklärung, and for

_Sittlichkeit_ there is substituted _Moralität_, subjective morality:

the subject will approve nought but what he finds inwardly true to

himself, to his conscience.”—[TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.]

[118] Diog. Laert. II, 44 (cf. Menag. ad h. 1); 18-20, 22.

[119] Diog. Laert. II. 22, 23; Plat. Apol. Socr. p. 28 (p. 113).

[120] Diog. Laert. II. 24; Xenoph. Memorab. I. c. 1, § 18; Plat. Apol.

Socrat. p. 32 (pp. 120-122); Epist. VII. pp. 324, 325 (p. 429).

[121] Plat. Convivium, pp. 212, 176, 213, 214, 223 (pp. 447, 376-378,

449, 450, 468, 469).

[122] Xenoph. Memorab. I. c. 1, § 10.

[123] Xenoph. Memorab. I. c. 1, § 11-16; Aristot. Metaph. I. 6.

[124] Aristot. Metaph. XIII. 4

[125] From the Lectures of the winter 1825-1826.—(NOTE BY EDITOR.)

[126] Platonis Theætetus, p. 210 (p. 322).

[127] Plat. Protag. p. 349 (pp. 224, 225); pp. 360, 361 (pp. 245-247).

[128] Xenoph. Memorab. IV. c. 2, §§ 11-17.

[129] Xenoph. Memorab. IV. c. 1, § 1; c. 2, § 40.

[130] Cf. Xenoph. Memorab. I. c. 2, §§ 12-16, sqq.

[131] Herodot. IX. 33, seq.

[132] Xenoph. Apologia Socrat. § 10; Memorab. I. c. 1, § 1 Plat.

Apologia Socrat. p. 24 (p. 104).

[133] Apologia Socrat. §§ 11—13; Memorab. I. c. 1, §§ 2—6; 19.

[134] Plat. Apol. Socrat. p. 26 (108, 109).

[135] Apologia Socrat. § 14 (cf. Memorab. I. c. 1, § 17).

[136] Plato. Apol. Socrat. p. 21 (p. 97).

[137] Xenoph. Apol. Socrat. § 14.

[138] Xenoph. Apol. Socrat. §§ 16—19; Memorab. I. c. 2, §§ 1—8.

[139] Xenoph. Apol. Socrat. § 20; cf. Memorab. I. c. 2, § 49 seq.

[140] Xenoph. Apol. Socrat. §§ 20, 21; Memorab. I. c. 2, §§ 51—55;

Plat. Apol. Socrat. pp. 24—26 (pp. 103—107).

[141] Meier und Schömann: Der Attische Process, pp. 173-177.

[142] Diog. Laërt. II. 106.

[143] Diog. Laërt. VI. 24.

[144] Cicer. Acad. Quæst. II. 42.

[145] Menag. ad Diog. Laërt. II. 106; Aul. Gellius: Noct. Atticæ, VI.

10.

[146] Plutarch. de fraterno amore, p. 489, D. (ed. Xyl.); Stobæi

Sermones: LXXXIV. 15 (T. III. p. 160, ed. Gaisford); Brucker. Hist.

Crit. Philos. T. I. p. 611.

[147] Diog. Laërt. II. 106.

[148] Diog. Laërt. II. 108.

[149] Diog. Laërt. II. 109.

[150] Diog. Laërt. II. 111, 112.

[151] Diog. Laërt. II. 108; Cicero, Acad. Quæst. IV. 29; De divinat.

II. 4.

[152] Diog. Laërt. VII. 196.

[153] Athenæus IX. p. 401 (ed. Casaubon, 1597); Suidas, s. v. Φιλητᾶς,

T. III. p. 600; Menag. ad Diog. Laërt. II. 108.

[154] Diog. Laërt. II. 135.

[155] Diog. Laërt. II. 108; Bruckeri Hist. Crit. Phil. T. I. p. 613.

[156] Diog. Laërt. II. 108; Cicer. Acad. Quæst. IV. 29; Bruck. Hist.

Crit. Philos. T. I. p. 614, not. s.

[157] Aristoteles: De Soph. Elench. c. 14; Buhle ad h. 1. argumentum,

p. 512.

[158] Diog. Laërt. II. 113, 115, 119.

[159] Plutarch, advers. Coloten. c. 22, 23, pp. 1119, 1120, ed. Xyl.

pp. 174-176, Vol. XIV. ed. Hutten.

[160] Diog. Laërt. II. 65; Tennemann, Vol. II. p. 103: Bruck. Hist.

Crit. Philos. T. I. p. 584, seq.

[161] Diog. Laërt. II. 66, 67, 72, 77 (Horat. Serm. II. 3, v. 101),

79-81.

[162] Sext. Empir. adv. Math. VII. 191, 199, 200.

[163] Diog. Laërt. II. 97, 98 (101, 102).

[164] Diog. Laërt. II. 93-95.

[165] Cic. Tusc. Quest. I. 34; Val. Max. VIII. 9.

[166] Diog. Laërt. II. 96, 97.

[167] Diog. Laërt. VI. 13, 1, 2, 15-18.

[168] Diog. Laërt. VI. 11, 12 (104).

[169] Diog. Laërt. VI. 13, 6, 22, 37; Tennemann, Vol. II. p. 89.

[170] Diog. Laërt. VI. 8; II. 36.

[171] Diog. Laërt. VI. 74, 61, 37, 105, 22.

[172] Diog. Laërt. VI. 29, 30 (74); II. 68; VI. 26, 41, 33, 45, 46, 50,

76, 77 (34).

[173] Diog. Laërt. VI. 85, 96, 97.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.