e all bad. As for the
Ideal Society, show it me and I will say what I think.'

In spite of its false psychology the Cynic conception of life had a
great effect in Greece. It came almost as a revelation to both men and
women[95:1] and profoundly influenced all the Schools. Here indeed, it
seemed, was a way to baffle Fortune and to make one's own soul unafraid.
What men wanted was +to tharrein+ 'to be of good cheer'; as we say now,
to regain their _morale_ after bewildering defeats. The Cynic answer,
afterwards corrected and humanized by the Stoics, was to look at life as
a long and arduous campaign. The loyal soldier does not trouble about
his comfort or his rewards or his pleasures. He obeys his commander's
orders without fear or failing, whether they lead to easy victories or
merely to wounds, captivity or death. Only Goodness is good, and for the
soldier Goodness (+arete+) is the doing of Duty. That is his true
prize, which no external power can take away from him.

But after all, what is Duty? Diogenes preached 'virtue' and assumed that
his way of life was 'virtue'. But was it really so? And, if so, on what
evidence? To live like a beast, to be indifferent to art, beauty,
letters, science, philosophy, to the amenities of civic life, to all
that raised Hellenic Man above the beast or the savage? How could this
be the true end of man? The Stoic School, whose founder, Zeno, was a
disciple of old Antisthenes, gradually built up a theory of moral life
which has on the whole weathered the storms of time with great success.
It largely dominated later antiquity by its imaginative and emotional
power. It gave form to the aspirations of early Christianity. It lasts
now as the nearest approach to an acceptable system of conduct for those
who do not accept revelation, but still keep some faith in the Purpose
of Things.

The problem is to combine the absolute value of that Goodness which, as
we say, 'saves the soul' with the relative values of the various good
things that soothe or beautify life. For, if there is any value at
all--I will not say in health and happiness, but in art, poetry,
knowledge, refinement, public esteem, or human affection, and if their
claims do clash, as in common opinion they sometimes do, with the
demands of absolute sanctity, how is the balance to be struck? Are we to
be content with the principle of accepting a little moral wrong for the
sake of much material or artistic or intellectual advantage? T