Xenophon's Philosophic Odyssey: On the Anabasis and Plato's Republic Author

Xenophon's Philosophic Odyssey: On the Anabasis and Plato's RepublicAuthor(s): Jacob HowlandSource: The American Political Science Review, Vol. 94, No. 4 (Dec., 2000), pp. 875-889Published by: American Political Science AssociationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2586213Accessed: 05/08/2010 15:22

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American Political Science Review Vol. 94, No. 4 December 2000

Xenophon's Philosophic Odyssey: On the Anabasis and Plato's Republic JACOB HOWLAND University of Tulsa

X t enophon's Anabasis, a military adventure interwoven with a story of philosophical self-discovery is a companion piece to Plato's Republic. The Anabasis takes up in deed the two great political problems treated in speech in the Republic, namely, how a just community can come into being and

how philosophy and political power may be brought to coincide. In addressing the first of these problems, Xenophon makes explicit a lesson about the limits of politics that is implicit in the Republic. He speaks to the second problem by clarifying the essential role of philosophical erOs in his emergence, at the moment of crisis, as the founder and leader of a well-ordered community. Xenophon's self-presentation in the Anabasis, which makes clear his debt to Socrates, illuminates the nature of philosophical courage as well as the saving integrity of the philosophical soul.

It is safe to say that the name of Xenophon was much more well known to earlier generations of readers than it is to our own. In antiquity, Xeno-

phon was widely admired as a man of considerable parts, whose virtues of intellect and character were displayed in a noble harmony of speech and deed. Romans and Greeks alike regarded him as an exemplary warrior, a model of political leadership, an elo- quent orator, and an inspired author. Xenophon's abilities as a political thinker and leader were also quickly recognized when the study of Greek was re- vived in Europe at the end of the Middle Ages (Dakyns 1890, xl).

Xenophon's reputation stemmed largely from the events related in the Anabasis, a tale of courage and endurance that did not fail to impress the most ambitious individuals of later ages. The Greek historian Polybius, writing in the second century B.C.E., suggests that Alexander's expedition into Asia never would have occurred apart from the example of the successful retreat of the Ten Thousand from Persia.1 Plutarch (1968) records that when Mark Antony's army was suffering from famine, fatigue, and sickness on cam- paign against the Parthians, "Antony, they say, often uttered 'O the Ten Thousand!' in amazement at those who were with Xenophon" (Antony 45.6). Dio Chry- sostum (1950), a Greek author of the first century C.E., goes so far as to recommend Xenophon to aspiring orators on the ground that he "alone among the ancients, is able to suffice for a political man" (Dis- course 18.14). Dio praises Xenophon's speeches in the Anabasis for their hortatory power, prudence (phrone- sis), and cunning, and he notes that the persuasiveness of his words derives from his "not having learned from hearing, nor having imitated others, but having done

Jacob Howland is Associate Professor of Philosophy, Department of Philosophy and Religion, University of Tulsa, Tulsa, OK 74104-3189 ([email protected]).

I am deeply grateful to Ada Finifter for her patience and profes- sionalism, to the anonymous referees of APSR for their excellent critical suggestions, and to the students in my 1998 Xenophon seminar. 1 Polybius 1993, The Histories 3.6.9-11. See the comparison of Xenophon and Alexander in Arrian, Anabasis of Alexander 1.12.2-4. Against all odds, Xenophon led roughly ten thousand mercenaries back to Greece from the heart of Persia after the army failed to overthrow Emperor Artaxerxes.

deeds as well as talked about them" (Discourse 18.17). The philosophical statesman Cicero (1952) and the orator Quintilian (1954) were no less impressed with Xenophon's mastery of the written word. The former calls his style "sweeter than honey" and records that "the Muses were said to speak with the voice of Xenophon" (Cicero, Orator 9.32, 19.62); the latter observes that "the Graces themselves seem to have molded his style ... [and] the goddess of persuasion sat upon his lips" (Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria 10.1.82).2

Niccolo Machiavelli and Francis Bacon held Xeno- phon in similarly high esteem. Machiavelli seems to have regarded him as the wisest of the ancients with respect to the political things. It has been observed that he "mentions Xenophon in the Principe and the Dis- corsi more frequently than he does Plato, Aristotle, and Cicero taken together"; what is more, Xenophon's Education of Cyrus is the only book cited by name in the Prince (Strauss 1991, 103, n. 3; Nadon 1996, 361, n. 3). For his part, Bacon ([1859] 1963) holds up "Xeno- phon the philosopher" as a prime example, alongside Alexander and Caesar, of "the concurrence of military virtue and learning." He marvels at Xenophon's sud- den transition during the march of the Ten Thousand from being an object of "scorn" to one of "wonder," and he concurs with the judgment of the ancient historians that Alexander's achievements rested "upon the ground of the act of that young scholar" (Bacon [1859] 1963, 313-4).3

After the Renaissance, the Anabasis became the primary text for beginning Greek students, and an Oxford professor writing as recently as 1949 found no need to review the story of the Ten Thousand because the Anabasis "has been read by generations of British schoolboys" (Howell 1949, 3). Such a claim could hardly be made today. Xenophon also is not read in translation as a matter of course by students of classical philosophy and political theory, perhaps because his writings meet the disciplinary expectations of the modern academy less clearly than those of other ancient authors (Wood 1964, 37-40). The virtues for which

2 A detailed discussion of the classical critical tradition with regard to Xenophon is provided in Dakyns 1890, xvii-lxvii. 3Xenophon was probably a little less than thirty years old when he joined the expedition of Cyrus (Mather and Hewitt 1962, 23).

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Xenophon's Philosophic Odyssey: On the Anabasis and Plato's Republic December 2000

Xenophon was held in high esteem by the most dis- cerning ancient and early modern students of politics have escaped the notice of most contemporary acade- micians (but see Strauss 1970, 1972, 1975, 1991). Recent interest in the Education of Cyrus suggests that the tide may be beginning to turn, but much of the new scholarship is marred by inattention to the "cutting nuances and subtlety" of Xenophon's writing (Nadon 1996, 362). The Anabasis, in any case, continues to be neglected by philosophers and political theorists alike. Thoughtful readers of this forgotten masterpiece will agree that "Xenophon is ripe for rehabilitation" (Gold- hill 1998).

This article is rooted in the conviction that the Anabasis deserves to be rediscovered as a literary and philosophical classic. Xenophon invites the reader to join him in a voyage of philosophical self-discovery, the shape and meaning of which emerges most clearly when the Anabasis is studied as a companion piece to Plato's Republic. This approach, which to my knowledge has not been explored, is suggested by the recog- nition that Xenophon's text recapitulates the central themes and issues of Plato's most well-known dialogue. The parallels between the two works are further en- riched by the use of Homer's Odyssey as a subtext in both. All three of these texts tell the story of a homecoming of the soul as well as the body, a homecoming that unfolds on an intellectual and metaphysi- cal level as well as the literal level of physical reality. Although Xenophon's narrative also converses with the History of Herodotus, Aeschylus' Persians, and the Iliad, a full exploration of his literary debts is impossi- ble in the present context. I propose instead to follow the most direct route into the meaning of theAnabasis, a route marked out by Plato's Republic.

The Anabasis is on one level the story of a military adventure that accidentally assumes the characteristics of the Republic's main theme: the creation of the good city. Xenophon takes up in deed the two great political problems treated in speech by Plato, namely, how a just polity can come into being and how philosophy and political power may be brought to coincide. Xenophon addresses the first problem by showing us the conditions for the emergence of an actual community, the retreating Ten Thousand, that is as nearly well ordered as a political community can be. But a well-ordered community is not necessarily a genuinely just community, such as the Republic's Kallipolis aspires to be, that is, a community in which devotion to the common good springs from the intrinsic virtue of its members. Xeno- phon makes it clear that the ephemeral unity of the Ten Thousand is rooted in nothing other than the urgent need for self-defense against external enemies; when this urgency fades, order inevitably gives way to factional strife. In explicating the fragility of order among the Ten Thousand, the absence of a common good that transcends self-defense, and thus the atten- uated sense in which even this extraordinary political body exemplifies justice, the Anabasis makes explicit a lesson about the limits of politics that is implicit in the Republic. Yet, this lesson takes shape differently in each text. Plato's Socrates seems to be aware of the

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limits of politics from the moment he proposes to found a city in speech, but Xenophon learns of them only through harsh experience and as a result of the actual outcome of events. His experiences, however, lead him to define these limits more sharply than Socrates does. In particular, the Anabasis repeatedly underscores the difference, and indeed the tension, between political order and justice, a theme only indirectly visible in the Republic.

The Anabasis is also, and most significantly, the story of Xenophon's intellectual and moral growth. It traces the path of his personal appropriation of the wisdom of Socrates, whom Xenophon leaves behind in Athens when he joins the expedition of Cyrus (Anabasis 3.1.4- 7).4 It is furthermore in terms of his manifestation of Socratic or philosophical courage that we must understand Xenophon's response to the second great problem treated by Plato. At the center of the Republic, one encounters a seemingly intractable opposition between eros and thumos, or philosophical passion and spiritedness (especially as evinced in anger, and in the pursuit of honor and victory [Republic 586c-d]). Socrates invites us to ponder the relationship of these two dimensions of the soul when he makes it clear that the genuine philosopher will not wish to rule and, con- versely, that the type of person who is attracted to ruling offices will not be inclined to philosophize. The Anabasis speaks to this problem by clarifying the critical role of philosophical passion in Xenophon's emergence as the founder and leader of a well-ordered community. Xenophon presents himself as a timely, and therefore admittedly temporary, solution to the problem of the relationship between philosophy and politics. The key to this solution lies in the fact that Xenophon's spiritedness, far from asserting itself as potentially antiphilosophical thumos, is indistinguish- able from the energy intrinsic to philosophical eros. The power of the latter to overcome the partiality of thumos and to unify the soul is accordingly a central theme of Xenophon's self-presentation in the Anaba- sis. Xenophon emphasizes that his philosophical dispo- sition graces his soul with a saving integrity. His political and military success is nevertheless merely the penultimate stage in this odyssey of self-discovery. His ultimate achievement of Socratic self-knowledge follows the decay of the community of the Ten Thousand and is anticipated by his eventual decision to exchange the seductions of military and political activity for the deeper pleasures of quiet reflection.

XENOPHON AND PLATO

A few preliminary observations about the relationship between Xenophon and Plato are in order. First, the existence of a Symposium and an Apology of Socrates in the corpus of both Xenophon and Plato constitutes prima facie evidence that these authors were ac- quainted with each other's writings. Ancient commen- tators took it for granted that this was the case. One

4Unless another title is indicated, all subsequent citations are book, chapter, and section numbers of the Anabasis.

American Political Science Review Vol. 94, No. 4

ancient tradition holds that Xenophon wrote the Cyro- paedia in response to the first books of the Republic; another maintains that the Athenian Stranger's re- marks about Cyrus in Plato's Laws (694a-695b) were meant as a criticism of the Cyropaedia (Diogenes Laertius 1991, Lives of Eminent Philosophers 3.34; Aulus Gellius 1952, Attic Nights 14.3.3-4).

Second, the core of my argument is largely independent of chronological considerations. My thesis that the Republic and the Anabasis are companion pieces need not rest upon the assumption that the former was the earlier work. For example, Plato may have added passages to the Republic, or otherwise revised it, in the light of his reading of the Anabasis. It is less likely that Plato began to write the Republic after reading the Anabasis. Even so, both works can be viewed as variations on a common set of themes and issues, as meditations that are best appreciated in tandem, just insofar as one of them takes the measure of the other.5

Finally, although Xenophon's ancient readers do not explicitly link the Anabasis with the Republic as they do the Cyropaedia, the plausibility of such a connection is strengthened by the fact that all three works are essentially concerned with war, tyranny, and especially the relationship between eros and thumos. Indeed, the latter problem stands, both literally and thematically, at the center of the Cyropaedia as well as the Republic.

The third "wave of paradox" of book 5 of the Republic, according to which political power and philosophy must coincide, breaks at the exact center of the text (Howland 1998, 633). This is said to be the "biggest and most difficult" of the three waves of paradox (Republic 472a4), presumably because it demands a reconciliation of a range of humanly fundamental oppositions, including those between spiritedness and erotic love, the longing for honor and the longing for wisdom, public welfare and private affection, the political production of civic order and the philosophical discovery of truth. Prior to the third wave's introduction of philosopher-kings, the city in speech is distinguished by the suppression of eros and the rule of well-tempered thumos. Thus, the essential qualification for rule in books 3 and 4 is political (as opposed to philosophical) courage-steadfastness in preserving "right opinion" (orthe doxa), particularly the conviction (dogma) that one must do what is best for the city (cf. 412c-e with 429d-430c). Immediately after the third wave, however, the theme of eros explodes into the dialogue: The philosopher is essentially characterized by an erotic passion for the whole of truth and wisdom, a passion that Socrates describes by borrowing the language of sexual attraction and consummation (474d-476d, 485a-b, 490a-b). The rulers of the just city must somehow overcome the oppositions that

5Xenophon's use of the imperfect tense at 5.3.7-10 indicates that at least this portion of the text was written after his expulsion from Scillos (Dakyns 1890, lxvi, cxxxi). It is thus reasonably certain that Xenophon was still working on the Anabasis after 371 (Dillery 1995, 59 with 264, n. 1). According to the standard view of Platonic chronology, this means that Xenophon was still working on the Anabasis after the Republic was in all likelihood complete (Guthrie 1987, 437; Ross 1951, 2; but see the criticisms in Howland 1991).

come to a head in the third wave; they must, as Socrates says, be "best in philosophy and with respect to war" (543a5-6, emphasis added).

Similarly, Xenophon introduces the tension between thumos and eros at the literal center of the Cyropaedia when he acquaints us (at the very end of book 4 and the beginning of book 5, in a text comprising eight books) with the character of Panthea, by reputation the most beautiful woman in Asia. Cyrus, whose governing desire is to rule a great empire, refuses even to gaze upon Panthea because he fears becoming a slave to erotic attraction (Cyropaedia 5.1.8, 12, 16). He wishes to avoid such slavery, in spite of its attendant pleasures, because it would prove fatal to his political ambitions. In Cyrus's view, eros and thumos cannot cooperate within the soul: One must always be the absolute master of the other. Cyrus's manly pursuit of victory and honor therefore requires his utter rejection of the charms of beauty.

The story of Cyrus and Panthea dramatizes the issue at the heart of the problem of philosophical rule. The meaning of this story becomes clear when it is considered with a view toward the erotic philosopher of the Republic-to say nothing of a similar episode in Xeno- phon's Memorabilia (3.11), wherein Socrates, when told of the beauty of the courtesan Theodote, rushes off to see her. By turning a blind eye to beauty and a deaf ear to what he regards as the siren-song of erOs, Cyrus renders himself impervious to the educative power of music, which has everything to do with "love matters [erotika] that concern the fair" (Republic 403c6-7), and so to philosophical music in particular. If this suggestion is well taken, then the Athenian Stranger's criticism that Cyrus "failed completely to grasp what is a correct education" (Plato, Laws 694c6-7) turns out to be one that Xenophon hopes thoughtful readers will have understood on their own.

THE REPUBLIC: POLITICS IN SPEECH

The Republic is narrated by Socrates and starts with a physical journey. Its first word is "I went down" (kate- ben). Katabasis, the noun meaning "going down," is the opposite of anabasis, or "going up"; the latter term refers specifically to a journey inland from the sea, or up country. The Piraeus, to which Socrates went down "yesterday" with Glaucon in order to observe the festival of Bendis (and from which presumably he has returned as of "today"), is the port of Athens. Accord- ing to Socrates, his anabasis- his attempt to go back up to Athens from the sea-is interrupted by Polemar- chus (Republic 327c-328b), and he ends up spending all night in the Piraeus in philosophical conversation with some young men. In the place of a literal ascent in deed, the Republic provides an ascent in speech to the just city and to the highest objects of philosophical inquiry, namely, the Ideas and the Good. In the course of this ascent, there is furthermore much talk of going down and going up. The theme of ascent and descent appears in the myth of Gyges' ring in book 2, in the famous cave image of education in book 7, and in the myth of Er in book 10, in which Er goes down to Hades

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and then returns to the land of the living. Finally, the theme of ascent and descent is reflected in the shut- tling, dialectical movement of philosophy as depicted in the Divided Line-movement up to the Ideas and the Good and back down to concrete conclusions (Republic 51lb-c).

As can be seen from the preceding list, the image of physical descent and ascent is meant to suggest motion on the level of the soul. It is in terms of this motion that we must understand both Socrates' katabasis at the beginning of the Republic and the action of the dialogue as a whole. Plato makes it clear that the Republic is a philosophical epic in which Socrates struggles to rescue his companions from a kind of living death, the condition of the unexamined life, within the horizons of which the practice of tyrannical injustice, whether open or disguised, seems indispensable to supreme happiness (344a, 362a-c). To begin with, the dramatic setting of the dialogue in the home of Cephalus in the Piraeus leaves little doubt that we are initially, as Eva Brann writes, "in the city of shades, the house of Pluto": in the name Piraeus (especially in the accusative phrase eis Peiraia, which Socrates employs in the first line of the dialogue) one hearsperaia or "beyond-land"; Ben- dis is a deity of the underworld; and one ancient source indicates that Cephalus, who is said to be on the threshold of death (Republic 328e6), actually died at least twenty years before 421, the earliest dramatic date most scholars are willing to assign to the Republic (Brann 1989-90, 8-9). Furthermore, the dialogue takes place under a cloud of war and imminent tyrannical violence. Three of the ten characters who appear in the Republic-Polemarchus, Niceratus, and Cleito- phon-will be murdered by the Thirty Tyrants who seize power in Athens in 404 (Krentz 1982, 79-81; Rahe 1977, 198).

Yet, although the conversation begins in the city of shades, it concludes with a return to light and life. The myth of Er ends when Er awakens on his funeral pyre at dawn (Republic 621b); as it happens, it is probably around dawn when Socrates finishes telling Er's tale at the very end of the Republic. The journey traced by the sun in the background of the dialogue as it moves below, and ultimately reemerges from beneath, the earth's surface seems to be a cosmic analogue of the movement of philosophy itself (Rosenstock 1983, 220- 1). What is more, this imagistic depiction of education as the ascent of the soul from the land of the dead to the land of the living, from darkness to light, and from confusion to clarity, is well established by the time of Plato. It is the basic structure of the Greek religious rites of mystery initiation, such as those practiced at Eleusis (Burkert 1983, 248-97). It appears in Par- menides' famous philosophical poem, written perhaps fifty years before the birth of Plato. Most important, it is reflected in the Odyssey, in which Odysseus passes beyond the boundary of death and, renewed by ultimate wisdom, returns to the land of the living.6

6 Socrates is depicted in the Republic as a philosophical Odysseus: He attempts a homecoming of souls that have been blown off course by the stormy winds of appetite and ignorance and that consequently

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THE ANABASIS: POLITICS IN DEED

The Anabasis, too, narrates a circular journey.7 As in the Republic, the motif of homecoming in the Anabasis is intertwined with the themes of a descent toward literal and spiritual death and a political and philosophical ascent. With regard to political matters, the plan of composition in the Anabasis is as follows: in books 1, 2, and 3, increasing danger and ascent from everyday political reality to the well-ordered regime; in book 4, the perfected warrior-community of the Ten Thousand; in books 5, 6, and 7, return to safety and descent from the well-ordered regime to everyday political reality. With regard to Xenophon's personal odyssey, the Anabasis describes an ascent toward self- knowledge. Let us now consider the shape of the Anabasis in more detail.

The full title of Xenophon's book is Kurou Anabasis, or Ascent of Cyrus; its subject is not Cyrus the Great, whose story is told in the Cyropaedia, but Cyrus the Younger. The title obviously has political overtones. Cyrus had hoped that his march up country to do battle with his older brother Artaxerxes, who succeeded Darius in 405, would conclude with his ascent to the Persian throne. The geographical going-up of Cyrus and his army of Persians and Greek mercenaries turned out to be a moral, political, and psychological going-down: Cyrus was killed at the battle of Cunaxa in 401; the Persians in his force abandoned the Greeks and went over to Artaxarxes; and the five main Greek commanders (including Clearchus, Proxenus, and Meno), together with twenty other officers, were murdered shortly thereafter through the treachery of the Persian commander Tissaphernes. The leaderless Ten Thousand found themselves surrounded by a vast army in the heart of enemy territory, an enemy whose hostility was intensified by two invasions of Hellas during the preceding century that ended in humiliating defeat at the hands of the Greeks. Xenophon and the Greek mercenaries had followed Cyrus straight down, so to speak, into a living hell. All of this is accomplished in the first two books of the Anabasis.

Tyranny

The Greeks are not, however, simply victims of circum- stance. Xenophon makes it clear that the mercenary disunity of the army played an essential role in bringing about the extraordinarily dangerous situation faced at the end of book 2, and this disunity must in turn be understood in relation to the theme of tyranny. This point emerges most clearly when the Anabasis is compared with the Republic. Both books begin with the

wander about in a kind of moral and intellectual no-man's-land (Howland 1993, which develops Segal 1978; cf. Lachterman 1990). The structure of the Republic also recapitulates that of the Odyssey in certain essential respects; see Howland 1993, 47-54. 7Lossau (1990, 51) notes that the Anabasis relates a journey that begins and ends in the vicinity of Sardis, and the last words of the book, "Thibron ... went to war against Tissaphernes and Pharnaba- zus" (7.8.24), recall the pretext of making war against Tissaphernes that Cyrus used to collect his army at the very beginning of the work (1.1.6).


orienting assumption that the tyrant (or the Persian equivalent, the oriental despot) is the happiest of men.8 This assumption is in the first place made by Cyrus, whom Xenophon represents as exercising absolute power and acting with license. Like the possessor of Gyges' ring, Cyrus sleeps with a married queen, takes what he wishes through violence, and puts to death whomever he wants (1.2.12, 19-20). As if to underscore what is revealed in these deeds, Xenophon quietly alludes to two myths that caution against hubris-the flaying of the satyr Marsyas by Apollo and the story of Midas-just before and just after mention- ing that Cyrus was said to have slept with the Cilician queen (1.2.8, 13-14; on the greed of Midas, cf. Aristo- tle, Politics 1257b). Such allusions would find a receptive audience among Athenian readers, whose understanding of the Persians was decisively shaped by Aeschylus' depiction of Salamis and Plataea as the outcome of hubris nurtured by tyranny and luxury (Persians 800-42). Xenophon deliberately builds upon Aeschylus' politically foundational muthos, within which Greek freedom and independence come to light as the antithesis of the Persian character.9 By making it clear in his "eulogy" that Cyrus's tyrannical character was an outcome of his education (1.9), Xenophon in fact criticizes the Persian political culture as a whole.10

If Cyrus believes that tyranny is the most desirable life, he also supposes that the summit of tyrannical power, and so the apex of happiness, is achieved by the Persian emperor. To judge by its frequent appearance in the dialogues of Plato, this assumption is a common- place in the Greek cities as well (Sophist 230d-e; Gorgias 470c; Apology 40d-e). For their part, the Greek mercenaries who join Cyrus's expedition suppose that the best things in life may come from being useful to a tyrant. Not surprisingly, in the first part of the Anabasis the Greeks act like nothing so much as a band of thieves. The army is a nest of quarreling factions, divided according to the home cities of the soldiers, and is composed of the kind of men who are ready to stone their own commanders when it seems to suit their self-interest (cf. 1.5.11-7 with 1.3.1-2).1" In these respects, the situation at the beginning of the Anabasis reminds one of the quarrelsome condition of the Greek army at the beginning of the Iliad. By the

8 The tyrant rules persons who regard themselves as citizens entitled to a share in political power, whereas the despot rules persons "more slavish in their characters than Greeks," for which reason "they put up with a master's rule [ten despotiken archon] without any ill-will" (Aristotle, Politics 1285a20-23). Yet, Persian rule seems to be despotism only in name: Although even Cyrus is referred to as the "slave" of Artaxerxes (1.9.29, 2.5.38), he is an unwilling one. 9 Compare Xenophon's remark to the assembled soldiers, "You bow down to no human being as master, but rather to the gods" (3.2.13), with Persians 241-2: "Who is it that is shepherd and master over their army? They [the Greeks] are slaves to no man, nor are they subjects." 10 The common assumption that Xenophon idealizes Cyrus (see, e.g., Delebecque 1947, 97) is undermined by the contradiction between his apparent praise in 1.9 of Cyrus's education and character and what he has plainly indicated in his prior account of Cyrus's deeds. 11 The army is composed not so much of Greeks as of Thessalians, Boeotians, Megarians, Arcadians, Achaians, Lacedaemonians, and Athenians; as such, it is a miniature image of Hellas in its rivalries and jealousies (Delebecque 1947, 47-8).

same token, the obedience of the men in book 1-like that of the Achaean soldiers in Homer's Iliad-is won not by an appeal to the common good but by promises of increased personal wealth or power and by harsh discipline (or the threat thereof).12

In certain respects, Xenophon suggests, the army begins to undergo a transformation after Cyrus's death at the end of the first book. Yet, he also makes it clear that the army remains fragmented in a way that leads directly to even greater danger. Before Cyrus's death, the army functions simply as a mercenary band; its goal is determined by Cyrus, in whose pay it labors. After Cyrus's death, it can no longer function in the same way, for it is no longer in the employ of anyone. Unlike other armies in normal conditions, including those made up of citizen-soldiers, the Greek soldiers are now entirely independent and must henceforth determine their own goals. They are in this sense "a city on the move" (Cawkwell 1967, 55; Dalby 1992, 17), a "quasi- epic warrior band" (Dillery 1995, 76), like that of Odysseus and his men on their way home from Troy. What is more, because the immediate danger to the Greeks increases with the death of Cyrus, the soldiers begin-at least intermittently-to recognize a new kind of authority. In particular, Xenophon writes that Clearchus, a notoriously harsh Spartan officer, is now willingly obeyed as the supreme commander because the soldiers "saw that he alone knew what sorts of things a leader ought to do, while the rest [of the generals] were inexperienced" (2.2.6). As the sequel makes clear, however, some men must even in these perilous circumstances be compelled to obey. Clearchus knew from experience how to employ a mixture of shame and force in motivating the troops. He shamed men into working harder by jumping into the mud himself when it was time to make bridges; at the same time, he commanded with a spear in one hand and a stick in the other, dealing blows whenever he found someone shirking (2.3.11-3).

In spite of Clearchus' leadership, "normal" mercenary disunity persists in the army even after the death of Cyrus. Most important in this regard is the perceived treachery of Meno. When Cyrus is killed, Ariaius, a Persian commander who was fighting alongside the Greeks, abandons them and flees with his men. Meno later leaves the rest of the army and stays with Ariaius (2.2.1). Clearchus, who had quarreled earlier with Meno (1.5.11-7), suspects that Meno is scheming to hand the Greeks over to Tissaphernes, a deed that would not be out of character for him (2.5.27-9; cf. 2.6.21-9). This is the bait Tissaphernes uses to trap the Greek commanders: He states that, if Clearchus will come to him, he will reveal those who are attempting by slander to undermine the position of the Greeks (2.5.24-6). Meno's apparent treachery and Clearchus'

12 Clearchus punished his men severely, in accordance with the maxim that "the soldier ought to fear his commander more than the enemy" (2.6.10). On the use of promises of wealth and power, cf. 1.3.21 and 1.4.11-3 with 1.4.13-6 and 1.7.2-9. Note that the band of thieves furnishes the model for politics according to Thrasymachus (Republic 343b ff.; cf. 351c).

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imprudent desire for revenge thus lead almost directly to the complete destruction of the Ten Thousand.

The mercenaries' initial assumption about the profit to be gained in associating with a tyrant is refuted- practically, if not theoretically-by the death of Cyrus, whose head and hand are stuck on pikes by his brother (1.10.1), and by the subsequent betrayal, torture, and beheading of the five main Greek commanders. After these murders, at the end of book 2, the title of Xenophon's book takes on a different color. The goal of the Ten Thousand is now, first and foremost, simply to survive; with respect to the well-being of their bodies and souls they have nowhere to go, so to speak, but up. It now seems that the genitive Kurou in the title Kurou Anabasis is to be read not subjectively but objectively; the story is no longer one of Cyrus's ascent but of an ascent occasioned by Cyrus and his failed quest for power. Even more inviting is the possibility that Xeno- phon may mean something like ascent from (i.e., above or beyond) Cyrus, an interpretation that applies well to the story of his own development as a nontyrannical ruler.13 The ascent of the community of the Ten Thousand from disintegration and death occurs under the leadership of Xenophon, who, having watched and learned from the strengths and shortcomings of Cyrus, Clearchus, Proxenus, and Meno, rises suddenly to a position of command. Xenophon's political ascent goes hand in hand with the moral and psychological renewal of the community of the Ten Thousand. The turning point orperipeteia for the Ten Thousand occurs in book 3, in the course of the first, fitful night after the murder of the Greek commanders.

Community Before book 3, Xenophon mentions himself by name only more or less in passing (1.8.14-7, 2.4.15, 2.5.37- 42). It is at the beginning of book 3 that he chooses to speak more fully about himself and the events leading up to his journey into Asia, including in particular his consultation with Socrates. The mention of Socrates prepares us to hear the peculiar resonance of his language. Xenophon begins book 3 by observing that the Greeks were "in great perplexity" (3.1.2). The word he uses is aporia, which literally describes a condition of seeing "no way out"; it is also the hallmark of a philosophical encounter with Socrates (Xenophon 1959, Memorabilia 3.10.7, 4.4.5; cf. Plato 1979-82, Theaetetus 149a). Separated from their homeland by the impassable Euphrates and Tigris rivers and by a distance of more than ten thousand stades, surrounded by enemies, and without horsemen, a market, or a guide, all of them, including Xenophon, were demor- alized or "spiritless" (athumos: 3.1.3). Few of them ate or kindled a fire that night, and many, not even coming into the camp, just lay down by themselves wherever they happened to be. In sum, the army is at this point nothing more than a disorganized mass of individually helpless atoms.

13 Cf. the example thanatou lusts, "release from death," given in Smyth 1980, ? 1332.

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"When the time of perplexity [aporia] came," Xeno- phon continues, he himself was restless but did manage to catch some sleep (3.1.11). It is in fact a propitious moment, if one considers that a confrontation with death can sometimes give birth to unprecedented insights. So it is with Xenophon, who dreams that lightning from Zeus sets his father's house ablaze. To Xenophon, this emphasizes the difficulties (aporion: 3.1.13) that face the Greeks and spurs him to action. He awakens and rises to give three speeches. The first is addressed to the captains (lochagoi) of Proxenus and the second to all the surviving officers. In the course of the second speech, Xenophon suggests a way to en- courage the soldiers: "If we can turn their minds around [trepse(i) tas gnomas], so that they may think not only of what they are going to suffer but also of what they are going to do, they will be in much better spirits [euthumoteroi]" (3.1.41). Xenophon then is elected a general (archon) in place of Proxenus. The last speech, which is addressed to the whole Greek army, contains a radical plan of action and organization that is ratified by a general vote, and it proves to be the salvation of the Ten Thousand. Like the three waves of book 5 of the Republic, Xenophon's three speeches bring into being a new, saving regime (cf. Republic 497a) and introduce a leader whose claim to rule is bold intelligence.

The imagery Xenophon employs in his account of this long night is both familiar and powerful. The second speech, he tells us, takes place around mid- night; the third, just as day is beginning to break (3.1.33, 3.2.1). He describes a movement from dark to light, from dreaming to wakefulness, from death to renewed life, from passivity to activity, from confusion to clarity, from perplexity to understanding. He deploys terms and images that structure the action of the Republic in general and the cave image and myth of Er in particular, terms that are themselves borrowed from the poetic tradition and the religious rites of mystery initiation.' Xenophon's double task, moreover, resem- bles that of Odysseus: "to win his life [psyche, literally: soul] and the return of his companions" (Odyssey 1.5), to lead the way home from deep in hostile territory by concentrating his energies in a way that also makes possible the achievement of his own identity (on the connection between these two tasks in the Odyssey, see Dimock 1974). Not surprisingly, the adventures of this warrior band are several times explicitly compared to that of Odysseus and his men. As if to make clear the dependence of homecoming upon concentrated thoughtfulness, the first reference to the Odyssey occurs during Xenophon's first speech to the whole army, when he adverts to the fate of the lotus eaters (Odyssey 9.94 ff.), who ceased to think of their homeward journey (3.2.25). The Anabasis and the Republic share the same Homeric subtext (cf. Lossau 1990).

The regime brought into being by Xenophon's three speeches nonetheless originates in such a way as to raise important questions about the nature and extent

14 On the turning of the soul to which Xenophon speaks at 3.1.41, cf. Republic 518c-519b.


of justice in any possible regime. In the Republic, Socrates suggests that the just community could come into being if everyone over the age of ten left the city, so that the as yet uncorrupted youth could be educated to justice. In practice, however, forced expulsion would be necessary, so that a massive act of injustice would be required in order for the just community to come into being (Bloom 1967, 409-10). For its part, the Anabasis supports this inference about the "Machiavellian" foundations of the ostensibly just community. In the city in deed of the Anabasis as opposed to the city in speech of the Republic, accident substitutes for delib- erate action in the foundation of the community. Xenophon suggests that if men are taken deep into the uncharted territory of a vicious enemy, if they face overwhelming numbers, and if by some chance their leaders are killed, then one of two things will happen: They will either strain every nerve to work together as a team, always looking out for the common good, or they will all die a miserable death. The emergence in the Anabasis of an orderly, unified, independent community, marked by high morale and a common sense of purpose, is thus made possible only by the brutal murder of the Greek commanders-an injustice, we may note, that is itself provoked by Cyrus's wrongful attempt to overthrow a legitimate ruler. Insofar as the existence of a well-ordered community (to say nothing of a genuinely just community) depends on the prior existence of injustice, however, the Anabasis teaches at a minimum that such a community cannot deliberately be brought into being without compromising its claim to justice.

There is furthermore something Machiavellian in the way in which Xenophon seizes the opportunity presented to him by fortune. He appeals to external pressure in order to accomplish reforms akin to those brought about by the use of the Noble Lie in book 3 of the Republic, which helps persuade the warrior class that they must not possess private dwellings or private property beyond what is strictly necessary (Republic 416d-417b). In book 3 of the Anabasis, Xenophon uses the threat of imminent death-not a lie, but the truth-to convince the Ten Thousand to adopt virtu- ally identical recommendations. His main advice to the soldiers is to throw away all the private wealth they have collected by pillage and keep only the tools of war; burn their tents and wagons; help the officers administer punishment when it is merited; and march together in a hollow square (3.2.27-32, 3.2.36-7). He explains that this plan will allow the army to move more effectively, but one suspects that these measures, like their counterparts in the Republic, are designed also to help unify the army by keeping attention focused on the common tasks of returning to safety. They may assist in doing so by minimizing the tempta- tion and the opportunity to act for private gain or to divide into factions at the expense of the whole, by ensuring that the soldiers will be always in the public eye; and, insofar as individual soldiers, as in the Kallipolis (Republic 464e-465b), will have a hand in dispensing punishment, they will allow the troops to

satisfy their aggressive instincts in a way that will least threaten the interests of the whole.

Be that as it may, it is striking that Xenophon cannot prevent the soldiers from collecting animals, women, and boys along the way, to such an extent that many men are diverted from the task of fighting and the army as a whole moves too slowly (4.1.12-4, 4.3.19). The restrictions against accumulating goods that are not essential to war are soon relaxed (if not altogether abandoned), even though the danger faced by the army has not significantly diminished; thus, the army at one point seizes a load of "fine apparel and drinking cups" from the Kurds (4.3.25). As will become still more evident in the sequel, Xenophon's attempts to subor- dinate the private appetites of the soldiers to the achievement of public good ultimately work no better than the Noble Lie. Even in the Kallipolis, Socrates finds it necessary to win the allegiance of the best soldiers by rewarding them with frequent sex, choice cuts of meat, and distinguished honors (Republic 459d- 460b, 468c-469b; Howland 1998, 645-9). In these respects, the spirited warriors of the Kallipolis-like the Ten Thousand-never quite cease to resemble the self-interested Greeks of the Iliad.

In accordance with Xenophon's advice at the very end of book 3, the army goes up into the mountains of Kurdistan and through Armenia, toward the source of the Tigris and the Euphrates. This geographical anabasis in book 4 coincides with another kind of ascent: the education and seasoning, through harsh experience, of the Ten Thousand. During this part of the journey, which concludes when the Greeks reach the Black Sea, the army is compelled to make its way through snow- covered mountain passes and to fight on a daily basis against valiant foes, including Kurds, Chaldaeans, Taochians, Chalybeans, Phasians, Macronians, and Colchians. In the end, no more than two-thirds of the Greeks who began the expedition with Cyrus could endure the extreme hardships of battle, frostbite, snow- blindness, disease, and starvation so as to make it to the sea.15 This extraordinarily tough regimen perhaps serves to purge the weak and disorderly from the army. At all events, it calls to mind the difficult education of the souls and bodies of the Auxiliaries in the Republic, who are compelled to confront many "labors, pains, and contests" (413d4), insofar as it seems in Xeno- phon's initial estimation to provide an adequate training for citizenship. It is with the surviving soldiers, all "very fit [hikanous] through long practice," that he dreams of founding a city (5.6.15-6).

Disintegration

Book 4 is the central book of the Anabasis, and it describes the period in the career of the Ten Thousand in which the community achieves maximum order and harmony. The unity in book 4 is sufficient to overcome, at least temporarily, the extreme suspicion and hostility between Athenians and Spartans that obtain after the

15 At 1.2.9, we are told that Cyrus's Greeks number approximately 13,000. At 5.3.3, a review at arms yields a count of 8,600.

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end of the Peloponnesian War and that erupt in the subsequent books. The playful banter between Xeno- phon and the Lacedaemonian Cheirisophus, for example (4.6.14-7), suggests remarkable confidence and energy, a point underscored by the friendly rivalry in virtue described at 4.7.8-12 and especially by the athletic games the Greeks hold to celebrate arrival at the Black Sea (4.8.25-7). These exuberant contests put one in mind of the games in which Odysseus partici- pates when visiting the Phaeacians (Odyssey 8.100 ff.). This parallel is confirmed by the remark of Leon the Thurian at the very beginning of book 5, who now proposes, since the Greeks have finally reached the sea at the Greek city of Trapezus, "to cease from toil ... and to arrive in Hellas stretched out, like Odysseus" (5.1.2). The allusion is to the journey from the island of the Phaeacians to Ithaca, which is accomplished while Odysseus sleeps in the boat (Odyssey 13.75-124).16

In alluding to the beautiful city of the Phaeacians, Xenophon also implicitly invites us to recall the noble and beautiful city of the Republic (Howland 1993, 52-3). But these allusions ultimately underscore the evanescence of the dream of the ideal polis. First, the island of the Phaeacians is not Odysseus' final destina- tion; like the Kallipolis, it is an unplanned detour from the main path. No less important, the athletic contests of spirited warriors in book 4 of the Anabasis bear at least as much resemblance to the games in Iliad 23 as to those in Odyssey 8. The former games provide only a brief moment of relatively peaceful and well-ordered competition in a world of chaos. In repeatedly compar- ing the Ten Thousand to the quarrelsome warriors of the Iliad, Xenophon never quite lets his readers forget what he himself seems to have forgotten for a time.

Once at the Black Sea, the Greeks no longer have a sense of immediate external threat. The beginning of book 5 marks the start of a parabasis, a "going along" the coast toward the Hellespont, which extends through book 6. This geographical parabasis, however, is concurrent with a moral and political katabasis. Leon the Thurian's remark is a sign that a decisive transition has occurred, namely, the beginning of a return to ordinary political reality from a brief period of extraordinary order and unity. The remark is itself a virtual act of rebellion: Leon announces publicly that he is tired of discharging the duties of a soldier (Delebecque 1947, 56). Additional signs of disintegration appear almost immediately. Liberated by the apparent lessening of danger, the troops feel free to shout down Xenophon's suggestion that they make contingency plans to go by road (5.1.13-4). Xenophon finds it necessary to warn them about keeping good discipline, and he repeats this warning after some soldiers are killed while pillag- ing (5.1.8-9, 5.4.20). He nonetheless begins to dream of founding a "great" city (5.6.15-6; cf. 6.4.1-6). Because this dream contrasts starkly with the emerging political situation, it further emphasizes for the reader

16 Lossau also identifies Trapezus with Scheria, the island of the Phaeaecians, and notes the parallel between the games in both texts (Lossau 1990, 47).

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the incomplete, fragile, and ephemeral nature of the order and unity achieved in book 4.

It is in fact Xenophon's Platonic ambition to craft a city from an army that brings him afoul of the soldiers: in confiding his dream, he falls victim to the greed of a seer, Silanus, and of two rival officers, Timasion and Thorax (5.6.17-26). For the first time, Xenophon is obliged to defend himself against accusations before the assembled troops (5.6.27), and he must do so again when the soldiers, reacting to slander against him spread by another officer, threaten to stone their commanders (5.7.1-33). Book 5 concludes with a public scrutiny of the behavior of the generals, equivalent to the Athenian practice of euthuna, or public account- ing after a term in office. For the third time, Xenophon must undertake an apologia in the face of public accusations of injustice (5.8.1-26). The three defensive speeches in book 5 seem to present a reverse image of the three speeches by which Xenophon unites and energizes the Ten Thousand in book 3.

The situation parallels Socrates' account of the inevitable decline of the Kallipolis in book 8 of the Republic, which begins, perhaps not coincidentally, with a reference to the burning of the Achaean ships by the Trojans in the Iliad (Republic 545d-e; cf. Iliad 16.112 with Bloom 1968, 467 n. 4). Socrates explains the emergence of timocracy as the outcome of a quarrel between aristocrats and oligarchs, or lovers of virtue and lovers of money; these are precisely the terms in which Xenophon presents his conflict with Silanus, Timasion, and Thorax (cf. his references at 5.6.21 to what is "noblest" [kallista] and "best" [arista], together with 5.6.18, 5.6.21, and 5.6.25-26).17 The compromise that results from this quarrel is a regime ruled by war-lovers who secretly covet gold and silver (Republic 547c-548b). This is a fairly good description of the orientation of the Ten Thousand after they have been liberated from the fear of imminent death.

The parabasis along the Black Sea continues in book 6, toward the end of which the Spartans take control of the army (6.6.5). In book 7, the story returns in more than one sense to the place from which it began. As noted above, the conclusion of the Anabasis finds Xenophon in Pergamus, near Sardis, the city where Cyrus collected his troops and from which the march up country began (7.8.8; 1.2.5). More important, a new Cyrus comes into the picture in book 7. The remaining Greek force, now numbering 6,000 (7.7.23), is for the second time employed by a barbarian prince, Seuthes the Thracian. He proposes to use Greek mercenaries for the same purpose that Cyrus had in mind, namely, to conquer a kingdom that he regards as rightfully his (7.2.31-4). Like Cyrus, Seuthes lives by plundering his own lands (7.2.34). Like Cyrus, he wins the allegiance of the Greek troops by making promises of pay and territory that he ultimately cannot (or will not) fulfill (cf. 7.2.36-8 with 7.5.4-5 and 7.7.48 -57; 1.2.11, 1.3.21, 1.4.13, 1.7.5-8). Most important, he is, like Cyrus, a tyrant. Under his rule, the lot of the Thracians is

17 Xenophon is nonetheless not insensitive to the attractions of money, as is clear from his robbery of the Persian Asidates (7.8.22-3).


slavery (douleia); they are "subjects" (hupekooi) who obey him only out of necessity and who would attempt once again to become free were it not for their fear of him (7.7.29, 7.7.32). Cyrus punishes "most mercilessly" (apheidestata: 1.9.13), and Seuthes kills "without mercy" (apheidbs: 7.4.6); both men inspire fear in those they wish to rule by burning the land (1.4.10; 7.4.1, 7.4.5).

Xenophon's narrative comes full circle: It returns in the last book of the Anabasis to a world governed by a tyrant and guided by the assumption that such a man must be the happiest of human beings. This circularity emphasizes the intransigence of political reality and places in the broadest perspective the political significance of the adventures of the Ten Thousand. Xeno- phon makes it clear that what came into being all too briefly in the Anabasis was, after all, neither a full- fledged city nor a truly just and well-ordered community, although it was as well ordered, and reflected as much devotion to the common good, as any political community we are likely to encounter in the annals of history. As in the Republic, the ideal city-a city in which human beings are devoted to the common good at all times, not just when exigency compels such devotion, and in which the common good transcends mere self-preservation-must ultimately remain merely the wish of good men (cf. Republic 592a-b). The Anabasis, like the Republic, lets us see the limits of politics.

XENOPHON'S PHILOSOPHICAL COURAGE

The Anabasis shows that the well-ordered community of the Ten Thousand comes into being only through Xenophon's own activity as a political founder and ruler. In the Republic, Plato makes it clear that the paradoxical figure of the philosophical ruler must be understood in terms of the relationship between thumos and eros. It is this seemingly vexed relationship that stands at the center of the Republic and, I submit, of the Anabasis as well.

Xenophon begins to speak about himself in the first portion of book 3, immediately after describing, at the very end of book 2, three of the Greek leaders murdered by the Persians. This is a clear invitation to the reader to compare his nature with the very different natures of Clearchus, Proxenus, and Meno. In what follows, I propose to show that the contrast between Xenophon and these three companions may best be understood in terms of Socrates' characterization of philosophical and nonphilosophical souls in the Repub- lic. Although Xenophon provides no explicit discussion in the Anabasis of the nature of the soul in itself, his description of his three companions answers to the account of the tripartite soul Socrates sets forth in book 4 of the Republic, and his actions in book 3 of the Anabasis seem to amplify and develop an important Socratic hint about the difference between political and philosophical courage (Republic 430c).

The Anabasis tells the story of the emergence of a philosophical ruler. Xenophon's leadership in the army is philosophical because it is informed by the knowl-

edge of that which lies beyond the horizons of nomos (custom or convention) and because it is oriented by a good that is transpolitical. Xenophon's saving intelligence is first and foremost expressed in the speeches of book 3, speeches that give heart to the soldiers, estab- lish good order in the ranks, and focus the energies of the army on a well-defined goal and plan of action. Yet, it is something more than intelligence that allows Xenophon to find his voice in the first place. As he makes clear in the story of his dream "from Zeus," he is sustained in the moment of crisis by great courage. It is his courage in the face of terrifying obstacles that opens up a space within which calm and collected reflection may occur. Courage is thus the indispensable precondition for Xenophon's philosophical rule. But what is the nature of this courage?

In book 4 of the Republic, courage is "officially" presented as the virtue of thumos, which stands in between the appetitive (epithumetikon) and calculative (logistikon) parts of the soul (442b-c). Yet, this account of the soul is deficient to the extent that it abstracts from the love of wisdom, which enters fully into consideration only with the introduction of philosophical eros in book 5. Socrates indicates there is another kind of courage that transcends the "political" courage described in book 4, and I believe Xenophon manifests precisely this higher, philosophical courage. Political courage consists in clinging fast to orthodox opinion under adverse conditions and so exists only within the horizons of nomos, whereas Xenophon's courage comes into play in response to the destruction of these very horizons. Also, Xenophon's deeds in the moment of crisis are not motivated essentially by the thumotic longing for victory or honor or by indignation against the Persians. Rather, the interior energy upon which he draws is essentially erotic; one could just as well say-following his suggestion that he is spurred to action by a light from Zeus (3.1.12)-that he is drawn by it. Furthermore, Xenophon's philosophical eros orders and guides his soul as a whole; hence his response to the dream is simultaneously spirited and intelligent, passionate and reflective. This complexity reflects the saving integrity of his psyche, which he pointedly displays in book 3 against the backdrop of the three partial or fragmented characters he describes at the very end of book 2. Finally, Xenophon's introduction of Socrates at the beginning of book 3 is meant to clarify the philosophical origins of his exemplary wholeness. In courageously saving himself and his companions, Xenophon displays in deed the Socratic wisdom he first acquired through speech.

Xenophon could not have predicted that his journey away from home and hearth would bring him back to his intellectual father. The circularity of theAnabasis as a voyage of self-discovery is described in a penetrating epigram composed by Diogenes Laertius (1991) and set forth in his Lives of Eminent Philosophers (2.58):

Not only on account of Cyrus did Xenophon go up [aneben] into Persia,

But rather because he sought whatever path might lead up [anodon] into the region of Zeus.

For, having shown that Hellenic deeds [Hellenika pragmata]

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were the outcome of his education [paideia], He recollected how noble and beautiful [kalon] was the

wisdom of Socrates.

Diogenes situates Xenophon's adventures in the Anabasis in the context of a journey of the soul, and he offers a matrix of pregnant oppositions within which to consider the significance of this journey. Xenophon seeks the way to "Zeus," or to that which is highest and best. He sets out for Asia thinking that Cyrus, the political figure par excellence, may be the path to this Zeus. His experiences, however, confirm the supreme merit of the philosophical path of Socrates, a point underscored by Diogenes' rhetorical juxtaposition of the phrases "region of Zeus" and "wisdom of Socrates." At the end of his journey, Xenophon is able to see in the clear light of hindsight what was already there at the beginning: His practical experience, including moments of failure as well as success, allows him fully to appreciate the excellence of his Socratic education (Bruell 1987, 111-4; Higgins 1977, 91-2). In- deed, in looking back Xenophon sees, not Socrates' philosophia (love of wisdom), but his noble and beautiful sophia (wisdom). Paradoxically, he recognizes that his quintessentially Hellenic political deeds are the outcome of Socratic, philosophical speeches. Finally, Diogenes leaves it open whether Xenophon reaches the goal of his journey in doing great deeds or in achieving the wisdom that comes to him through reflecting on the significance of his actions. The same ambiguity is present in the image of Xenophon as a sitting eagle that comes to him as an omen from Zeus at the outset of his voyage (6.1.23). The eagle is the king of birds and the sign of Zeus, but sitting or standing still is the posture of philosophical meditation (cf. Plato, Symposium 174d-175b, 220c-d).

Diogenes' insights into Xenophon are borne out by the text of the Anabasis. Let us first consider the inception of Xenophon's odyssey as related at the start of book 3. After an introduction that is both classical and biblical in wording ("There was in the army a man named Xenophon, an Athenian"), Xenophon tells us that he received a letter from his friend Proxenus, inviting him to accompany the Greek mercenaries and offering to introduce him to Cyrus, "whom he [Prox- enus] himself, he said, believed to be better [kreitt6, literally: stronger] than his own fatherland [tes patri- dos]" (3.1.4). A few pages earlier, Xenophon offers a eulogy of Proxenus that begins by stating he was someone who, "ever since his youth, longed to become a man capable of doing great deeds" (2.6.16). To this end, he studied with the sophist Gorgias, after which, "thinking that he was capable of ruling," he went to Cyrus, with whom "he believed he would acquire a great name, and great power, and many possessions" (2.6.17). Xenophon does not tell us what his own motives were in wishing to join Proxenus, but it is evident that he, too, sees in connection with Cyrus something that seems to promise more than both Athens and Socrates can offer him. He chooses to go with Cyrus despite Socrates' warning that doing so will anger the Athenians, inasmuch as Cyrus had "eagerly

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joined with the Lacedaemonians in making war against Athens" (3.1.5).

It has been argued that Xenophon, unlike Proxenus, was "not interested in ruling" and joined Cyrus not out of "any love of the political life" but for "frankly utilitarian considerations," namely, "as a means of gaining wealth and, perhaps, a safe haven in a world of a considerable amount of turmoil." From this point of view, Xenophon was "more or less compelled to take an interest in political rule [after the death of Cyrus], if only to save himself along with his fellow Greeks" (Ruderman 1992, 129-30). Xenophon's motivation in joining Cyrus was not that of Proxenus, but the latter interpretation does not square completely with what is revealed in the Anabasis. Xenophon consistently manifests an interest in power that seems to be at least partly philosophical, as well as a desire to become involved in important decisions.

Just before the battle of Cunaxa, Cyrus goes out in front of his army to survey the situation, and Xenophon rides out to ask whether he has any orders to convey (1.8.14-7). Strictly speaking, this is unnecessary, since Cyrus is surely capable of giving orders on his own or of making it known that he desires to do so. What is more, Xenophon arguably oversteps his bounds: It would be appropriate for Cyrus to convey any orders he might have through an officer, whereas Xenophon is, as he tells us later, "neither a general, nor a captain, nor a soldier" (3.1.4). His gesture may indicate a desire to serve the prince after the fashion of a lieutenant, or perhaps he wishes simply to observe Cyrus more closely so as better to understand him.

Subsequent passages confirm Xenophon's interest in participating in military and political decisions (2.4.15-8, 2.5.37-42). His thinking when he is offered sole command of the army in book 6 reveals an attraction to honor as well: "Xenophon in one way desired these things, believing both that greater honor would come to be his in the eyes of his friends, and that his name would be greater when it should reach his city, and also that he might chance to be the cause of some good for the army" (6.1.20). Xenophon is tempted above all by the reputation associated with the position of plenipotentiary commander, although his special concern with how he is seen by his friends indicates a more philosophical attitude toward honor than that of the most ambitious political men (cf. the discussion in Strauss 1991, 88, of the contrast in Xenophon's Hiero [1956] between Hiero's desire to be universally loved and Simonides' desire to be admired by "the competent minority"). The "chance" that Xe- nophon could benefit the army occurs to him almost as an afterthought. On the negative side of the ledger, moreover, Xenophon mentions only the possibility that he might lose the reputation he has already acquired (6.1.21).

In sum, Xenophon suggests that he goes with Cyrus because he is drawn to the splendor and honor of the political life (cf. Bruell 1987, 111; Higgins 1977, 91). Following Diogenes, however, we may suppose that his attraction to politics is more open-ended or experimen- tal than that of Proxenus, and he is motivated essen-


tially by the possibility that along this path he may discover that which is highest and best. This understanding of Xenophon's initial motivation helps make sense of his behavior with respect to Socrates. Xeno- phon responds to Proxenus' invitation the way any ambitious young man would: He ignores the sober advice of his "father" concerning perhaps the most important decision he will ever make. Socrates tells him to consult with the Delphic oracle, but Xenophon, having already decided to go, asks only about the god to whom he should sacrifice in order that his journey might be a success; the answer is Zeus (3.1.5, 6.1.22). As is appropriate in a story about crossing the threshold of maturity and independence, Xenophon's head- strong decision coincides with the loss, to him, of his intellectual father: Socrates is executed while he is away.18

With respect to the difference between Socrates and Xenophon, Strauss (1975, 124) observes that "Xeno- phon was a man of action: he did the political things in the common sense of the term, whereas Socrates did not, but Socrates taught his companions the political things with the emphasis on strategy and tactics." Strauss (p. 139) asks: "Does not knowledge of rule need some iron alloy, some crude and rough admixture in order to become legitimate, i.e., politically viable?" Xenophon's departure from Athens stems from his longing for important action, and it is the spiritedness intrinsic to this longing that adds iron to his Socratic awareness.19 Yet, Xenophon's journey follows a pat- tern already established by Socrates. It is no accident that his odyssey begins from Delphi-and, in a deeper sense, from the repetition (through the dream sent by Zeus) of the opportunity to encounter the sacred that he effectively avoids at Delphi-for Delphi is the origin of Socrates' own Heraclean philosophical labors or wanderings (cf. 6.2.2 and 6.2.15 with Plato, Apology 22a).

One thing Xenophon brings with him to Asia is the Socratic openness that makes genuine learning possible. He accordingly writes the Anabasis as if it were a record not only of events but also of his realization of the significance of these events. This is especially apparent in his description of Clearchus, Proxenus, and Meno, which is offered immediately before he goes on to speak at length about himself (2.5.1-29). These men are all warriors by nature, which is to say that they all exemplify thumos, the goals of which are identified by Socrates as "the satisfaction of honor, victory, and

18 His decision may also have resulted in the loss of his fatherland, as Socrates seems to have warned (3.1.5); he is ultimately exiled from Athens (5.3.7), although scholars disagree as to whether the reason was his service to Cyrus or to the Spartan king Agesilaus (Anderson 1974, 147-9; Higgins 1977, 22-4). 19 The line between er6s and thumos becomes blurred insofar as spiritedness is intrinsic to strong erotic attraction. Consider the story of Episthenes, a lover of boys, who appears before Seuthes in an attempt to spare the life of a young prisoner of war. Xenophon intercedes, citing Episthenes' past bravery in the company of hand- some young men; Episthenes then offers his own life in exchange for that of the prisoner (7.4.7-11). He exemplifies on the level of ordinary experience the spiritedness intrinsic to Xenophon's extraordinary, philosophical er6s.

anger" (Republic 586dl). Yet, each represents a dis- tinct inflection of thumotic ambition, answering to the three parts of the soul and city distinguished in book 4 of the Republic (440e-441a). Meno's thumos is associated with epithumia or appetite, the lowest level of the soul, and is directed at material gain, the object of the lowest part of the city: "It was clear that he strongly desired [epithumon] to be rich, that he desired [epithumon] to rule so that he might get more, and desired [epithumon] to be honored in order that he might gain more" (2.6.21; cf. Aristotle 1979, Nicomachean Ethics 1159al7-21). Clearchus stands at the second level of the soul and city. He was, as it were, pure thumos: A harsh and vengeful man, he was "warlike and a lover of war to the ultimate degree" (2.6.1), and his aim was victory for its own sake. Proxenus embodies the highest part of the soul as it is understood in book 4 of the Republic, or before the introduction of philosophical intelligence in the third wave of book 5; at this stage of the dialogue, the ruling part is identified simply as logismos, or "calculation" (439d). Proxenus effectively put his trust in logos, insofar as his primary preparation for rule consisted in studying with the rhetorician Gorgias (2.6.16-7). He was a gentleman who desired above all the splendor of virtuous accomplishment: He sought great honor, power, and wealth, but "he thought that it was necessary to obtain these things with justice and nobility, but without them, not [to obtain them] at all" (2.6.18; cf. Republic 443e).

It is important to reiterate that Meno, Clearchus, and Proxenus exemplify the parts of the soul or city only as these are understood before the introduction of philosophy as a ruling principle in book 5 of the Republic. Each man is therefore in his own way deficient, both with regard to the order and integrity of his soul and with regard to the insight necessary for leadership at the highest level. It is philosophical eros that binds the parts of the soul together into a well- ordered whole (cf. Republic 485a-487a), and it is philosophical insight that alone makes possible independent and authoritative judgment in situations of the most extreme exigency.

Let us again consider each of the three deceased commanders. Meno was ruled by an appetite for wealth unconstrained by justice or piety (2.6.21, 26). He prided himself on taking advantage of those who considered him a friend, and he sought to win the allegiance of his soldiers by participating in their wrongdoing (2.6.23-7). As already noted, Meno's divi- sive behavior had made Clearchus suspicious and so helped Tissaphernes lay a trap for the Greek commanders. Whereas the vicious Meno was ineffective at winning the trust of decent men, the virtuous Proxenus had the opposite problem: "He was able to rule gentlemen [kalon men kai agathon], but was not capable of putting respect or fear of himself into the soldiers" (2.6.19).20 Proxenus relied too much on the power of speech to guide men; by the same token, he

20 Meno, too, had been a student of Gorgias (Plato, Meno 71c-d), a fact that speaks to the moral indeterminacy and incompleteness of sophistry in comparison with Xenophon's Socratic education.

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cared too much what others said and thought about him. On the one hand, he believed that the obedience of the men he commanded could be won by praise and blame alone; on the other, he feared incurring the hatred of his soldiers (2.6.19-20). With regard to Clearchus, Xenophon notes laconically that "it was said that he did not very much like to be ruled by others" (2.6.15). Thumos, however, is properly ruled by philosophical intelligence, and it is the lack of such ruling intelligence in Clearchus that leads directly to the murder of the Greek generals. Like the Guardians whom Socrates distinguishes from the Auxiliaries at the end of book 3 of the Republic, Clearchus was both older than the other generals (he was "about fifty years old" when he died, 2.6.15) and was characterized by great courage (cf. Republic 412c-e). Civic or political courage is the power to hold fast to governing ortho- doxy, much as well-dyed wool keeps its color even under the most adverse conditions (Republic 429d- 430c). Clearchus exemplified this kind of courage both in exhibiting bravery in the face of danger and in clinging to the ways and customs of his homeland. In particular, he was very pious; he even left an important meeting with the ambassadors of Artaxerxes in order to attend to the sacrifices (2.1.9). It was precisely this piety, however, coupled with his thumotic desire for revenge against Meno, that blinded him to the trap set by Tissaphernes. It did not occur to him that Tissa- phernes swore a false oath of friendship, or that he was lying when he denounced those who are willing to perjure themselves before god (2.5.3, 2.5.21).

Whereas the ill-fated generals embody the three parts of the soul in abstraction from philosophical erOs, Xenophon exemplifies the power of eros to unify and guide the psyche. He underscores the essential difference between himself and the three generals in subtle ways. At 2.3.16, in the context of a discussion of edible plants that cause headaches (kephalalges), he observes that the whole palm tree withers when its pith-the part of the tree that is "in its head" (ho engkepha- los)-is removed. This observation anticipates the Per- sian strategy of removing the heads or leaders of the army so as to destroy the whole (3.2.29). But this remark also appears to be a pun on the name of the Republic's Cephalus, the head of a family and father of Polemarchus and Lysias: The pious Clearchus, we are meant to see, is the Cephalus of the Anabasis. In the Republic, Socrates moves into the center of the discussion when Cephalus goes off to sacrifice (331d). A similar substitution occurs in the Anabasis when Xeno- phon, who ultimately becomes a "father" in the eyes of his soldiers (7.6.38), takes over the role played previ- ously by Clearchus and the other generals. Xenophon alone is able to transcend the horizons of custom or convention (nomos) that limit the vision not only of Clearchus but also of Meno and Proxenus. Meno is utterly conventional in his worship of wealth, and Proxenus pursues the more respectable but equally conventional goal of a good name. Having spent time with Gorgias, Proxenus "straightaway believed [nomi- sas hcedc] that he was capable of ruling" (2.6.17). The verb nomizein properly signifies belief in accordance

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with nomos. Proxenus accordingly puts his trust in the good opinion of other men, and he regards the study of logos not as a route to philosophic wisdom but as a mere instrument for the acquisition of reputation and power.

Xenophon stands apart from the three deceased generals in that he is able to see beyond the horizons of custom and convention and into that which is by nature. His leadership reflects a knowledge of both the nature of the human soul and the nature of political community. His political intelligence furthermore reflects an integration of the three parts of the soul that were separated in the personalities of his colleagues. He combines the nobility of Proxenus with the toughness of Clearchus, without forgetting the necessary appetites that are so forcefully represented by Meno. Xenophon's rhetorical strategy is not to dwell simply upon what is needed for survival; rather, he emphasizes the nobility of the great deeds that the Greeks are now called upon to perform (Ruderman 1992, 132). He nonetheless leads with both eyes open, so to speak, always keeping one eye on the noble and the other on the necessary.

Two examples of Xenophon's open-eyed toughness stand out. The first is his forceful suppression of Apollonides, the man who objects to the plan of action Xenophon proposes during his first speech to the captains of Proxenus. Apollonides points out the overwhelming advantage enjoyed by the Persians and re- cites the numerous difficulties (aporiai) that confront the Greeks (3.1.26). Xenophon quickly cuts him off, implies that he is both stupid and cowardly, declares that he shames all of Hellas, and proceeds to suggest that he be demoted and made to serve as a slave. The result is that Apollonides is directly expelled from the group (3.1.27-32). In this instance, Xenophon appeals to the noble (the self-respect of his fellow Greeks) so as to accomplish the necessary (the complete silencing of negative voices), and he does it all with Clearchean ruthlessness. The political understanding displayed here is profound: The freedom of speech that charac- terizes the community of soldiers after Xenophon's ascent (see esp. 4.3.10) is made possible only by the prudent use of force to suppress dangerous speech at the moment of founding.21 The second example of Xenophon's open-eyed toughness is his comment on a guide who ran away after being beaten. Xenophon points out that Cheirisophus struck the man but did not tie him up afterward, and he quarreled with Cheiriso- phus about "the ill-treatment of the guide and the carelessness" (4.6.3). We may infer from this that Xenophon would not have beaten the man in the first place, but had he done so, he would have made sure to tie him up.

Xenophon's philosophical transcendence of nomos

21 Xenophon's harsh treatment of Apollonides and its unifying consequences are reminiscent of Odysseus' violent response to criticisms of Agamemnon by Thersites during an early assembly of the troops (Iliad 2.244-77; cf. Dalby 1992, 21). Compare the joke by Polemarchus about the use of force at the beginning of the Republic (327c) (Polemarchus jokes that if Socrates is not willing to join their party, he and his companions will use force to compel him to do so).


is also, and most important, the central theme of the dream that comes to him at the time of greatest perplexity. The dream seems to him a sign from Zeus, as if in answer to his experience of aporia (3.1.2, 11). In his own mind, the dream offers a second chance to learn from an encounter with the sacred, which Xeno- phon was not ready to do when he went to Delphi but for which he has perhaps been prepared by subsequent dangers and hardships. The connection between the dream from Zeus and the oracle at Delphi is strengthened by the dream's ambiguous character: Like an oracle, it responds to an (unvoiced) question ("Seeing no way out, what am I to do?"), which it "answers" indirectly and only according to the manner in which it is interpreted.22

The dream is simply this: "There was thunder, and lightning fell on his father's house, and as a result everything was set ablaze" (3.1.11). The image conveys Xenophon's complete abandonment: He can expect help from no city, no general, no teacher, and henceforth he must rely only on himself (3.1.14). On a deeper level, the image reflects the collapse of the Greek horizons in a strange and profoundly hostile world. The very gods seem to have abandoned the Ten Thousand, as the Persians have broken their oaths with apparent impunity. Under such circumstances, the ways of one's father-the "house" destroyed in the dream-can no longer offer shelter and protection. The only hope lies in building a new political dwelling from the ground up. This task, which involves fashioning new nomoi, calls for a genuinely original or foundational intelligence. By the same token, it also calls for a kind of courage that is not defined by steadfast adherence to nomos.

Xenophon responds to the crisis in a way that leaves no doubt about his foundational intelligence. He suc- ceeds in introducing a new goal for the community (i.e., returning to Hellas, 3.2.26), passing new decrees (including burning the wagons, tents, and superfluous baggage, 3.2.27-8), establishing a new marching order (3.2.36), and awakening a new ethos of responsibility (3.2.31). These saving deeds, however, are made possible by his extraordinary courage, the nature of which comes into view in his immediate response to the dream. One is especially struck by the optimism of Xenophon's first thought upon waking: "He judged the dream in one way good, because in the midst of labors and dangers he seemed to see a great light from Zeus" (3.1.12). But because "the fire seemed to blaze all about," he was also "afraid ... lest he might not be able to escape from the King's country" (3.1.12). Although the dream portends death, Xenophon seizes the inher- ent promise of the moment. Lesser men might have been blinded and paralyzed by the dream holocaust, but this frightening vision affects him in exactly the opposite way. In his remarkable interpretation, the terrible fire becomes a meaningful sign from the highest divinity. Xenophon feels fear and is well aware of

22 The appearance of the character named "Apollonides" immediately after the dream (3.1.26) reminds us of the god at Delphi and may further suggest that the dream is, so to speak, the mask of Apollo.

the dangers at hand; yet, his response to the dream is not courageous in any ordinary sense, because all that sustains him is the "light" coincident with the destruction of the very horizons that inform political courage. Zeus's light, furthermore, signifies nothing more than the promise of intelligibility; it is at best an invitation to reflection, not an answer in itself. On the basis of this promise alone, Xenophon regards the dream as a good omen. His courage thus seems to be a function not of thumos (as is political courage) but of his philosophical eros: His interpretation of the dream manifests the confidence he feels in his power to find a way out of even the most challenging aporia.

As the promise of intelligibility, the light from Zeus ambiguously expresses both the power of Xenophon's intelligence and the intrinsic visibility of the solution to the problem he confronts. Understood thus, Xenophon begins to see the light from Zeus at the moment he identifies divine illumination as the central feature of the dream. It is in this light of intelligibility that he also proceeds to interrogate himself. Xenophon's intellectual training comes to the fore when he responds to his perplexity by initiating a process of Socratic question- ing:

Why am I lying here?... If we fall into the king's hands, what prevents our seeing all the most cruel sights, and experiencing the most terrible sufferings, and being put to death violently? No one is making preparations or taking care as to how we will defend ourselves ... What about me? What general, from what city, do I expect to do these things? What age am I waiting to attain for myself? For I will never be any older, if I give myself up this day to our enemies (3.1.13-4).

As this passage makes clear, it is through internal dialogue that Xenophon is able to arrive at an understanding of what must be done. To see in the light from Zeus is thus to reflect upon perplexity after the fashion of Socrates, calmly and courageously pushing a line of inquiry to its ultimate conclusions. This relentless dialogical process burns away all that is inessential and irrelevant so that the very heart of things is finally exposed to view. It is this clear vision of the hard truth that saves Xenophon and the Greeks.23

In the last analysis, the light from Zeus in which Xenophon thinks his way out of aporia in the moment of crisis bears a strong resemblance to the light of what Socrates, in book 6 of the Republic, calls the Good. The sunlike Good illuminates the path of philosophical reflection, and it is the Good toward which the philosopher is drawn by his eros. Xenophon's eros for what is highest and best makes him receptive, in the dream sequence, to an inner, guiding vision, much as Socrates was guided by his daimonic sign (Xenophon, Memora- bilia 1.1.2; Plato, Apology 31d, 40a). And it is Xeno- phon's philosophical divination of that which Socrates calls the Good-"that which every soul pursues, and for the sake of which it does everything" (Republic

23 If Xenophon is the "young man" of 2.4.19 (as the context may suggest: cf. 2.4.15-8), he has already manifested the ability to fight fear with logic. Compare Socrates' reasoning about death in Plato, Apology 40c-lc.

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505dll-el)-that directs him, in the end, to ascend beyond politics by recollecting the noble and beautiful wisdom of Socrates.

CONCLUSION: XENOPHON AND SOCRATES

I have attempted to show that Xenophon's Anabasis can most fruitfully be read as a companion piece to Plato's Republic, and I have suggested that Xenophon's reason for writing in this manner was to engage Plato in a dialogue about the nature of Socratic philosophizing. Plato's Republic presents a paradox. It centers upon the opposition between the thumos of the political man and the eros of the philosopher, but the philosopher- king of the Kallipolis is nevertheless supposed to overcome this opposition. The Anabasis speaks to this paradox by displaying the roots of Xenophon's saving political leadership. Xenophon showed both spiritedness and courage, qualities that are ordinarily assigned to thumos. My examination of the Anabasis suggests, however, that Xenophon's spiritedness is indistinguish- able from his philosophical desire, and his courage is, by the same token, a function of his philosophical erOs. The highest human souls, Xenophon suggests, are the strongest and most resourceful ones, precisely because they are most ardent in the pursuit of wisdom. In them, eros binds together the parts of the soul and guides the whole soul in such a way that the parts are transformed. The vocabulary appropriate to speech about nonphilosophical souls is no longer appropriate in the case of someone like Xenophon. Socrates' characterization in the Republic of the role of thumos within the soul does not apply to philosophical natures, in whom courage is an expression of passionate intelligence or of the energy with which the whole soul is drawn toward wisdom.

Seen in the light of the Anabasis, the conflict between erOs and thumos is not intrinsic to the Socratic philosopher; it is rather a consequence of the fragmen- tation of lesser psyches. This insight makes it possible to understand the relationship between Xenophon's philosophical nature and his political activity. Although his decision to go to Asia is on the surface a rejection of Socrates' abstention from what Strauss calls "the political things in the common sense of the term," Xenophon does not, as Diogenes realized, go beyond Socrates in the most fundamental sense. To "go beyond" Socrates in such a way as to become oneself is in any case, as Kierkegaard (1985, 111) has suggested, the quintessentially Socratic deed.

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Xenophon's Philosophic Odyssey: On the Anabasis and Plato's Republic Author