Below, I present a synthesis of the conflicting visions of The Anabasis of Cyrus and Cyropaedia: The Education of Cyrus. I also defend Xenophon against snobbish analytic philosophers, express an appreciation for the ephemeral nature of legacy, and question the practicability of studying biographies.
Tyranny, Fiction, Democracy, Reality
Throughout my reading, I kept asking myself: did the same person really write these two books? They seem to follow from quite different perspectives and experiences. One describes a torturous few months wherein Xenophon experiences great hardship and betrayal, while the other is a fairy tale of sorts about Cyrus the Great’s conquering of Persia. To put it simply, it would be like if Cormac McCarthy followed The Road or Blood Meridian with Frozen.1 So what gives? To answer this quesiton, I will first give a brief summary of each book.
The Anabasis describes Xenophon’s experience with the Ten Thousand. If Xenophon’s reporting is to be believed (and that is a big if), this assortment of Greek mercenaries is tricked by Cyrus the Younger into committing regicide against his brother / King of Persia, Ataxerxes. Cyrus is killed early in the book when he impulsively charges at his brother in the middle of a battle. Now, the Greeks are deep in enemy territory without their leader. As the cadence goes, these men are “all alone in a combat zone.” And it keeps getting worse! The Greek generals are tricked into parlaying with Tissaphernes, Ataxerxes’ duplicitous satrap, who swiftly executes them all. Now the Greeks have no leader and no generals. They’ve resigned themselves to destruction and lay down to go to sleep but Xenophon has a dream, which functions as a divine call to leadership. He wakes everyone, campaigns to be their leader, and proceeds to lead the Army through hundreds of miles of snow, mountainous terrain, and hostile territory all while under the harassment of the pursuing Persians. This journey is characterized by harsh conditions, frostbite, starvation and betrayal. At multiple points, men sit down and give up on life, choosing death at the hands of the pursuing Persians over continuing the grueling journey. Against all odds, Xenophon delivers them. They famously catch a glimpse of the sea and they know that Greece is right around the corner only a 600 mile boat ride away.
When they escape the Persians, new troubles begin. They start fighting amongst themselves. They wait for ships, and in their idleness resort to lawlessness. Without omnipresent danger and their common purpose of survival, they lose their unity. Xenophon is put on trial twice and many Soldiers want to stone him. Meanwhile, leaders in the area want to use this large army for their own purposes, while the Greeks (mostly) just want to go back to Greece. The Spartan admiral Anaxibius conspires to kill or otherwise dispose of the army; it turns out neither the Greeks nor the myriad nations of Asia Minor want a large mercenary army in their country. In the end, they don’t seem to make it back to Greece, but are instead co-opted into some other foreign war by the Spartans.
The Education of Cyrus is a different beast. First of all, it’s less historical and more hagiographic. Xenophon was born a century after Cyrus and it’s unclear what his sources are apart from common legend. While there are no supernatural events, it’s about as implausible as a Mission Impossible movie. Second, its more explicitly didactic. Xenophon tells you within the first few pages that he is trying to demonstrate how a leader may not only rule effectively but also be universally loved and obeyed by his subjects. We learn of Cyrus’ early upbringing. His defining characteristics are an indefatigable need to charm everyone and become the best at everything he does. He splits his time between Persia and Media, where he receives important cultural training in Persian stoicism and Median panache. He trains to meet the demands of an ancient leader primarily by hunting, which is thought to be the best training for military pursuits.
The book glosses over Cyrus’ formal education and begins in earnest with Cyrus as a teenager about to embark on a defensive battle to support Cyaxares, his uncle and king of the Medes, against the powerhouse Assyrians. There’s an important scene before Cyrus sets off where his father, Cambyses, tells him that being honest is mandatory in times of peace, but during times of war its time to pull out all the tricks a hunter uses on his prey. Armed with this guile, Cyrus somehow goes from merely defending Media against the Assyrians to conquering Persia, emasculating Cyaxares, and establishing a network of supplicant satraps. While he is a military genius and wins certain key battles, most of his conquering is done through a combination of diplomacy and mafioso-style shakedowns.2 He takes good care of his men, makes sure they’re well-fed and busy, and creates a disciplined army that responds perfectly to his every whim. He enlists the help of every nation he happens across and no one ever betrays him. Everything goes perfectly for him and apparently his new subjects. That is, until the final book when familial infighting brings about the rapid collapse of his empire.
Let me spell out the contradiction as I see it. Xenophon has experience as a leader in the real world. He spent a year freezing and starving as he wandered around Asia minor with his comrades. He understands that men are fickle and treacherous, that leadership is challenging and thankless work, that you can’t trust others, etc. Why then does he get back to Greece and write The Education of Cyrus? It is completely antithetical to his own experience!
I think Xenophon wrote Cyropaedia as an idealistic, yet disturbing parallel of Anabasis. While Anabasis offers a grounded depiction of the political, military, and social challenges to leadership, Cyropaedia explores an idealized vision of leadership, leaving the reader to ponder whether it represents a utopia or a dystopia. Meanwhile Cyropaedia demonstrates what it would take to eliminate those challenges, and leads the reader to question whether the cure is worse than the disease. Indeed, while Xenophon lived the rollercoaster that is being a leader of free men, he wrote Cyropaedia to explore the advantages and disadvantages of the hypothetical leadership of slaves. Xenophon makes three subtle arguments against Cyrus’ approach. First, Xenophon critiques Cyrus’ tyranny for reducing his fellow men to servitude. While his subjects may have thrived materially, their complete prostration before the ruler suggests a deeply unsettling loss of human dignity and agency. Second, Xenophon suggests that Cyrus’ brand of benevolent tyranny depends on an idealized version of human nature where people are not deceitful; in other words, such an approach to leadership is not possible. Third and finally, Xenophon suggests that tyrannies, though efficient, are not resilient or durable, which is presumably an important aim of an empire!
Xenophon opens Cyropaedia with a discussion of Cyrus’ exceptional accomplishment. To Xenophon, Cyrus is special because of his ability to foster obedience. He notes that people don’t generally want to be governed. Prior to Cyrus, “we could not but conclude that man is by nature fitted to govern all creatures, except his fellow-man.” (I.1.3) But then Cyrus comes along and makes it look easy.
Cyrus was able so to penetrate that vast extent of country by the sheer terror of his personality that the inhabitants were prostrate before him: not one of them dared lift hand against him. And yet he was able, at the same time, to inspire them all with so deep a desire to please him and win his favour that all they asked was to be guided by his judgment and his alone. Cyropaedia, I.1.5
Xenophon doesn’t throw out the baby with the bathwater; he acknowledges it is a tremendous thing to be feared and adored by a vast empire of varied people. Cyrus stands out among every other leader from history. But there’s something disturbing about his success because it is predicated on a fundamental subjugation of everyone. For instance, Cyrus achieves this unity by systematically reducing everyone around him to obedience, stripping them of independence. Early in the narrative, he persuades the Medes to abandon their leader, Cyaxares, to follow him instead, convincing them that loyalty to him will bring greater rewards. Later, when he conquers the Armenians, he pardons their rebellious king but insists that the king and his people submit entirely to his rule, promising safety in exchange for absolute control. Even those closest to him, like his generals and allies, are held in line by the constant pressure of his charisma and the rewards of loyalty. Xenophon hints at the dehumanizing effects of this dynamic – Cyrus’ empire depends on creating subjects who are more like obedient tools than free individuals. While the fear and adoration Cyrus inspires might hold the empire together, it raises questions about the cost to the dignity and autonomy of those under his rule. As a leader, Xenophon also relies on his charisma and especially his skills as an orator to influence others. But there is no question that he is lacking the fundamental power that Cyrus had. Xenophon is forced to consult with others about decisions. He can’t bribe anyone because he has no money. His subordinates are obviously free to act as they please, for better or worse.
Beyond Cyrus’ dystopian dominance, Xenophon suggests that Cyrus’ approach is implausible given human nature. Even if you’re willing to enslave your subjects, infighting and betrayal will undermine unity. Throughout his campaign, Cyrus places his trust in many people he has just met and it always works out perfectly. Neither these strangers nor any ambitious Persians or Medians ever successfully betray him! Most just follow through on their word, but in the odd case where someone is treacherous, it is found out because someone else would not betray him. For instance, Cyrus entrusts Araspas, a young Median officer, to guard the beautiful Panthea. When Araspas is accused of falling in love with her and plotting treachery, Cyrus is unshaken and merely sends him off to gather intelligence on the enemy, trusting him even after this apparent disloyalty. Another example is the Armenian king, who initially rebels against Cyrus but, after being defeated in battle, swears loyalty and remains steadfastly obedient for the rest of the narrative. Most striking of all is Gobryas, who defects to Cyrus from the Assyrians and immediately joins his inner circle. Xenophon seems to suggest that Cyrus’ empire of obedience relies on an unrealistic assumption of universal trustworthiness. In the real world, as Anabasis demonstrates, betrayal is far more likely than unwavering loyalty – especially from strangers. The Greek generals, for example, trusted the Persian satrap Tissaphernes to escort them home after the battle of Cunaxa, only to be betrayed and ambushed, resulting in the deaths of Clearchus and other leaders. These inevitable acts of treachery create trust issues that prevent an empire from living in harmony. It prevents both the ruler from dealing fairly with the subjects, and it prevents the subjects from cooperating with neighboring people and the ruler. In other words, lack of trust is not an obstacle to obedience perse, but it does preclude the kind of benevolent and efficient tyranny Cyrus practices. It’s likely that Cyrus’ actual rule was full of disorder and a retaliatory brutal repression of dissidents. Surely, the history of the Greek city-states provides an example of historical baggage serving as an obstacle to alliances! The Peloponnesian War and its aftermath left Athens and Sparta unable to form lasting unity, even in the face of shared threats like Persia. Indeed, Xenophon acknowledges in Anabasis that the Spartan domination of Greece requires the kind of prostration seen in the Persian empire, and so Xenophon kowtows to Anaxibius.
Xenophon’s third objection to the Cyrus approach is that it creates fragility. The tyrant makes the expedient tradeoff of short-term effectiveness at the expensive of longevity. Cyrus’ centralized control makes his empire brilliant. Cyrus was surgical in his conquering of Persia and his mafia methods suited this purpose well: his empire is rich, the subjects are content, and everyone loves him. However, his legacy ultimately pays the price for this expediency. Instead of cultivating virtue, he created an empire of sycophants who were lost without him. Cyrus’ tyranny (and perhaps all tyrannies) depend too much on an irreplaceable charismatic leader. No one can fill Cyrus’ shoes, and the system has no way of adapting.
In contrast, Anabasis highlights the chaos and unpredictability of democratic leadership, as Xenophon contends with factions, mutinies, and even being put on trial twice. Yet, despite these challenges, the democratic structure proves remarkably resilient. First, they survived the butchering of Cyrus the Younger and the generals, as they simply elected new leaders. Then, they weathered discontent about the current leadership by appointing Cheristophes and later Neon the Asinaean. These brief autocratic experiments didn’t go well, but they are evidence of the flexibility inherent in a democratic system, which is a strength when it comes to enduring hardship. Briefly, a tyranny relies too much on the greatness of a single man. This may work out once in a blue moon, but great men (and women) are few and far between, and there is certainly no guarantee that the best person will be in charge. Thus, democracy, which cannot capitalize on a generationally great ruler like tyranny can, wins out because it does okay even when you put Neon the Asinaean in charge.
It’s fully possible that I am reading too much into this. After all, it seems inefficient to right a book that ostensibly praises Cyrus while really intending to communicate that he is a monster. This interpretation aligns with Leo Strauss’ argument in Persecution and the Art of Writing, where he identifies Xenophon as a prime example of an author who employs ‘esoteric writing’ to conceal his true thoughts and avoid political repercussions. Xenophon is no stranger to persecution, as he wrote this book after being exiled from his native Athens for being too cozy to the Spartans. Moreover, he was a student of Socrates, and we know where outspokenness landed him!
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair
I am fairly new to reading works from antiquity and I didn’t realize how many are lost perhaps forever. There is some promise in initiatives like the Vesuvius Challenge, but the GOATs of Ancient Greece had most if not all of their work lost to time. Plato was either revered or lucky or both, but almost all of his writings apparently survived. Aristotle? ~20%. The famous greek plays? 30! Everyone knows about the Iliad and The Odyssey, but there were other Homerian epics that are lost for eternity.
Beyond the works that are fragmented or simply missing, the surviving ones are confused by time! Education and Anabasis are littered with footnotes speculating about censorship or later additions. People wring their hands over the origin of Shakespeare’s plays, but here we’re talking about works that are 4-5x as old. The mystery is far greater. It’s frustrating for a reader but it is also sad. Every work from ancient Greece is a reminder that nothing is eternal. Many of us claim to understand our mortality, but we think that greatness survives indefinitely, that the legacies of our most accomplished (or evil) will persist, but it is truly Ozymandias all the way down.3
In Defense of a “Stupid Man”
Xenophon is a cool guy! He checks many of the cool Greek boxes. First, he’s a student of Socrates, so he’s privy to the latest and greatest in philosophy. His defining biographical moment is joining the mercenary army of Cyrus the Younger and attempting to depose the king of Persia, Ataxerxes. He later becomes the commander in chief of this mercenary army and leads this army on an odyssey out of hostile territory and back to Greece. He gets exiled by his native Athens and spends his dying days in Sparta writing some epic works. He writes plainly with a certain insouciance a la Steve McQueen. He is keen on sacrificing to the Gods and his name starts with “X.” (both self-evidently cool). Apparently, all of these qualities are not enough for some people.
You may be familiar with Bertrand Russell’s quote “A stupid man’s report of what a clever man says can never be accurate, because he unconsciously translates what he hears into something he can understand.” What you likely didn’t know was this is about Xenophon. The full quote is:
There has been a tendency to think that everything Xenophon says must be true, because he had not the wits to think of anything untrue. This is a very invalid line of argument. A stupid man’s report of what a clever man says is never accurate, because he unconsciously translates what he hears into something that he can understand. I would rather be reported by my bitterest enemy among philosophers than by a friend innocent of philosophy. We cannot therefore accept what Xenophon says if it either involves any difficult point in philosophy or is part of an argument to prove that Socrates was unjustly condemned. A History of Western Philosophy
That may be one of the meaner things I have ever read! I don’t purport to know anything about Xenophon’s intellect or the fidelity of his writings about Socrates, although I do think Xenophon’s actual intelligence is basically unknowable as a practical matter. It’s possible philosophers underrate the application of virtue in the physical world. Xenophon left the ivory tower and actually practiced leadership. He writes about experience, rather than mere thought experiments, which is both more interesting and more useful. Is Xenophon not the embodiment of practical wisdom, or phrónēsis? At a minimum, he is pursuing a kind of knowledge that is unattainable in pederastic symposiums. Moreover, he is pursuing a kind of life that appeals to more than a select bookish few. Perhaps, rather than an intellectual claim, Russell is expressing envy at one of the few beings in history to have a reasonable claim at being a philosopher king.
Limitations on the Practicability of Biography
I enjoy reading biography and I often wonder how useful it is. Can you truly learn from someone else’s life and put those learnings in practice? In modern parlance, can you channel their aura in your own life? I don’t really think so, but this is especially true of Education. It’s billed as a book on leadership and especially military leadership, which is what originally piqued my interest. I think there are good nuggets of wisdom in there, but most of it is cliched advice like “take care of your men” or “make powerful friends.” The bottom line is Cyrus is great because he is the best at everything. The famous reveal “know thyself and be true” suggests that one should only try to be great if they are like Cyrus in this important way. In short, this is no leadership manual. Or rather, it is a shitty leadership manual because step 1 is “be Cyrus.” Yes, if only I had thought of that!
This is a more general problem in the advice-giving sphere. People who are incredibly successful may not always understand why they are successful. It’s the fundamental attribution error, where they think their success is primarily a result of their agency rather than some innate quality. I remember attending my sister’s college graduation where John Legend was the commencement speaker. His speech was the usual “follow your dreams” and “listen to your heart” because it worked out for him. Yea, well not everyone sounds like John Legend. Step 1 is “be John Legend” or “sound like an angel.” Obviously a lot of hard work is involved, but you can’t overlook the necessary preconditions.